Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery)

by Virginia Lowell

  “You are scary, Aunt Sadie,” Maddie said.

  Aunt Sadie’s delighted grin knocked twenty years off her apparent age. “You’ve known that for a long time, Maddie. Well, ask away. Unlike some, I freely admit my love for a good gossip session. Although some folks deserve being gossiped about more than others.”

  “I’d say Greta falls into that category,” Olivia said. “Maddie and I have been racking our brains trying to figure out a list of suspects . . . in case it turns out she really was murdered, of course. Del is out of town, and it’s not that we don’t trust Cody, but . . . Well, he doesn’t seem to be doing anything.”

  With a gentle smile, Aunt Sadie said, “Cody Furlow is an earnest boy. I used to help him study for math exams. That boy couldn’t add two and two, but nobody ever tried harder. That’s what got in his way. He overthought every problem, and sometimes he’d talk himself into the wrong answer. Luckily, math isn’t police work. Cody will be a fine officer once he gets enough experience and stops second-guessing himself.”

  “Maddie is right,” Olivia said. “You really are scary.”

  “Enough of that, now.” Aunt Sadie took a long sip of lemonade. “Let’s talk about Greta, poor lamb. Oh, I know she could be arrogant and selfish and just plain mean. No denying that.”

  “No kidding,” Maddie said. “She was awful to Clarisse Chamberlain.”

  “Ah, well, Martin played his part in that episode,” Aunt Sadie said. “Is that what you wanted to ask about, Livie?”

  “That, and more.” Olivia opened the Gingerbread House bag and offered it to Aunt Sadie, who reached inside and snared two daisy-shaped cookies, one pink and the other purple. Olivia passed the bag over to Maddie.

  “Clarisse is gone now, rest her soul,” Aunt Sadie said. “It won’t hurt her if I tell you what she told me in confidence.” She bit off a pink daisy petal and sighed with contentment.

  “Clarisse actually discussed Martin’s affair with you?” Olivia asked.

  “Oh, Livie,” Maddie said. “You know perfectly well that everyone tells Aunt Sadie everything.”

  “Poor, dear Clarisse.” Aunt Sadie put her cookies on a plate. “Martin was a good man, a fine businessman, and he adored Clarisse. But he was so naive when it came to women. Most of the women he met were wives of other businessmen, and he didn’t take them seriously. Clarisse told me it drove her crazy. When they had dinner parties, Martin would talk to the men and ignore the women.”

  “Which meant Clarisse was stuck with the wives,” Olivia said. “In those days, all they talked about were kids and how hard it was to get good help. At least times have changed.”

  “There were plenty of interesting women in those days, Livie,” Aunt Sadie said with gentle sternness. “Clarisse enjoyed having a chance to meet many of them. Martin paid so little attention to women that he ignored the ones who were business partners with their husbands, even though Clarisse was his business partner. That wasn’t wise, of course. Clarisse was left the job of placating them, which she did with grace and pleasure.”

  “Point taken,” Olivia said, with a contrite smile. “My mom tells me the same thing all the time. But back to Clarisse and Martin . . .” She relayed to Aunt Sadie the content of Clarisse’s last three letters to Greta, along with Bertha’s memories. “Apparently, Clarisse had forgiven Greta for her affair with Martin, but then Clarisse got some sort of communication—we think it was a letter—that made her angry again. Aunt Sadie, do you know anything that might help me understand what was going on? Do you have any idea who sent that letter and what might have been in it?”

  With a sad smile, Aunt Sadie said, “I’m afraid I do. She asked me never to speak of it, and I never have, but given the circumstances . . .”

  Maddie refilled the lemonade glasses while Aunt Sadie nibbled her cookie, apparently gathering her thoughts and memories. “Bertha’s information is correct, as far as it goes,” Aunt Sadie said. She stroked the silky hair on Spunky’s head. “Martin swore that his dalliance with Greta was short, and Clarisse believed him. Anger and resentment were such uncomfortable emotions for Clarisse. She forgave Martin and Greta both, perhaps too quickly. She so wanted to feel content again. If a business partner had betrayed her, Clarisse would have required absolute proof that the offender had confessed everything and was genuinely contrite. But Martin was the love of her life. So she accepted his story without question, and she moved on.”

  “Are you saying that the letter Clarisse received later . . . the one Bertha saw her holding . . . ?” Olivia felt lightheaded and realized her breathing had become shallow.

  “Clarisse showed me that letter,” Aunt Sadie said. “It was indeed from Greta. Thinking about this makes me so sad . . . and angry.”

  Maddie lightly touched her aunt’s arm. “If it’s too hard for you, Aunt Sadie, please don’t risk—”

  “I’m fine, sweetheart.” Aunt Sadie patted Maddie’s hand. “I’ve wanted an excuse to get this off my chest ever since Greta Oskarson showed up again in Chatterley Heights. My heart will be stronger for it. You see, Greta Oskarson was a blackmailer of the worst kind. She was so greedy, and she had not one ounce of compassion for the innocents she devastated along the way. Martin, poor soul, had lied to his wife about the length of his affair with Greta. More than once, Martin returned to Europe alone for business. The two of them met again at least one time, although Martin had sworn to Clarisse that they’d had only one brief fling. Greta included a photo with her letter to Clarisse. It showed an older Martin with Greta at an outdoor café in Paris. Clarisse said that Martin did not appear to be aware of the photographer. Martin wasn’t doing anything improper in the photo, but the fact that he had lied about seeing Greta again was enough to convince Clarisse he had betrayed her.”

  “But why would Greta send such a letter?” Olivia asked. “Martin was dead. What did she hope to accomplish?”

  Aunt Sadie sighed and shook her head. “Wounded pride,” she said. “You see, when Clarisse wrote that she had forgiven Greta, she happened to mention Martin’s assertion that the affair had ended quickly. Greta was enraged. To her, it seemed as if Martin had taken the relationship lightly. She took it as a personal insult, and she wanted revenge. She bided her time, waiting for Clarisse to let down her guard . . . to be more vulnerable again.”

  “Are you saying Greta wrote that letter out of sheer spite?”

  Aunt Sadie nodded. “Greta didn’t want forgiveness from a wronged wife. She believed she’d been able to seduce so many men because she was superior to their wives. To Greta, forgiveness felt belittling. Her revenge on Clarisse was carefully timed to do the most damage.”

  “Yikes,” Maddie said.

  “Greta took such awful vengeance on Clarisse because Martin had downplayed the affair.” Olivia felt a surge of anger that made her shiver in the heat.

  Aunt Sadie nodded. “Of course, by downplaying the affair, Martin had made it easier for Clarisse to forgive Greta.”

  “Martin wasn’t always smart about people and I don’t understand how he could do something like that to the wife he seemingly adored,” Olivia said. “But what Greta did was . . . It was incredibly cruel.” Olivia thought about Clarisse, about how betrayed she must have felt. “It’s so hard to fathom.”

  Aunt Sadie slowly shook her head. “It was very, very cold. Greta was self-obsessed, to put it mildly. I fear some of the fault belongs to her parents. You see, they treated her like a princess. They made her believe she was better and more deserving than everyone else. Greta’s father was an impoverished Swedish immigrant. Her mother was a first-generation Swedish American, and her family had been middle class in Sweden. However, their status declined after they emigrated. They were older when Greta was born. She was their only child, angelically beautiful, as well as brilliant and talented. They doted on her.”

  “Lots of kids get spoiled,” Maddie said, “but they don’t aut
omatically turn vicious.”

  “Of course not, dear heart.” Aunt Sadie patted Maddie’s arm. “Frequently such children grow up when they have to face the world. Reality has a way of puncturing illusions about oneself.”

  “Clearly, reality didn’t have that effect with Greta,” Olivia said.

  “Oh, I think Greta did become disillusioned, but it hardened her. She wanted revenge on the world when it failed to provide the rewards she had been taught to expect.” Aunt Sadie sipped her lemonade. “I think I need another cookie, if you don’t mind.”

  Maddie held open the Gingerbread House bag, and Aunt Sadie selected another daisy, decorated with emerald green polka dots on pale green icing. Maddie took a random cookie, which turned out to be dark blue with pale yellow polka dots. She passed the bag to Olivia.

  Before taking a bite of her cookie, Aunt Sadie said, “Livie, I regret not warning you about Greta as soon as I heard she’d asked you to handle the sale of her collection. I so hoped she had come home because she’d had a change of heart and wished to make amends. I suppose that’s my weakness, wanting to believe that people can change for the better.”

  Olivia reached over and patted Aunt Sadie’s hand. “That isn’t a weakness,” she said.

  The three women sipped lemonade and munched their cookies in silence. When she’d finished her cookie, Olivia asked, “Aunt Sadie, could we impose upon you awhile longer?”

  “Stop fussing, Livie. How else can I help you two?”

  Olivia reached into a quilted bag her mother had made for her. She retrieved several sheets of paper and handed them to Aunt Sadie. “This is a list of the cookie cutters in Greta Oskarson’s collection. I brought along the ones I’ve marked on the list. We haven’t shown this to anyone else. At the moment, we aren’t sure what will be done with the collection. It might be taken out of our hands at any time, but so far no one has even talked about what is going to happen to it.” Olivia found herself feeling grateful to Cody for his hesitancy. If Del were in charge, by now he probably would have taken the list and the collection for evidence.

  Aunt Sadie took the list and scanned the first page. “Fascinating,” she said. “How can I be of help?”

  “Aunt Sadie, please don’t mention this to anyone,” Olivia said. “The collection has been in one of the bank’s secure storage units. I picked out some of the older, presumably more valuable ones to show you. But before we do that, we’d like your first impressions of that list. You know your antiques, including cookie cutters.”

  Aunt Sadie’s eyes lit up. “What fun. I will need my reading glasses, however. Maddie, would you . . . ?”

  “Sure,” Maddie said. “Any idea where you left them?”

  “Not a clue, I’m afraid.”

  Maddie chuckled. “Okay then, I’ll check the usual places. Be back in a sec.”

  While Maddie searched for her aunt’s glasses, Olivia said, “We aren’t trying to test you, Aunt Sadie. We don’t even know what we are expecting you to say. We just want to hear anything that strikes you as you read this list and look at the cutters. I have a strong sense that this collection is somehow connected to Greta’s murder.”

  “Do you think the collection is truly valuable enough to kill for?” Aunt Sadie asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Olivia said. “Greta’s collection seems quite impressive, but it would be unusual for cookie cutters to be valuable enough to make someone commit murder, at least in sheer monetary terms. But there’s something about this collection . . .” Olivia quickly told Aunt Sadie about their discovery of Greta’s hidden note containing the combination to the Gingerbread House safe. “Frankly,” Olivia added, “I’m still not sure why Greta chose me to sell her collection. Aunt Sadie, am I making a big deal out of nothing?”

  Aunt Sadie frowned in silence until Maddie burst out of the front door with altogether too much energy. “Sorry it took so long to find your reading glasses,” Maddie said. “Honestly, I think you invent new hiding places just to give me exercise.” She handed the half-glasses to her aunt. “I found them under your pillow this time. You’d made the bed, too.”

  Aunt Sadie took the glasses and absently dropped them on the table.

  “Are you feeling okay, Aunt Sadie?” Maddie asked. “Can I get you anything?”

  “What? Oh no, dear, I was just thinking.” Turning to Olivia, Aunt Sadie said, “No, I don’t think you are imagining things. I knew Greta rather better than many. She and I were close in age, though she was a couple years younger. I was always interested in people, as you know. I couldn’t help but watch Greta’s behavior. She looked like an angel, but I certainly wouldn’t have crossed her. She used to steal boyfriends from other girls, but not because she really wanted them. She did it to show that she could. I began to realize how carefully she planned each conquest.”

  “Like the way she punished poor Clarisse?” Maddie asked.

  “Exactly,” Aunt Sadie said. “Greta worked out intricate plans to achieve her purpose. She thought about everything, including what to do if her plans went awry.”

  Aunt Sadie settled her reading glasses on her nose. “Now, let’s have a look at this cookie cutter list, shall we?” She read through the pages in silence, her frown deepening. When she’d finished, Aunt Sadie slid her glasses halfway down her nose to look at Olivia’s face. “Did you say you’d brought along some of the cutters?”

  Olivia dug into her satchel and drew out two plastic bags, each containing six cookie cutters. “I wasn’t sure which ones to show you, so I brought the oldest, along with a sample of newer ones, though they would all seem to qualify as antiques.” She slid the zippers at the tops of the bags and put them on the table next to Aunt Sadie.

  Aunt Sadie picked up the bag containing the oldest cutters. She carefully removed the cutters, one by one, and placed them on her lap. Olivia handed her back the list describing Greta’s entire cookie cutter collection.

  “I marked the older cutters with black ink,” Olivia said, “and the younger ones with blue. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, Aunt Sadie. Maybe just your first reactions or instincts . . .”

  Aunt Sadie picked up the first cutter, a six-pointed star, and held it in her palm as if testing its weight. She ran her finger along the surface and the cutting edge, feeling for nicks. Finally, she pushed her glasses closer to her eyes and examined the cutter, inside and out. Olivia and Maddie remained silent as they watched Aunt Sadie work through all six cutters, giving each the same careful attention. Without speaking, she replaced them in their bag and went through the same process with the younger cutters in the second bag.

  Olivia’s shoulders felt stiff from the intensity of watching Aunt Sadie’s examination . . . and from her own building curiosity. “Aunt Sadie, I’m about to explode. What do you think?”

  “Well . . .” Aunt Sadie frowned. “It’s so difficult to know anything for certain. Remember, I am not an expert on antique or even vintage cookie cutters. I would feel better if you consulted someone more knowledgeable. Maybe you could speak with someone at the National Cookie Cutter Historical Museum? They know so much more than me, and they have Phyllis Wetherill’s writings, which I can only dream of owning.”

  With a pleading look, Olivia said, “Aunt Sadie, that museum is in Joplin, Missouri, and we are in Chatterley Heights, Maryland, where we’re pretty sure there’s a murderer wandering around free. At least, we are convinced Greta’s death wasn’t entirely natural, even if the medical examiner is hedging his bets. I can’t risk shipping these cutters to the museum. What if they got lost or smashed in the mail? Besides, it would take too long. Aunt Sadie, you know so much more about cutter history than we do, and you’ve seen and held lots of vintage and antique cutters.”

  “Or talk to Anita Rambert,” Aunt Sadie said. “If it’s experience you want, she’s got more than I do. Anita knows more about the monetary value of antiques, too.”


  Olivia hesitated. She couldn’t yet justify her concern about Anita, but she decided to take the risk. “Aunt Sadie, I suspect Anita might be planning to take over the collection. I know it sounds far-fetched, but . . .” Olivia told Aunt Sadie about the disappearance of Greta’s original collection list.

  “Have you asked Constance if she knows where the original got to?” Aunt Sadie asked.

  “Not directly,” Olivia admitted, “but I do know that Constance had Craig make one copy for her files, and she thought she was giving me the original. When I called Constance, she confirmed that she has a copy, as do I. So where’s the original?”

  “Oh, my,” Aunt Sadie said. “Well, sometimes Anita does get carried away. She isn’t selfish and mean, though. She probably had the best intentions. Did you say the name Craig?”

  “Craig Evans, I believe,” Olivia said. “He is Constance’s office manager.”

  Aunt Sadie shook her head and said, “Dear, dear. Craig is also Anita Rambert’s cousin. Anita got him the job with Constance. Now, Livie, don’t look like that. Craig got that job well before Greta Oskarson made it known she would be returning to Chatterley Heights. My guess is Anita was worried you weren’t knowledgeable and experienced enough to get top dollar for Greta’s cutters, so she twisted her cousin’s arm to get hold of that list for her. He probably took the original by mistake.”

  Olivia had to admit, at least to herself, that Aunt Sadie was probably right. Anita was an antiques expert, and she could play rough when it came to business, but she wasn’t known as a cheat. She fought fair. Still . . . Olivia recalled the swinging hair of the slender figure she’d observed walking away from Constance’s building. “I’ll get Anita for this,” Olivia said.