Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

Mr. Willard scraped back his stool and stood, towering over Jason. “Young man, you are lying. You did not steal a knife, and you did not, as you keep insisting, stab Geoffrey King. Let me give you some advice. Next time you want to take credit for someone else’s murder, make sure you get the details straight before you confess.”

To Olivia’s surprise and relief, Jason crumpled. His sullen bravado gave way to a trail of tears down each cheek, which made him look even more like the little boy whose birth Olivia had once resented. She sat on his cot and put an arm around his shoulders. “You’ve really made a muddle of it this time, little brother.”

Mr. Willard, once again mild-mannered and concerned, folded his long body onto his tiny stool. “You must tell us the truth, Jason. Begin with the night of the murder.”

Jason sniffled with manly vigor. Olivia dug a tissue from a pocket in her khaki pants and handed it to him. She edged away, knowing that her brother’s nose blowing could rattle furniture. When the air was calm again, Olivia said, “Start with the time you left The Vegetable Plate on the night Geoffrey King died. Were you the first to leave?”

Jason nodded. “I kept yawning and nodding off, so Charlene told me to go home and get some sleep. Charlie said he’d stay all night. He planned to keep guard downstairs so he’d hear if Geoffrey tried to break in. Charlene wanted to stay with him, but Charlie told her to go upstairs and try to sleep on this little air mattress she keeps up there. Charlie borrowed Charlene’s cell phone and said he’d call 911 at the first sign of trouble. I wanted to help guard Charlene, but she insisted, and I really was pretty tired.”

“What time did you leave the store?” Mr. Willard asked.

“Eleven. I know because I checked Charlene’s cell to make sure it was charged. The battery was down about half, so I told Charlie to plug it in. He went to find the charger as I left. Can I have another tissue, Livie?”

Olivia dug out a tissue and said, “This is my last one. Don’t blow it all at once.”

Jason was too miserable to crack a smile. “I cut through the town square, like always,” he said. “I hurried because it felt like it was going to rain. I didn’t see anybody or anything. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to . . .” Jason’s shoulders slumped.

Olivia rubbed her brother’s back the way her mother used to when he was croupy as a little boy. “I’m confused about one thing,” she said. “If Charlie stayed all night, why did you make a point of saying he wouldn’t have seen anything because his route home didn’t go through the park?”

“I got confused, too,” Jason said. “The next morning, when everyone knew about Geoffrey, Charlene told me she sent Charlie home right after me. Charlene said he didn’t want to go, but she insisted. Charlie usually does what Charlene tells him to do. She locked all the doors behind him and stuck chairs under the doorknobs and kept her cell with her while she slept upstairs. And that’s all I know.”

Olivia pondered the implications of Jason’s story, which sounded reasonable to her . . . except for the part about Charlene Critch being so concerned about everyone else’s sleep. The fact that she chose to stay alone in the store sounded suspicious. What if she had already planned to kill Geoffrey if he did show up? She wouldn’t want Charlie involved. And what about Charlie? He didn’t have a home to go to, so perhaps he decided to sleep in the park. He might have reasoned that he could keep an eye on The Vegetable House from the band shell. Maybe Charlie took a knife from the store’s kitchen, in case he had a run-in with Geoffrey King.

Mr. Willard checked his watch and stood up. “As your attorney,” he said to Jason, “I strongly advise you to stop confessing to a crime you did not commit. We will inform the sheriff that you are recanting your confession. Agreed?”

Jason nodded his assent. To Olivia, her little brother looked liked a boy who needed a nap. It saddened her to think of him curled up on a hard cot, isolated and scared. “One last question, Jason. When you stupidly . . .” Deep breath, release slowly, like Mom does. “When you confessed to Geoffrey King’s murder, was it because you wanted to protect Charlene only or because you wanted to protect both Charlene and Charlie?”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You don’t think Charlie—”

“I don’t think anything yet. Answer the question.”

“I wanted to protect Charlene, of course. I mean, Geoffrey was a jerk, and I was the one who first introduced them. I felt responsible, you know? I didn’t know what he was like then, but still . . . He treated Charlene really badly. He slugged her in the face last weekend, you know. If she killed him, it was in self-defense, but I knew she’d get in trouble anyway because she didn’t call the police right away.”

Mr. Willard cleared his throat twice. “Jason, I must ask you this, and I urge you to be open with me. Do you have reason to believe that Charlene did kill her ex-husband in self-defense? Because if so, I can help her. I’ll find her an excellent attorney, and she may avoid prison altogether.”

“All I know is what I already told you.”

Olivia kissed her brother’s forehead and ruffled his stringy hair. “We’ll get you out of this somehow,” she said. “So stop confessing, start proclaiming your innocence, and if you remember anything else, call your attorney. Or me.” She exchanged a glance with Mr. Willard, who nodded and closed the notebook in which he’d been recording the conversation. Before ringing the bell to summon Del or Cody to let them out, Olivia turned to her brother. “I’m sending Mom to see you. You will talk to her. Won’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Send her soon, okay?”

As Olivia burst into The Gingerbread House kitchen, Maddie’s head snapped up and cornflower blue icing squirted onto the worktable. “Crap,” Maddie said.

“Sorry,” Olivia said. “I’m behind schedule. How are the library cookies for Heather going?”

“Slowly. If you intend to keep finding bodies and tracking down killers, we’ll need more help in the store.” Maddie refocused her pastry bag on a cookie shaped like a book and wrote READ A COOKIE on the cover. “How’s Jason doing?”

“Better, if you don’t count the need for a shower and deep depression. He has agreed to see Mom. Also, he confessed to making a false confession and has promised to confess no more. Then again, he is hopelessly in love with Charlene Critch.”

“So it’s a good news/bad news thing.” Maddie finished her book cover and stretched. “I hope you’re including me in some of this sleuthing around town. Much as I adore decorating cookies, my back is forgetting how to straighten up.”

Olivia poked her head in the fridge and found a bowl covered with plastic wrap. “What’s this?”

“My tuna salad,” Maddie said. “Something to cleanse the palate between cookies. Try it. If I do say so myself, I have perfected the art of tuna salad.”

“I’m starving. I might have missed breakfast this morning. I don’t remember.” Olivia found some bread that wasn’t too dried out and piled tuna salad on a slice. “This is great. Is there any dish you can’t create?”

“Liver and onions. Unless I leave out the liver part. What’s next on the agenda?”

“Could you spare me a few of these cookies?” Olivia asked. “I need to bribe my next informant.”

Maddie winced as she stretched her arms behind her back. “Ah, much better. Who is your next informant?”

“Constance Overton.”