Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) (26 page)

Binnie was relentless, and Ned’s camera, once it started flashing, never stopped. Intending to call Maddie to warn her, Olivia reached for her phone and realized it wasn’t in her pocket. At the same time, she took several steps backward to stay out of sight. Her foot hit a small rock. Thrown off-balance, Olivia teetered backward, flailing her arms. She felt herself fall. With dread, Olivia waited to feel her head crack on the hard surface of the alley; instead, she fell into someone’s hands. Luckily, they were strong hands. They had caught her, under her arms, less than a foot from the pavement.

“Livie?” asked a concerned and familiar voice. “Are you hurt?”

Olivia hung suspended backward. She arched her neck and looked into the handsome, upside-down face of Maddie’s new husband, Lucas Ashford. “Hey, Lucas,” Olivia said. “Nice catch.” Lucas pulled her upright and made sure she was stable before he released her. “I’m in a bit of a pickle,” Olivia said.

Lucas stroked his chiseled chin. “Maddie called the hardware store and told me the two of you might need help. She wants to keep Binnie and Ned from hassling your guests. She also said you had sent some folks over here to the store, but she realized those two reporters were already on the porch. As I understand it, you and Maddie need to get folks inside before Binnie and Ned can pounce on them.”

“Exactly,” Olivia said. “If you two have figured out a plan, I suggest we implement it fast. The people I sent over have nearly arrived.” She peered around the corner of The Gingerbread House. “Thank goodness, it looks like they are taking their time. I can see them walking up the band shell steps. Of course, there’s no telling how long they will stay inside the band shell. Right now, Binnie and Ned are focused on trying to see through the curtain covering front window, but if they turn around as Olaf and Desirée walk toward the store . . .”

Lucas flashed his shy, endearing smile as he whipped out his cell phone. He pressed a button, and said, “Okay, now.” He hung up and punched again. As his cell rang, he said to Olivia, “Wait at the alley door. I’ll tell Maddie to let you in.” As Olivia obeyed, she heard Lucas say, “Hi honey, the truck should be there in seconds. You do? Okay, I’ll go along, just in case.” Olivia ran down the alley to the Gingerbread House door, which opened as soon as she arrived.

“I was watching for you,” Maddie said as Olivia wedged through the barely open alley door and into the kitchen. “Livie, I’m so sorry I had to lock you out, but I was afraid Binnie and Ned might follow you and get inside the store. Everyone is here except Desirée and Olaf.”

“They are heading this way,” Olivia said. “Lucas said—” She noticed the kitchen table was covered with an embroidered tablecloth and set with small plates and coffee cups. In the center of the table were two serving plates heaped with decorated cookies. Maddie was dressed for action in pale green shorts and a matching T-shirt that read
COOKIES R ME
. Her hair was a mass of red frizz, as if it had caught her excitement.

“Lucas said you have a plan to keep Binnie and Ned away from us,” Olivia said. “How do you expect to—?” At that moment, brakes screeched outside in the alley behind The Gingerbread House. “What was that?”

“Our plan.” Maddie grabbed Livie’s wrist and pulled her toward the door that connected the kitchen to the sales floor. “Come on, we have quick work to do.”

“But what’s that truck doing in the—?”

“Just follow orders,” Maddie said. “As soon as you go into the store, run for Spunky and grab him. Try not to let more than your hands show through the window. The curtains should fall back into place. Bring Spunky back to the kitchen. We’re moving the guests in there until we’re sure Binnie is gone.” Maddie flipped open her cell phone.

Olivia frowned. “But what about the Health Depart—?”

“We’ll scrub later. Just do it, now.” Maddie whispered into her phone as she followed Olivia out to the sales floor.

Olivia reached through the curtains and got a firm hold on Spunky’s middle. Startled, he yelped as Olivia yanked him away from the window. She felt awful about frightening her pup, but she trusted Maddie. It helped to know that Lucas was involved. As Olivia held Spunky against her chest and hurried back toward the kitchen, she was aware of growing confusion on the sales floor. Spunky yapped frantically, while Maddie gathered the others into a group. Olivia saw her mother open the store’s front door for a repairman, who was carrying an armload of impressive tools.

Olivia pushed open the kitchen door with her shoulder and carried Spunky inside. She settled at her kitchen desk to comfort her rattled little Yorkie. Spunky recovered quickly, showing he was no sissy. However, he did squirm in her arms when the kitchen door burst open and a herd of people invaded the quiet space. Olivia watched the procession from her chair. Her mother, she noticed, had confined her long, wavy hair to a bun at the nape of her neck. Ellie wore her one and only summer suit, a rich purple seersucker outfit that she wore to weddings and funerals, though only if she wasn’t well acquainted with the happy couple or the unfortunate deceased.

With professional decorum, Ellie guided the few guests to their seats at the kitchen table. Anita Rambert took the seat closest to the coffeepot. She poured herself a cup before anyone else had a chance to sit down. Olivia thought Anita seemed tired, although she was as stunning as ever with her sleek black hair and perfect figure. Mr. Willard was his usual cheerful, cadaverous self. He, too, reached for coffee as soon as he sat down. He added generous amounts of cream and sugar. Olivia felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that not one of those calories would linger on his gaunt frame.

Ellie joined Olivia and quietly said, “Calliope is helping Jason with some questions relating to his house offer. Don’t ask me for details; neither of them thinks I can comprehend the simplest information. Calliope promised to arrive as soon as possible.”

“I hope so,” Olivia said.

“Repairs shouldn’t take long,” Maddie said to their guests. She lifted a plate of cookies from the kitchen counter and handed it to Mr. Willard, who took three. “We invited only a few select people to this gathering,” Maddie said, “so we’ll wait a couple more—” A sharp rap on the alley door interrupted her.

“Ah, two of our special guests,” Ellie said as she peeked through the peephole in the alley door. She unlocked the door and quickly ushered Olaf and Desirée into the kitchen. Olaf panted as if he were overheated, though he wore light seersucker shorts and a T-shirt. Desirée gave the impression that she was immune to heat. Her silky, pale pink outfit looked as fresh as it had when Olivia saw her earlier at Pete’s Diner. Her walk across the park had failed to produce even a hint of that oily sheen Olivia battled every summer.

Ellie poked her head outside to check the alley. After relocking the door, she gave Olivia a reassuring nod, which she hoped meant that the coast was clear. Olivia longed to know how Lucas and Maddie had tricked Binnie and Ned into leaving the porch, but the story would have to wait. If she hoped to figure out who had attacked Greta and precipitated her death, it was now or never. Maddie met her eyes over the heads of the seated guests. Olivia nodded. Spunky had settled down on the seat of Olivia’s chair, so she left him there. At once, Maddie lifted a box from the kitchen counter. With a slight jerk of her head, she indicated that Olivia should join her in the store.

Maddie led the way to the cookbook nook, where she deposited the box of Greta’s cutters on a table. “The kitchen won’t work,” she said. “Way too crowded. I’ll set up on the sales floor, and you can bring everyone out later.”

“What about Binnie and Ned?” Olivia asked.

“They are long gone, and I hope this is a lesson to them.” Maddie smiled at Olivia’s pucker of confusion. “Lucas and one of his guys picked them up in the alley and offered to help them follow the truck our guests were supposed to be in as they headed to an undisclosed location to broker a deal with you. I know it sounds like a plot from a B-grade movie, or worse. But honestly, it worked like a charm. Binnie and Ned fell for it. I’m guessing they got caught up in the moment and saw themselves as heroic reporters following a juicy story. Anyway, they are out in the country somewhere following a truck driven by another of Lucas’s guys. He’s paying them double their hourly wage.”

“Brilliant,” Olivia said, “and totally satisfying. I haven’t worked out exactly how—” Footsteps on the sales floor startled her into nervous silence. When Mr. Willard poked his head into the cookbook nook, she slumped with relief.

“I should get back to the kitchen, but I want to hear this.” Maddie sat on the edge of Olivia’s armchair so Mr. Willard could have the other one.

“I’m glad to catch you both alone,” Mr. Willard said. He glanced back at the sales floor before entering the cookbook nook. “I wanted to let you know what I found out when I talked to a couple contacts of mine in London. Understanding the urgency, both men did some immediate research and called me back within hours.”

Olivia felt a stab of guilt as she noticed dark circles under Mr. Willard’s deep-sunk eyes. “I’m so sorry I cost you a night’s sleep.”

Mr. Willard’s thin lips stretched into a smile that was paper thin, yet somehow charming. “Nonsense. I enjoy the hunt, and it was pleasurable to reconnect with old friends abroad. I will have to take Bertha on a trip to Europe so she can meet them. But time is of the essence, as we legal types are fond of repeating. My contacts both work regularly with the French police, and they were able to do some quick checking for me.” Mr. Willard stopped to listen for footsteps.

Maddie sighed. “Oh, all right. I really hate to miss all the fun, but I’ll volunteer to stand out on the sales floor and keep guard. If someone comes through the kitchen door, I’ll call out a greeting and a name.” She picked up the box of cutters. “And you will tell me everything Mr. Willard says, Livie. Or else.”

Olivia watched as Maddie positioned herself at an empty table on the sales floor, where she began to put out a selection of Greta’s cutters. Olivia rejoined Mr. Willard in the cookbook nook. “What did you find out from your contacts?” Olivia asked.

Mr. Willard cleared his throat. “To begin with, Greta was not unknown to either the British or the French police. The French were more inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, although when a second husband perished by falling overboard, they became more suspicious. However, they were unable to prove Greta’s involvement in those deaths. My London contact was kind enough to check with the Australian maritime authorities, as well, concerning the second death by drowning.”

“Are you saying that no one on board saw anything at all suspicious about that death? Even though the body was never found?” Olivia’s voice sounded too loud in the quiet space. She lowered it. “Did they question anyone?”

“They questioned quite a number of people. There was some sense that many who knew Greta felt loyal to her, or perhaps somewhat afraid of her.” Mr. Willard hesitated, clearing his throat several times. Finally, he said, “There was only one informant who cast doubt on Greta’s innocence, but the authorities were inclined to disbelieve her.”

“But why?”

Mr. Willard cleared his throat once again. “They seemed suspicious of her motives. Apparently, Greta had been particularly cruel to her, in a public way, by insulting her parents and drawing attention to her, um, looks.”

“Oh, no, you mean . . . ?”

Mr. Willard inclined his head. “Yes, I’m afraid her name was Calliope Zimmermann.”

“Rats,” Olivia said. “This isn’t good.”

“No, it isn’t,” Mr. Willard said, “but that isn’t the only information I was able to gather.”

“I’m hoping that means we have other viable suspects?”

“I believe so,” Mr. Willard said with the merest smile. “However, let’s begin with Greta herself. One of my contacts in London told me that Greta had at one time been suspected of insurance fraud. I wasn’t able to glean the details, I’m afraid, since she was never charged.”

“Interesting,” Olivia said. “That helps confirm my suspicion that Greta might have had a backup scheme to steal her own cookie cutter collection, in case someone questioned its authenticity. That woman was scary. I must learn to be more careful.”

“Indeed, you must,” Mr. Willard said with unmistakable firmness. “I do have one more tidbit to share with you. It’s about Olaf Jakobson. I’m astonished that this information was kept successfully under wraps for decades. I only found out through my lifelong friendship with the Jakobson family attorney. He is no longer retained by the family due, sadly, to ill health and age. Normally, he would never reveal such information, but he is concerned that it might be evidence in a murder case, and he appears to be the only one who knows.”

Olivia glanced toward the entrance to the cookbook nook. “Mr. Willard, you understand that I might not be able to keep this information confidential, right?”

Mr. Willard nodded. “I understand that. My friend was the only one bound to silence, and frankly, he hasn’t long to live. He asked that the information be considered a deathbed confession, and we attempted to cover the legal issues involved. Here is what he told me: The Jakobson family is extraordinarily wealthy. Shortly before Greta and Olaf were to be married, the family settled a sum of money on Greta, as a wedding gift. The sum was half a million dollars.”

“Half a million?” To Olivia, this seemed an incredible gift, especially since it had been given over fifty years earlier. “And?”

“And,” Mr. Willard said, “immediately after she received the gift, Greta left the country, taking the money with her. The Jakobson family tried to get it back, but they were unsuccessful.”

“Wow. No wonder Olaf hated Greta so much. She stole more than their wedding gifts. I very nearly feel compassion for him.”

Mr. Willard chuckled softly. “I’m afraid it caused a rift in the family, which was unfair to Olaf, but families can be . . .” Mr. Willard shrugged. “After that episode, Olaf’s younger brother became the favored son. Olaf has never—”

“Hi, Mr. Jakobson.” Maddie’s cheerful voice easily reached the cookbook nook. Olivia and Mr. Willard exchanged glances in silence. “I’ve nearly finished setting up the cutter display out here on the sales floor. It’s less cramped than the kitchen. We thought all of you might enjoy having a private look at some of the oldest and most valuable cookie cutters from Greta Oskarson’s collection.”