Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

Olivia flipped back through all the photos. “You aren’t in some of these, just me or the lawn, and the light is different in those pictures. I think Ned took these at two different times. I’m lucky she didn’t post a shot of me going into The Vegetable Plate.

“Knowing Binnie,” Maddie said, “she’s holding it for ransom. She probably wants an interview with you.”

“Wait a minute, I think I see something.” Olivia picked up a pencil and lightly touched the grainy face on the screen. She traced the outline of a faint, dark curve separated by a lighter patch. “Those could be teeth,” Olivia said. “I’ll bet anything that’s the man I saw running from the store. And he’s laughing at us.”

Olivia arrived at the Bon Vivant a few minutes before five p.m. and found it already filling up. The restaurant had been open less than a month. Chatterley Heights residents had quickly discovered its charms, and a recent excellent review in the Baltimore Sun was now luring in more diners from the surrounding area. This was Olivia’s first look inside.

Del hadn’t yet arrived. The hostess—a tall, elegant redhead with a brilliant smile—skimmed around closely packed tables as she guided Olivia to a table for two next to a window. She pulled out a chair for Olivia and said, “The sheriff specifically requested one of our quieter tables with a view. May I bring you a glass of our house merlot while you wait?”

“I’ll start with coffee, thanks. Cream and sugar.”

The hostess flashed her snow-white incisors and disappeared. Within moments, a server appeared at the table with Olivia’s coffee and two thick menus. Olivia sipped as she gazed out the window at a brick patio bordered with pink and red tea roses, all showcased against the lush hills in the distance. This was what kept her in Maryland despite the dripping heat of late summer. All this and cookies, too.

“What? No merlot?” Olivia jumped at the sound of Del’s voice. Her chair started to tilt; Del steadied it. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m too used to sneaking up on people.”

“Do you plan to tell everyone in town that I like a glass of merlot now and then?”

Del grinned. “Everyone knows already. And just to warn you, everyone knows about your thing for pizza, too.”

“I’ve watched you down quite a few slices,” Olivia said. “Not to mention the ever-present ham-and-cheese sandwiches.” Skimming her menu, she said, “Oh look, they serve pizza here. With roasted artichoke hearts and prosciutto, which make it both healthy and ham-like. Want to share one?”

“Sounds good to me.” Del caught the waiter’s eye. “And how about that glass of merlot?”

“Make it Chianti, in deference to the pseudo-Italian nature of the meal. And only if you will join me.” Olivia had not forgotten that wine was a key part of her plan to find out what Del had learned about the break-in at The Vegetable Plate.

“Done.” Del handed over the menus and leaned on his elbows on the table. “You look nice. I like the thing you did with your hair.”

“Thanks,” Olivia said with both pleasure and relief. She knew she should have worn one of her three dresses, but she planned to go directly from dinner to her mother’s rumba class. “The thing I did with my hair,” Olivia said, “is a barrette. That’s a technical term.”

“Unless it has to do with weapons, I won’t remember it,” Del said. “As promised, this meal is on me, with thanks for donating your time and cookies to help identify the man you saw leaving Charlene’s store.” Their wine arrived, and they clinked glasses. “Nice,” Del said after his first sip. He gave Olivia a smile that warmed her from the inside, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen for some time. She almost hated to pester him for information. However.

“Sorry I couldn’t positively identify the intruder as Charlie Critch,” Olivia said. “Although I liked the kid, so I’m also glad. He and Jason have become buddies. Of course, Jason likes Charlene, too, so he might not be the best judge of character.” Olivia sipped her wine and vowed to memorize the label. She wasn’t normally a fan of Chianti, but this stuff was tasty. “So do you have any specific reason to suspect that Charlie might be the intruder?”

Del’s smile faded, but at least he didn’t start ordering her to stay out of the investigation. “We don’t have much at all yet. I’ve heard a great deal of gossip about their parents, but Charlene and Charlie are both strangely hard to investigate.”

“Strangely?” Olivia asked.

“These days we can usually learn a lot about folks simply by searching for them on the Internet. But not these kids. As far as we can tell, neither of them uses sites like Facebook or Twitter or has a blog or even posts messages on anyone else’s sites.”

“Is it too much to hope that either of them has a police record? Come on, Del, don’t make that face at me. I’m not simply curious. I’m not a gossip, either. The Gingerbread House is right next door to The Vegetable Plate, plus I suspect that whoever trashed Charlene’s store did the same to our front lawn. So yeah, I need to know.”

Del took a slow sip of his wine, let his gaze roam around the restaurant, squinted at the view from the window, and sipped again. Olivia felt like canceling the pizza, pouring the wine on his head, and stalking out. Instead she said, “Nice try. Not going to work.”

Del shook his head and laughed. “Lord help me if I ever have to interrogate you.”

“I guess you’ll have to assign someone else to do it. Or a whole team.”

“You’d make mincemeat out of them.”

“Oh please. Mincemeat? Decorated cookies, maybe.” Olivia reached across the table and touched Del’s hand with her fingertips. “I know you’re worried for my safety, and I do appreciate that, but I hope you trust me to be rational. I’m not a danger addict. If a crime doesn’t affect me or those I care about, I’ll gladly leave it entirely to you.”

“Except you seem to wind up caring about everyone you meet,” Del said. “I believe you even care about Charlene Critch. Or is it really curiosity?”

Olivia drew her hand away. “A bit of both, I guess. Charlene can be profoundly irritating, no doubt about it, but there’s also something lost about her. Mom told me she’d heard that Charlene was married briefly but her father had the marriage annulled.”

Del frowned. “We looked for an ex-husband, but Charlene insisted she’d never been married, and we’ve found no record of a marriage. Usually we can unearth an annulment, but apparently the paperwork, if there was any, has disappeared. The Critch family was wealthy and powerful. Charles Sr. made it a point to curry the favor of people with clout. However, if there’s an ex-husband, we’ll find him eventually through friends and relatives.”

“I suppose you’ve dug into her brother Charlie’s past? Through official channels, I mean.”

Del had apparently decided to trust Olivia, at least up to a point, because he answered without hesitation. “I’ve been checking with my sources in the DC Police Department. Nothing solid, but one buddy of mine said he’d heard the kid had a juvie record, which would be sealed. We ought to be able to dig it up, but for some reason we’ve come up empty so far. Has Jason mentioned anything about Charlie?”

“No, but I can grill him,” Olivia said. “And speaking of food preparation, I believe that’s our pizza wending toward us.”

As their pizza and house salads arrived, Del added, “By the way, thanks for forwarding Binnie Sloan’s blog link. She gave us the original photo, and we sent it along to the crime lab in Baltimore. Their photo expert might be able to enhance the guy’s face in Charlene’s window.”