A Cookie Before Dying (9 page)

“Livie, my friend, you need to get out more. Of course those are ballet steps, and I’d be willing to bet my new silicone baking mats she has trained professionally. Who on earth could she be? I don’t recall Chatterley Heights producing anyone so skilled. She could be a beginning ballerina practicing for her first appearance. Wouldn’t that be exciting? I wish I could get a closer look at her. She seems tiny, but I can’t tell from this distance. I suppose she could be very young.”

Olivia said, “I remember my friend Stacey saying her daughter has been studying ballet at some school in DC. Maybe she sneaked out of the house to practice.” Her excitement waning, Olivia yawned. “We need to get back to bed.”

Maddie’s laugh was loud enough to distract Spunky for a moment. “That isn’t Rachel Harald,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me. Rachel is bigger, and besides, I’ve seen her efforts. I went to her first-year recital last spring, just to relive the dancing days of my youth.” Maddie made a clicking sound that Olivia recognized as frustrated curiosity. “I’m going to sneak around behind stores and see if I can get a peek at her. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to concentrate again.”

“Maddie, it’s the middle of the night. Please go home and get some sleep.”

“Already slept,” Maddie said. “I’ll keep the phone on, and you tell me if she moves to another location.”

“Maddie, I’m tired. I—”

“Okay, I’m behind the hardware. Bless Lucas for leaving a back light on. Now I’m in back of Fred’s.” Like most town residents, Maddie shortened the full name of the men’s clothing store Frederick’s of Chatterley. “Once I get to the other side of the bookstore, I think I’ll be close enough to the band shell to see her. Is she still there?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m past Book Chat. I can see her,” Maddie whispered into her cell. “But I can’t see her face. It’s too dark, and she seems to be avoiding the lamplight. She looks small and very slender, almost like a pre-teen girl. It’s funny, though. . . .”

Now Olivia was hooked. “What?”

“Her hair,” Maddie said. “It’s long, nearly to her waist. And it looks pure white.”

“Maybe that’s why I thought she was wearing a cape,” Olivia said. “So she must be quite a bit older than we thought.”

“If only if I could see her face,” Maddie said. “She’s wearing something over her head, sort of a sack thing. She must be able to see through it, so it might be the same filmy fabric as her dress. Maybe it’s a costume.” Maddie sighed into her cell. “I’m losing her; she’s dancing into the shadows, away from the band shell. I guess I’ll have to try again another night. Anyway, I’m heading back to the store now, so you can run along to bed. And take that furry creature with you.”

Olivia gathered Spunky under one arm. “Okay, see you tomorrow. You can open, as penance for waking me up.” In the middle of a yawn, her brain registered Maddie’s words. “Wait, why are you coming back here? I refuse to stay up the rest of the night speculating with you about the identity of the mysterious ballerina in white.”

“Not to worry,” Maddie said, sounding far too alert. “I’ve got some baking to do, but I will be silence itself. And I can open the store, no problem.”

“What baking?”

“Oh, you know, a bit of this and that to fill out the display.”

“What display?”

“I thought you were exhausted.”

“What display, Maddie?”

“For our spontaneous morning event, the one we talked about.”

“We never talked about a spontaneous morning event. I’d remember. I’m not
that
sleepy.”

“Didn’t we? I guess I thought about it so much, I was sure I’d mentioned it. No problem, I’ve got the whole thing under control. You don’t have to do a thing, just sleep in a bit and show up whenever.”

Olivia was about to press the point, but she asked herself, did she really want to know? Spunky had gone limp against her chest, and she’d had enough excitement for one night. Maddie’s ideas could be on the wild side, but she was, for the most part, a sensible businesswoman. Maddie had learned a lot in the year or so they’d operated The Gingerbread House together, and she’d been wanting to plan an event entirely on her own. Besides, if you couldn’t trust your best friend and business partner, who could you trust?

Olivia placed a tray of iced vegetables—the decorated sugar cookie kind—on a display table in the cookbook nook. The nook was once a formal dining room for the succession of families who had owned the Queen Anne home before it became The Gingerbread House. In the dignified room, with its crystal chandelier and built-in walnut hutch with leaded glass doors, Maddie’s whimsical creations made quite a statement . . . like flashing neon lights in a medieval cathedral.

Olivia felt anxiety creep up her spine. The same worry had awakened her early that morning and sent her downstairs to the store well before opening. When she had seen Maddie cutting and baking cookies in vegetable shapes the previous day, Olivia was puzzled but not concerned. Even when Maddie returned to The Gingerbread House in the wee hours because she “had some baking to do,” and then insisted to Olivia that the two of them had agreed to host a “spontaneous morning event”—which Olivia was certain they’d never discussed—even then, she’d taken Maddie at her word. However, Olivia bolted awake before her alarm, one phrase of Maddie’s ringing in her head: “I’ve got the whole thing under control.” What “whole thing,” and why might it go out of control in the first place?

Olivia pondered the plate of cookies in front of her, with their wildly colored designs, and she knew the answers to her questions. Maddie was angry with Charlene Critch and convinced she had littered their store’s lawn with anti-sugar propaganda. All the cookies Maddie had prepared for their morning event represented fruits and vegetables. Charlene worshipped fruits and vegetables, and she despised sugar. However, decorated cookies are made with sugar. Lots of it. Charlene was sure to hear about the event and unlikely to be amused by the irony.

An electric blue cookie shaped like an eggplant and decorated with a hot pink smiley face grinned at Olivia from the top of a pyramid. She plucked it off. After glancing around to be sure Maddie wasn’t watching, Olivia exchanged it for a cookie from the middle of the stack, a sedate apple shape, mint green with a baby yellow stem. The eggplant’s bright skin peeked out, but at least she’d hidden that gruesome face.

Olivia started at a clumping sound behind her and turned to see Maddie in full costume. Her laced-up leather boots explained her noisy entrance into the room. Maddie had decided on a farmer theme for her event persona. It was Tuesday, not a day the store’s customers normally expected themed cookie events, but Maddie had given her imagination full rein. She wore red denim cutoffs that skimmed her curvy hips. The bottoms frayed up a good two inches to reveal flashes of thigh. Maddie had wrestled her curly red hair into puffy pigtails and plunked a straw hat on top. A tight white T-shirt and red suspenders completed the ensemble.

“Wow, those look great in here,” Maddie said, nodding with satisfaction at the plate of vegetable-shaped cookies.

“Nice shorts,” Olivia said, hoping to distract Maddie from the disappearance of the evil smirking eggplant. “Sure you’ll be cool enough?”

Maddie arched an eyebrow at her. “I see you are wearing one of your several pairs of gray slacks. Sure you’ll be warm enough?”

“You sound crabby.”

“
You
moved my cookie, didn’t you?” Maddie slid the eggplant from its hiding place and switched it with the apple cookie. Using both hands, she nestled the grinning vegetable back on top of the cookie pyramid. “I love this cookie. I think it’s one of my best efforts.” She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and took three pictures of the display. “This goes on our website,” she said.

“Over my dead—”

“Yoo-hoo, girls. I’m here.” It was the breathy voice of their part-time clerk, Bertha Binkman.

Maddie said, “Sorry, Livie, I forgot to tell you I called Bertha in for an extra day. I think we’ll need the help. We’re in the nook, Bertha.”

Bertha appeared, out of breath. Olivia was glad Bertha wasn’t wheezing nearly so much these days, since she had lost at least twenty pounds. She was still well-rounded, but her health had improved considerably. Bertha had been at loose ends when her longtime employer and dear friend, Clarisse Chamberlain, had died the previous spring. Too bereft to remain in the Chamberlain home, where she’d been given a home for life in Clarisse’s will, Bertha had used part of her inheritance to buy a small house in Chatterley Heights.

“Did you girls know there’s a small crowd gathering outside? Oh my, Maddie, don’t you look cute.” Bertha caught sight of the cookie arrangement. “Are those especially for the event? When Maddie called, she mentioned we’d be celebrating foods. My, my, aren’t they . . .” She caught sight of the blue confection on top. “Interesting.”

“It’s eight forty,” Maddie said, checking her cell. “Come on, Bertha. We still have work to do.” She headed for the main sales area, with Bertha following, her white eyebrows puckered in confusion.

Olivia stayed behind in the cookbook nook. As soon as she was alone, she snatched the cursed eggplant cookie, opened her mouth to its widest circumference, and aimed. With her first bite, she took out a third of the blue flesh plus most of the gruesome grinning mouth.

Olivia’s mother poked her head into the nook. “Hello, dear,” Ellie said. “Just thought I’d drop by.” She wore loose, silky blue pants and a long matching blouse tied at her waist with a midnight blue sash. With her long hair swinging in rhythm, she flowed into the cookbook nook like a gentle ocean wave. “You have a bit of blue icing on your lip,” she said.

“Mother, what on earth are you doing here?” Olivia asked as she wiped the telltale icing away from her mouth. “Don’t you have a class in mountain climbing or hang gliding or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ellie said. “I gave up such dangerous activities when I turned sixty. I am, however, considering a class in hip-hop dancing. It looks like such fun, and I think it would be excellent exercise.”

“Are you really my mother?”

Ellie smiled benignly at her daughter, who towered over her by eight inches. “One wonders at times.” She took a long look at the plate of cookies, now missing its eggplant. “I was afraid of this,” she said.

“How did you—?”

“Allan and I stopped for breakfast at the café this morning. We ran into Bertha and that sweet beau of hers, Mr. Willard. Though why everyone doesn’t simply call him Willard, I can’t grasp. He is quite approachable.”

“Mom, I really have to—”

“No, you don’t. Not yet,” Ellie said. “Trust me. When Allan and I ran into Bertha, she mentioned that Maddie had called her to The Gingerbread House to help with an event. Bertha said Maddie had described the event as ‘unique and challenging.’ Imagining those words coming from Maddie’s mouth gave me a flicker of apprehension. I left half a serving of eggs Benedict on my plate to come rushing over here.”

Olivia herself felt a shiver of foreboding. Her mother might seem vague at times, even to her family, but Ellie possessed an impressive ability to read people and situations. With trepidation, Olivia asked, “Do you suspect Maddie dreamed up this event with someone in mind? A certain someone who worships vegetables? Because I sure do, and I’ve been in the store since five o’clock this morning, trying desperately to think of a way to prevent a disaster. I’ve had one idea that might deflect some attention away from Charlene, but . . .” Olivia slid a candy-striped banana from the cookie pyramid and began to nibble. “I can’t understand it. Maddie has been acting like a completely different person lately.”

Olivia’s peripheral vision caught Bertha walking past the nook entrance, followed by Sam Parnell, their postal carrier. Since the store wasn’t yet open, Bertha must have offered him a cookie.
Good. The faster the cookies disappear, the earlier the event will be over,
Olivia thought.

“We’ll examine Maddie’s psyche later,” Ellie said. “Right now we’d better concentrate on damage control. This is Chatterley Heights. Charlene is bound to hear that her beliefs are being mocked. It’s no use hiding in here with your cookbooks, munching away at the evidence. Although . . .” She reached for an ear of fuchsia corn covered in yellow sugar sprinkles. “This looks diseased. I’d better do away with it.”

“I saw Maddie making these cookies yesterday,” Olivia said. “I should have known better. If she weren’t my lifelong friend . . .”

“Yes, and lovable despite her sometimes misguided impulses.”

“I know, I know,” Olivia said. “I don’t believe she really means any harm.”

“Maddie gets an idea and runs with it,” Ellie said. “Like the gingerbread man. And rather like that younger brother of yours.” She held a thoughtful index finger to her chin. Olivia noticed the nail was painted the same deep blue as the sash around her waist. “Perhaps we should revisit the question of Maddie’s psyche. You mentioned she hasn’t been herself lately. Do you think something is bothering her? I only ask because Jason tends to wind up like a top when anything goes awry in his world.”