As soon as Olivia locked the front door of The Gingerbread House at six p.m., her heart began to creep up her throat. Now that it was about to unfold, her plan to prove her brother’s innocence felt flimsy and foolish. If only she had more time to think it out....
“You seem jumpy, dear,” Ellie said from behind Olivia’s back, which made her jump. Ellie laughed. “I know you’re having second thoughts about this evening,” she said, “but really, what other choice do we have?”
“You sure know how to boost my confidence,” Olivia said.
“Too much confidence can be dangerous.” A worry wrinkle between Ellie’s eyebrows betrayed her own unease. “I believe I’ll take five minutes to center myself,” she said.
As her mother drifted toward the cookbook nook, Olivia straightened her spine and headed for the kitchen. She opened the door and heard Bertha’s voice say, “You’ll slice your own arm off.” The prediction was delivered with parental force.
Sounding snappish, Maddie said, “Would you rather be shot down like a . . . like a squirrel?” She held a chef’s knife in one hand and a cucumber in the other. Her hair resembled a brush fire.
Olivia looked from one tight face to the other and asked, “Am I missing something?”
“Okay, you settle this,” Maddie said, waving her knife in the air. “We’ve invited a bunch of murder suspects to our closed store. That might be safe in mystery movies, but in real life things could get messy. And dangerous. I think we should be armed.”
“And I think that would only make the situation more dangerous,” Bertha said, planting her fists on her slimming yet still ample hips.
If we were doing this for anyone but Jason . . .
“Frankly,” Olivia said, “right now I’m scared of both of you. If we greet our guests with weapons, they will turn tail and run. I might join them.”
“But where’s our backup? Are we supposed to do this alone?” Maddie pointed her knife at Bertha and Olivia for emphasis.
“Maddie, please, put down that knife. You’re knocking years off my life expectancy. I agree with Bertha, no good can come of arming ourselves. Del and Cody will be here soon, I know they will.”
I hope they will.
Maddie checked the kitchen clock. “It is six fifteen. Our
murder
suspects will begin arriving in fifteen minutes. What are we supposed to do, pelt them with ballerina cookies?”
“If they even show up,” Bertha said.
Behind Olivia, the kitchen door opened, and Ellie’s voice, serene with an edge, said, “I am newly re-centered, and I intend to stay that way. Need I say more?” Her audience of three shook their heads in chastened unison. “Good,” Ellie said. “Now, I hear noises outside the alley door. I predict our reinforcements have arrived.”
Olivia swung open the door on the first knock. Mr. Willard entered first. He smiled at Bertha, who rushed to him and threw herself into his arms. It was a testament to his wiry strength that he didn’t fall over. “Now dearest,” he said, “I couldn’t stay home and let you face this evening alone. Besides, someone might need an attorney.”
Sheriff Del and Deputy Sheriff Cody followed, each grasping one of Jason’s upper arms. Ellie shed her serenity and ran to her son.
Lucas Ashford brought up the rear. He wore jeans and a crisp blue T-shirt that revealed well-developed muscles. When he saw Maddie, his worried look softened into a tentative, bashful smile.
“Hey,” Maddie said.
“Hey, yourself.” Lucas edged to her side through the crowded kitchen. “I got worried.”
“Worried is good.” Maddie leaned against him. “So,” she said, looking toward Del and Cody, “can I assume you guys brought some firepower?”
With a loud sigh, Del said, “We decided to leave our assault rifles at home, but we do have our service revolvers. Jason isn’t a free man just yet.”
“Oh,” Maddie said. “Sorry, Jason, but don’t you worry. We’re about to smoke out the real killer.”
Jason looked thin and tired and not exactly bursting with hope. Olivia felt a tight squeeze in her heart as she watched him stare at the floor. At the same time, her resolve strengthened. “It’s almost showtime,” she said softly.
In ten minutes, the cookie trays were scattered around the sales floor, and tea and coffee bubbled away. By six forty-five, no one had shown up. Seven o’clock came and went with the same result.
“Don’t give up hope, dear,” Ellie said. “I have a strong feeling this experiment will work.”
Olivia had gone over and over the questions she hoped to ask her suspects. She needed another angle. “Del, did you look into Lenora Tucker’s story about Geoffrey King being afraid of a loan shark he owed money to?”
“Yeah, I talked to King’s parole officer, who asked around. It seems King wasn’t lying about that, except he seemed to be keeping up his payments. If he was stealing enough high-end stuff, that might explain it. He sure couldn’t keep a job.”
“Also, he was blackmailing Charlie Critch and who knows who else,” Olivia said.
At that moment, the front doorbell rang. Bertha bounced up to welcome Heather Irwin, who was followed by Charlene and Charlie Critch. Charlene carried a loaf of fresh whole wheat bread, which she tossed at Olivia before throwing her arms around Jason’s neck. “Oh Jason, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Jason held her tightly and buried his face in her shoulder. Charlie stood nearby, fidgeting with the ribbon on a bottle of red wine.
Bertha again answered the doorbell and Raoul Larssen entered the store. He wore a white shirt and jeans, which emphasized his muscular legs and broad shoulders. However, Olivia doubted anyone could mistake him for a construction worker. His dark eyes explored the store before coming to rest on Ellie Greyson. “Ah, my favorite pupil,” he said. When Olivia greeted him, he executed a quick bow and handed her a bottle of Chilean cabernet sauvignon. Inexpensive, yet excellent. “I offer this in celebration of your brother’s freedom,” he said. “And also for your kindness. Ms. Overton explained to me that you begged her to be lenient with me for my . . . for omitting to mention my daughter’s visit.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Olivia said.
“Ms. Overton said you offered to pay her the extra rent I owe her. This is too generous of you and not necessary. It was merely a mistake on my part. I have already taken care of the problem.”
Ellie took the bottle from Olivia’s hands. “This looks delicious, Raoul. Will you join me in a glass? You don’t have to teach tonight, do you? I’ve been hoping for a chance to chat with you. What class will you be starting next?” Ellie removed the cork with the ease of experience and poured three glasses.
Raoul accepted his wine and took a small sip. “I am so sorry to tell you this, my dear Ellie, but we will be leaving soon. I have made arrangements to teach elsewhere. They want me to begin immediately, and my classes here are coming to an end, so . . .”
“Oh no!” Ellie said. “I was so hoping to meet your daughter. From what I’ve heard, she’s a stunning ballerina. Livie has seen her dance, you know.”
“And I want to talk to her,” Olivia said. “She might have seen something in the park that could clear Jason.”
Raoul’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “But I understood that your brother has been cleared of the . . . the crime.”
“I know it’s confusing,” Olivia said. “Jason has been released because the police realized they don’t have any more evidence against him than certain other possible suspects.” She directed a deliberate glance across the room at Charlene and Charlie Critch, who were chatting with Jason, Bertha, and Mr. Willard.
Raoul took two sips of his wine before saying, “I’m afraid there is no time to visit. My new job begins so quickly, you see.” An elegant shrug of his shoulders conveyed regret, apology.
“Perhaps I could visit her,” Olivia said. “We have enough help with the store. I could come over tomorrow morning for a short visit, say, at nine o’clock? I’ll help her pack.”
Raoul placed his empty wineglass on a table. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said. “She will be gone, I have made the arrangements. She needs quiet, rest. Ever since her . . . her accident, she has been so fragile. It would be useless to speak to her, anyway, because her memory is often unclear. I must get back to her now.”
Before Raoul could back away, Ellie captured his arm. “Raoul, if this is the last time I will see you, then I will not allow you to leave so soon. You will have another glass of that delicious wine and meet my son, Jason. Livie, dear, would you . . . ?” She nodded toward the wine bottle. Olivia filled Raoul’s empty glass and trotted behind her mother, who smoothly trapped Raoul inside the small circle surrounding Jason.
Olivia sidled up next to Del. In a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, “How about holding a plate for me while I pack some ballerina cookies for Raoul to take back to his daughter?”
Del followed her to a tray piled with cookies. Olivia handed him a heavy paper plate, on which she arranged cookies shaped like toe shoes, ballet slippers, and ballerinas performing a variety of moves. “Raoul is desperate to keep me or anyone from talking to his daughter. He’s going to get her out of town as soon as he leaves here, I’ll bet on it.”
Del leaned toward her. “And you think this is significant because . . . ?”
“I think Valentina knows something about King’s murder. Raoul doesn’t want her involved, he says, because she is so fragile. Only I can’t help but wonder . . . Del, I’m going to play a hunch tonight, and I might need your help.”
Del sighed.
“Enough with the sighing, okay? I know you don’t want me involved, but I am, so either deal with it or . . . well, that’s your only choice.” Olivia covered the plate with plastic wrap. “Follow my lead. I want to find out what Charlene had on King. She claims it was the reason she wasn’t really afraid of him.”
“Maybe she was bluffing,” Del said.
“Maybe, but I don’t think so.” Olivia met his eyes and saw worry in them. “I’m not afraid,” she said with a teasing smile. “You have a gun.”
With Del’s help, Olivia delivered a tray of cookies and another of cut-out vegetable sandwiches to the quiet group. “Especially for you, Charlene,” Olivia said as she placed the cut-out sandwiches within reach. Charlene actually smiled at her. After several peaceful moments had passed, Olivia said, “You know, Charlene, I’m really curious about something. When I checked on The Vegetable Plate and found Geoffrey King creating havoc, I heard him say something like, ‘I’ll kill her.’ I had the sense he was looking for a particular item, something really important to him.”
Charlene dabbed at her chin, where a drop of red juice had dripped from her tomato sandwich. “I can’t imagine what.”
“Well, I wondered because he was so violent, yet later you told me you weren’t afraid of him.”
Charlene shrugged and selected a carrot-shaped sandwich.
“Maybe it’s something you didn’t know you had,” Del said. “It would sure be helpful to us if you could figure out what it might be.”
“I have no idea.” Charlene shifted her chair closer to Jason, who reached for her free hand.
“Well, I sure don’t miss Geoffrey King,” Charlie said. “I didn’t kill him, but I was glad to get him off my back.”
“Oh Charlie, you knew I could protect you,” Charlene said.
“How?” Olivia asked. “With the evidence you had against Geoffrey King?”
In her most gentle, mothering voice, Ellie said, “You are among friends, Charlene. It can be such a relief to let go of secrets. One often finds they are not nearly as shameful as one thought they were.”
With a casual shrug, Charlene said, “Oh, I’m not ashamed. I made a promise that I wouldn’t use the information unless absolutely necessary. And now it won’t ever be necessary. It would have stood up in court, though. I had a signature and everything.”
“Is this something King was never prosecuted for?” Del asked.
“My friend never told anyone but me. She didn’t want to press charges, even though I told her I’d support her. She said no one would believe either of us. So we came up with this idea that she’d write it all down, and I’d keep it safe.”
“Do you still have all this information? Geoff never got hold of it?” Olivia asked.
Charlene snickered and said, “Geoff wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. He tore apart my store, thinking I’d be silly enough to hide it there. It’s in my safe-deposit box. Someday I’ll burn it.”
“Who was this woman, Charlene?” Del leaned toward her, pressing hard. “What was her name?”
“I’ll keep her secret forever,” Charlene said, her delicate chin in the air. “She deserves her privacy.”
“But Geoffrey King was murdered,” Del said, “and his killer hasn’t been—”
“More wine, anyone?” Ellie said, holding a bottle in each hand. “Come on, this is a celebration.”
When the atmosphere had settled, Olivia turned to Del. “So when do I get my Duesenberg back?”
“Your what?”
“Duesenberg, it’s a—”
“Classic car, I know.”
“Actually, it’s a tin cookie cutter, and I want to give it to Jason as a homecoming gift.”
“I forgot all about that.” Jason’s smile made him look more like the eager kid he’d been only days earlier. “Why does Del have it?”
“I didn’t know I did,” Del said. “I guess I should have asked you or Maddie what that cookie cutter shape was meant to be, but I wanted to keep it to myself. So much for that idea. Thanks, Livie.”
“Don’t mention it. Any idea how it got into the dead man’s hand?” Olivia took careful note of her listeners’ reactions. Bertha, Mr. Willard, and Cody maintained their watchful silence. Heather Irwin looked as if a weight had been lifted from her mind. Ellie smiled serenely, as usual. Raoul’s expression was thoughtful, attentive. Charlene looked bored, Charlie stared at the floor, and Jason frowned at Charlie.
“Charlie?” Jason asked. “You didn’t . . . did you? We talked about this. You said you’d stopped.”