Cookie Dough or Die (2 page)

At that moment Olivia heard a faint scraping sound, and it hadn’t come from the bedroom behind her. It might have been beneath her feet. Olivia knelt down, put her ear to the floor, and listened. There it was again, a scrape, like a stuck door being yanked open. The door to the supply cabinet in the kitchen made a sound like that. She kept meaning to ask Lucas Ashford, owner of Height’s Hardware next door, to stop by and sand it down. Now she was glad she’d forgotten. That telltale scraping sound told her someone was downstairs in The Gingerbread House kitchen, opening cupboard doors.

Olivia had left her cell phone by her bed, but she could use the wall phone in her small upstairs kitchen, two doors down, at the rear of the house. She bolted to her feet and reached the kitchen in seconds, panting more from anxiety than exertion. Her hand shook as she grabbed for the phone.

The noises were much louder now that she was in her own kitchen, right above the store kitchen. Olivia hesitated, listening. Surely not even a battalion of mice could make such a racket, let alone any self-respecting intruder. The sounds downstairs had become way too familiar—the clatter of metal pans, the rhythmic clink of a spoon hitting a porcelain bowl, the oven door clunking shut. Either the mice were baking cookies or . . .

“Maddie.” The name came out as an exasperated groan, as Olivia collapsed on a kitchen chair.

Madeline Briggs was her best friend, had been since they were ten years old. In the intervening twenty-one years, Maddie had brought much to Olivia’s life, including fun, a shoulder to cry on, and the occasional murderous impulse. The latter had become more common in the past year, since she and Maddie had become business partners. Olivia’s fun quotient had increased, too, but this was not one of those moments.

Olivia had dawdled at bedtime and, so far, had achieved only four hours of sleep. The last fifteen minutes had worn her out. The thought of crawling back under the covers brought her to her feet. She’d have to remind Maddie that she wasn’t in her own kitchen. After more sleep.

At that moment, the Chatterley Heights Gospel Chorus erupted into deafening four-part harmony. Except Chatterley Heights didn’t have a gospel chorus, and it was barely past
four o’clock in the morning.

This was vintage Maddie. Her aunt Sadie, who’d raised her, used to complain that Maddie would awaken with a masterpiece in mind for the school bake sale, pay no attention to the time, run down to the kitchen—oblivious to the absence of sunlight—and jump headfirst into her project. Never mind that someone might be in hearing distance, trying to complete an adequate night’s sleep. Only she’d never before pulled this stunt in The Gingerbread House.

On the plus side, Maddie was responsible for several wildly creative ideas that had already made The Gingerbread House a shopping destination for customers from DC and Baltimore. Everyone loved her, and she was fun to work with. Most of the time.

Olivia grabbed her keys from the kitchen wall hook and draped them over the waistband of the sweatpants she’d worn to bed. She would simply explain to Maddie that most people don’t find loud music conducive to slumber, they would come to an agreement, and Olivia could enjoy another few hours of sleep.

First, she stopped at her bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. It didn’t help. The woman she saw in the mirror had sleep-crusted bluish gray eyes, one creased cheek, and serious bed hair. She consoled herself with the thought that she looked terrifying.

Olivia’s laceless sneakers flopped as she trudged down the stairs to unlock her front door, which opened into the house’s original entryway. A wealthy Baltimore family had built the little Queen Anne in 1889 as a summer getaway. During the following century, new owners had transformed the house into a duplex by blocking off the staircase and adding two inner doors inside the entryway. One led upstairs, the other opened into The Gingerbread House. This double entry had sold Olivia on the idea of sinking a good chunk of her divorce settlement into a mortgage. The location, the northeast corner of Chatterley Heights’s busy town square, couldn’t be more perfect. She’d decided to open a cookie-cutter store downstairs, complete with its own kitchen, and she could live upstairs, all for one hefty monthly payment.

On this particular morning, she questioned the wisdom of her business and residential choices.

Olivia unlocked The Gingerbread House and stepped inside, bolting the door behind her. She could make out shapes in the darkness, but she knew better than to feel her way along without light. The store was a glorious cookie-cutter minefield—cookie cutters served as lamp and curtain pulls, themed cookie-cutter mobiles swung from the ceiling, and small tables holding elaborate displays dotted the room. Customers with aesthetic leanings felt free to rearrange tables on whim.

Olivia twisted the dimmer switch enough so she could cross to the kitchen without breaking several toes or her neck. Even in her crabby, sleep-interrupted state, she felt a ping of pleasure as dozens of metal cookie cutters caught the light and glistened like waves in the moonlight. For Olivia, each day began like her childhood Christmas mornings, when she would sneak downstairs before anyone else was up. She would plug in the tree lights and sit cross-legged in the dark, staring at the sparkles of color. If she swung her head back and forth fast enough, the lights would blur and appear to move, like multicolored shooting stars.

Then her younger brother Jason would bound downstairs, whooping and jabbering with excitement. He’d flip on all the lights and dive for his presents, ripping the shiny paper into shreds. She loved her baby brother, but he sure could destroy a moment of enchantment.

As she reached for the kitchen doorknob, Olivia took a deep breath to prepare herself for chaotic reality. At least the gospel music had stopped. Maybe Maddie was winding down, cleaning up the kitchen. Olivia turned the knob and opened the kitchen door. A blast of the Bee Gees singing “Stayin’ Alive” knocked her a step backwards.

Olivia stepped inside to buttery warmth laced with nutmeg, which almost made up for the state of the kitchen. Maddie had a gift for exuberant baking, which always resulted in a huge mess, but this time she had achieved a personal best. Apparently, it had snowed in the kitchen. Flour dusted the surface of the large kitchen table, the counter, the floor. Globs of cookie dough stuck to the walls, the door, even the refrigerator.

Maddie’s pretty round face showed smudges of flour wherever she had rubbed or swiped, including the tip of her nose. At least she’d thought to put an apron over her jeans and T-shirt. A magenta bandanna held back her springy red curls. Her curvy hips were swaying in time to the disco beat as she studied a color chart.

Olivia couldn’t help but smile.

On the kitchen table, several dozen cut-out cookies lay cooling on racks. As always, they were baked to perfection and not one second beyond. At least a dozen soupsize plastic containers, plus a large mixing bowl filled with cream-colored icing, crowded the table. Maddie had her back to Olivia while she selected a small bottle from an impressive collection of similar bottles that lined the shelves next to the color chart. After executing a smooth disco spin around to the table, Maddie scooped some icing into one of the containers, then opened her bottle of food coloring. She existed only on Planet Maddie, alone with her colors, her tunes, and a gallon of royal icing.

Olivia saw only one easy way to get Maddie’s attention. She pushed the stop button on the CD player. Maddie’s hand froze over the bowl of icing. As her head snapped toward the CD player, a drop of royal blue coloring retreated back into its dropper.

Catching sight of Olivia, Maddie grinned. “Livie! Hey, sleepyhead.”

“I don’t suppose you know what time it is?”

“Not a clue. Is it time to open? Because I stowed some work clothes in the bathroom, so I can be changed in a jiffy.” Maddie’s eyes flicked to Olivia’s attire. “You’re in your jammies. Are you sick or—?”

“Or,” Olivia said, “it’s the middle of the night.”

Maddie twisted her head to check the clock over the sink. “It’s almost five o’clock.”

“That’s four twenty-four. In the morning. Your music woke me up at four. I was catching up on paperwork until midnight, so I had my heart set on at least three more hours of sleep. I
need
those three hours.”

“Oh, Livie, I’m sorry. You’ll get those three hours, I promise. I’ll open the store; you can sleep till noon if you want.” Maddie reached toward a rack of cookies. “Only first let me show you what I’m making for our special spring event on Saturday. You’ll
love
it, and you’ll sleep so much better knowing how fabulously fun it will be. Please?”

“What the heck, I’m awake now.” Olivia dragged a tall stool over to the table and crawled onto it. “I don’t suppose you’ve made coffee?”

As Maddie shook her head, a red curl escaped its restraint and bounced on her cheek. She swept it behind her ear. “I’ve got extra icing, though. A good dose of sugar would perk you right up.”

“Tell me your brilliant idea.”

Maddie’s face lit up. She pushed the rack of cookies toward Olivia and asked, “What do you think?”

“Flowers? For spring, right?”

“And?”

Olivia picked up a cookie. “This looks like a tulip, but I don’t remember having a cutter quite like this in stock.”

“And you would be correct,” Maddie said. “I used our regular tulip cookie cutter, but then I worked the dough a bit to make it look more like a lily-flowering tulip. I did the same thing with all our flower shapes.” She reached to a rack on the table and plucked up another cookie. “This is a daisy I’m turning into a sunflower. See?”

It still looked like a daisy to Olivia. “I’m sure I will once you’ve outlined the petals.”

“Maybe you will and maybe you won’t,” Maddie said, with her signature mad-scientist smirk. “I’m decorating them with wild colors, and Saturday we’ll ask customers to identify each flower. You guess right, you get the cookie. Whoever gets the most right wins a free lesson on making creative cutout cookies. We’ll show customers how versatile cookie cutters can be, so when they buy a set of five ordinary shapes, they are really investing in endless possibilities.”

Olivia bit a petal off her cookie and chewed, enjoying the sweet-butter feel of it melting in her mouth. Maddie was truly gifted when it came to anything cookie related.

When Olivia didn’t answer immediately, Maddie’s full lips began to droop. “You hate my idea.”

Olivia swallowed quickly. “Girlfriend, your idea is nothing short of brilliant. Cleaning up after your fits of genius is a small price to pay. However, next time bring your iPod and plug it in your ear.” She slid off her stool, taking the remains of the cookie with her. “And now I am going back to bed. I’ll be down by nine.”

Olivia was about to leave when she heard a knocking sound from the direction of a door that opened into the alley behind the store. She spun around. Maddie, her hand hovering over the bottles of food coloring, stared over her shoulder at Olivia. “Who on earth . . . ?” she whispered.

Another knock, louder this time. Olivia, who was facing the back door, saw the doorknob turn. The door rattled as someone tried to push it open. Olivia reached across the kitchen table toward the knife Maddie had been using to trim cookie edges. She curled her fingers around the handle, pulled it to her.

“Livie? Maddie? You kids okay in there?” It was a man’s voice, authoritative, concerned, and familiar.

“Thank God,” Maddie said. “It’s Del.”

Olivia realized how tense she’d been as her shoulders dropped about a foot. Del was Sheriff Delroy Jenkins. He was only in his late thirties, but he always referred to younger women as kids. Olivia suspected it was his way of keeping some professional distance. Which was fine with her—she’d felt the occasional spark between them, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready for a new relationship. Her divorce was barely a year old.

Maddie unlocked the back door and flung it open. Sheriff Del stood in the dark alley, his hand on the butt of his service revolver. As he stepped closer to the doorway, his eyes darted around the kitchen.

“You scared the life out of us,” Maddie said. She grabbed the shoulder of Del’s uniform and pulled him inside.

The back door was small, and Del was one of the few men in town who didn’t have to duck to go through it. However, he was still taller than Olivia’s five foot seven. Which didn’t matter, she reminded herself, because there was nothing whatsoever between them.

Sheriff Del locked and bolted the door behind him.

“What the heck are you doing out there?” Maddie demanded. “Are you on night shift or something, or is this a cop thing, wandering around alleys at—well, whatever time it is, it’s still dark.”

Del had an easygoing, unflappable manner, but to Olivia he looked shaken.

“You two sure you’re okay in here?” Del asked, his eyes on the knife in Olivia’s hand.

Olivia held the knife up, pointing toward the ceiling. “Everything’s under control,” she said. “The body’s in the basement. Want to help bury it?”

Del relaxed enough to drop his hand from his gun handle. He grinned as his gaze flicked up and down Olivia’s body. “You are looking lovely this morning, Ms. Greyson.”

Olivia plunked the knife onto the table so she wouldn’t throw it at him. Though she wasn’t prone to blushing, she could feel her cheeks heat up. She’d forgotten what she was wearing when she’d been blasted out of bed. It wasn’t pretty.

Olivia’s ex-husband wasn’t an evil guy, but he’d been a bit on the controlling side. Ryan was a surgeon, which eventually became more important to him than being an equal partner in their marriage. Over time, he’d begun laying down rules for Olivia to live by. Ryan despised dogs, said they were smelly and noisy and carried germs. He had also insisted that a surgeon’s wife should always dress well, day and night. If even a neighbor saw Olivia wearing ratty clothes, it might trigger rumors that Ryan was a sloppy surgeon.