Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

The spotlights above the dance floor were turned off, but a light from farther back in the studio faintly illuminated the back room. It appeared to be empty. Yet Olivia could hear music coming from the building, so either Raoul was still there or he’d left a classical radio station turned on. Or she assumed it was a classical station. Unlike Maddie, Olivia wasn’t mad about music. Her knowledge of music began and ended with the folk and light rock her parents had played while she was growing up. Her father had liked several classical pieces, but Olivia couldn’t distinguish Beethoven from Rachmaninoff. She knew as much about music as she did about cooking—with the exception, that is, of decorated cookie baking.

The music stopped in mid-phrase. Assuming the free concert had ended, Olivia tugged on Spunky’s leash. His little legs tightened, and his silky ears perked as high as they could go. “I need to get up in the morning, you know,” she said. “Some of us have a store to run and can’t loll around all day filing our nails.” Spunky, of course, ignored her.

The music began again, louder than before. This time, Olivia heard a recognizable waltz tune, lilting and lyrical, though she couldn’t name the title or the composer. She watched the studio window as if it were a ballroom scene in a movie, and it became one. A couple materialized on the dance floor and began waltzing with such grace that Olivia suspected she wasn’t watching a ballroom dancing lesson. Though she couldn’t see his features, she could tell that the male dancer was tall. As the couple rounded the dance floor, the light emanating from the back room revealed the man’s full head of hair. He had to be Raoul. The female dancer was hidden by his body as the couple danced through the sliver of light.

Spunky had settled on his haunches to watch the show, but Olivia was beginning to feel voyeuristic. In a mesmerizing swirl, the couple circled the dance floor again and again. Each time they passed close to the front window, Olivia strained to see Raoul’s partner. She gathered the impression of a petite woman wearing a silky gown that flowed with her movements. Could she be the ballerina seen dancing in the town square at night?

Olivia lifted Spunky, who whimpered but didn’t yap. “Let’s get a bit closer,” she whispered. Across the street and next to the studio, another unlit streetlamp kept one side of the building in darkness. Olivia waited for the waltzing couple to reach the back of the dance floor before she carried Spunky across the street. They settled in the dark, near the edge of the window. From where she stood, Olivia could see about half of the dance floor. Spunky remained quiet. Maybe he was as curious as Olivia about this lovely and mysterious scene.

The music ended. Holding Spunky firmly in both arms, Olivia leaned her right shoulder against the rough stone wall and peered into the studio. Spunky’s head jerked as strains of another waltz began. This time even Olivia recognized the piece—“The Blue Danube.” She heard the tinkle of feminine laughter and wondered if the choice of music amused the woman.

Now that Olivia was closer she could hear the occasional murmur of voices, though no clear words. As the couple glided near her hiding place, she flattened against the wall. The dancers had taken their fourth turn around the floor, and Olivia still hadn’t gotten a look at the woman’s face or hair. She decided to be bolder. Leaning her cheek against the window frame, she looked inside. If they danced close enough and looked directly toward her, Raoul and his partner might see the outline of her head. Spunky kept quiet, his head swiveling as he followed the movements.

Olivia held her breath as the two waltzed closer and closer to her. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t noticed her. She could make out Raoul’s face as he smiled down at his partner with tenderness. The woman lifted her face toward his and a lock of her hair escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck. The long strand fell down her back. In the dim light, it looked white, though it might have been white-blond.

At that moment, Spunky reverted to his noisy self, barking and squirming as if a pack of starving coyotes were bearing down on them. The young woman yanked away from Raoul and spun around to stare out the window. Olivia clutched Spunky against her chest as she flattened herself against the outside wall. She edged away from the window into the safety of darkness. For a split second, though, she had glimpsed the woman’s face. It was a pale oval of perfection, except for one flaw—a long scar down her left cheek.

“I thought we agreed to meet at six a.m. How long have you been up?” Maddie said as she let herself into The Gingerbread House on Thursday morning. In her bright yellow tank top and matching shorts, she reminded Olivia of a sun sprite. “Hey, Spunky.” At the sound of his name, the sleepy Yorkie lifted his head and yawned a yap. Olivia looked up from a star-shaped tin cookie cutter she was examining. “Couldn’t sleep after what I saw last night. I think I found our ballerina.”

Maddie squealed, setting Spunky off on a round of yapping. “Oops, sorry, Spunks, I got carried away.” She picked him up to calm him. “So shouldn’t we go over to meet this woman? Like, right now?”

“And chase her out of town? No, we need to be careful. She might be hiding for a reason.” She told Maddie about the woman’s disfigurement. “Anyway, I figured I might as well get started on a cookie cutter inventory. I want to see if the Duesenberg was our only missing cutter.” Olivia squinted at a tiny adhesive label inside the star. “These tiny numbers are a pain to read.”

“Probably because you’re reading in near darkness.” Maddie turned the lights to high and said, “Et voyeur!”

“I think you meant ‘ Et voilà, ’ but it’s an interesting substitution.”

“Fine. I will never again attempt to speak French.”

“Probably wise,” Olivia said. “Okay, I’m about halfway through our inventory list, and here’s what I’ve found so far.” She handed over a list of numbers, some with notes beside them.

Maddie groaned. “I’ll never understand how you remember what number belongs to which cookie cutter. I need at least a description. Or a sketch would be best.”

“I’ve explained it to you.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a series of codes describing the characteristics of each cutter, so there’s virtually no possibility of misidentifying one. Unless you are me. I’m only comfortable with numbers that end with the word ‘dozen.’ ” Maddie scanned the list and whistled. “However, I totally understand your notes. Either we’ve gotten sloppy or someone has been pilfering cookie cutters from our displays. We are missing four.”

“Five, counting the Duesenberg,” Olivia said. “And we still have half the inventory to check. We’ll get through these faster if you read the numbers to me.”

“I’ve been known to see a two and call it a three, but sure, why not.” Maddie began to recite numbers, while Olivia worked the codes in her head. Twenty minutes later, they’d finished the task.

“Seven cutters missing,” Olivia said. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and made a mental note to brush it before heading for the police station to talk to Jason.

“That might be a normal level of pilfering, more or less,” Maddie said. “Cookie cutters are easy to slip into a pocket. We don’t magnetize them or anything.”

Olivia shook her head. “I do this inventory regularly, most recently last Friday. Since we opened The Gingerbread House, only two cutters have gone missing. As you may recall, the culprits turned out to be two middle-school boys shoplifting on a dare.”