A Cookie Before Dying accsm-2

by Virginia Lowell

  “Charlie!” Charlene balled up her fist at her brother but slammed the arm of her chair instead. “Those cookie cutters you gave me, you stole them, too, didn’t you? Now look what you’ve done. You’ve gotten yourself in trouble again. You’ll wind up in jail, Charlie. I can’t bear it.”

  Jason reached his arm around Charlene’s tight shoulders. “It’s okay, Charlene, I’ll pay for the cutters. Charlie isn’t . . . He takes things sometimes when he’s under pressure, like with Geoff blackmailing him, and he only does it to please the people he loves.”

  Olivia did a mental double take. Who was this thoughtful adult pretending to be her brother? “There’s another problem, Jason,” she said. “Remember, the Duesenberg cookie cutter wound up in Geoffrey King’s hand. So we have to wonder, did it fall out of the killer’s pocket? Or did the killer or another person place it in his hand to implicate someone else?”

  “No one will believe me,” Charlie said, hanging his head, “but I lost it. All I know is it disappeared. I looked all over for it so I could bring it back to The Gingerbread House.”

  “That sounds pretty convenient,” Del said. He signaled to Cody, who stood in back of Charlie’s chair ready to arrest him.

  “No!” Charlene linked arms with her brother. “Charlie had nothing to do with it. I put that tin thing in Geoff’s hand. It never occurred to me that you might have stolen it, Charlie, or I wouldn’t have.... I was trying to help you. When I found that Dues-whatever, I figured anybody could have dropped it in my store after shopping at The Gingerbread House, so I thought.... Oh, I don’t know what I thought. I wanted to confuse the police so they wouldn’t assume Charlie killed Geoff to protect me.”

  “But wait a minute,” Olivia said. Her head was spinning. “How did you even know King was dead?”

  “Because I saw the murder—or part of it, anyway. I was upstairs. I woke up and looked out the window onto the park and saw a man leaning down. There was enough light from the band shell lamp that I could see what looked like a body on the grass. The man who was leaning over picked up something and threw it away. Then he ran off.”

  “Which way?” Del asked.

  “I’m not sure, it was getting really dark. Anyway, I ran downstairs and couldn’t find Charlie, so I got scared and . . . That stupid cookie cutter was on a shelf under the cash register, so I grabbed it and ran outside.” Charlene shivered. “I could tell right away that the dead man was Geoff. I was so afraid Charlie had killed him. I looked around until I found a knife in the grass. It was one of my vegetable knives. I didn’t know what to do. I could hear thunder, and I thought, well, rain will wash off the knife. So I left it. Maybe that was stupid.” Charlene shot an insecure glance at Jason.

  Olivia asked, “That knife was part of a set, wasn’t it, Charlene?”

  Charlene nodded. “Geoff stole them one by one because he knew I loved them. I’ll probably never get them back. Maybe I don’t want to.”

  Olivia asked, “Weren’t those knives found in your barn, Heather?”

  Heather’s normally open expression grew guarded. “I think you claimed you saw at least one knife when you found the stuff Geoff stole and hid in my small barn. But I never saw any of that. I practically never go near that barn. Anyway, this is the first I’ve heard of the cookie cutter Charlene says she planted in Geoff’s dead hand.”

  Never mess with a librarian.

  “I didn’t mean to . . .” Charlene had lapsed into nervous whining. “I already explained, I only put that cookie cutter in Geoff’s hand to confuse everybody.”

  “You certainly accomplished that,” Del said. “You also managed to implicate Charlie, Olivia, Jason, Maddie, and others I’ll probably think of later.”

  “No,” Charlene said, “not Charlie. I ran back to The Vegetable Plate. I wasn’t gone more than five or six minutes, and there was Charlie, curled up behind a bookcase, sound asleep. I hadn’t thought to look for him there. And he hadn’t been outside because his shoes and pant legs were perfectly dry. I checked.”

  “He didn’t wake up while you were running around the store or checking his pants?” Del asked.

  “It would take a bomb to wake Charlie up,” Charlene said in her old, snide voice. “I left him asleep and went back upstairs.”

  Del looked unconvinced. Olivia noticed that even her besotted brother regarded the love of his young life with puzzled concern. With Charlene on the defensive, Olivia decided to press harder. “Maybe you were gone longer than you thought,” she said. “Charlie could have sneaked in the back door, changed his clothes, and pretended to be asleep.”

  “No!” Charlene looked to Jason for support and saw doubt on his face. “I’m not lying. It happened just like I said. Anyway, I keep telling you, Charlie didn’t have to be afraid. I could—”

  “You could protect Charlie, so you keep saying.” Olivia held out her hands toward Charlene, palms up. “But how do we know you aren’t protecting him with this improbable story about the Duesenberg cookie cutter? He already admitted that he stole it. It’s much easier to believe that Charlie killed King and the cutter fell out of his pocket. Or if Charlie didn’t do it, then you did, and you were trying to cast suspicion on Jason. Everyone knew Jason loved that cutter.”

  “But—” Frantic now, Charlene shot up from her chair. Her paper plate with the remains of a carrot sandwich scattered on the floor. Del stood up, his hand near his service revolver. Cody and Lucas moved in closer. Charlene reached beseechingly toward Jason, who looked like he was on the verge of collapse.

  Olivia felt awful, but it was the only plan she had. “Charlene,” she said more gently, “you might be able to convince us of your innocence, and of Charlie’s, if the evidence you have against Geoffrey is powerful enough. It’ll need to be good because we already know that he hit you and destroyed your property.”

  “It is powerful. I can bring it to you as soon as the banks open on Monday.”

  “We will go with you,” Del said. “But meanwhile, tell us what we’ll find in your safe-deposit box.”

  “It’s as simple as that, Charlene,” Olivia said. “Jason is still in danger, and he is my highest priority. If you refuse to convince us that you and Charlie had no reason to kill King, we’ll have to assume that you are lying.”

  Charlene sank back into her chair. “Oh, all right. It’s just that I never wanted anyone to know about that time in my life. It was so humiliating. That’s why I let Geoff get away with hitting me, even though I could put him in jail. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Jason intertwined his fingers with Charlene’s, and her shoulders relaxed. “I was in the hospital for a while after my annulment. It wasn’t the first time.” Charlene locked eyes with Jason, her best high school friend. “I met someone there who knew Geoff, someone he’d hurt badly. She was in the hospital recovering. He did that a lot—hurt women. Anyway, she and I got to be friends, at least until I left the hospital. She didn’t want to press charges. I never saw her again after that, but she gave me a signed note stating what Geoff did to her. She said if I needed protection from him, I could use the note, even if it meant giving it to the police.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Del get up and stretch, as if he were satisfied and ready to leave. Cody checked his cell phone, and Raoul refilled his wineglass. Olivia felt a wave of exhaustion, but she wasn’t ready to let go. There was more, she felt sure of it.

  “Who was the woman you got the statement from?” Olivia asked. “What was her name?”

  Charlene heaved an exhausted sigh. “Oh Livie, does it really matter? Let us have our privacy.”

  “Why were you both in the hospital? What kind of hospital was it?”

  “There’s no reason for you to be ashamed, Charlene,” Jason said. “Tell them.”

  Charlene’s lower lip began a pout, but a look from Jason reversed it. “We were being treated for anorexia,” she said.

  Olivia tried to catch Del’s eye, but he was writing a text m
essage. “And your friend, was she by any chance a lovely young ballerina who had been slashed down the cheek—?” Olivia hopped sideways as the chair beside her did a somersault backward. A second earlier, Del had been sitting in that chair. He ran at Raoul, who threw his glass of wine at Del’s eyes. His aim was perfect. Del hesitated for only a split second, wiping his eyes with his sleeve to clear his vision.

  Cody was too far away to help, so he aimed his revolver at Raoul.

  “No weapons,” Del yelled. He raced across the sales floor, knocking over display tables as he positioned himself between Raoul and the front door. Del adopted a fighter’s stance, bent forward, ready to tackle.

  As if he had rehearsed for months, Raoul took a few running steps and lifted into the air like a gazelle. Startled, Del ducked. Raoul’s long, outstretched legs cleared Del’s back by inches and delivered him nearly to the front door. As Raoul reached toward it, the door opened on its own.

  Olivia’s ex-husband Ryan stood in the doorway. “There you are, Livie,” Ryan said, looking past Raoul and Del, both frozen in place. “Sorry I’m late. This town is so small, I almost missed it.” Raoul tried to push past Ryan, who was not accustomed to jostling by strangers. “Hey, buddy, watch it.” With Del gaining on him, Raoul hit Ryan in the chest with a powerful shoulder. Ryan’s face turned beet red.

  Del and Cody were within grabbing distance of Raoul. Olivia, who knew Ryan’s stubbornness and his temper, called out to him, “Ryan, get out of the way. Let the police handle this.”

  Ryan ignored her. He swung his fist into Raoul’s stomach, then yowled in pain. Raoul stumbled backward into Del and Cody, throwing them off balance. All three fell in a heap on the floor. Del was the first to recover. He rolled up on his knees and got a firm hold on Raoul’s wrists, while Cody slapped on some handcuffs. Raoul stopped struggling. To Olivia’s surprise, he began to cry.

  “What is this, the Wild West?” Ryan held his injured right hand gently in his left palm. “I think my hand is broken. I’m holding all of you responsible,” he said to the three winded men. “If this damages my surgery career, I’m suing you all.”

  Olivia suppressed a giggle, telling herself she was simply nervous. Ryan didn’t deserve to have his hand broken. Well, maybe he did.... The Gingerbread House was a mess. Tables lay on their sides, their precious cookie cutter displays spread all over the floor. Several mobiles hung crookedly, as if they’d been used as swinging vines. At least the expensive baking equipment had been spared.

  Ryan caught sight of Olivia across the sales floor. “Livie, come over here. I’m taking you away from this . . . this uncivilized backwater right now.”

  Olivia ignored him.

  “Olivia Greyson, do you hear me?”

  Del shot a glance in Olivia’s direction, and Maddie moved up beside her. Olivia felt perfectly calm as she gazed across the cluttered floor at her ex-husband. “You’d better get that hand looked at, Ryan,” she said. “We have a small hospital in this backwater, but I think they own an X-ray machine. I’m sure Del or Cody will be glad to run you over there as soon as they are done here.” Without waiting for a response, Olivia picked her way through cookie cutters to the table where the wine and glasses miraculously stood undamaged. She poured two glasses and handed one to Maddie. “To The Gingerbread House,” she said, clinking Maddie’s glass.

  “Long may she live,” Maddie said, the hint of a tear in her voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Olivia should have been deep in peaceful slumber, but her mind churned nonstop. Spunky crawled on top of her stomach and watched her face. “Sorry I’m restless, Spunks. Loose ends.” She reached over and turned on her bedside light. Her cell read eleven twenty-seven. Maybe she’d gone to bed too early, but she’d felt worn out. She and Maddie had supervised the cleanup of the sales floor, much of which their guests had completed. Even Charlene and Charlie stayed to help. Afterward, they’d finished off the wine—with tea for Charlene, of course—and trundled off to their various homes and beds.

  A detail was trying to work its way loose from Olivia’s jumbled thoughts. She reviewed Del’s report to her on Raoul’s tearful confession. He admitted that Geoffrey King had brutally attacked and scarred his daughter Valentina. She’d been a promising but shy, insecure ballerina, trained privately by her equally shy and insecure mother, Lara. Lara’s health had suffered because of her anorexia, and she’d died right as Valentina was about to audition for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. Raoul claimed that his daughter was, if anything, even more talented than his wife. Valentina lived to dance, he’d said. Raoul had hoped her confidence would grow with success.

  Lara’s death changed everything. Without her mother’s advice and encouragement, Valentina slid into the quicksand of self-doubt and perfectionism, which soon became anorexia and depression. That’s when Geoffrey King entered her life. He completed her downfall and, by slashing her face, ensured she would never appear in public again.

  After hearing rumors about the dancer in the park, Raoul realized Valentina wasn’t taking the sleeping pills he’d gotten for her. He confessed he lost control when he realized King was in town and had threatened Valentina again. Raoul sneaked out to the park, figuring Geoff would be there waiting for Valentina, and stabbed him. Raoul swore his daughter had already run off before he killed Geoff.

  It made perfect sense. Olivia felt sympathetic toward Raoul and hoped a judge and jury would go easy on him, although murder is murder. But something was bugging her. If she could only . . . Raoul told Del that Valentina was safely back in the care of her psychiatrist at the hospital in DC. He had seen the end coming, he said, when Constance Overton asked him to attend the celebration of Jason’s release at The Gingerbread House. To Raoul, that meant the police had more evidence.

  Olivia sat up and wedged her pillow behind her back. Spunky jumped off the bed, trotted to the bedroom door, and sat on his little haunches. “That makes two of us,” Olivia said. “Let’s have a snack.”

  In the kitchen, Spunky munched on a doggie treat while Olivia sipped warm chocolate milk and allowed herself one decorated cookie: a pair of bright red toe shoes. They reminded her of Valentina. Using Spunky as a sounding board, Olivia sorted her thoughts out loud. “Unless I’m misremembering,” she said, “Raoul wasn’t entirely consistent about why I couldn’t talk to or visit Valentina. I think when he first told us about his new teaching job, he said ‘we’ would be leaving soon, as if Valentina was going with him. When Mom and I insisted on talking to her about what she might have seen in the park, Raoul’s story began to change. First I think he said there wasn’t time, they were leaving so quickly. Then he talked about how fragile Valentina was, she needed rest, he’d made arrangements, she’d be gone by morning.... It wasn’t until his confession to Del that Raoul said he had already sent his daughter to the psychiatric hospital in DC.”

  Spunky finished his treat and gazed hopefully at his mistress. “What do you think, Spunks? Could Del have misinterpreted?” Spunky yapped at her and trotted toward the treat cupboard. “You’re right, of course,” Olivia said. “Del doesn’t make mistakes like that.” She glanced up at the kitchen wall clock. Nearly twelve thirty a.m. She didn’t want to awaken Del for something that might be nothing. “On the other hand, what if Raoul really did make arrangements for Valentina to be picked up in the morning? And what if Valentina is all alone in the dance studio, waiting for her father to return?”

  “I need to take a short trip,” Olivia said. Spunky yapped and wagged his tail. “Alone,” Olivia added. “You stay safe and snug in your bed.” She changed into jeans and a black T-shirt and headed for the door, where she realized she’d forgotten her keys. After locating her keys, she unlocked her apartment door, then remembered to fetch her cell phone. Halfway down the stairs, she decided to pack some ballerina cookies, in case Valentina was alone and scared. “It’ll be dawn by the time I make it there,” she muttered as she filled a Gingerbread Box with cookies. She’d forgotten to close the stor
e door on the way in, so she told herself to pay attention as she carefully locked the door on her way out.

  Olivia drove to Willow Road, parked at the north end of the block, and walked to the front door of the dance studio. The ground floor was in complete darkness, but Olivia had seen a faint light showing through the curtain covering Valentina’s bedroom window.

  Olivia still had the studio key she’d borrowed from Constance Overton. She unlocked the front door and slipped inside. She eased the door shut behind her and stood in the dark, letting her eyes adjust. A light switched on in the office across the dance floor. A slender form appeared in the doorway with the light behind her. Valentina hesitated for a few seconds, then cried out, “Daddy, you are so late.” Light as air, Valentina glided across the dance floor toward Olivia. She halted abruptly when she realized the form in the dark was not her father.

  “Valentina, please don’t be frightened. It’s Olivia Greyson. You remember me, don’t you? My friend and I are the ones who make cookies.” She held out her box. “I brought you some ballet cookies—ballerinas, toe shoes, ballet slippers. . . .”

  Valentina glanced at the box and backed away. “Where is my daddy?” She was dressed all in pale blue: leotard, tights, ballet slippers, and a gathered skirt made of blue silk. Her waist-length white-blond hair hung loosely over her shoulders. Olivia noted that her delicate beauty was marred less by the scar on her cheek than by her excessive thinness. Her shoulder sockets showed beneath her stretched skin.

  “He’s . . . he’s been delayed,” Olivia said. “He asked me to come over and reassure you. I understood from your father that you haven’t been feeling well lately? Can I help?” When Valentina didn’t respond, Olivia said, “Your father might be quite late, so he asked me to stay with you for a while.”