A Cookie Before Dying Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Someone’s in the Kitchen . . .

  To be on the safe side, Olivia approached the kitchen as softly as she could, sidestepping a trail of broken mugs that used to read, DRINK YOUR VEGGIES! Luckily, she had worn her running shoes. Not that she ran much in August. In the sweltering heat, not even her fetching little Yorkie could convince her to go for a jog.

  The kitchen door was the type that swung in and out to facilitate carrying heavy, hot casseroles into the dining room and stacks of dirty plates to the sink. Olivia nudged the door a fraction, enough to allow a peek into the kitchen. She could see a narrow swath across the room to the back door, which hung open. She heard nothing. Maybe an animal had wandered inside and caused all this damage while hunting for food. No, only an animal of human height could have ripped a poster off a wall and opened the cheese cooler. Besides, a hungry animal wouldn’t have left the cheese on the floor, neatly wrapped.

  Olivia eased the kitchen door wider to reveal a row of cabinets along the wall. No one was in sight, but she could hear a faint shuffling sound. She inched the door open farther, a millimeter at a time.

  “Damn.” The whispered curse dripped venom yet was so soft that Olivia couldn’t tell whether the voice was male or female. If she could only get a glimpse of a foot or a shoulder . . .

  “I’ll kill her . . .”

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Virginia Lowell

  COOKIE DOUGH OR DIE

  A COOKIE BEFORE DYING

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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

  A COOKIE BEFORE DYING

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-55896-6

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group

  (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For my sister, for years of cookies and laughter

  Acknowledgments

  With each passing year, I grow more appreciative of the remarkable people who have touched my life. As always, I am endlessly grateful to my writer’s group: K. J. Erickson, Ellen Hart, Mary Logue, and Pete Hautman. Many, many thanks to my editor, Michelle Vega, for her perceptive insights and her understanding during a difficult time. The staff at Berkley Prime Crime are the best of the best. A special thanks to the third Saturday potluck group for decades of friendship and fun. And, of course, my love and gratitude to my father and Marilyn, my sister, and my husband.

  Chapter One

  Olivia Greyson flicked a droplet of sweat off her forehead before it could dribble into her eyebrow. At six a.m. and already eighty-eight degrees, she hadn’t expected to look out her bedroom window and find her front lawn covered in white. Browned dead grass maybe, but not crinkly white balls.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have stayed up so late the previous night, Saturday or not. She and Maddie had brainstormed dozens of themed cookie cutter events for The Gingerbread House, enough for months to come. Maddie Briggs, best friend since childhood and now Olivia’s business partner, had been in fine creative form, bubbling up ideas like a red-haired volcano. The effort had required a plate of decorated cookies and a generous amount of merlot. Very generous, judging from the empty bottles Olivia had rinsed and stowed in the recycling bin. In her own defense, one of the bottles had already been opened and used for cooking and salad dressing.

  As Olivia stared at her lawn, a memory from high school popped into her mind. She and Maddie and a couple guy friends had TP’d a friend’s house one night. The friend’s parents hadn’t found it funny, and Olivia and Maddie spent hours throwing out gobs of toilet paper after the guys left them to take the blame. If that was toilet paper on the lawn of The Gingerbread House, she would not give up until the culprits were caught and forced to clean it up. Olivia opened one window and unhooked the screen, letting fingers of hot, sticky air reach into her bedroom. The air conditioner in her bedroom might be approaching extinction, but at least it dried the air. She poked her head outside. Nope, there were no telltale lengths of tissue hanging from tree branches, and the shapes on the lawn looked crunched up, not round like rolls of toilet paper.

  Olivia knew she’d have to go outside to investigate. She slipped into the last clean casual items in her summer wardrobe, red shorts and a pink tank top. A glance in the mirror confirmed that the colors were wrong for her auburn hair and medium complexion. An obsession with clothes wasn’t one of Olivia’s vices; however, this outfit was destined for the Chatterley Heights thrift shop. Right after she caught up on the laundry.

  Olivia slapped the end of her unmade bed and two silky ears poked up from a fold in the blanket. “Come on, you lazy hunk of fur.” Spunky, her little rescue Yorkshire t
errier, yawned. “Yeah, I know it’s early, but we need to look at something outside.” At the word “outside,” Spunky wriggled out from the covers, leaped to the floor, and followed his mistress down the hallway. His nails clicked on the tile floor of the kitchen as he trotted toward his empty food bowl.

  “First things first.” Olivia measured Italian roast into the Mr. Coffee, poured in some water, and hit the switch. She fed Spunky before heading down the hallway to the bathroom. By the time she returned, Mr. Coffee was spitting his last drops, and Spunky had licked his bowl shiny. With a whimper, he raised his big, brown eyes and cocked his head at Olivia.

  “You are such a con artist. Do you really think I won’t remember that I just filled your bowl?” Olivia slid his leash from a wall hook and shook it. “Come on, Spunky, adventure awaits.”

  Olivia lived above her store, The Gingerbread House, in the top floor of a small Queen Anne for which she proudly held a mortgage. At least her debt level had dipped a bit. She’d used part of an inheritance from her dear friend, Clarisse Chamberlain, to pay down the mortgage and refinance at a much lower interest rate. Before her death, Clarisse had encouraged Olivia in her dream of opening The Gingerbread House, the only store in town that specialized in cookie cutters. Olivia liked to think that Clarisse would approve of her decision to use some of her inheritance to secure the future of her business.

  Now Olivia had the mystery of the white August lawn to solve, and she hoped it would turn out to be more comedy than tragedy.

  When she and Spunky reached the foyer at the bottom of the staircase, Olivia tried the door leading to The Gingerbread House to make sure it was locked. It was. The front door lock and deadbolt were secure, as well. So a break-in hadn’t accompanied whatever detritus awaited on her front lawn.

  Olivia had barely opened the front door when Spunky squeezed through the crack. With all the strength in his five-pound body, he yanked sharply at his leash and managed to break from Olivia’s grip.

  “Spunky! You get your fuzzy little butt back here right now.” True to his terrier nature, Spunky ignored her. Olivia was about to yell more forcefully when she stopped short, reminding herself that whoever had littered The Gingerbread House lawn might still be lurking about, perhaps with a camera and tape recorder. She didn’t relish the idea of seeing herself on YouTube.

  Olivia scanned her lawn in puzzlement. Apparently, someone had crunched up dozens of papers and tossed them around the entire front yard of The Gingerbread House. Olivia knew crunched-up paper when she saw it, and she was looking at lots of it. As far as she could tell, none of the other stores around the town square had suffered the same insult. It must have happened after two a.m., or Maddie would have noticed when she’d headed for home.

  Spunky sniffed at a nearby paper snowball. When a gust of hot wind shifted it, he leaped backward and yapped furiously.

  “Spunky, hush. It’s Sunday morning. Sensible people are trying to sleep.”

  Spunky pounced on the ball. Clutching it in his teeth, he growled and shook his head back and forth. As she crossed the lawn to join him, Olivia leaned down and scooped up one of the papers. She snatched the end of Spunky’s leash from the ground and looped it around her wrist so she could use both hands. The paper was so saturated with humidity, it made no crinkling sound as she smoothed it on her thigh.

  “What fresh hell is this?” Olivia’s words hung in the still, heavy air. Spunky whimpered and skittered around her feet as she stared at the huge capital letters across the top of the notice:

  SUGAR KILLS!!!

  Did you know: • Sugar is the leading cause of obesity, heart disease, and diabetes?

  • Eating sugar causes cancer?

  • If you eat sugar while you’re pregnant, it causes birth defects?

  • You’ll have to run five miles to work off one cookie? Ten miles if the cookie is iced?

  STOP YOUR SUGAR HABIT NOW!!!

  Join me at The Vegetable Plate every Tuesday evening from 7:00 to 8:00 to learn how to take your life back from the DEMON SUGAR. We’ll talk about ways to escape its clutches and live sugar-free forever. We’ll confront the agony and devastation of Sugar Addiction. And we’ll share recipes.

  Refreshments will be served: herbal teas and fresh organic vegetables.

  Olivia reached into the pocket of her shorts, slid out her cell, and speed-dialed Maddie Briggs. Maddie answered on the second ring and, as usual, began chattering at once. “Hey, I was thinking, wouldn’t it be fun to have an early morning store event and serve breakfast cookies?”

  “Breakfast . . .”

  “Cookies, right. Like egg-shaped cookies, wavy slices of bacon, toast and sweet rolls and sausage links and coffee cups and—”

  “Got it,” Olivia said. “Don’t forget the slices of cold pizza.” She had recently acknowledged her addiction to pizza for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and bedtime snacks. As of yet, she hadn’t determined whether any intervention was called for. “And empty merlot bottles,” she added. “They were all over my kitchen this morning.”

  “Ouch, don’t remind me,” Maddie said. “So shall we bake today? We have that nice new freezer to fill, and I long to wield a rolling pin once more.”

  “First, you need to get right over here and take a look at The Gingerbread House lawn,” Olivia said. “It might make you want to wield that rolling pin for another purpose.”

  “Intriguing,” Maddie said. “What’s up?”

  “Something odd and disturbing. You’ll want to read it for yourself.”

  “Read? Did someone spray-paint naughty words on the grass? Read them to me. You can abbreviate if you’re embarrassed.” When Olivia hesitated, Maddie added, “Right now, Livie. As in this instant. I’m dying of curiosity here.”

  Olivia brushed dew-limp hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Not spray paint. Paper. The lawn is covered with balled-up paper notices. I’m holding one of them. The two-word heading is ‘Sugar Kills,’ which ought to give you the general idea. And I bet I can guess who wrote it.”

  “Charlene Critch, rhymes with—” A fierce round of Yorkie yapping drowned out Maddie’s voice.

  “Spunky agrees with you,” Olivia said. “He is barking in the direction of the store next door. The store that is not the Heights Hardware.”

  “Ah, The Vegetable Plate,” Maddie said. “Spunky is such a discerning little creature. Read me the rest of it.”

  “Hm?”

  “Charlene’s rant, Livie, what else does it say?”

  “I think Spunky’s on to something,” Olivia said.

  “Yes, we’ve established that. Now, I beg of you, read.”

  “I thought I saw a light go on and off upstairs in The Vegetable Plate,” Olivia said. “Isn’t Charlene using the top floor for storage?”

  “It’s six thirty in the morning. Charlene’s probably up there sharpening her fangs for a breakfast of raw rutabaga. Or maybe that’s where she keeps a secret stash of chocolate, or her printing press, or—”

  “I don’t think so. Charlene’s car isn’t in her spot, and she lives fifteen miles out of town. Hush, Spunky,” Olivia commanded as she picked him up and tucked him into the circle of her arm. She unlocked the front door of The Gingerbread House and pushed the squirming dog into the foyer. Spunky spun around and leaped for the door, but Olivia managed to close it in time.

  “Sorry, Kiddo, I’ll be right back.” As Olivia headed across the damp lawn toward the The Vegetable Plate, she realized her cell phone was squawking. “Maddie?”

  “Who else would it be? What the heck is going on?”

  “I’m sure you’re right and it’s nothing,” Olivia said, “but I’m going to peek through the display window of The Vegetable Plate, just to make sure everything looks normal.” Olivia glanced up at the top floor of the store and saw no lights. When she reached the front display window, she cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her nose against the glass. The Vegetable Plate’s sales area occupied the former parlor of a
modest Victorian summer home. Unlike The Gingerbread House, Charlene Critch’s store had no other windows scattered around the room, so Olivia could make out only the sales counter plus a few outlines of display tables.

  “Maddie? Are you still there?”

  “Waiting impatiently.”

  “I can’t see much inside The Vegetable Plate. Maybe I imagined the light upstairs, or it could have been the sun reflecting off the glass. I’ll make sure the front door is . . .” The doorknob turned in Olivia’s hand. “Uh oh.”

  “What does ‘uh oh’ mean, Livie? Livie?”

  With a light push, Olivia opened the door a few inches.

  “Livie, speak to me. Now.” Maddie’s voice seemed to leap out of the cell phone.

  “Keep it down, Maddie. I’m betting Charlene forgot to lock her door. I’ll poke my head inside and take a quick look around. I’ll make sure everything is okay, don’t fuss. I’ll lock the front door on my way out.”

  “Livie, don’t wander around in there alone. What if there’s a burglar inside, or a maniacal killer? At least wait for me, I’ll be right there.”

  “Stop fretting. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m out the door, Livie. Don’t hang up.”

  “Uh huh.” Olivia hung up. She eased open the front door and listened. Hearing nothing beyond the usual creaking associated with old houses, she entered and shut the door behind her. The store went pitch dark. Olivia remembered a light switch located to the left of the entrance. She felt for it along the wall and flipped on the overhead lights. Her hand closed around her cell phone as she took in the condition of The Vegetable Plate.