Dead Men Don't Eat Cookies (18 page)

While Maddie’s hands flew across the computer keyboard as if she were playing a piano, Olivia wished she could sit down at her desk with paper and pen. So many questions swirled around in her head. She needed a way to trigger ideas and organize them in her mind while she cut out cookie shapes. At once, she thought about cookie cutters. Handling those intriguing little shapes always helped her think.

Olivia slipped out of the kitchen to the dimly lit sales floor. Spunky’s fluffy head popped up. “Stay on your chair and rest, Spunks,” Olivia said. “It isn’t time to get up yet.” Spunky resumed his nap without objection. Olivia unlocked the long, narrow storage room that shared a wall with the kitchen. She switched on the light and stepped inside. Shelves along one wall held the store’s expansive collection of cookie cutters, all organized in labeled plastic boxes. As the more organized of the two business partners, Olivia had assumed responsibility for labeling each box with a category name and a list of contents, which she faithfully updated when necessary.

It took only a few minutes for Olivia to choose the three boxes she thought most likely to be helpful. She piled the boxes on top of each other with their category names arranged in alphabetical order: careers, housewares, and schoolwork. Maddie would laugh at that, if she noticed it,
but Olivia found order and precision comforting when too many questions roiled in her mind.

Spunky barely lifted his sleepy head as Olivia, holding all three boxes, emerged from the storage closet and slipped back into the kitchen. Maddie was too absorbed in her computer work to notice when Olivia deposited her burden on the worktable. She opened the boxes and placed them side by side near the rolled dough, so she could read the contents list for each box as she worked.

Olivia began to select the cutters she wanted to use. A hammer shape reminded her of Robbie Quinn, in more ways than one. Robbie was a builder, but he also had a way of hammering those around him. As she cut three hammer shapes from the rolled dough, Olivia considered Robbie as a suspect. He certainly had the strength to kill a man, especially a smaller and perhaps inebriated one. What would have been Robbie’s motive? If he’d been friends with Kenny, as he claimed, he would have known Crystal. Had he wanted her for himself? Perhaps he’d written the note that lured Kenny to his death. Robbie would have been aware that Kenny was always looking for that perfect dream job. On the other hand, it was quite a leap from wanting Crystal to murdering the husband she might have been more than willing to leave.

“A
hammer
, Livie? Really?”

Olivia dropped her cookie cutter, which gouged the smooth surface of the rolled dough. “Maddie, you startled me. I didn’t hear you stop clicking those computer keys.”

“Does one hear the sound of silence?” Maddie peered at the labels on the cookie cutter boxes. “And speaking of inscrutable, why are you using such a weird mishmash of cutter shapes? Where’s the fun stuff, like Halloween, Thanksgiving—which is coming right up, you know. And how could you forget Santa?”

“I can always raid those supplies later, if I need them,” Olivia said, hoping she didn’t sound defensive. “What did your computer journey reveal?”

“I will tell all, but you must promise to explain why you’re using these particular cutters . . . because I know you, Livie. You have a plan. Am I right?”

“Well, in a way. It’s really more of a brainstorming technique.” Olivia picked up a wineglass-shaped cookie cutter, which made her think of Crystal. Might she have participated in a scheme to eliminate her husband? Why not simply divorce him? “But I’ll need more actual information,” Olivia said as she glanced up at the kitchen clock. “I’ll get ready to open the store soon, but first, tell me what you’ve found online. Maybe I’ll be able to formulate something plan-like while I’m showering.”

“I’m quivering with curiosity, but all right,” Maddie said. “I picked up where you left off with Crystal’s online activities. You were right, she’s one of those folks who thinks they are invisible on the Internet. She isn’t even taking advantage of the privacy features on Facebook. However, I can’t report anything earth shattering—aside from knowing when and for how long Crystal’s house will be unoccupied, that is. I did learn that her life with Robbie isn’t all bonbons and buttercups. She often complains about his temper and says that sometimes she feels like a domestic slave. One interesting tidbit appeared in a recent post—Crystal claims Robbie threw Alicia out of the house without telling her. Robbie sent Crystal to the convenience store to pick up fresh milk. When she returned, Robbie calmly announced that he’d packed Alicia’s suitcase and told her she wasn’t welcome anymore. Crystal checked Alicia’s room and found most of her clothing still in the closet.”

“This is all rather confusing,” Olivia said. “Remember when Robbie came to the store later that same morning? He told us he might be forced to throw Alicia out? Only by then he must have already done so. He obviously didn’t think we knew that.”

Maddie’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that would mean . . . wait, this is like math. It’s making my brain hurt.”

“I have a couple ideas,” Olivia said. “Robbie likes to be seen as the ‘good guy,’ the one who does everything right.
Maybe he wanted Crystal to believe it was her daughter who made the decision to leave. Or . . . this is a longer shot, but what if Robbie manipulated Kurt into getting Alicia fired? Maybe Robbie wanted an excuse to get rid of Alicia.”

“I see,” Maddie said, although she sounded as if she didn’t see at all. “So that means . . .” Maddie’s freckled face scrunched up as she thought. “Do you suppose Robbie and Kurt might know each other better than we realize? Maybe Robbie gave Kurt reason to think he could have Alicia if he got her away from Pete. Or is that over the top?”

“At this point,” Olivia said, “speculation is all we’ve got.”

“Hey, I’m the one who is supposed to come up with strings of elaborate improbabilities,” Maddie said with a snicker. “Although I have to say, Robbie does seem manipulative and controlling. But I still don’t understand why he would go to such lengths to get rid of Alicia. Crystal hasn’t convinced me she is a devoted mother.”

Olivia shrugged. “She did say online that she didn’t want her daughter to leave.”

“Right, and no one ever lies on the Internet,” Maddie said.

“Good point.” Olivia glanced down at the wineglass cookie cutter, still in her hand. “It’s far easier to play ‘poor me’ online than in person. The Crystal I spoke with in the band shell wasn’t nearly as fragile as her name implies. She was angry.”

Maddie scooped up the hammer cutter and held it in the palm of her hand. “Crystal doesn’t sound happy with Robbie, either, at least online. Bearing in mind the whole reliability problem with the Internet, I have to wonder if Crystal is just as miserable in her current relationship as she was with Kenny.” Maddie glanced at the kitchen clock. “Livie, we should get a move on. It will be opening time before we know it.”

Olivia nodded absently.

“Earth to Livie,” Maddie said. “What profound thoughts are keeping you from a much needed shower?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” She dropped the wineglass cutter on
the worktable. “I was following what is probably a far-fetched thread.”

“What thread?” Maddie said. “Never mind the shower.
What
thread?”

Olivia shook her head firmly. “No, the thread is too weak. I’ll wait and see what comes next.” She left the store and hurried upstairs to prepare for the workday. But the question lingered in her mind . . . If Robbie, Crystal, or Kurt killed Kenny, Alicia might be in a great deal of danger.
Maddie and I must tread very carefully.
The last thing Olivia wanted was Alicia’s death on her conscience.

On Wednesday morning, nine o’clock sharp, Olivia unlocked the front door of her Queen Anne to find Sam Parnell, one of her least favorite Chatterley Heights citizens, standing on her porch. As always, Sam wore the official uniform of the United States Postal Service. In deference to the season, he had switched to long trousers, which hid his scrawny legs. A heavy mail sack hung over one shoulder, and he held a package in his hand.

Sam’s dedication to the art of gossiping had earned him the nickname Snoopy Sam. Most folks in town indulged in idle gossip, of course, but more out of curiosity than meanness. Snoopy, however, reveled in the vicious kind, especially if it hurt someone he felt had slighted him. If it suited his purposes, he resorted to fabrication. Olivia had learned through an uncomfortable experience to handle him with delicate finesse. Other folks often treated him as a minor irritant, but as Olivia knew, like a viper, Snoopy Sam struck with lightning speed.

“Sam, what excellent timing,” Olivia said, forcing a warm smile. “I usually miss seeing you on your route. Is
that package for us?” She nodded toward the large padded envelope in Sam’s hand.

“Overnight delivery.” Sam’s nasal voice could make “good morning” sound like a sneer. “These overnight deliveries must cost you two a bundle. Maybe you should pay more attention to your inventory. But I suppose you’ve been too busy with midnight visitors and so forth.”

“Thanks for the prompt service,” Olivia said with a bright smile. She held out her hand for the package, but Sam ignored the gesture.

“I heard you had some excitement around here in the wee hours this morning.” Sam’s watery blue eyes watched her face.

Knowing how skillfully Sam could transform even the slightest twitch into juicy gossip, Olivia remained silent. It wasn’t easy. She wanted to snatch the package and shove him out the door.

“Just between you and me,” Sam said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Binnie was responsible.”

“Binnie?” Olivia stifled a groan as she realized how quickly Sam had gotten the best of her. On the other hand, now she was curious. Perhaps, for once, Sam actually knew something helpful. “What has Binnie done this time?”

Sam relaxed, having won the initial round. “Sounds to me like you haven’t read her post this morning. I figure she’s getting desperate for stuff to print in that silly blog of hers, so she’s going around creating her own news. Of course, once a rumor starts, you need to talk about what really happened, or the rumor just keeps spreading and growing.”

Meaning you will keep enhancing the rumor unless I tell you what’s really going on, and then you’ll enhance and spread it around
 . . .

The sound of squeaky brakes made Sam twist sideways to see the street. Olivia watched over his shoulder as a light blue van came to a halt in front of The Gingerbread House. Through the windows, she saw several women chattering with each other as they unlocked their seat belts.

Sam’s sharp features expressed disdain as he turned back to face Olivia. He missed seeing the older model Toyota sedan—beige, with a distinctive dent in the passenger door—that pulled up to the curb behind the van. It was Del’s personal car. He would be dropping by to pick up the note she’d found tacked to her front door in the early morning hours. More gossip fodder . . . Del stepped out of his car, glanced toward the Gingerbread House porch, and slid back inside. He did a U-turn, avoiding the women emerging from the van, and was gone in an instant.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Olivia said, “Sorry, Sam. I guess we’ll have to finish our little talk later,” Olivia said. “My first customers are coming up the walk.”

Her cheerful warning had the desired effect. Sam hitched his mail bag higher on his shoulder and said, “Well, you might want to check out Binnie’s blog post from early this morning. It looked to me like Binnie might have been hanging around your store when decent folks are sound asleep. I wouldn’t be surprised if she staged the whole nighttime visitation just to embarrass you. How else would she know what was written on that piece of paper?” Sam gave her a sneery grin and turned to leave. Olivia heard him whistling as he headed across the porch.

*   *   *

“
W
hew,”
Bertha said as she watched the last of the Cookie Cutter Collectors Club members climb into their van for their return trip to Clarksville. “I clean forgot they were coming today, or I would have come in early.” She squinted at the lovely, yet inaccurate Hansel and Gretel clock hanging on the sales floor wall. “Those ladies stayed nearly two hours. I must say, though, it’s always such fun to discuss cookie cutters with them, and they do spend generously.” Bertha planted her hands on her slim, yet still ample hips and assessed the condition of the store. “I can handle customers while I do some straightening up,” she said. “You two can get back to your own work. My, I do love a busy day.”

Maddie grinned at Olivia and tilted her fuzzy red head toward the kitchen door. “I need to finish another batch of cookies before the next customer invasion,” she said as she strode toward the kitchen.

“I’ll join you for a bit,” Olivia said. “Bertha, holler if you need help out here.”

Bertha didn’t respond. She was already entering the cookbook nook, dust rag in hand.

Olivia reconstructed a display of autumn-themed cookie cutters before joining Maddie in the kitchen. She found Maddie staring at her laptop screen, her fingers skittering around the keyboard. “I told Bertha a tiny lie,” Maddie said, her eyes never leaving the screen. “I’m a bit ahead on the baking and decorating, which is a good thing because we just got an email from Polly. She’s wondering if she could stop by later this afternoon to buy a couple dozen cookies to take back to the homeless shelter. Several families with kids showed up last night. That’s so sad.”

“Polly will take good care of them.” Olivia opened a covered cake pan filled with a variety of leaf-shaped cookies decorated with deep red and gold icing. Imagining the children’s faces when they saw the cookies, she packed several dozen in the store’s largest Gingerbread House box. “Polly will try to pay for these cookies, but we mustn’t let her,” Olivia said. “Agreed?”

“Absolutely.” Maddie’s hands dropped to her lap as she studied the screen. “Livie, you need to see this. I’m glad you managed to tell me about your strange conversation with Snoopy Sam about Binnie’s blog. I’m skimming through it right now.”

“How weird is it?” Olivia closed the box of cookies and slid it into a large bag. Before folding the top, she turned the bag around to admire the new design—a quirky, yet recognizable drawing of The Gingerbread House.

“On a weirdness scale of one to ten,” Maddie said, “it’s about a fourteen. It’s unlike any of Binnie’s previous blog posts. It’s more like an online war. I get the impression someone’s
responses are making Binnie really, really mad. Livie, do you know if Sam knows his way around the Internet?”

“I believe he does. Why?” Olivia pulled up a chair and sat next to Maddie. She skimmed through the post, and said, “I see what you mean. It looks as if Binnie is responding to comments that aren’t on the screen. Maybe they are being sent as emails. Anyway, those comments must be pushing her buttons big time. Oh my, she insulted the United States Postal Service. I’d say that’s a clue.”

Maddie stretched out her legs and smiled. “Is it too much to hope that Binnie and Snoopy will feud with each other till the end of time? That would be such a relief for the rest of us.”

“From the tone of Binnie’s contributions, I’d say there’s a good chance.” Olivia got up to make herself a cup of coffee. “What does she say about the note I found tacked to the front door?”

“Let me go back to the beginning,” Maddie said. “I started at her most recent post, and I’ve been working my way backward. Okay, here it is, the first post of the morning. Hm, very vague about how the note got tacked to the front door.”

“Sam makes it sound like she saw the whole scene and either read or wrote the note herself,” Olivia said.

“Sam is such a liar.” Maddie clicked away without comment for a couple minutes.

Feeling impatient, Olivia selected a daisy-shaped cookie with pink and red petals. She dunked one red petal into her coffee and managed to chomp it off before it dissolved, which induced a feeling of well-being.

“Ah, I see what happened,” Maddie said. “Binnie says ‘
a mysterious stranger
’ attached the note to your door and ‘
disappeared into the night
.’ According to her, the note warned you not to investigate the bones in the wall because it might cost you your life.”

“Which isn’t what the note said.” Olivia bit off a pink petal.

“Right. It isn’t clear that she saw who tacked it up, either.” Maddie leaned back in her chair. “Hand me one of those
daisies, would you? I’m pretty sure computer work burns lots of calories.”

“That sounds right.” Olivia handed her friend the last cookie in the pan, a blue and green daisy.

“So what I’m concluding,” Maddie said, “is that it’s more likely someone else told her about the note.”

“And it sounds like the unknown tattletale didn’t get a good look at the person who defaced my beautiful door,” Olivia said. “Nor did he or she have the courage to sneak up onto the porch to read the note. We’re lucky Binnie’s niece is out of town. Ned would have marched up those steps and taken a zillion photos of the note.”

“No kidding,” Maddie said. “Also, Ned would have followed the poor jerk, and by now his or her photo would be all over the Internet. Come to think of it, I wish Ned
had
been there.”

Maddie skimmed to the bottom of the screen. “Well, at least Binnie hasn’t posted those photos of poor, soused Lenora teetering on a ledge in our cookbook nook.”

“Maybe Del managed to scare her into silence,” Olivia said. “The question is, for how long?”

“That reminds me . . .” Maddie stretched her arms toward the ceiling, “Del left a message for you to meet him at Pete’s for lunch. Bertha and I can cope with the noon crowd, which will likely be a gossip fest with few actual sales. I already confirmed the lunch invitation for you.”

“Of course you did.”

“But, Livie, it’s for your own good. No one trusts you to have your phone with you, so I have to handle your email. What choice do I have?”

“By handle, you mean hack.” Olivia slid the soiled cake pan into the dishwasher. “Besides, I haven’t been forgetting my phone much lately.”

“Small-town memories are retentive,” Maddie said. “I can’t wait to find out how Del prevented Binnie from publicizing
those photos. Ooh, and maybe he’ll have forensic news about the bones in the wall.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Olivia said, “but when you invaded my privacy this morning, did you see an email from my friend Lori? She works at the courthouse.” Olivia pulled over a chair and sat next to Maddie. “If not, let me check.”

“Nothing this morning, but hang on a sec.” Maddie opened Olivia’s email account in a matter of seconds. “Yep, Lori just emailed you. I’ll be magnanimous and let you read it yourself, while I finish stuffing the dishwasher. But tell me what she wrote.”

Olivia skimmed through the message, which read: “
Hey, Livie, what’s up? Do you suspect Crystal bumped off her husband? I looked through the files going back to Kenny’s disappearance, but there’s no record of Crystal marrying anyone else. It’s always possible she remarried in another jurisdiction. If Kenny hadn’t been declared dead, and there’s no evidence he was, Crystal had to be divorced from him in order to remarry legally. To get him declared dead, she would have gone to court and shown that Kenny was in peril when he disappeared—you know, like his ship sank or his plane went down, something like that—and even then, it usually doesn’t kick in for seven years. I got curious, so I checked a few other courthouses—I’ve been at this a long time, so I know people—but I got no hits. I have an older cousin who used to be a friend of Crystal’s. I gave her a call, and she said Crystal liked to complain, especially about men, but she was lazy when it came to follow-through. She always had to have a man in her life. That’s all I’ve got, but I’ll keep my ears and eyes open.”

“Well, that’s a letdown,” Maddie said. “It’s time to move on to the town gossips.”

“Actually, it’s time to get back to work,” Olivia said, glancing at the clock over the kitchen sink. “The Cookie Cutter Collectors Club members swooped in and cleaned off our
shelves. We have about an hour to help Bertha restock before the lunch crowd hits.”

As Olivia entered the sales floor, she heard the tinkle of the bell over the front door announcing the arrival of a customer. Her mother stood framed in the doorway. At least, the petite figure looked like it belonged to Ellie, although her costume indicated she’d recently escaped from a harem. Curling ribbons festooned her long, gray hair, and a white veil covered her nose and mouth. Pale blue balloon leggings draped from just below her waist and gathered at her ankles. Her loose silk top, pale blue and decorated with embroidered flowers, left a sliver of bare midriff.

“Mom?” Olivia took a step forward. “Isn’t it a bit chilly for that outfit?”