Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) (28 page)

“I promise you, we’ve never met,” Desirée said.

Olivia heard a familiar clicking sound and saw Spunky on the sales floor. How on earth . . . ? Of course, she’d put him in the kitchen after he’d sneaked downstairs earlier. He must have squeezed through into the sales area when someone opened the kitchen door. She caught sight of his furry little body entering the cookbook nook. Good, he’d be safe from human feet in there.

“Now I remember,” Calliope said as she peered closely at Desirée’s face. “Wow. You must have had a lot of plastic surgery.”

“Excuse me?” Desirée turned to Olaf. “Let’s get out of here.”

Olaf nodded and spun her around. As they maneuvered around a display table, Calliope called after them. “It was on the
Alice Springs
, wasn’t it? You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember that light blonde hair. You had a fight with Greta. I thought you were going to punch her. Boy, did she let you have it.”

Desirée broke free of Olaf’s protective arm and turned to face Calliope. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. I’m twenty-five years old; I haven’t ever needed plastic surgery. My hair used to be white blond, but it has darkened over time. I’ve never been on a ship. And you are crazy.”

Calliope shrugged. “Well, you sure look like a woman I met on the
Alice Springs
back in 1995. Your hair is just like hers was, except maybe lighter, and really, how many women have hair like that? Either it’s natural, or you dye the roots every morning. You do look older than twenty-five, though. Maybe thirties. Plastic surgery can only do so much, you know.”

“Okay, so I’m thirty-three. Now, for the last time . . .” Desirée was standing near the five cookie cutters she had wanted so badly. She picked them up one by one, then put them back on the table, clustered together. A tear trickled down her cheek.

“I remember now,” Calliope said “That woman who fought with Greta . . . she had a daughter with her. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Olivia’s heart began to race. Disconnected facts swirled around chaotically in her mind. They were all connected, but she didn’t know how. Those five antique cookie cutters, an abandoned child, an argument between Greta and a blonde on the
Alice Springs
, baking cutout cookies with a mother and grandmother, hair blowing in the wind as a car races past, following an ambulance . . .

“It was you in the car behind the ambulance.” Olivia thought the words a split second before she heard them come from her own mouth.

Desirée heard her, too. With a last, longing glance at the cutters on the table, Desirée reached under her silky jacket to a pocket in her slacks. When her hand reemerged, it was holding the smallest gun Olivia had ever seen. Not that she had seen many guns. Compared with Del’s service revolver, Desirée’s gun looked like a toy. Nevertheless, Olivia had no doubt it could kill as effectively. And it was pointed directly at her.

No one moved. Olivia heard a clatter as someone dropped a plate.

“All of you,” Desirée said, “slide your cell phones across the floor and under the tables. You too,” she said to Olivia.

Olivia pulled out the pockets of her slacks to show they were empty. “I left mine upstairs, charging. I’m . . . always forgetting to charge it.”

Desirée hesitated, but she accepted Olivia’s explanation.

“Desirée, why?” Olaf gulped loudly as if he were trying not to cry. “I wanted to marry you.”

“I know, Olaf.” Desirée sounded sad. “Only I didn’t know that when I first met you. That would have been the perfect revenge, wouldn’t it? You and me? Greta ruined both our lives.” With her free hand, Desirée grabbed the five cookie cutters, one by one, and stuffed them into her pocket. “Those are
my
cookie cutters.” She took a step away from the table, keeping watch on the entire group.

“Yes, I believe they are,” Olivia said. “You must have been looking for familiar scratches when you examined the insides of those cutters.”

“You understand.” Desirée swiped at a tear with her free hand. “My mother taught me to do that. She used to show me which scratches went all the way back to my grandmother’s time. She talked about my grandmother often. I felt like she was with us. She wasn’t, though. She killed herself before I was born.”

“I’m so sorry,” Olivia said, and she meant it.

“We only had two of my grandmother’s cutters,” Desirée said. “They weren’t valuable, so we were able to keep them. These cutters belonged to my grandmother, too.” Desirée patted the five antiques in her pocket. “They have the same tiny initials inside . . . my grandmother’s initials. My grandfather took them when he left her. And do you know why? Because
she
wanted them for her precious collection. Greta wouldn’t even allow my grandmother to keep her own cookie cutters. She was evil.”

Olivia was acutely aware that her own mother might walk out of the kitchen at any moment.

“And do you know why my grandmother killed herself? Because of that witch, Greta Oskarson. She seduced my grandfather and stole him away from her. He was a count in France, you know. Real royalty. And rich. When he met Greta, he divorced my grandmother and abandoned his daughter, my mother, when she was only ten years old. The last thing he did for them was send them to the United States to protect them from the scandal. I think he was really just protecting himself. He cut off all contact with them.” Desirée took a breath that quivered with repressed tears. “My mother always missed him. That’s why she was on the
Alice Springs
. He was her father, and she wanted so much to see him again. When she did, she discovered he was old and sick, but he wanted her back in his life. He was going to tell Greta he was leaving her to reconnect with his daughter and meet his grandchild . . . me. But Greta killed him first. My mother couldn’t take it. She killed herself a year later. I was sent to live with a foster family until I was eighteen.”

“Well, it all makes sense then,” Calliope said. “Greta killed your grandfather and caused your mother and grandmother’s deaths, so you killed Greta. I’d do the same thing in your place.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I just wanted my cookie cutters back.” Desirée patted her pocket. “They held my best memories of my mother. Greta laughed at me. She wouldn’t let me hold them, even once. She called me a stupid girl. I was so angry. I grabbed her around her scrawny neck and squeezed, but . . . She started to wheeze. I got scared, so I left. I left her to die.”

“But you followed the ambulance to the hospital, didn’t you?” Olivia said. “You wanted to make sure she was taken care of, right?”

Desirée hesitated as if she were pondering the question. Finally she shook her head. “No,” she said. “I wanted to make sure she was dead.” Desirée’s gun had dropped lower as she talked, but now she raised it and pointed it at Olivia again. “You are going to get me out of here,” Desirée said. There was no longer any softness in her voice. With her gun steadily aimed at Olivia, Desirée quickly skirted the end of the table. No one was close enough to intervene. She grabbed Olivia’s wrist, twisted her arm behind her back, and used her as a shield as she inched toward the front door.

Everyone in the room appeared frozen like pieces on an abandoned chessboard. Only Olivia noticed that Calliope was edging sideways, closer to a display table, whenever Desirée turned her head. When Calliope was near enough to the table, she scooped as many cookie cutters as she could hold in her large hands. With the form of a professional pitcher, Calliope raised her arm to throw the cutters.

A movement at the cookbook nook entrance caught Olivia’s eye. Desirée saw it, too. It was Spunky, trotting out to see what all the fuss was about. Olivia felt her heart sink to her feet. She willed her little dog to retreat back into the nook, but Spunky wasn’t that kind of guy. He saw the gun, now aimed at him. That didn’t seem to bother him. However, one look at Desirée’s stance and her grip on Olivia told Spunky that his beloved mistress was in danger. He issued a warning in the form of a low, menacing growl. When that didn’t work, Spunky’s little muscles bunched as he prepared to attack.

“No, Spunky,” Olivia cried. “Stay!”

Spunky hesitated for a moment, then stiffened. He had heard fear in Olivia’s voice. He couldn’t know the fear was for him. Spunky burst from the nook entrance and ran directly toward Desirée and her gun. Olivia tried to struggle, but Desirée was remarkably strong. She straightened her arm, aimed. Spunky growled.

Olivia’s peripheral vision perceived movement to her left. She shifted her head slightly, enough to see Calliope raise her arm like a baseball pitcher. A moment later, a flock of cookie cutters flew across the room. Along their flight path, the cutters jostled several cookie cutter mobiles that hung from the ceiling. The tinkle of tin against tin momentarily distracted Desirée, who froze like a terrified animal. Unfortunately, Spunky froze, too. Desirée recovered first. She aimed again at Spunky.

A clear, three-note whistle pierced the air. Olivia saw Spunky’s ears perk. At once, he leaped into the air and began to run around in circles. Desirée’s gun tried to follow his movements. As a two-note whistle sounded, two events happened at the same time. Spunky raced toward Mr. Willard, and a second volley of cookie cutters flew through the air, aimed accurately at Desirée. This time Olivia managed to shove her elbow into Desirée’s ribs and break free.

Calliope leaped onto Desirée’s back. The gun clattered on the tile floor as Desirée’s feet slipped out from under her. She fell flat on the floor, face down. Calliope smoothly grabbed both of Desirée’s wrists and twisted them behind her back. Calliope glanced up at the gathering, and asked, “I don’t suppose one of you has a length of rope in your pocket?”

Mr. Willard reached in his trousers pocket and pulled out an old-fashioned men’s handkerchief.

“That’ll do,” Calliope said. Mr. Willard handed her the handkerchief. As Calliope lifted Desirée upright, she said, “You’ve got some delicate bones there. Hope I didn’t break any of them.”

Olivia joined Mr. Willard. “You sure can whistle,” she said. “You’ve been training Spunky to do tricks, haven’t you?

Mr. Willard’s thin lips spread even thinner as he grinned. “Spunky is a smart boy,” he said. “Besides, teaching him tricks gave me an excuse to feed him treats.”

The door to the Gingerbread House kitchen opened. Maddie poked her head into the sales area, a puzzled look on her face. “I just got back,” she said. “It was so quiet out here, I thought everyone had left.” Maddie caught sight of Desirée, her hands now tied behind her back, safely in Calliope’s strong grip. “Did we miss something?”

“We?” Olivia asked.

Maddie opened the kitchen door, and out walked Deputy Sheriff Cody Furlow, all six foot three of him. He was in uniform.

“Cody!” Olivia said. “We were just going to call you.” She beckoned to Calliope, who escorted a dejected Desirée across the sales floor and turned her over to the deputy. Olaf Jakobson followed behind.

“I suspect Mr. Willard would like his handkerchief back,” Calliope said. “Besides, I think handcuffs would be a safer bet. This girl is stronger than she looks. This is Desirée Kirkwood, and her hands made those bruises on Greta Oskarson’s neck.”

Cody looked stunned, but he quickly recovered his professional demeanor. He fitted his handcuffs around Desirée’s wrists before removing the handkerchief. Tears streamed down Desirée’s cheeks. Olaf stood as close to Desirée as Cody would allow.

“I’d better get the prisoner safely locked in our jail,” Cody said. “I’ll have to interview all of you as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” Olivia said. “But Cody, how did you know to show up here?”

“Oh, I . . .” Cody turned to Maddie.

“I’ll explain later,” Maddie said. “For now, just assume that Deputy Sheriff Cody Furlow knows all and sees all.”

Chapter Twenty-three

On Wednesday evening, Maddie and Lucas, toting plenty of wine and tangerine cardamom shortbread, joined the Greyson-Meyers family for a home-cooked meal that required as little actual preparation as possible. Ellie had declared her independence from cooking and baking for the duration of the August heat wave. She was willing to use the microwave, but that was it.

“We can serve ourselves from the kitchen,” Ellie said. “Then we’ll move to the dining room. I’ve got the ceiling fan at its highest setting, and the air conditioner has been going all day.” Ellie pointed to the kitchen counter, which was lined with pots and serving plates. “I hope you’re all starving, because I got meatloaf and mashed potatoes from Pete’s Diner; coq au vin, arugula and tomato salad, fresh corn, and sourdough rolls from the Chatterley Café; and three different pasta salads from Bon Vivant.”

“Wow,” Jason said. “I might almost get enough to eat this evening.”

Calliope snorted and socked Jason in the upper arm.

Maddie wedged her large dessert platter and wine selections into the remaining space at the end of the counter.

Everyone returned to the dining room with their plates piled high. All conversation ceased for a time while they dug in to the feast. As they slowed down, Ellie asked, “What do you think will happen to Desirée? So much pain in her young life. She didn’t strike me as a cold-blooded killer.”

“Not like Greta, anyway,” Maddie said. “I still think Greta knocked off a rich husband or two.”

“Me too,” said Calliope. “That’s why I asked Mr. Willard to find Desirée a first-rate defense attorney. He has one in mind.”

Ellie put down her uneaten forkful of meatloaf. “That was kind of you. But does Desirée have the money to pay for that level of representation? Would Olaf help, do you think?”

Calliope speared a hunk of potato with her fork. “Olaf and I worked it out. He’s rich, and I’m rich, so why not? We’re going to split the cost. No big deal. Olaf really fell for her.”

“Yeah, it almost made him human,” Maddie said.

Jason was first to clean his plate. He always went back for seconds, but this time he remained at his place for several minutes. He took a sip of wine, and said, “So I bought the farm.”

Ellie’s head popped up. “Excuse me?”

“The farm, Mom. You know, the one Cal and I told you about. I got it at a great price. Cal helped me with the deal from start to finish. It’s vacant right now, so we can move in as soon as I close next week.”

Ellie tried to exchange glances with her husband, but Allan was busy spearing a hunk of coq au vin. “So, by ‘we,’ I assume you mean yourself and . . . ?”

“Cal, of course,” Jason said. “She’s going to be really helpful with the renovations. The place needs a lot of work, but Cal says the structure is sturdy.”

“I’ll be out of your hair in a matter of days,” Calliope said to Ellie.

“So, do you two think you can live in the same house without killing each other in an arm-wrestling contest?” Olivia asked.

“Sure,” Jason said with a wicked grin. “Cal is the fun sister I never had.”

Maddie quickly grabbed her wineglass and held it high. “Here’s to Jason’s first house.”

The others raised their glasses, though Ellie was on the slow side, and she put hers back down without taking a sip.

“Mom, are you feeling okay?” Olivia asked. “You look tired. Is the heat getting to you?”

“Oh, no, Livie, I’m fine. Jason, I’m very happy for you. And you, Callio . . . I mean, Cal.”

“Heck, just call me anything you want,” Calliope said. “I like Cal, but Calliope is the name my parents gave me, and it keeps them closer to me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing them.” She stuffed a large forkful of pasta salad into her mouth.

“I guess I have been feeling a bit down lately,” Ellie said. “And before you ask, Livie, I’ve been to plenty of yoga sessions. It isn’t enough. I miss all the classes I used to take. During the worst of the recession, we had so many arts and crafts teachers who were more than willing to come to Chatterley Heights. It was wonderful. Now the economy is doing better, and those folks are finding jobs, or at least they are able to teach classes closer to home.”

“Why don’t you travel to other towns or a nearby city where you can still find classes?” Olivia asked.

“That’s not the same at all, Livie. I so enjoy sharing the experiences with all my friends and neighbors, walking to classes . . . Driving to a city for a class with people I’ll probably never see again isn’t nearly as much fun.”

“Hey, I have a great idea,” Calliope said. “We could start an arts and crafts school right here in Chatterley Heights. Then you’d have a place for instructors to come to, plus a ready-made clientele.”

“Calliope, it isn’t that simple,” Ellie said. “We’d need a building and supplies, and I’m afraid we could never come up with the money to start such a school, let alone keep it going.”

“That part’s easy,” Calliope said. “I’ll put up the money. I’ve got way too much of it lying around doing nothing. I can find workers, too. Heck, I’ll help build the place. I helped build a school in Africa once. Or we could renovate some old building that Constance can’t unload.”

Ellie put her hand on Calliope’s arm. “But what about Jason’s farm?”

Did her mother sound a bit hopeful? Olivia was wondering if she should intervene when she was saved by the doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” Jason said.

“I can work on Jason’s farm and a school at the same time,” Calliope said. “I get bored if I’m not cutting boards and pounding nails.”

“Hey, look who I found hanging around,” Jason said as he returned to the dining room. “It’s our missing sheriff.”

“Del!” Olivia jumped up and threw her arms around him. “Welcome home!”

“Ooh, public show of affection,” Maddie said. “I like it.”

“Pull up a chair, Del,” Allan said. “There’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”

“I can’t stay.” Del brought over an extra chair and sat next to Olivia. “I’ll just eat Livie’s leftovers. Oh wait, she cleaned her plate.”

Olivia whacked his shoulder. “What happened with Lisa? Is she out of the slammer?”

“Delicately put, Livie. Yes, she’s a free woman. You’ll never guess what little tidbit Lisa forgot to mention to me. She has a boyfriend. Or had, I should say. He took her place in the slammer. It turns out he’s the one who shot Lisa’s husband in the back. He wiped off Lisa’s gun, but he didn’t think about prints on the bullets, which were Lisa’s, of course. To do him justice, he finally turned himself in when it seemed clear that Lisa would be going to trial for murder.”

“Well, that’s something,” Olivia said. “So what will you do the next time Lisa calls you in need of assistance?”

Del grinned at her. “I’ll suggest she ask her current boyfriend for help, and then I’ll wish her luck.” Del checked his watch. “I need to get back to the station. Cody has been briefing me on the Greta Oskarson case.”

“Speaking of which,” Olivia said, “I’m still puzzled by what happened to Greta’s cell phone. Maddie and I kept calling it to find out where it had gone to, and finally someone answered. They didn’t say anything, just listened a moment and hung up. Did Desirée take it?”

Del nodded. “Desirée desperately wanted her family’s cookie cutters. She went to Greta’s house intending to break in while she was asleep. When she found the back door unlocked, she went inside and began to search the house. She became frustrated and decided to confront Greta. However, Greta was a poor sleeper. She didn’t like to take sleeping pills, so she was reading in bed when she heard Desirée searching in the attic right above her bed. Greta panicked, began to hyperventilate, and her asthma kicked in. That’s when she tried to call 911 and finally called you. Unfortunately, Desirée’s anger and frustration had gotten the better of her. She burst into the bedroom while Greta was struggling to talk to you. Desirée demanded the return of her family’s cookie cutter collection. She saw Greta with her cell phone, grabbed it, and put it in her own pocket. Then she turned away to leave the bedroom and continue her search.”

“But didn’t Desirée try to strangle Greta?” Olivia asked.

Del nodded. “Desirée figured Greta was too weak to be a threat and, besides, she no longer had a phone. But Greta recovered enough to get out of bed and go after her. That’s when Desirée put her hands around Greta’s neck. Desirée claims she was so horrified by her own actions that she let go and ran from the house. She insists Greta was alive at that time, wheezing but alive. Unfortunately for Desirée, she almost certainly triggered Greta’s heart attack.”

“It’s all very tragic,” Olivia said. “I am sorry we didn’t confide more in Cody. We weren’t sure whether Greta was murdered.”

“It was a messy case, I agree.” Del swiped Olivia’s half-eaten sourdough roll from her plate. She passed him the butter. “I should have been here to help Cody take the lead. It’s time he did so.”

“Well, at least he was there to arrest poor, sad Desirée,” Olivia said.

“Do you know why Cody went to the store?” Del asked. “Because I asked him to find out if you were okay, Livie. I couldn’t seem to get you on your cell, and you didn’t respond to my messages. I was beginning to worry.”

“Oops,” Olivia said. “Sorry about that. Lots going on.”

Del finished his roll and pushed back his chair. “Walk me to the door?” He stood and held out his hand toward Olivia.

“Yes, she will,” Maddie said before Olivia could utter a word.

Olivia took his hand and held it as they walked across the living room to the front door. Del opened the door and pulled her outside. “How about dinner tomorrow evening?” he asked. “If you say ‘no,’ I’ll have to cancel the reservation I made at Bon Vivant. No one cancels a reservation at Bon Vivant. It would be humiliating.”

“I couldn’t put you through such an embarrassing experience,” Olivia said. She kissed him on the tip of his nose. They were about the same height, so she didn’t have to reach.

“Thank you for saving my dignity. And for the kiss, which I feel honor bound to return.” And he did. “To be continued,” Del said. “Livie, I got worried when you didn’t respond to my calls. I missed you so much and I found I really enjoyed talking over the Lisa situation with you. Well, enjoyed might be too strong a word to use about discussing Lisa. I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I like being with you and I like talking things over with you. Maybe we could . . . do that more? I mean . . .”

Olivia laughed gently. “Does this mean you’ll share more with me about your cases?”

“Well . . .”

“That’s articulate enough for me.” Olivia smiled and hugged him tight.