by Kim Davis
With two dozen frozen, pre-formed ginger crackle cookie dough balls arranged between two baking sheets to defrost, I turned the oven on. My mother considered it good manners to bring food and flowers to a grieving family. I always kept several dozen cookie dough balls in my freezer for emergencies… like a condolence visit, a potluck at work, or if a friend dropped by to chat. Nothing could make people feel special like fresh-baked cookies.
While the oven preheated and the cookie dough thawed a bit, I added eye drops to the red orbs of my eyes, redid my smeared makeup, and smoothed down my bedhead hair. My eyes were still puffy, despite the tea bags, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t want to waste any more time feeling sorry for myself.
Once the oven finished preheating, I slid the baking sheets into the oven and set a timer. My rumpled clothes weren’t up to a condolence visit, so I changed into turquoise capris with a frilly white blouse—the perfect outfit for going to the beach and for hot, summery weather. But then again, this was a sympathy visit, so I didn’t want to seem frivolous. I changed again, this time into black slacks and a muted burgundy silk blouse and tied a burgundy floral-patterned scarf around my neck. Instead of fun strappy sandals, I opted for sensible kitten-heeled pumps. My mother would be proud of me.
While the cookies cooled on a wire rack beneath a ceiling fan, I lined a basket with a moss-green linen napkin. Once the cookies had completely cooled, I arranged all but six of them in the basket, wrapped the package with cellophane, and tied the top with a silver ribbon. It would have to do. The remaining six cookies went into a clear, treat-sized cellophane bag, which I also tied with a silver ribbon.
The doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I found an elderly locksmith bent over at the waist, looking at my lock.
“Mrs. Emory?” the white-haired man asked with an Eastern European accent. “You called for a locksmith? I am Yuri and at your service.”
“Yes. Thank you for coming so quickly.” I gestured into the house. “I can show you all the doors that need changed.”
He followed me after removing his shoes in the entryway. “It smells so good in here.” He sniffed again. “Is that cinnamon and ginger?”
“Yes. I baked some ginger crackle cookies and saved some for you.” I grabbed the cellophane bag from my dining table and handed the package to the locksmith. “It would be unkind to let you smell the cookies and not share with you.”
The elderly man gave me a short bow. “Thank you. I haven’t had homemade cookies since my wife passed away five years ago.”
“I’m so sorry about your wife.” The conversation felt awkward now that I had dredged up painful memories for the man. Should I offer him a glass of milk to go with his cookies or continue showing him the locks?
Yuri saved me from deciding. “You were going to show me all the locks you need changed?”
“Ah, yes. There are only three.” I led him to the door that led out to the garage. “Can you reprogram the garage door opener too?”
“Yes. That shouldn’t be any trouble. I will need your remote opener and a ladder.”
Thirty minutes later, as I finished cleaning the baking sheets, Yuri came into the kitchen and handed me an invoice. “I am finished, Mrs. Emory.”
“You are fast! I thought it would take a couple of hours.”
“My family has owned our business for fifty years since I first came to America.” Yuri tapped his chest with pride. “I learned from my father, who learned from his. We are good at our job.”
“What an inspiring life you’ve led. I’m sure you have lots of stories to tell.”
“That I do.” He pointed at the invoice. “But if you don’t mind, I need to get to my next call.”
“Is a check okay, or do you prefer a credit card?”
“A check is fine. I know where you live.” He chuckled. “Here is the one and only master key. You will need to get copies made.”
As soon as Yuri left, I loaded up the cookies and drove to the closest florist. I purchased a bouquet of assorted flowers the clerk assured me were suitable for a sympathy visit and winced as I handed over my credit card. The real murderer needed to be found as soon as possible so I could get another job. My bills weren’t going to pay themselves. But I couldn’t visit Mrs. Carlton without offering my condolences, and nothing said sympathy like flowers and cookies.
Mrs. Carlton lived in Corona del Mar, a few blocks from the Pacific Ocean. Parking was almost nonexistent during the summer months, unless you showed up early in the morning. I drove up and down streets, moving farther and farther away from the place of my intended visit, until I chanced upon a young family loading sandy beach toys into the back of their SUV. I waited patiently while they cleaned sand from the legs and feet of their two towheaded toddlers and strapped them into their car seats. A twinge of regret hurt my heart, and I wondered if I’d ever have the chance to have children. Philip had always insisted we weren’t ready to discuss the possibility, and in hindsight, it was for the best.
Once they pulled out, I started the torturous task of trying to parallel park in the impossibly small space the family had just vacated. After three attempts, I decided it was good enough, even though the front of my car measured three feet from the curb. Too impatient to try again to straighten the car, I gave up and turned off the ignition.
I carried the heavy vase of flowers and the basket of cookies as I trudged downhill. I had several blocks to walk until I came to Mrs. Carlton’s snug little home. By the time I reached the house, my feet were screaming, and I wished I could change into athletic shoes. My tired arms couldn’t wait to deliver their heavy loads. My once-clean silk blouse stuck to my back, and I was sure my makeup slid down my face. The hot midday sun baked the road, the sidewalk, and my head. I missed the usual cool ocean breeze, which was noticeably absent. No wonder people were flocking to the beach.
A white picket fence lined her property; her yard was covered with roses and other blooming flowers. The yard reminded me of a wild English garden—a bit chaotic but very inviting with the bistro table and two chairs sitting beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The bright, cheery red door complemented the brown-and-cream-colored stonework façade. I hadn’t really met Mrs. Carlton before, but she had waved to me from her front steps when I picked Tori up several months ago. I hadn’t been invited in since Tori rushed to my car and said she was running late for her manicure appointment. Apparently, the friend she loaned her car to hadn’t shown up when promised, so she had asked me to provide transportation service.
I rang the doorbell and my arms sighed in relief when Tori’s mom answered the door. I noticed her eyes weren’t red or puffy. Dressed in sharply creased gray slacks with a light-pink silk blouse and her white-blonde hair curled around her round face, she looked ready for a luncheon or a visit to upscale shops. A strand of pearls lay wrapped around her neck, and small pearls with diamond accents rested on her earlobes.
“Mrs. Carlton, please accept my most sincere condolences. I am so, so sorry for your loss.” I tried to put the vase into her hands, but she backed away from me. Uh-oh. Was she worried I was the killer? Would she call the police?
“Really, Mrs. Carlton, I had nothing to do with Tori’s death, and I hate that people think that’s the case.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Young lady, you have the wrong house.”
Chapter 14
Oh, dear Lord. Had someone not notified her about Tori’s death?
“Are you Mrs. Carlton?” I shifted the vase to rest on my hip and hoped I wouldn’t drop the flowers.
“No. You’re mistaking me for someone else.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she gripped the handle of the door, probably so she could slam it in my face. “I’m Mrs. Landow.”
Had Tori’s mom remarried and taken a different last name? Clearly this poor woman hadn’t been notified, or perhaps she was suffering from early dementia. “Um, I’m sorry to break the news to you, but Tori lost her life.”
“Wait a minut
e, you were here with that good-for-nothing tart a couple months ago.” The woman leaned toward me and examined my face. “I’m calling the police.”
I backed away and hoped I could make a run for it without dropping the heavy vase of flowers. Did she think I was a murderer too? “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You don’t need to get the police involved.”
“Zeus! Come!” The woman’s sharp guttural command cracked in the hot summer air. “Don’t move, young lady, or my dog will attack.”
I gulped when the biggest Doberman Pinscher I’d ever seen came to the door and sat by his mistress. No way could I outrun the beast.
“I’m sorry, Missus… really, this has been a huge misunderstanding. I didn’t kill her.”
“You said that before.” Mrs. Landow rested her hand on the top of her dog’s head, which came nearly to her waist. “I don’t care if you killed her or not. It’s probably what she deserved. What I do care about is that you cased my house and, two days later, stole the artwork I had assembled for my exhibition.”
“I know nothing about that.” My heart pounded. I was terrified she would allow her dog to tear me apart. “I only gave Tori a ride home. She said you were her, uh, mother.”
“Right.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Why would she say that?”
“If you’re not related to her, then what was Tori doing here?” My face flamed. I’d been played by Tori again. Had everything she told me been a lie?
“She offered to come give me a manicure and pedicure, since I’d been too busy preparing for the exhibition to get to her salon.”
“You were a client at her salon?” I needed to keep her talking while I figured out how to walk away without bite marks.
“Yes. It’s such a lovely salon.” Mrs. Landow looked at her nails and scowled. “Tori did beautiful work. I’d been a regular client there for six months before she took advantage of me.”
“Why do you think Tori had something to do with the theft?” I eyed the dog, grateful his owner still held onto him. “Maybe it was a coincidence?”
Mrs. Landow’s face changed from thoughtful to downright angry. “If it was only a coincidence, then why was her cell phone disconnected, and why haven’t I been able to locate her?”
“That’s odd. I talked to her almost every day on her cell phone.” I thought back and realized I hadn’t visited her salon in a long time. Tori always wanted to meet elsewhere. Could Tori have used a different number for clients? “Do you happen to still have her phone number?”
She pulled a slim cell phone from a pocket in her slacks and turned on the device. I was a little worried when she removed her hand from the dog’s head to access her phone. But Zeus remained still as a carved statue, except for his eyes. His gaze followed my every move, and I barely dared to breathe.
Mrs. Landow recited a phone number.
“No, that’s not the phone number I had for her.” I needed to scratch my nose, but my hands were full of flowers and cookies. I scrunched my nose up and down a couple of times, trying to relieve my discomfort. My arms ached to put my load down, but I was afraid to move, so I shifted my feet a little to adjust the weight and kept close watch on the Doberman.
“I still need to call the police so they can sort this out. You’re probably involved and know where the artwork can be recovered.”
“Please believe me, I had nothing to do with it.” My mind whirled, trying to figure out a way to talk her out of calling the police. I didn’t need to be arrested again. My mother would kill me. “If I was guilty, would I be here, bringing you flowers and cookies as a condolence for her death?”
The woman sighed and tapped her toe a few times. “You have a good point.”
“I really don’t know any more than you do, Mrs. Landow. Please, just let me walk away and let the police investigate Tori’s death. Maybe they’ll turn something up on your art.”
“Well, if she really is dead, then perhaps….” She didn’t finish her sentence or say anything else.
And then I noticed her eyes were fixated on the flowers. I realized she wanted to keep them. Great. I’d spent over a hundred dollars on flowers for nothing. However, if sacrificing the arrangement got me away from her terrifying attack dog, it would be worth it.
I thrust the vase out. “If you’d like to keep these, I’d be happy for you to enjoy them, along with the cookies.”
She walked down the steps and eagerly grabbed the arrangement and basket from my hands. Then she edged back toward her dog. “If you’re sure you don’t want to keep them, I’d be delighted to take them. My bridge group is coming later this afternoon, so it’s perfect timing, as they say.”
“Uh, sure. Enjoy, and I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” I released a huge sigh of relief. It appeared she would allow me to leave her yard unscathed. I kept my gaze glued to the beast while I inched my way backward, toward the gate. I couldn’t turn my back on him until I was far from the reach of his razor-sharp teeth.
The dog and his mistress stood guard, and the bright-red door didn’t close until I started the hot uphill walk to my car. I supposed they wanted to make sure I wouldn’t steal anything as I left. Frustration over having more questions than answers about Tori’s life poured out of me. So did perspiration as the sun beat down on my head. I didn’t think it was possible Tori could be involved in art theft. None of it made any sense, and I still suffered from the heebie-jeebies over my close encounter with Zeus. Mrs. Landow was one strange lady… a wealthy, bridge-playing Newport Beach socialite on one hand and on the other, a woman prepared to watch her vicious dog tear apart an unwanted stranger.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I saw a text from my sister asking if I wanted to come to dinner tonight. It dawned on me that Carrie could provide Randall’s phone number, since she hired him for the party. I kicked myself mentally, realizing that I would have saved money if I had thought this through. Instead, a group of elderly, probably rich, given the location, ladies would enjoy my flowers and cookies.
I sent Carrie a text back indicating I would come to dinner, along with a request for her to text Randall’s phone number to me. My phone rang immediately.
“Hey, Carrie.” I didn’t even need to look at the name displayed.
“What in the world do you need his number for?” Exasperation flooded her voice. “Mother told me about the fiasco last night. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“Nothing happened. Besides, it’s not what Mother might think.” I held the phone away from my ear as Carrie jabbered over my attempt to explain. When the phone quieted, I put it back to my ear. “Tori was apparently involved in his brother’s murder, and I need to find out the connection. No one is going to clear my name if I don’t do something about it.”
“No way, Em. You do not need to get tangled up in this.”
“But I need to do something. Besides, I’m already involved.” I knew my sister wasn’t going to like this. “Mr. Hotshot Detective has me as his only suspect and is doing everything he can to support his assumption.”
“Let the police do their job. They’ll figure it out.” Carrie was always the optimistic one. “This isn’t like one of those small-town mysteries you like to read. Just get back to work, and it will get resolved.”
Oh boy, how did I break the news I didn’t have a job any longer? This wouldn’t be pretty. “Um, about that….”
“About what?” Carrie mumbled something to one of her daughters. “I need to go. Sophie stuck a raisin up her nose. Talk to Philip. He’ll tell you how the investigation is going, and that will put your mind at ease.”
With that, Carrie disconnected, but not before I heard her yelling at Sophie. I shook my head. Philip would tell me about the investigation when you-know-what froze over. I was beginning to suspect he might be the one trying to pin the murder on me. Tori had probably fed him lies about me, and he must have fallen for them. But why? Why would Tori do that to me?
Frustrated that I still didn’t have Randall’s phone numbe
r, I trudged to my car and gratefully turned on the air-conditioning. Wondering how to track him down, I sat there for a minute or two while I tried to get cool in front of the blowing air vents. Inspiration struck, and I snatched my cell phone up. The stable venue, where the party was held, should have his contact information on file. I remembered him saying he was trying to get the word out about his band.
After getting the number from information and being connected to the stable, I waded through the list of options, punching numbers as prompted. I finally connected to a live person.
“Hi, I’m interested in hiring the band that played at the Hansen party on Saturday. Can you provide their phone number?” My lies were getting more frequent. It should worry me… but it didn’t… yet.
“Oh yes, I have his business card. Hold on a sec and I’ll get it.” She sounded like an elderly woman with a smoker’s voice. Gravelly and a little congested.
I listened to Muzak for a few minutes, wondering if she had forgotten about me.
“Sorry for the delay. The phones all started ringing at once.” The receptionist coughed and took a moment to blow her nose. “Are you ready to write this down?”
“Yes, I’m ready.” I wondered if I would ever get the number.
After finally writing the phone number down, I was prepared to get off the phone and track down Randall. “Thank you.”
“No problem, dear. Let me know if you need anything else.” The woman coughed again. “And come by and see us. I’ll be happy to give you a tour. Do you realize our facilities are available for private parties, both indoors and outside? Would you like the information for the caterer? The food was fantastic, and the cake, oh my, was the most darling thing you’ve ever seen.”
“No, the band is all I need. I already have the caterer’s number.”
“Okay, dear. Give us a call if you want a tour.” She sniffed. “My name’s Bertha if you decide to drop by.”
I finally disconnected from Bertha, who, from the sound of things, had a cold. With trembling hands, I punched in Randall’s number. His phone rang four times and connected to voice mail. I hung up, not wanting to leave a message. I’d rather catch him off-guard so he wouldn’t have a chance to blow me off or avoid me. Time to talk to the Stoner Dudes, also known as Steve and Stan.