Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

“Okay, first the simple part. I’ll announce early and often that the fruits and vegetables represent a harvest theme. I mean, it is August, so that should sound perfectly reasonable. However, I’m not taking any chances. I’ve also devised one of our special contests. Come over here, I’ll show you.” Olivia led her mother into the main part of the store. The bright summer sun shone through numerous leaded-glass windowpanes, imposing geometric shapes of shadow and light on the tables loaded with cookie cutter displays, baking gadgets, and plates piled with decorated cookies. Strings of cookie cutters festooned the circumference of the room, looping down from thin wire originally meant for hanging pictures. More cookie cutters, clustered into mobiles, tinkled in the light breeze from the new air conditioner.

The mobiles dipped low enough for customers to touch. Olivia stopped at one of them, a collection of bird shapes. Maddie and Bertha both scurried back and forth from the kitchen, preparing for the event, so Olivia lowered her voice. “We’ve had themed mobiles in the store since we opened,” she said, “but these are different. I created some new themes, and I added one special cookie cutter to each mobile.” She cupped her hand under a cutter in the middle of the mobile. “Like this one. What do you think makes this different from the others?”

“Aren’t you always reminding me to pick up the pace?”

“Work with me, Mom. I need to know if this game will be intriguing and distracting or merely impossible and irritating.”

Ellie touched the cookie cutter, which at her diminutive height required her to lift up on tiptoe. “It’s unusual,” she said. “An antique, isn’t it?” When Olivia nodded, Ellie added, “It is made of tin, I believe, and in lovely condition.” She stepped back and inspected the entire mobile. “Well, it must be the only vintage cutter in the grouping, right? Is that the point of the contest?”

“Give me some credit, Mom. Yes, it’s the only vintage cutter, but there’s one more step. Tell me what the shape is.”

Ellie frowned up at the vintage cookie cutter. “It looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to the shape. I can name all the others, though. Chicken, cardinal, dove, turkey, and so on, but this one looks like a generic bird.”

“In the interests of time,” Olivia said, “I’ll give you a hint. Far back in the last millennium, when you were a youngster, there was an organization to which you belonged. I remember you telling me that you joined at the tender age of—”

“Six.” Ellie clapped her hands and bounced on her toes, as if she had reverted back to that age. “I know the answer now. That sweet cookie cutter is a bluebird, the symbol for little girls who were in training to become Camp Fire Girls. We were called the Blue Birds. Although I don’t believe that’s the name anymore, especially now that boys are allowed to join, which is only fair, of course, but it does change—”

“Do you think this might work?”

“What, dear?”

Olivia suppressed a sigh. “Okay, nutshell plan. I announce a contest to customers. They must identify the only vintage cookie cutter in each mobile and correctly name its shape. The customer who gets the most right wins one of the cutters, whichever he or she chooses.”

Ellie ran her finger along the hemmed edge of the bluebird cutter. “This is such a wonderful cookie cutter, so lovingly preserved. I assume it came from Clarisse’s collection? Are you sure you’d want to give it away? Now Livie, before you interrupt, yes, I’m certain this contest will be intriguing enough to keep many customers from wondering about the reason for so many oddly decorated vegetable cookies.”

“Thanks, Mom. And you’re right, all the vintage cutters come from Clarisse’s collection. I do hate to give up any of them, but I know Clarisse would understand. She loved this town. It would have broken her heart to see Maddie and me feuding with a fellow businesswoman.”

Ellie squeezed Olivia’s crossed arms. “You do realize that Charlene will still hear about this event.” As Ellie shook her head, a long spiral of hair slid over her shoulder. “Poor Charlene. She was always sensitive. Perhaps even oversensitive, though I dislike that term. It’s so judgmental, as if anyone could say how much sensitivity is too much.”

Olivia stared out the window at the view of the town square. It looked so peaceful. She remembered summer days when she would hide from the sun in the band shell, with its stone benches and small dance floor. She’d lived in Baltimore, but she had to return home before she understood that life in a small town wasn’t any simpler than it was in the city. Anger, jealousy, and resentment all flared as frequently in Chatterley Heights as they had in Baltimore. If anything, Olivia was finding it harder to escape here in her little hometown.

“Sweetie, don’t hunch up your shoulders like that,” Ellie said. “It isn’t good for your posture. I honestly think this is a brilliant contest idea. It will surely put everyone in a good mood and moderate the upsetting effect of Charlene’s reaction, which is likely to be dramatic.” She straightened her jacket and tightened the sash. “I see that I have my work cut out for me.” Her face lit with delight as she added, “I believe I made a pun—cookie cutters, my work cut out for . . .”

“I get it, Mom.” Olivia’s tone softened with hope. “Does this really mean you’ll stay to help me, um, handle the Charlene/Maddie situation?”

“Of course, Livie. It’s what I do best.”

Two hours into Maddie’s surprise event, The Gingerbread House held more customers than Olivia had ever seen on a Tuesday morning. Charlene Critch had not shown up, and Olivia had heard no mention of her from any customers. However, Olivia reminded herself, there were still plenty of hours left before closing time. Charlene could walk through the front door at any moment.

Olivia felt a tug on the back of her hair and heard her brother’s voice say, “Hey, Olive Oyl, great shindig.” Jason hoisted his tall, thin self onto a display ledge that jutted out from the wall. He narrowly missed a porcelain bowl brimming with handmade copper cookie cutters. Olivia grabbed the bowl and moved it to a high shelf.

“You break it, you buy it,” she said in her elder sister voice.

“Uh huh. Hey, Charlie, over here!” Jason yelled, waving his arm. “Charlie’s here,” he said.

“I gathered that.”

“This is my day off from the garage,” Jason said. “Charlie’s been working since six thirty, so he gets an early lunch. We heard about Maddie’s cool cookies, and we thought, hey, why not. Boy, are we hungry.”

“So . . . you two are meeting here for a cookie before lunch?”

“Guess again,” Jason said. “I mean, think about it, Sis. These aren’t just cookies; they are fruit and vegetable cookies, something we hardworking guys need lots and lots of, right?”

Olivia glanced around at the dwindling supply of cookies and the many hands reaching for more. Maybe they really might run out of cookies early, before Charlene had a chance to show up.

“By the way, great contest idea,” Jason said. “I already picked out the cookie cutter I want when I win.”

Olivia arched her eyebrows at him. “You? A cookie cutter?”

Jason lowered his voice and leaned toward her ear. “Not just any cookie cutter, Liv. It’s probably the closest I’ll get to a Duesenberg. I don’t expect you to know what—”

“Of course I know what a Dues—” More quietly, Olivia said, “I know what it is. Clarisse had it specially made for her husband, Martin, because he was restoring a 1930 Due—car he’d gotten cheaply. He loved that car.”