A Cookie Before Dying (6 page)

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—”

“Also, we’ve already convinced three surgeons to commit two days a month each. Well, one of them is me, and I’ll be donating half of my surgery time, at least for now. Plus Joanie has been working day and night writing grants to drum up funding.”

“Joanie?” Olivia glanced over at Maddie, who was mixing a new batch of cookie dough by hand, rather than drown out Livie’s conversation with the whir of a mixer.

“You remember Joanie,” Ryan said in the mellifluous voice he used when he wanted to gloss over a subject as if it were only of minor importance. “Joanie and I were in the same medical school class, but she decided she didn’t want to practice, so now she writes applications for medical grants. Anyway, we’ve already been awarded a couple solid grants.”

Olivia remembered Joanie well, though she’d spoken with her only once and for about three minutes, at a party given by one of Ryan’s medical school professors. Joanie, with the girl-next-door name, had looked as if she’d come directly from a modeling runway. She’d worn a short, figure-hugging satiny dress that showed off her lovely shoulders and long legs. Excessively long, in Olivia’s opinion. Then there was her hair, long and streaky blonde, which swayed as she walked. Joanie’s gaze had scanned the party guests while she exchanged empty pleasantries with Olivia. Yes, she could imagine that Joanie was quite effective at scoring grant money.

Olivia’s flash of remembered jealousy startled her. That’s all it was, she told herself. Jealousy remembered. In the here and now, she felt relieved that Ryan might be involved with Joanie. Didn’t she?

“Thanks for the update, Ryan,” Olivia said. “I have to go now.”

After she’d hung up, Olivia sat in silence, pulled into herself. Maddie seemed to understand her need for quiet. Moments passed before Olivia became aware of a shuffling sound outside the door that led to the alley behind The Gingerbread House. It could be a cat, or maybe Deputy Cody’s black Lab, Buddy, had taken off again. No, it couldn’t be Buddy, not unless he had learned to turn doorknobs. Olivia glanced at the dead bolt, then at the lock in the doorknob; neither was in its locked position. In hot, humid weather the door did tend to stick, so it might feel locked.

“What did his highness have to say this time?” Maddie was not a fan of Ryan, and her tone made that clear. “Livie?” she asked when Olivia didn’t respond.

Olivia put her finger to her lips and nodded toward the door. When the knob jiggled again, she pointed to the rolling pin on the table. Maddie snatched it up and handed it to her. Holding the rolling pin poised to whack an intruder if necessary, Olivia twisted the knob and opened the door.

Maddie was the first to recognize a startled and familiar face under a broad-brimmed hat. “Snoopy?”

The rolling pin dropped to Olivia’s side as she, too, recognized Sam Parnell standing in the doorway. He had flushed cheeks and a package under one arm. As always, he wore the full uniform—appropriate to the season, of course—of a United States Postal Service carrier. This wasn’t the first time Sam had tried to get into their kitchen without knocking. He never seemed to learn.

No one called Sam by his nickname: Snoopy. At least not to his face. Red mottling began to creep up his neck.

Olivia opened the door wider. “Sam, what on earth were you thinking? You scared us to death. We thought you might be that intruder who broke into The Vegetable Plate.”

Sam’s flush deepened. His thin body seemed frozen in fight-or-flight stance. “I wasn’t . . . I mean, some folks leave their alley doors unlocked on a workday, and this package arrived special delivery, so . . .” He held out the package. Olivia recognized the return address of a mail order firm that made lovely cookie cutters. She had ordered some in anticipation of holiday events in coming months.

“Thanks, I’ve been waiting for this,” Olivia said, taking the package. “It’s okay to come to the back door, Sam, but we’d appreciate it if you’d knock. We normally keep the door locked, anyway, even if we’re working in the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “I keep forgetting you picked up city habits living in Baltimore. Must have been tough, dealing with all that crime right outside your own front door.”

Maddie snickered. “Yeah, Livie had to knock a few heads together to clean up her neighborhood.”

Sam’s small eyes darted from Olivia to Maddie and back. “Well, I can’t stand around and yak all day.” He spun around so fast his heavy mail bag slapped his back and threw him off balance. Olivia cringed when she heard Maddie giggle behind her.

“Let me get that door for you,” Olivia said. “You’ve got quite a load there.”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Sam said with dignity, nodding to Olivia as she held the door open. He paused before stepping into the alley. “By the way,” he said, “you might want to check out Binnie’s blog. She gave you two quite a spread.” Chuckling, he added, “I guess any publicity is good, right?”

By the time Olivia locked and latched the door, Maddie had fired up the kitchen laptop and logged on to Binnie Sloan’s blog, her newest adjunct to the
Weekly Chatter
, Chatterley Heights’ only newspaper
.
For the most part, Binnie let her young niece, Nedra, handle the blog. Since Ned, as she preferred to be called, was a photographer and rarely spoke, the content was almost entirely photos, mostly of Chatterley Heights citizens looking startled, embarrassed, and angry. Often in that order.

Maddie flipped through the blog photos and said, “Ugh.”

“How bad is it?”

Maddie answered with a low growl. “I advise you to call Mr. Willard.”

“Seriously? You think we need an attorney?”

“If I’m going to kill Binnie and Ned, I’d better lawyer up.” Maddie turned the laptop toward Olivia. “Take a look.”

Olivia pulled a chair over to the small desk and squeezed next to Maddie, who scrolled back to the beginning of the photo display. Maddie muttered vengeful threats as she scanned through Ned’s candid shots of the two of them cleaning scrunched-up paper off The Gingerbread House lawn.

“I hereby vow to do my laundry on a more regular basis,” Olivia said when she saw herself in her red shorts and pink tank top.

“That’s nothing,” Maddie said. “Check out my hair. It looks like a bale of hay exploded on my head. I’m thinking I’ll bash Ned with her own camera.”

“I don’t think this is worth a murder rap,” Olivia said as the final photo appeared. “It’s embarrassing and intrusive, but that’s what Binnie and Ned are good at.” She squinted and leaned toward the screen. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“Right there, in the second-floor window of The Vegetable Plate.” Olivia pointed to the blurred upper right edge of the photo.

Maddie peered over Olivia’s shoulder. “I do see something, but . . .” Her fingers punched the keyboard. The photo became enlarged, and was blurrier, but a head-and-shoulders-shaped dark patch showed clearly in the top-floor window of The Vegetable Plate. “We’d better email this link to Del and Cody. Maybe they can get hold of the original. I’d love to see them confiscate Ned’s camera. Can you tell if it’s a man or a woman?”

“I can’t see any hair,” Olivia said. “The sun must be picking up the face because the room behind looks unlit. That makes sense if this is the store intruder, and he doesn’t want to be caught searching for something. If it’s Charlene, I think we might see the lightness of her hair; it’s such a bright blond.”

“Brighter than nature intended,” Maddie said. “I wonder when Ned took this picture.”

Olivia flipped back through all the photos. “You aren’t in some of these, just me or the lawn, and the light is different in those pictures. I think Ned took these at two different times. I’m lucky she didn’t post a shot of me going into The Vegetable Plate.

“Knowing Binnie,” Maddie said, “she’s holding it for ransom. She probably wants an interview with you.”

“Wait a minute, I think I see something.” Olivia picked up a pencil and lightly touched the grainy face on the screen. She traced the outline of a faint, dark curve separated by a lighter patch. “Those could be teeth,” Olivia said. “I’ll bet anything that’s the man I saw running from the store. And he’s laughing at us.”

Olivia arrived at the Bon Vivant a few minutes before five p.m. and found it already filling up. The restaurant had been open less than a month. Chatterley Heights residents had quickly discovered its charms, and a recent excellent review in the
Baltimore Sun
was now luring in more diners from the surrounding area. This was Olivia’s first look inside.

Del hadn’t yet arrived. The hostess—a tall, elegant redhead with a brilliant smile—skimmed around closely packed tables as she guided Olivia to a table for two next to a window. She pulled out a chair for Olivia and said, “The sheriff specifically requested one of our quieter tables with a view. May I bring you a glass of our house merlot while you wait?”

“I’ll start with coffee, thanks. Cream and sugar.”

The hostess flashed her snow-white incisors and disappeared. Within moments, a server appeared at the table with Olivia’s coffee and two thick menus. Olivia sipped as she gazed out the window at a brick patio bordered with pink and red tea roses, all showcased against the lush hills in the distance. This was what kept her in Maryland despite the dripping heat of late summer. All this and cookies, too.

“What? No merlot?” Olivia jumped at the sound of Del’s voice. Her chair started to tilt; Del steadied it. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m too used to sneaking up on people.”

“Do you plan to tell everyone in town that I like a glass of merlot now and then?”

Del grinned. “Everyone knows already. And just to warn you, everyone knows about your thing for pizza, too.”

“I’ve watched you down quite a few slices,” Olivia said. “Not to mention the ever-present ham-and-cheese sandwiches.” Skimming her menu, she said, “Oh look, they serve pizza here. With roasted artichoke hearts and prosciutto, which make it both healthy and ham-like. Want to share one?”

“Sounds good to me.” Del caught the waiter’s eye. “And how about that glass of merlot?”

“Make it Chianti, in deference to the pseudo-Italian nature of the meal. And only if you will join me.” Olivia had not forgotten that wine was a key part of her plan to find out what Del had learned about the break-in at The Vegetable Plate.

“Done.” Del handed over the menus and leaned on his elbows on the table. “You look nice. I like the thing you did with your hair.”

“Thanks,” Olivia said with both pleasure and relief. She knew she should have worn one of her three dresses, but she planned to go directly from dinner to her mother’s rumba class. “The thing I did with my hair,” Olivia said, “is a barrette. That’s a technical term.”

“Unless it has to do with weapons, I won’t remember it,” Del said. “As promised, this meal is on me, with thanks for donating your time and cookies to help identify the man you saw leaving Charlene’s store.” Their wine arrived, and they clinked glasses. “Nice,” Del said after his first sip. He gave Olivia a smile that warmed her from the inside, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen for some time. She almost hated to pester him for information. However.

“Sorry I couldn’t positively identify the intruder as Charlie Critch,” Olivia said. “Although I liked the kid, so I’m also glad. He and Jason have become buddies. Of course, Jason likes Charlene, too, so he might not be the best judge of character.” Olivia sipped her wine and vowed to memorize the label. She wasn’t normally a fan of Chianti, but this stuff was tasty. “So do you have any specific reason to suspect that Charlie might be the intruder?”

Del’s smile faded, but at least he didn’t start ordering her to stay out of the investigation. “We don’t have much at all yet. I’ve heard a great deal of gossip about their parents, but Charlene and Charlie are both strangely hard to investigate.”

“Strangely?” Olivia asked.

“These days we can usually learn a lot about folks simply by searching for them on the Internet. But not these kids. As far as we can tell, neither of them uses sites like Facebook or Twitter or has a blog or even posts messages on anyone else’s sites.”