One Dead Cookie (3 page)

“Livie, are you really mad at me for hiring Jennifer without consulting you? Do you
think I screwed up and hired a heartless home wrecker?”

“I didn’t say that,” Olivia said. “She’s a bit hard to read, that’s all I mean.”

“Hard to read like, maybe, a sociopathic killer?”

“Good night, Maddie.”

A short burst of church bells in the distance roused Olivia from a dreamless sleep,
but not enough to awaken her. She found them soothing. When the bells pealed a second
time, Olivia wished they would stop clanging and let her…Wait, what day was it? Was
she snoozing through Maddie’s engagement party? Had she remembered to deliver the
cookie cake? Had she even
started
the cookie cake?

When Spunky launched into his ferocious protector-of-the-house bark, Olivia shot upright
and realized at once that she wasn’t in bed. She’d fallen asleep scrunched into a
fetal position next to the box of cookie cutters that took up half her sofa. She still
wore the jeans and raggedy sweatshirt she’d changed into after a quick supper. She
must have wilted from sheer exhaustion, because she’d left the television on. A tiger
chased a herd of zebras, their cries muted to faint murmurs. Olivia rooted for the
zebras. She’d
also left her living room windows open and the lights on.
Way to save energy, Livie.

The chimes rang again, but this time Olivia recognized them as her front doorbell.
Spunky growled through bared teeth, ready to take on whatever evil creature threatened
his territory, his food, and his Olivia.

“Hush, Spunky. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation.” Olivia checked her watch.
Five a.m. Apparently, the Dixie Cups were also up early and, according to Olivia’s
cell phone, were off to the Chapel of Love with the intention of getting married.
Maddie was forever changing Olivia’s ringtone. She grabbed her cell and flipped it
open before the Dixie Cups could repeat their matrimonial plans. As Olivia prepared
a curt greeting for her caller, someone pounded on the front door of her house. It
couldn’t be Maddie; she had keys to both the front door and the foyer door, which
opened into The Gingerbread House.

“Doesn’t anybody sleep anymore?” Olivia hadn’t intended her lament to be quite so
loud. A familiar laugh drifted through the open front window, which faced the town
square.
Del?
She stumbled toward the window.

An equally familiar voice chirped from the cell phone in Olivia’s hand. “We can sleep
when we’re too old to party.” Maddie sounded altogether too alert. “You’ll be fine,
Livie. You just need a cookie.”

Olivia peered downward through her living room window screen, but the porch hid the
front door. “Del? Is that you?” Del Jenkins, sheriff of Chatterley Heights, left the
porch and appeared as a shadowy figure on the lawn. He looked up at Olivia’s window
and waved.

“Did you say Del is with you?” Maddie’s voice asked from the cell phone in Olivia’s
hand.

Del disappeared. In a few seconds, he pounded on the
front door, as if Olivia could possibly forget he was out there. “Hey, Livie, let
me in. It’s cold.” She was grateful there were no neighbors to awaken. At night, Olivia’s
Queen Anne was the only occupied building around the town square’s perimeter.

Del Jenkins might be Olivia’s “special friend”—to use her mother’s quaint phrase—but
that didn’t mean he could simply show up before dawn without warning. Unless…Maddie
and Del were trying to get hold of her at five a.m. For Maddie, this wasn’t so unusual.
But both at the same time? What were the odds?

Olivia grabbed her keys and ran downstairs with a yapping Yorkie racing ahead of her.
When she reached the foyer, she grabbed Spunky to keep him from leaping into the predawn
darkness. With a wiggling dog under one arm, Olivia fumbled with the lock and deadbolt
for the front door. As soon as the door cracked opened, Del slid through.

“I was sure glad to see you at the window, Livie. When you didn’t answer your doorbell,
I got worried.” Del wore his full sheriff’s uniform. When he removed his hat, his
straight sandy hair fell forward, covering one eye. His visible eye, red-rimmed and
puffy, told Olivia how little sleep he’d had.

“Worried? What’s happening? Please don’t tell me there’s been another murder.” Olivia
squeezed Spunky too hard, and he yelped.

Del gave her a brief, mirthless smile. “No murder, nothing like that. It’s all under
control now. Sorry I overreacted, it’s just that…” Del ran his fingers through his
hair, a gesture Olivia recognized.

“If it’s all over, come on upstairs for a cup of coffee.” Olivia locked and bolted
the front and foyer doors and climbed the stairs to her apartment. Del followed, once
he’d tested all the doors to make sure they were securely locked.

“Thanks, I could use a caffeine infusion,” Del said. “Cody is trying to finish up
some crime-scene coursework in DC, so I’m covering his duties. It’s been slow and
tedious, but not exactly exhausting…until the last few hours, that is.”

Olivia locked her apartment door behind them before releasing her grip on Spunky.
She was convinced he knew how to open an unlocked door. The poor guy had started life
in a puppy mill, where he was neglected and mistreated, leaving him with one front
paw turned slightly inward. Not that it slowed him down. In fact, the injured paw
only seemed to bother him when he was angling for an extra treat.

Olivia led the way to her kitchen, where she measured Italian roast into Mr. Coffee’s
basket. “You look awful,” she said to Del. “I meant that in a kind and concerned way,”
she added while she filled the coffeepot with fresh water.

“Thanks.”

Olivia pressed the machine’s on button, almost tripping over Spunky as he circled
her feet, using mental telepathy to transmit the word “treat” to her brain. Spunky
gave her a stern yap.

“You’ve already been fed,” Olivia reminded him.

“Gee,” Del said, “and I was hoping for a cookie.”

“Men.” Olivia scrounged a plate and two clean cups from her dishwasher.

Del tossed his hat on the kitchen counter, shed his uniform jacket, and slumped onto
a chair. “I tried your cell, but it went right to voice mail.”

“I was probably talking to Maddie.” Olivia’s cell phone
lay on the living room table, where she’d tossed it when Del arrived. “Oops,” she
said. “I hung up on her.”

Del stood and reached for his hat. “Go ahead and call her. I really should get back
to the station.”

“Oh no you don’t. Sit.” When Olivia pressed hard on Del’s shoulder, he didn’t resist.
“Come on, Del, you practically wore out my doorbell, pounded on my door, demanded
to be let in, declared yourself worried about me…this all before dawn, mind you.”
The coffee hadn’t finished dripping, but Olivia sloshed some into a cup. She plunked
it down in front of Del. “Explain yourself.”

Del took a long gulp of coffee, nearly draining the cup. “This is not for public consumption,”
he said.

“That goes without saying.” Olivia refilled his cup and reunited Mr. Coffee with his
pot.

“There’s been a break-in at Lady Chatterley’s.”

Olivia stifled a giggle; Del’s curt statement sounded like a line from a racy mystery
spoof. However, Lady Chatterley’s Clothing Boutique for Elegant Ladies was a perfectly
respectable, upscale shop on West Park Street, a prime location on the busy town square.
“Was anyone hurt?”

“It was night, so the store was empty,” Del said, “They never keep more than a few
hundred dollars in cash on hand, and it gets locked in the safe at closing. We’re
not entirely sure when the break-in occurred. The manager called us.”

“Lola goes to work in the middle of the night? What dedication.”

Del laughed. “What really happened is even more amusing. Lola got a call at about
four a.m. from Ida, the waitress at Pete’s Diner. Ida went in to work early to make
some…I don’t know, muffins or something. She thought she saw movement at Lady Chatterley’s’
front door, so she
dug out her binoculars and had a look. The front door was open and swinging in the
wind. Ida thought that was odd, called the store, got no answer, and so on.”

“Sounds like Ida.” Olivia sipped her coffee and thought back to Spunky’s behavior
the night before. “You know, I might be able to help pinpoint the time of the break-in.”

Del’s eyebrows shot up. “Tell me.”

“To be more accurate,’ Olivia said, “it was Spunky. He was fussing about not getting
his treats, and then he suddenly began yapping out the front window. I doubt he heard
anything, but he was wiggling around on the desk. I think he saw some movement outside.
He was upset enough to forget about treats, so I’d say it was serious.”

“When was this?”

“Around midnight,” Olivia said, “maybe a bit later. I went to look out the window,
but I don’t have Spunky’s remarkable vision. After a bit, he got bored and settled
down. That’s all I’ve got.”

“It helps, thanks.” Del jotted some notes on a small pad.

“Was anything taken?”

“Lola didn’t think so,” Del said. “The intruder took a hammer to the safe, but he
didn’t get into it. Anyway, we think it was a hammer.”

“A hammer? Isn’t that a bit odd? There must be more effective ways to get into a safe.”
Olivia fixed herself half a cup of coffee with cream and sugar.

“It isn’t that easy,” Del said. “Lady Chatterley’s has state-of-the-art protection.
Given the prices they charge, a thief might assume they keep lots of cash on hand.
Especially if that thief was, say, an addict who was thinking more about his next
fix than the most efficient way to break into a safe.”

Del lifted his cup with both hands and frowned at its
contents. Olivia knew that look. Either it was time to run some vinegar through her
Mr. Coffee machine to dissolve the crud, or Del was bothered by some aspect of the
break-in. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “Pretend I’m Cody.”

“That’s a stretch,” Del said, laughing. “And I mean that literally. You are tall,
but not six foot three.”

“I was hoping for: ‘You’re much more attractive, Livie,’ but never mind. Your deputy
is out of town; talk to me. Don’t make me guess.” Olivia tried hard not to inject
herself into Del’s police work, and normally that was easy. She didn’t care how many
speeding tickets he handed out in the course of the day. But a robbery attempt in
Chatterley Heights, town of her birth? She took that personally.

“So, got any cookies?” Del gave her a grin that felt like a hug.

“When have I not kept cookies stashed away for the odd dropper-in?”

“Odd?”

“As in charming and fun.” Olivia reached for a covered cake pan on top of her refrigerator.
“These are fresh. I’m experimenting with recipes for Maddie and Lucas’s party.”

“I go for the old standbys myself,” Del said. “I’ve never figured out what’s in them,
but I know what I like.”

“Well, if these cookies are awful, I’d rather hear it from you than from the hungry
and disappointed hordes at Maddie’s party on Saturday. My reputation is at stake.
I’m convinced Maddie doesn’t believe I can pull off this baking feat without her help.
I’m having doubts myself.”

Del reached into the pan and selected a lion shape decorated with burgundy fur and
a purple dragée eye. “I did a quick assessment and determined he’s the biggest and
fiercest cookie.”

“I expected no less.” Olivia poured the last of the coffee
into his cup, rinsed the pot and basket, and added more grounds and water. When she
pushed the start button and turned around, Del was chewing the lion’s head. He had
a puzzled expression on his face.

“Are you thinking about the break-in again?” Olivia asked.

“Um, not really.” Del wedged the remains of his cookie on his saucer.

“I see,” Olivia said. “You hate the cookie.”

“I don’t hate it exactly.” Del avoided Olivia’s eyes.

“It’s okay, I’m a grown-up baker. I can take it,” Olivia said. “But time’s a-wasting,
and I need feedback. What is it about the cookie that makes it unappealing? Taste?
Texture? Its very existence?”

“I wouldn’t call it unappealing exactly. All right, Livie, in the interests of scientific
analysis and as long as you won’t take it personally.” Del took a small bite of the
offending cookie and closed his eyes. “It’s a bit…I don’t know, maybe…understated?
Your cookies are usually so rich and buttery or spicy or whatever the right terms
are. They have a lot of flavor. I can’t stop eating them. This one is…” Del cast a
furtive glance at the kitchen door, his only escape. “Well, it’s bland. It doesn’t
have much flavor. And the texture is weird.”

Del watched her so warily that Olivia had to laugh. “To be honest, you confirmed my
suspicions. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to try making more healthy
cutout cookies. So I replaced some of the butter with the low cholesterol fake stuff.
That changed the texture, and not for the better. Also, I used too much, so I had
to keep adding flour to get it to roll out, which made it drier and less tasty. I
would have rolled it out in confectioners’ sugar, but I was trying to limit the sugar
content. So thank
you, Del. Now I don’t need to inflict my experiment on anyone else.” Olivia confiscated
the remainder of his lion and dropped it into the garbage can. The remaining cookies
suffered the same fate. Finally, Olivia brought a small box to the table. “These are
the old standbys you remember,” she said. “Something to cleanse the palate.”