Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

Olivia drove to Willow Road, parked at the north end of the block, and walked to the front door of the dance studio. The ground floor was in complete darkness, but Olivia had seen a faint light showing through the curtain covering Valentina’s bedroom window.

Olivia still had the studio key she’d borrowed from Constance Overton. She unlocked the front door and slipped inside. She eased the door shut behind her and stood in the dark, letting her eyes adjust. A light switched on in the office across the dance floor. A slender form appeared in the doorway with the light behind her. Valentina hesitated for a few seconds, then cried out, “Daddy, you are so late.” Light as air, Valentina glided across the dance floor toward Olivia. She halted abruptly when she realized the form in the dark was not her father.

“Valentina, please don’t be frightened. It’s Olivia Greyson. You remember me, don’t you? My friend and I are the ones who make cookies.” She held out her box. “I brought you some ballet cookies—ballerinas, toe shoes, ballet slippers. . . .”

Valentina glanced at the box and backed away. “Where is my daddy?” She was dressed all in pale blue: leotard, tights, ballet slippers, and a gathered skirt made of blue silk. Her waist-length white-blond hair hung loosely over her shoulders. Olivia noted that her delicate beauty was marred less by the scar on her cheek than by her excessive thinness. Her shoulder sockets showed beneath her stretched skin.

“He’s . . . he’s been delayed,” Olivia said. “He asked me to come over and reassure you. I understood from your father that you haven’t been feeling well lately? Can I help?” When Valentina didn’t respond, Olivia said, “Your father might be quite late, so he asked me to stay with you for a while.”

Valentina shook her head slowly. “That isn’t what he said. I’m supposed to go back to the hospital. He said to pack a suitcase and someone would pick me up.”

“Okay.” Olivia thought frantically, aware that Valentina could outrun her. “Yes, the hospital in DC. I can take you there.”

Valentina took several quick, light steps backward. “No, a taxi will take me. Daddy planned it.” She turned and ran into the office.

Olivia followed and was relieved to find that Valentina was gazing out the window into the dark alley. Maybe she was hoping her father would appear.

“I can call a taxi, if you’d like,” Olivia said, taking her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “I’ll do it right now.”

“No!” Valentina spun around. Her eyes widened as she saw the cell phone. “You’re going to call someone to take me away from Daddy. He warned me. No phone!”

“All right, it’s okay.” Olivia placed the cell on the countertop. “See? I won’t call anyone.”

Olivia barely had time to register her movements before Valentina had snatched the cell and fled up the staircase. Runs with Spunky had strengthened Olivia’s legs, but not enough to keep up with a ballerina. The hallway was empty when she reached the second floor. She headed toward the light streaming through the open door of Valentina’s room and found her sitting cross-legged on her bed. Next to her lay a packed suitcase. “Daddy isn’t coming back, is he?” she asked.

“I . . . I don’t know,” Olivia said.

“Daddy always tried to keep me safe,” Valentina said. “He made a plan to protect me, but his plans don’t always work. So sometimes I have to make my own.”

As Valentina unfolded her legs to stand up, Olivia thought of a bluebell opening to the sun. And then she cursed herself for being distracted by the girl’s gracefulness. In a blur, Valentina had slipped out of the room and slammed the door shut. Olivia heard the slide of the chain lock on the outside of the door. She was trapped inside, and Valentina had her cell phone. Olivia spun around, looking for a phone. There was none. She tried the window and found it painted shut. She began to pound on the door, for all the good that would do.

Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Valentina’s bedside table. The bottle of pills, nearly full when she had examined it the day before, now lay on its side, empty. A half-full glass of water stood next to it.

Olivia paced the room, trying to focus her mind. How long before Valentina succumbed to an overdose? Would it be fatal? Out of frustration and desperation, Olivia kicked the door. And then she stopped, remembering Valentina’s words, her apparent frailness, how she fought back when King attacked her in the park.... So sometimes I have to make my own.

Valentina’s suitcase lay on the bed, closed but, as Olivia discovered, not locked. She dumped its contents and pawed through them. Costumes. Valentina had packed a selection of her mother’s ballerina costumes but nothing else. Olivia’s hands shook as she examined the costumes one by one. She came to one that was rolled up, not lovingly folded. Olivia spread the costume on the bed. It was a white, knee-length skirt of fine, lightweight satin sewn to the waistband of a white leotard. The bodice and arms of the leotard and the front of the skirt were badly stained with browned dried blood. There had been no attempt to wash off the blood, almost as if Valentina wanted to preserve the memory of stabbing Geoffrey King. If Valentina truly felt no guilt, Olivia could think of only one reason she would have left the evidence for others to find. To clear her father.

Olivia heard pounding from outside the bedroom window. It sounded like someone trying to get in the front door. She grabbed one of Valentina’s toe shoes from her closet and slammed the wooden toe against the window. The pane began to crack. Thank goodness for old window glass. At least she made enough noise to get Del’s attention; he was standing on the sidewalk, shouting up at her. He waved an object in the air and pointed toward the front door. Olivia giggled when she realized he was wielding a baseball bat. She moved Valentina’s bloodstained clothing to her sewing machine table and sat on the bed to wait.

In short order, Olivia heard the chain lock slide open, and the bedroom door opened.

“Valentina,” Olivia said, as soon as she saw Del. “She took pills. Did you find her?”

“In the kitchen, groggy but still conscious. The ambulance is on its way. In fact, I hear it now.”

“How on earth did you know I was here?”

“Logic, my dear Greyson,” Del said. “Plus Maddie and Spunky.”

“Spunky?”

“It’ll wait till morning. Seven a.m. at The Chatterley Café with Maddie and Lucas. Cody and I will let them know you’re okay. You need to get some sleep, you looked exhausted.”

Olivia’s muscles did feel weak and wobbly, and somehow she fell into Del’s arms.

“Always wanted to rescue a damsel in distress,” Del whispered, his face buried in her hair.

“Was the baseball bat part of your fantasy?” Olivia asked, pulling back to look at his face.

Del laughed. “Well, no, I usually imagined using my bare hands, but after watching your ex-husband yesterday evening, I decided to go with something tougher.”

Olivia, Maddie, Del, and Lucas were first in line when The Chatterley Café opened Saturday morning. Olivia felt surprisingly chipper after her harrowing experience and only four hours of sleep. Her sleep had been all the better for knowing that Jason was safe in his childhood bedroom, being watched over and, even more important, fed by Ellie. Olivia had to admit that Charlene was being attentive to Jason, bringing him vegie burgers and fresh fruit to help him regain his strength. Jason seemed to welcome both the food and the attention.

“Spunky should be here,” Maddie said when they’d been seated. “If it wasn’t for him, Livie might have spent the night locked in that poor girl’s bedroom while she was dying in the kitchen.”