Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

Cody was too far away to help, so he aimed his revolver at Raoul.

“No weapons,” Del yelled. He raced across the sales floor, knocking over display tables as he positioned himself between Raoul and the front door. Del adopted a fighter’s stance, bent forward, ready to tackle.

As if he had rehearsed for months, Raoul took a few running steps and lifted into the air like a gazelle. Startled, Del ducked. Raoul’s long, outstretched legs cleared Del’s back by inches and delivered him nearly to the front door. As Raoul reached toward it, the door opened on its own.

Olivia’s ex-husband Ryan stood in the doorway. “There you are, Livie,” Ryan said, looking past Raoul and Del, both frozen in place. “Sorry I’m late. This town is so small, I almost missed it.” Raoul tried to push past Ryan, who was not accustomed to jostling by strangers. “Hey, buddy, watch it.” With Del gaining on him, Raoul hit Ryan in the chest with a powerful shoulder. Ryan’s face turned beet red.

Del and Cody were within grabbing distance of Raoul. Olivia, who knew Ryan’s stubbornness and his temper, called out to him, “Ryan, get out of the way. Let the police handle this.”

Ryan ignored her. He swung his fist into Raoul’s stomach, then yowled in pain. Raoul stumbled backward into Del and Cody, throwing them off balance. All three fell in a heap on the floor. Del was the first to recover. He rolled up on his knees and got a firm hold on Raoul’s wrists, while Cody slapped on some handcuffs. Raoul stopped struggling. To Olivia’s surprise, he began to cry.

“What is this, the Wild West?” Ryan held his injured right hand gently in his left palm. “I think my hand is broken. I’m holding all of you responsible,” he said to the three winded men. “If this damages my surgery career, I’m suing you all.”

Olivia suppressed a giggle, telling herself she was simply nervous. Ryan didn’t deserve to have his hand broken. Well, maybe he did.... The Gingerbread House was a mess. Tables lay on their sides, their precious cookie cutter displays spread all over the floor. Several mobiles hung crookedly, as if they’d been used as swinging vines. At least the expensive baking equipment had been spared.

Ryan caught sight of Olivia across the sales floor. “Livie, come over here. I’m taking you away from this . . . this uncivilized backwater right now.”

Olivia ignored him.

“Olivia Greyson, do you hear me?”

Del shot a glance in Olivia’s direction, and Maddie moved up beside her. Olivia felt perfectly calm as she gazed across the cluttered floor at her ex-husband. “You’d better get that hand looked at, Ryan,” she said. “We have a small hospital in this backwater, but I think they own an X-ray machine. I’m sure Del or Cody will be glad to run you over there as soon as they are done here.” Without waiting for a response, Olivia picked her way through cookie cutters to the table where the wine and glasses miraculously stood undamaged. She poured two glasses and handed one to Maddie. “To The Gingerbread House,” she said, clinking Maddie’s glass.

“Long may she live,” Maddie said, the hint of a tear in her voice.

Olivia should have been deep in peaceful slumber, but her mind churned nonstop. Spunky crawled on top of her stomach and watched her face. “Sorry I’m restless, Spunks. Loose ends.” She reached over and turned on her bedside light. Her cell read eleven twenty-seven. Maybe she’d gone to bed too early, but she’d felt worn out. She and Maddie had supervised the cleanup of the sales floor, much of which their guests had completed. Even Charlene and Charlie stayed to help. Afterward, they’d finished off the wine—with tea for Charlene, of course—and trundled off to their various homes and beds.

A detail was trying to work its way loose from Olivia’s jumbled thoughts. She reviewed Del’s report to her on Raoul’s tearful confession. He admitted that Geoffrey King had brutally attacked and scarred his daughter Valentina. She’d been a promising but shy, insecure ballerina, trained privately by her equally shy and insecure mother, Lara. Lara’s health had suffered because of her anorexia, and she’d died right as Valentina was about to audition for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. Raoul claimed that his daughter was, if anything, even more talented than his wife. Valentina lived to dance, he’d said. Raoul had hoped her confidence would grow with success.

Lara’s death changed everything. Without her mother’s advice and encouragement, Valentina slid into the quicksand of self-doubt and perfectionism, which soon became anorexia and depression. That’s when Geoffrey King entered her life. He completed her downfall and, by slashing her face, ensured she would never appear in public again.

After hearing rumors about the dancer in the park, Raoul realized Valentina wasn’t taking the sleeping pills he’d gotten for her. He confessed he lost control when he realized King was in town and had threatened Valentina again. Raoul sneaked out to the park, figuring Geoff would be there waiting for Valentina, and stabbed him. Raoul swore his daughter had already run off before he killed Geoff.

It made perfect sense. Olivia felt sympathetic toward Raoul and hoped a judge and jury would go easy on him, although murder is murder. But something was bugging her. If she could only . . . Raoul told Del that Valentina was safely back in the care of her psychiatrist at the hospital in DC. He had seen the end coming, he said, when Constance Overton asked him to attend the celebration of Jason’s release at The Gingerbread House. To Raoul, that meant the police had more evidence.

Olivia sat up and wedged her pillow behind her back. Spunky jumped off the bed, trotted to the bedroom door, and sat on his little haunches. “That makes two of us,” Olivia said. “Let’s have a snack.”

In the kitchen, Spunky munched on a doggie treat while Olivia sipped warm chocolate milk and allowed herself one decorated cookie: a pair of bright red toe shoes. They reminded her of Valentina. Using Spunky as a sounding board, Olivia sorted her thoughts out loud. “Unless I’m misremembering,” she said, “Raoul wasn’t entirely consistent about why I couldn’t talk to or visit Valentina. I think when he first told us about his new teaching job, he said ‘we’ would be leaving soon, as if Valentina was going with him. When Mom and I insisted on talking to her about what she might have seen in the park, Raoul’s story began to change. First I think he said there wasn’t time, they were leaving so quickly. Then he talked about how fragile Valentina was, she needed rest, he’d made arrangements, she’d be gone by morning.... It wasn’t until his confession to Del that Raoul said he had already sent his daughter to the psychiatric hospital in DC.”

Spunky finished his treat and gazed hopefully at his mistress. “What do you think, Spunks? Could Del have misinterpreted?” Spunky yapped at her and trotted toward the treat cupboard. “You’re right, of course,” Olivia said. “Del doesn’t make mistakes like that.” She glanced up at the kitchen wall clock. Nearly twelve thirty a.m. She didn’t want to awaken Del for something that might be nothing. “On the other hand, what if Raoul really did make arrangements for Valentina to be picked up in the morning? And what if Valentina is all alone in the dance studio, waiting for her father to return?”

“I need to take a short trip,” Olivia said. Spunky yapped and wagged his tail. “Alone,” Olivia added. “You stay safe and snug in your bed.” She changed into jeans and a black T-shirt and headed for the door, where she realized she’d forgotten her keys. After locating her keys, she unlocked her apartment door, then remembered to fetch her cell phone. Halfway down the stairs, she decided to pack some ballerina cookies, in case Valentina was alone and scared. “It’ll be dawn by the time I make it there,” she muttered as she filled a Gingerbread Box with cookies. She’d forgotten to close the store door on the way in, so she told herself to pay attention as she carefully locked the door on her way out.