Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

“Fine mechanic, too,” Struts said. “I sure hope he isn’t a crazed criminal, I’d hate to lose him. Besides, Jason would probably kill him if he hurt Charlene.”

“What . . . ?” Olivia gaped at Struts.

Struts laughed. “And here I thought mothers were the last to know. Jason has quite a thing, as they say, for Charlene. No accounting for taste, but he is male, so there you are.”

“Jason and Charlene,” Olivia said. The thought of Charlene Critch as a sister-in-law made detached compassion a tougher sell. “Are they getting serious? Does Mom really know about this?”

“Yeah, Ellie is aware. As for getting serious, Jason clearly is. Charlene, who knows? She’d flirt with a fire hydrant if it wore pants.”

“If that woman hurts my baby brother, I’ll . . .” Olivia stopped herself in time. She was too familiar with murder to say it lightly. She thought it, though.

Struts opened her desk drawer and rummaged inside it. Slamming the drawer shut with her foot, she reached across to Olivia. “Here.” She held out the electric green Valiant with the smashed front end. “You need a cookie.”

Olivia returned to The Gingerbread House to find the kitchen air conditioner at war with the overworked oven. Maddie had been busy. Cut-out cookies were cooling on three racks, while four lengths of parchment paper held more cut-out shapes ready for baking.

“Is that lime zest I smell?” Olivia asked.

Maddie pulled an iPod bud from her ear. “You found a crime nest?”

“Close. Lime zest. Did you put lime zest in the cookie dough?”

“It seemed appropriate,” Maddie said. “What did you find out at the garage?”

“I’m about to call Del, you can listen in.” Olivia called Del’s cell phone, hoping to avoid having to leave a message.

Del answered in one ring; at least it sounded like Del’s voice. “Harrow?”

“Del, is that you? You sound like you’re drowning.”

“Eating an egg salad sandwich in my squad car. So, did you get a look at Charlie Critch?”

“I met Charlie and got some background about him from Struts Marinsky over at the garage. Also, I got a good look at his back. But I still can’t be sure he’s the man I saw. He’s got the right build and short brown hair, but . . . The intruder in Charlene’s store seemed older to me. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was his voice.”

“What about his voice?” Del said.

“The intruder’s voice was angry, harsh. Charlie struck me as shy, with a quiet, boyish voice. I asked how his sister was holding up after the break-in, and I’d swear the kid almost crumpled. He tried to hold it in, but he was quite upset. He seems to care for her.”

A soft murmur came from Maddie’s direction: “It takes all kinds. . . .”

“One other thing,” Olivia said. “I’d swear he was hiding something. He seemed evasive about whether he knew of anyone who might have a grudge against Charlene. He insisted no one would want to hurt her, but then he said she ‘didn’t deserve’ to be hurt. Anyway, it seemed odd to me. Also, Struts thinks Charlie is having money problems.”

“Okay, I’ll do some more digging,” Del said. “You could keep your ears open, but otherwise, you’re relieved of duty.”

“What have you dug up so far?” Olivia asked. “Anything about Charlie’s past? Does Charlene have a secret life?”

“Give me a break, Livie. You know I can’t share the details of an ongoing investigation with you.”

“Hey, you sent me off to look at a suspect for you—which cost me two dozen decorated cookies, by the way.”

Del chuckled. “You’re right, I should reimburse you for the cookies, so how about—”

“What, a dozen jelly doughnuts?”

“Dinner tonight. At that new restaurant, Bon Vivant. My treat.”

“Oh.” Olivia felt Maddie’s sudden interest, despite her intense focus as she centered a new batch of cookies in the oven. “Can’t,” Olivia said, attempting a monotone. “Gotta meet my mom at her rumba lesson at seven.”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” Del said. “How about an early dinner? It’ll be less crowded, anyway. That place is getting popular.”

“Well . . .”

“Good, I’ll pick you up at five. And Livie, I want you to stay in one piece, so thanks for your help, but don’t start investigating on your own, okay?”

“I’ll meet you there. I need my car,” Livie said before flipping shut her cell phone. She had half a mind to stand him up. On the other hand, even an early dinner called for a glass or two of wine, which might relax Del’s professional boundaries. Olivia’s interest was more than curiosity. The break-in at The Vegetable Plate was too close for comfort.

Maddie opened the oven door to pull out a sheet of cookies, baked to perfection. A puff of hot air, buttery sweet and edged with citrus, escaped into the kitchen. “So what’s this about you and the rumba?” she asked. “Who are you, and what have you done with my dignified friend?” She opened a cupboard door and began pulling down small bottles of gel food coloring for icing. “Unless . . .” She spun around, a bottle of electric purple clutched to her chest. “You’re taking lessons so you and Del can go dancing, aren’t you? The rumba is an excellent choice.” With the bottle of purple gel coloring as her partner, Maddie began to dance around the kitchen worktable. Maddie’s sensuous hip action made Olivia wish she had suggested that her mother meet her for breakfast the next morning instead.

Maddie swayed back to the cupboards, where she retrieved confectioners’ sugar, meringue powder, and lemon extract for the royal icing. She added a set of measuring cups and deposited her armload on the table, next to the mixer. “So,” she said as she opened the package of meringue. “You and Del. Tell me all.”

Olivia lunged for one of the cooled, undecorated cookies. “I’ll die if I don’t try one of these right away.” She nibbled off a protruding part that looked like a stem. “Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes. She went for another bite, then stopped and frowned at the cookie in her hand. Her gaze traveled over the racks of cooling cookies and moved on to the rows of undecorated shapes. “I thought you were preparing for Gwen and Herbie’s baby shower. These don’t look like baby carriages or rattles or onesies to me.”

Maddie poured confectioners’ sugar into the mixing bowl, wielding her measuring cups with focused nonchalance.

“This is an apple, right?” Olivia held out her half-eaten cookie. She then pointed toward freshly baked cookies cooling on a sheet of parchment paper. “That one looks like a carrot, and I bet that’s a sweet potato.” She picked up a long, narrow, curved shape. “Is this . . . a sweet pea? Maddie, you’ve baked a whole batch of fruits and vegetables. Why do I sense some cunning plot in that devious mind of yours? Please tell me you’re not—”

The kitchen telephone startled Olivia, and she answered without checking Caller ID.

“Livie?” The deep voice belonged to Olivia’s ex-husband, Ryan. He sounded tentative, which wasn’t like him. “Livie, I know I promised not to call for six months, but I wanted you to know how much progress we’ve made on the new clinic. The response from other surgeons has been incredible.”

“I’m glad for you, Ryan, but right now I—”

“Five minutes, okay? We’ve found a perfect building, a clinic that went under at the beginning of the recession. It went into foreclosure, and we got it for a song. It’s even near a bus line for families that don’t own cars.”

Ryan sounded like the eager, hopeful man Olivia had fallen in love with, but she reminded herself how quickly he could change moods. “That sounds great,” she said, “but—”