With a shrug, Desirée said, “The cookie cutters didn’t really matter to me, you know? At that age, I just cared about the cookies. I mean what kid doesn’t?”
“I know what you mean,” Olivia said. “I was grown up before I became fascinated by the history and stories behind vintage and antique cutters.”
“Yeah.” Desirée nodded her head so vigorously that a curtain of long blond hair escaped from behind her ear and fell across her right eye. She swept it back with her index finger. Up close, Desirée looked older than she had during the store event. Olivia guessed her to be in her mid-thirties, despite her teenager-like manner of speaking. She was almost certainly a natural blonde. Olivia noted the roots, which ranged in color from pale to golden yellow, with some light brown mixed in. Those subtle variations in shading would be tough to create and maintain with dye.
“Say, I heard at your open house about some super-old cookie cutters that old lady collected.” Desirée clasped her hands together like an overexcited child. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be selling them off, right? Boy, would I ever love to see those. Are you going to, like, put them out on display or whatever?”
Increasingly, Olivia had the sense that Desirée was putting on an act. But why? Olivia had ceased to be charmed, but she pasted a smile onto her face and played along. “We haven’t yet decided how to handle the situation,” Olivia said. “The owner’s death has complicated matters. I believe the police are looking for her heirs.” Olivia had no idea if the police had even thought of searching for Greta’s heirs, or if there were any, but it was a good excuse for delaying the sale of her collection.
“Oh, of course, it’s so sad.” Desirée tilted her head and put on a mournful expression. “I saw her at your party, but I didn’t get to talk to her. Between you and me, she looked kind of old and tired. Maybe she sort of slipped away in her sleep?”
Olivia responded to Desirée’s probing question with a light shrug and a sad smile. Desirée’s expression shifted to neutral. She glanced at her watch, and said, “Well, if you do decide to show those antique cookie cutters, I’d really like to know about it. I’ll stop in again.”
“Do you live in the area?” Olivia asked. “I could put you on our email list.”
Desirée’s violet gaze darted sideways. “I’ll be around town for a while,” she said. “I like to come to Chatterley Heights now and then to shop at Lady Chatterley’s, you know? I just love their clothes.”
Lady Chatterley’s Clothing Boutique for Elegant Ladies was a popular destination for women of the wealthy variety. Olivia hadn’t pegged Desirée as a member of that elite shopping demographic, but she certainly had the figure to pull off even the slinkiest of Lady Chatterley’s silk gowns. Olivia could picture Desirée at one of the many balls Greta had attended. Perhaps there was a reason Desirée had looked familiar to Greta.
Maddie poked her head around the kitchen door. When she saw Desirée, she hesitated. Olivia sent the message, with a slight tilt of her head, that she wanted Maddie to join the conversation. Maddie nodded. She retreated into the kitchen and reappeared almost at once, carrying a plate of wildly decorated, daisy-shaped cookies.
“Hi,” Maddie said as she offered Desirée a cookie. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with you at the event on Saturday. I wanted to tell you how much I coveted that gorgeous outfit you were wearing. Although you looked much better in it than I would.”
Desirée waved a dismissive hand. “Naw, you’d look terrific in that dress. I’m too scrawny, or that’s what my mother always used to tell me. You’d fill it out better.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Maddie put the plate of cookies on a nearby display table, within reach.
“Maddie is my business partner, and she’s also the baking genius,” Olivia said. “Maddie, this is Desirée Kirkwood. She has been asking about Greta’s cookie cutter collection.”
“Cool,” Maddie said. “Do you live nearby?”
Desirée shrugged. “I move around a lot for my job. I was in the area, so I crashed your event on Saturday. Fabulous cookies! Do you ever make cookies with really old cookie cutters . . . you know, like super-antique ones?”
If Maddie was caught off guard by the question, she hid it well. “My cutters do start to look like antiques from constant use, but no, I don’t use the really old ones. They can be fragile.”
“Yeah, they’re probably too valuable to risk breaking them or something, right?” When Maddie didn’t answer, Desirée added, “Well, anyway, these cookies are great, and I loved all those interesting foreign ones you served on Saturday.”
“I hope you had a good time,” Maddie said. “You seemed to be getting along well with Olaf Jakobson.”
Desirée snorted in derision. “That arrogant old jerk? I can spot his type a mile off. Thinks he can casually mention how rich he is, and women will throw themselves at him. Guys like him get really riled when a woman turns them down, so I played nice and made myself scarce.” Once again, Desirée checked her watch. “Well, I’d better let you get back to work. I’ll stop by again, before I leave town, to see if you’re going to sell that collection. It might be fun to find a cookie cutter or two that remind me of my mom and grandma, you know?” Desirée glanced back at the antiques cabinet. Her shrug implied the contents weren’t all that important to her. She spun around and headed toward the front door before Olivia could renew her offer to add Desirée’s name to the store’s mailing list.
In silence, Olivia and Maddie watched through the large front window until they saw Desirée walking across the Gingerbread House porch. As Desirée bounced down the front steps, Maddie said, “That was an interesting little interlude. I wonder what she really wanted.”
“I could hazard a guess,” Olivia said. “To start with, I suspect she is a lot smarter than she wants to appear. She was really pouring on the young dumb blond stuff.”
“Didn’t your mom think Desirée is about our age?” Maddie asked. “She sure doesn’t act like it. Did you notice how she slipped out of character now and then?”
Olivia nodded. “Before you came out of the kitchen, Desirée was pumping me for information about Greta’s collection. I’m wondering if she has some personal interest in it. Or maybe she is a collector pretending to be ignorant.”
Maddie shook her head. “I could see Desirée’s face when she took that last look at the cookie cutters in our cabinet. I think her interest is personal. For just a split second, she looked like she was going to cry.”
* * *
Olivia pushed the “start” button for the dishwasher and began to fill the kitchen sink for the few items that required hand washing. “Need any help decorating those cookies?” she asked Maddie, who was sliding a pan of cutout cookies into the oven.
“I’m mostly just baking now.” Maddie set the timer and began to gather up the cooled cookies, which she packed carefully in two covered cake pans. As she stowed the second pan in the freezer, she said, “We have plenty of decorated cookies to last us a while, even if we suddenly have busloads of customers. The ones I’m freezing should supply us for the rest of the week. We can decorate those when we need them. So now we should add some serious computer research to our agenda, or we’ll never figure out who helped Greta Oskarson to her grave. I realize the actual cause of Greta’s death is confusing, but I think someone got the process started. I want to find that someone.”
“As do I.” Olivia sank onto a kitchen chair. “I feel bad about Cody, though. I like him, and I know Del thinks he has what it takes to become a good sheriff, but he needs to make quicker decisions. As you said, it’s a confusing case, and I suspect Cody is trying too hard to do everything right.”
“I have an idea,” Maddie said. “What if we figure out who is responsible for setting Greta’s demise in motion, and then we somehow hand the pertinent information over to Cody? Was that applause I heard?”
&nb
sp; “Actually, the timer for the oven just dinged,” Olivia said.
“Close enough.” Maddie grabbed an oven pad and rescued the cookies before they browned too much.
“I’m not sure how we would accomplish your plan, but I like the thought.” Olivia opened the lid of her laptop. “I’ll fire up the computer.”
“Goodie!” Maddie clapped her hands. “It’s about time.” But before the screen had finished waking up, a raucous buzzing sound in the kitchen signaled that someone was leaning on the front doorbell. “What wretched timing,” Maddie said when the irritating noise finally stopped. “Well, maybe it’s your mom. We can bring her back here to help.”
“I’ll check.” Before Olivia had reached the kitchen door, the buzzer went off again. It occurred to her that her mother would never press the front doorbell with such indelicate force. Olivia was glad she had left Spunky snoozing upstairs in her apartment; she had a feeling their visitor was the sort who might send Spunky into a protective yapping fit. Calliope Zimmermann came to mind. A second later, Olivia knew she had wronged Calliope. She saw the impatient visitor’s figure through the large front window that provided a view of the store’s front porch. Olivia pretended she hadn’t seen Olaf Jakobson’s face glaring in at her, but she knew he had seen her, so she had no choice. She had to answer the door.
“Most businesses are open on Mondays,” Olaf said. “Most businesses know they need to keep their customers happy.”
Olivia ignored his snide tone. With a faint smile, she said, “May I help you, Mr. Jakobson?”
“I’m here to buy a cookie cutter,” Olaf said. “Money is no object.”
Olivia tightened her lips to keep from laughing. “Cookie cutters tend to be affordable for most people.” She could tell that Olaf wasn’t planning to give up and leave, so she stepped aside to let him enter the foyer. Olaf was a tall man, on the husky side. Olivia had to move quickly to avoid being knocked backward as he pushed past her into The Gingerbread House.
“That isn’t the type of cookie cutter I have in mind.” Olaf planted himself in the middle of the sales floor with his back to Olivia. “I want the kind of cookie cutter that isn’t affordable for most people, and I’ll need it at once, gift wrapped. Show me what you’ve got. Better yet, just pick an expensive one and wrap it right away.” When Olivia didn’t rush to do his bidding, Olaf turned around and scowled at her. “I’m in a hurry, and I’m not accustomed to waiting.”
Olivia allowed herself an inward sigh as she closed the store’s door behind her. “Mr. Jakobson, I really don’t know what you have in mind. Even our most valuable antique cookie cutters aren’t terribly expensive.” She pointed toward the locked cabinet where their vintage cutters, and a few antique ones, were on display.
Olaf tossed a disdainful glance toward the antique mahogany cabinet with glass doors. “Not those,” he said. “She told me about those things, but they are nothing.”
“She?”
Olaf’s expression said clearly that he considered Olivia dense beyond belief. “Desirée, of course. I’m sure you noticed her here during your little cookie party. Stunning girl.” Olaf’s tone had softened. “She certainly stood out in that crowd. I am taking Desirée to dinner tonight at Bon Vivant. It’s the best restaurant Chatterley Heights has to offer, but it will have to do.”
Since Bon Vivant, with its fine food and extensive gardens, was a destination for folks from both DC and Baltimore, Olivia had no doubt Desirée Kirkwood would be impressed. She was certainly moving fast in her quest for valuable cookie cutters. It had only been a few hours since she had visited the store herself and described Olaf Jakobson as an arrogant jerk. Desirée had also insisted she didn’t know anything about antique cutters. Olivia had to wonder what had changed since then.
“Well, I’m afraid the cutters in that cabinet are all we can offer you, Mr. Jakobson. You might want to try Anita Rambert, a local antiques dealer. If anyone might have antique cutters more valuable than ours, it would be Anita. Or you might ask Desirée what type of cutter she would like.” At the very least, Olivia thought, Anita would charge him more.
“You don’t get it,” Olaf said. “I don’t have time to dig up some flea market junk dealer, and I certainly don’t have time to waste arguing with you. Desirée doesn’t know I’m getting her a gift. She mentioned Greta’s cookie cutters, so I want the most valuable item in Greta’s collection. I know you have it in your possession, so just take one out and sell it to me. Right now. I am running out of patience.”
Her mother always did breathing exercises when she was upset, so Olivia took a deep breath. Then she took another. Deep breathing, Olivia decided, was overrated. “Mr. Jakobson, Greta Oskarson’s cookie cutter collection is locked in a secure storage facility, and it will stay there while her death is being investigated and any remaining family located. Those cutters are not for sale.” Olivia strode toward the front of the store, opened the door, and held it for Olaf. “The store is currently closed.”
Olaf’s face turned dangerously red. His upper arm muscles bunched, as if he wanted to hit her. Olivia felt her hand shake, but she kept hold of the doorknob. She gave deep breathing one more try, and this time it worked, at least enough to slow her thudding heart. Olaf must have sensed Olivia’s resolve, because he strode through the open door and into the foyer. Olivia stayed by the door, her hand clutching the knob. She was afraid she might fall over if she let go. When Olivia heard the front door slam behind her, she exhaled and sank to the floor.
Maddie poked her head out the kitchen door. “Livie? I thought I heard someone yelling out here, so I . . . Why are you sitting in the doorway?”
“Well,” Olivia said, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
* * *
Olivia fixed herself a cup of coffee and relaxed on a chair in the kitchen. “Whew. Olaf Jakobson’s tirade wore me out. It’s only ten o’clock Monday morning, but I feel as if I’ve lived through a full week since I returned home from vacation.”
“You have, in a manner of speaking,” Maddie swirled pale lemon yellow icing on a daisy-shaped cookie. “First, we threw together an event for Greta. Then she woke you up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. You called 911, raced to the emergency room, hung around with a couple of drunks, tried to wring information from Nurse Ratched about Greta’s condition . . . Then I arrived—ta-da!” Maddie flung out her arms, along with a glob of yellow icing. “I decided it was time to speed things up a bit, which involved feigning a sprained ankle and charming poor Bill the ER guy into letting it slip that Greta had died. I’m not bragging, you understand, but merely stating a series of facts.” Maddie bowed her head modestly, as befit a heroine. “Of course, there was more, but I won’t summarize since I played a lesser role.”
“Uh-huh,” Olivia said. “I do remember that I’ve spent very little time actually asleep since Greta called me. And I especially remember the part where we sneaked into poor Greta’s house, went through her belongings, and made off with her correspondence, which we spent yesterday perusing. I’m not sure that was my brightest idea ever, given Greta’s natural death has morphed into possible murder. Thank goodness Mr. Willard reassured us that the police would expect our fingerprints to be in Greta’s house, since she had asked me to handle the sale of her cutter collection.”
“Never mind that Sunday morning was the first time we had ever actually been in Greta’s house,” Maddie said. “That little fact will probably emerge eventually, but let’s not dwell on it. Mr. Willard isn’t a criminal attorney, as he so often tells us. Can the police make him tell if he knows if and why we searched Greta’s house after her death? I don’t get how that works, exactly.”
“I don’t think so, but I don’t really know.” Olivia yawned as she stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “Anyway, Mr. Willard knows lots of cutthroat criminal attorneys, should we need one.”
Maddie mixed a hint of
red into purple royal icing before transferring it to a pastry bag. “I’ll bet Mr. Willard would be feeling less nervous if Del were handling the case, and so would I. Del would be furious with us, of course, but he wouldn’t turn us in to the authorities.”
“Maybe not immediately, anyway,” Olivia said. “Pass me a cookie, would you? I’m starving.” Maddie handed her a pink daisy with a red center. Olivia bit into it at once.
“Don’t bother to admire the artistry, Livie, not on my account.”
“Sorry,” Olivia said with a grimace. “Interrupted sleep makes me hungry. You know how much I love your cookies, Maddie. Anyway, I plead distraction. I was thinking about that third letter Clarisse wrote to Greta. . . . You know, the angry one. I’d love to know what Clarisse found out about Greta that was so awful. I was really hoping Clarisse had confided in Mr. Willard, but no such luck.” Olivia noticed the open laptop on the kitchen desk. “No wonder you weren’t listening in on my little contretemps with Olaf out on the sales floor.”
“You’re slipping into French again, Livie.”
“Was not.”
“Were too.”
“Maddie, I promise, ‘contretemps’ is used as an English word, too. Look it up.”
“I am.” Maddie’s fingers sped around the computer keyboard. “Oh. Well, how was I supposed to know that?”
Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) Page 18