The Christmas Cookie Killer

The

Christmas

Cookie Killer

A Fresh-Baked Mystery

LIVIA J. WASHBURN

AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY

The Christmas Cookie Killer

Phyllis looked toward the living room, and the first thing she noticed was that the cookies she had left on the end table were now scattered across the floor. Some of them were crushed as if they had been stepped on.

Phyllis took an instinctive step backward, then stopped as she saw a couple of feet in fuzzy slippers sticking out between the sofa and a coffee table. She spotted one of the legs of a walker, too, and she could tell from its position that it was overturned.

Her heart pounding, Phyllis rushed into the living room, crying out, “Agnes!” She came around the sofa and saw the elderly woman lying on her side, unmoving. Agnes’s robe had fallen open.

Phyllis recoiled as she realized why the robe was open. The belt was wrapped around Agnes’s neck and pulled so tight, it was sunk into the flesh. . . .

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The

Christmas

Cookie Killer

A Fresh-Baked Mystery

LIVIA J. WASHBURN

AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY

OBSIDIAN

Published by New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Copyright © Livia Reasoner, 2008

All rights reserved

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

library of congress cataloging-in-publication data

Washburn, L. J.

The Christmas cookie killer: a fresh-baked mystery/Livia J. Washburn.

p. cm.

“An Obsidian mystery”—T.p. verso.

ISBN: 1-4362-6775-7

1. Newsom, Phyllis (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Retired teachers—Fiction 3. Baking—

Fiction. 4. Weatherford (Tex.)—Fiction. 5. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3573.A787C48 2008

813'.54—dc22

2008016304

Set in New Caledonia • Designed by Elke Sigal

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

publisher’s note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only autho-rized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

L

This book is dedicated to my husband, James Reasoner,
and my two daughters, Shayna and Joanna,

who helped make this book possible.

And to my brother Bruce

for his tasty ham recipe.

Chapter 1

T
here were probably a few things in the world that smelled better than freshly baked cookies, but right now, for the life of her, Phyllis Newsom couldn’t think of what they might be.

Throw in the scent of pine from the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, and this had to be what heaven smelled like, Phyllis thought. The only thing that might improve it would be if she asked Sam Fletcher to start a fire in the big stone fireplace. Since this was Texas, where the winters were mild except for the occasional blue norther that came roaring down out of the Panhandle, the fireplace didn’t get much use.

Phyllis’s late husband, Kenny, had gotten a fire going in it once or twice a year, on average, but it hadn’t been used since he passed away.

Phyllis felt a mental twinge and wondered if it would be dis-loyal to Kenny’s memory to have Sam build a fire. She decided that it wouldn’t. The hearth was there to be used, after all. And with a cold front blowing through, by tonight the heat from some flames would feel awfully good in this drafty old house.

2 •
LIVIA J. WASHBURN

Of course, there was a central heating and cooling unit

humming away, but that wasn’t the same thing. It just wasn’t the same thing at all.

Phyllis stood in the big, arched opening between the living room and dining room and watched with a smile on her face as most of her neighbors milled around the dining table, which was covered with platters of cookies—all kinds of cookies: plain, fancy, some with frosting, some not. Holiday decorations

abounded. Phyllis was sure the cookies tasted as good as they looked, too, but for now, no one was sampling them. This was the time to just admire them.

On a day like today, with so many guests, having a big house came in handy. Quite a few people lived in this neighborhood of older homes a few blocks from the downtown square of Weatherford, Texas, and most of them had come over on this Saturday afternoon for the annual Christmas cookie exchange. As busy and hectic as life was these days, folks didn’t see their neighbors as much as they used to. It was good to catch up on what had been going on in everybody’s life. The get-together also served as an unofficial welcome party for people who had moved into the neighborhood since the previous Christmas.

Sam Fletcher moved up beside Phyllis and asked in a quiet voice, “Is there always this big a turnout?”

That reminded Phyllis that this was Sam’s first Christmas in the house. He was a relative newcomer, too. He had moved in only during the summer, although he fit in so well with Phyllis and her other boarders that it seemed as if he had always been here. Even Carolyn Wilbarger, who had been leery of the idea of having a man living in the house with three women, had accepted him.

Phyllis had started taking in boarders after Kenny’s death, when it became obvious that the house was too big for her THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER
• 3

alone. It wasn’t so much a matter of money. It was more that she couldn’t stand rattling around by herself in it. As a retired teacher, she had extended the offer to friends of hers who were also longtime educators and found themselves in need of a place to live. There had been other boarders along the way, but at the moment the inhabitants of the house consisted of herself; Carolyn Wilbarger, who was widowed like Phyllis; Eve Turner, who was divorced—or between marriages, as she liked to put it; and Sam Fletcher, who had lost his wife to cancer a couple of years earlier—all former teachers, and now all good friends. One of the rooms upstairs was vacant, but Phyllis hadn’t gone out of her way to look for another boarder. She didn’t want to disrupt the chemistry that had developed in the house.

She knew from the years she had spent in a classroom that once a group of people got along well, you didn’t want to go messing with it too much.

“Yes, there’s usually a big crowd,” she said to Sam, tilting her head back a little so she could look up at the lanky, raw-boned former basketball coach and history teacher. Phyllis had taught eighth-grade history, so she had a love of the past in common with Sam. “People like to socialize at this time of year, and they’ll always come out for cookies, even on a chilly afternoon like this.”

A grin creased Sam’s rugged face. “Can’t argue with that.

I’m a mite fond of cookies myself. When can we dig in?”

“In a little while. Just be patient.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll try. But it won’t be easy.” He

paused, then added, “When are you supposed to find out who won the contest?”

“The winner will be announced in the paper next week, a

couple of days before Christmas.”

“Think you’ve got a shot at winnin’?”

4 •
LIVIA J. WASHBURN

“I
always
think I have a chance to win. Otherwise I wouldn’t enter.”

Carolyn had come up behind Phyllis in time to hear that

comment. She said, “Yes, you have to get credit for persever-ance. It’s a shame it hasn’t paid off for you very often.”

Phyllis turned her head to glare over her shoulder, but she didn’t really mean it. It was true that she and Carolyn had a long history of competing against each other in various baking contests, and it was also true that Carolyn won considerably more often than she lost, but Phyllis didn’t take the rivalry all that seriously. She didn’t really care who won as long as she had a good time coming up with the recipes.

At least, that was what she tried to believe. . . .

“We’ll see what the judges think next week.”

Phyllis and Carolyn had both entered recipes in the local newspaper’s annual Christmas cookie contest. The rules were simple: bake a batch of cookies and take them to the newspaper office along with the recipe, and a panel of expert judges would select the best cookies. The recipe would be published in the paper. Phyllis wasn’t exactly sure who those expert judges were—she suspected they were all the people who worked at the newspaper and that the contest was at least partially a way to get people to give them free cookies—but she didn’t care.

What she enjoyed was creating the recipes and baking the

cookies.

This year she had baked lime sugar cookies sprinkled with sugar and cut with a special set of snowflake cookie cutters so that each cookie was shaped a little bit differently from all the others. The cookies were unusual, looked good, and tasted great, so Phyllis thought she had at least a decent shot at winning.

Eve joined Phyllis, Carolyn, and Sam in the archway and

THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER
• 5

scanned the crowd with avid interest, reminding Phyllis a little of a hunting falcon.