A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) (11 page)

T
he strip mall Bernie and Libby were headed for was home to a pizza place and a Chinese takeout joint, as well as a nail salon, a Laundromat, and a yoga studio. Located off the main drag in a poorly trafficked area right outside Longely, the strip mall housed a never-ending turnover of retail establishments. Most seemed to last about a year before they folded and morphed into yet another hopeful business.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Libby said as she surveyed the parking lot. It was about a quarter full.

“That’s because there’s nothing here worth making a trip for, except maybe the nail place,” Bernie replied as she looked for Amber’s car. It wasn’t there. “So where did the Taurus go?” she asked Libby.

“Maybe she came back and got it,” Libby said, feeling an uncharacteristic surge of optimism.

“I wish, but it was probably towed,” Bernie replied as she put the van in park and exited the vehicle.

Libby sighed. She hoped not, but she suspected that Bernie was correct.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” she said to Bernie as she flipped up the hood on her parka to protect her face from the wind.

“What?” Bernie asked from the depths of her collar. Her eyes started to tear from the cold.

“This weather isn’t helping.”

“Helping what?”

“Helping our business.”

“No, it certainly isn’t,” Bernie agreed as she picked up her pace. “Anyone’s business. I know I wouldn’t be out if I didn’t have to be, that’s for sure.”

The sisters started with the yoga studio and worked their way down the strip, going from right to left. The conversation at the yoga studio yielded some promising information, but things went downhill from there. Besides the yoga instructor, no one else had seen Amber last night. And absolutely no one had seen her this morning.

“If she was here this morning, I didn’t see her,” the yoga teacher said as she arranged a sprig of greenery and a stem of pink carnations in a vase. She had, Bernie decided, the look of someone who had done one too many juice fasts and cleansings. “In fact,” the yoga teacher continued, “now that I think about it, I’m not even sure she’s the person I saw last night.”

“Why don’t you just tell us what you did see?” Bernie urged.

The yoga teacher stepped back to study her arrangement and shook her head. “No harm in that, I suppose,” she told the sisters as she started redoing the arrangement, even though it looked perfectly fine to Bernie. “Around nine o’clock last night I glanced out the window and saw someone parking the Taurus. The person driving it didn’t get out, but I didn’t think much about it. I figured whoever it was had pulled over to text or something like that, so I went back to reconciling my accounts.” She made a face. “New York State is such a pain. But when I looked up again, I saw a car pull up beside the Taurus. Then a girl with really bright orange and pink dyed hair got out of the Taurus and got into the other car, and it drove off.”

“That’s definitely Amber,” Bernie commented.

The yoga teacher moved the sprig of greenery a quarter of an inch to the left. “If you say so.”

“Did Amber get in the car willingly?” Libby asked the yoga teacher.

“As far as I could see she did,” she replied. “Anyway, when I came in this morning and saw that the car was still there I became concerned and called the police.”

“What did they say?”

The yoga studio owner shrugged. “Nothing. They didn’t care. They asked me if it was posing a public safety hazard, and when I said it wasn’t, they said the vehicle was my problem.”

“So where is the car now?” Libby asked her.

“Over on Dell Street. I called Frank’s auto and asked them to tow it. Just like the sign outside says. We have such a small lot I can’t have it taking up valuable space.”

“Naturally,” Libby murmured, although she couldn’t see this place ever being so busy that it would matter.

“We’re not a parking lot,” the yoga teacher said sharply. “The rule is posted in a prominent place for everyone to see.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Libby agreed, thinking once again that she had to practice her poker face.

“Could you identify the car that Amber got into?” Bernie asked, changing the subject to one she hoped would be more productive.

The yoga teacher shook her head. “Not really. I don’t do cars. They’re an emanation of a destructive world.”

“Really?” Bernie said, barely managing to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Yes, really,” the yoga teacher answered. “If it weren’t for cars we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in today. Our search for oil has destabilized the world, and now we’re going to pay for it.”

“If you say so,” Libby said, moving the conversation along. “But on a less intense note, do you remember the color of the car?”

“It was light,” the yoga teacher said. “That’s really the best I can do.”

“Was it a Subaru, by any chance?” Bernie asked.

“Sorry,” the yoga teacher said. “But I wouldn’t know a Subaru from a Honda. They’re really not my thing. I’m better with the natural world.”

Not flower arranging,
Libby thought as she watched the yoga teacher redo the flowers for the third time.

“Did you happen to get a look at the person who was driving?” she asked. So far they were batting zero for three.

The yoga teacher shook her head.

Libby persisted. “Was it a he or a she? Old? Young?”

“I told you I didn’t see anything,” the yoga teacher replied, her voice rising in annoyance.

“You didn’t notice anything? Anything at all?” Bernie asked.

“No,” the yoga teacher snapped. “If I had, I would have told you.” She took a deep breath and let it out. Then she took another one and smiled. The smile traveled as far as her mouth and died. “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but you two look as if you could use my services. You’d be surprised what yoga can do for your chakras.” She handed Bernie and Libby a card.

“I think my chakras are just fine,” Libby said to Bernie as they entered the Chinese takeout place.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that. I think your fourth one could use some polishing,” Bernie told her.

Libby giggled. “Which one is that?”

“I don’t have the foggiest,” Bernie said as they reached the counter and asked the woman manning the register if they could speak to the establishment’s owner.

A moment later, a tired-looking man with a stained apron tied around his waist joined them, and Bernie asked her question.

“When I left, the Taurus was still here,” the owner said. “I figured it was broken down or something and that whoever owned it would come back and get it, you know? I guess not.”

“Didn’t see anything,” the owner of the pizza shop told them. “I was too busy filling orders to be looking at the parking lot.”

The owner of the nail salon informed them that they closed at seven and if the Taurus had been there she hadn’t been aware of it.

“Well, at least,” Bernie said as they drove away, “we know that someone picked Amber up. So that’s more than we knew before.”

“But who?” Libby asked, putting on her seat belt.

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Bernie replied as she stopped to get gas. The van’s gas gauge was almost on empty. “If we knew that, we’d be home free.”

“Or heading in the right direction.”

“Maybe Amber’s roommates will be able to tell us something,” Bernie said.

“Maybe,” Libby answered, trying to stay positive.

F
ive minutes later, Libby and Bernie arrived at the house in which Amber was renting a room.

“Wow,” said Bernie as she studied the house in front of her.

Amber had changed residences four months ago, and this place wasn’t an improvement. It was ramshackle, the kind of place that students and people who are out on their own for the first time rent.

The paint was peeling on the sides, the porch was sagging, the small window in the attic had been boarded up with a piece of plywood, and one side of the roof was tarped over. Someone had tried to spruce up the place by hanging Christmas lights over the front windows, but they just called attention to the place’s deficiencies.

“Her last place definitely looked better,” Libby commented.

“That’s an understatement. I wonder why she moved?” Bernie mused.

Libby shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

“There must have been a compelling reason,” Bernie replied. “Because I’ve got to say this place is really bad.” She was silent for a moment. Then she indicated the cars in the driveway. “At least Amber’s roommates are here, so that’s a blessing.”

Bernie parked in front of two garbage cans standing on the curb, and she and Libby walked up four stairs to the porch. One of the steps had a hole in it, and the banisters looked as if they were going to fall off any minute. The stairs groaned and buckled as the sisters stepped on them, and Libby wondered if they were going to give way. A sign pasted on the door said “bell broken,” so she knocked instead. A moment later the door opened. The smell of potato-and-leek soup greeted her. Libby inhaled. She wished she was eating some. It was the perfect meal for a night like this. She decided she’d make some for tomorrow’s lunch.

“Yes?” the boy standing in front of Bernie and Libby said.

He was tattooed and pierced, with long, black hair that flowed over his shoulders and a sweet face that belied the piercings and the devil tattooed on his arm. Bernie figured him for about eighteen, if that.

“We’re looking for Amber,” Bernie said. “We’re . . .”

The boy held up his hand, interrupting her. “I know who you are. You’re Amber’s bosses. I already explained to you on the phone that we haven’t seen her. That we didn’t even know she was gone.”

“I know you did,” Bernie continued, “but my sister and I would like to talk to you anyway.”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t think I can help. We’re just roomies. You know. Share a kitchen. That kind of thing.”

“Maybe she said something to you,” Libby observed.

“Like what?” The boy asked.

“Like about her aunt. Like about the bake-off. Like about cookies.”

“Cookies?” the boy repeated.

“Meltaways,” Bernie said.

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Meltaways?”

“Millie’s Majestic Meltaways, to be precise,” Bernie said.

The boy stepped away from the door and pivoted around. “Hey, Rudy, Marissa,” he yelled. “Come here for a sec.”

Bernie and Libby took the opportunity to step inside the house and close the door behind them. It was too cold to be standing outside. They were surprised to find that the hallway was immaculate. The walls were painted white, the floor gleamed, the bookcases in the hallway looked handmade. Five pairs of shoes were neatly stacked on a rubber mat. It just went to prove that her mom was right, Bernie thought. You really can’t tell a book by its cover.

A moment later Marissa and Rudy joined them. They looked pretty much the way Amber did. Tats, piercings, pink hair. Marissa was eating a sandwich, while Rudy was spooning up what Libby presumed to be the potato-and-leek soup she’d smelled from a bowl. Both of them were wearing hospital workers’ garb.

“They”—the boy who’d answered the door indicated Libby and Bernie with a jerk of his head—“want to know if Amber said anything to you about cookies. I thought you told me that she did.”

“Well, kinda,” Marissa said.

“What do you mean ‘kinda’?” Libby asked.

Rudy took another spoonful of soup and said, “She was going on and on about not finding the cookies, and she said she was going to carry on her aunt’s name, no matter what it took. You know, like it was some kind of holy mission or something. Very weird. She kept on calling that producer lady.”

“Penelope?” Bernie asked.

“I think,” Rudy said.

“Did you hear what she was saying?” Libby asked.

“Something about making the cookies. Then she went out and got all this stuff and started baking.”

“And then?” Bernie prompted.

“I don’t know,” Rudy said, “because we had to go to work, and when we came home the place was cleaned up. So I asked her on my way to bed what had happened to the cookies. I figured maybe she’d give me a couple. But she told me she’d thrown them out. I said that was too bad, and she said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so that was that.”

“Anything else?” Bernie asked.

“She was real upset when her aunt died,” Marissa said. “Real upset.” She took a thoughtful nibble of her sandwich. “She was saying that she was going to get that recipe if it was the last thing she did.”

Bernie leaned forward. “So she knew where it was?”

Rudy and Marissa looked at each other.

“I’m not sure if she meant
get
as in ‘I get it’ or
get
as in ‘go and physically take possession of it,’ ” Rudy explained.

“Did she know where it was?” Libby repeated.

Marissa took another nibble of her sandwich. “I don’t think so, because she told me she was going to talk to someone about it and see what they could tell her.”

“Did she say who?” Bernie asked.

Marissa shook her head.

“Did she say anything else?” Libby demanded.

“Not to us. Of course, we haven’t seen her since then,” Marissa said.

“Like I told you, we’re on different schedules,” the boy who opened the door for Libby and Bernie said.

Bernie noted that his voice had risen an octave.

Marissa turned to him and said, “Relax, Mike. She’s not blaming you.”

“No, Mike, I’m not,” Libby quickly assured him.

“I didn’t think you were,” Mike said, though his face told a different story. “I just feel bad not noticing. That’s really pretty lame.”

Marissa walked over, put her arm around his shoulder, and squeezed. “It’s okay,” she reassured him.

“It is,” Bernie echoed.

“I guess,” Mike said.

He doesn’t look convinced, Bernie thought as he turned and walked away.

“He’ll be fine,” Marissa told Bernie. “He just feels responsible for everyone. Something could happen on Mars, and if he knew the guy, somehow Mike will think that he should have seen it coming and done something about it.”

Bernie nodded. She got it. Her dad was like that too. She looked at Amber’s remaining roommates. “So is there anything, anything at all, you can tell us that might help?”

Marissa and Rudy shook their heads.

“Sorry,” Rudy murmured. “We kinda all tend to go our own way. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do,” Bernie said, thinking back to all the roommates she’d had before she’d come home to Longely. “Do you think we could take a quick look in Amber’s room?” she asked.

Marissa took another nibble of her sandwich. “Do you think that will really help?” she asked. “She might not like you going through her stuff.”

Libby snuck a peek at her watch. She wanted to get to Alma’s before it was too late. “In answer to your question, yes, Marissa, I think it might help. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it would. Maybe Amber kept a journal or there’s a note or a piece of paper or something that will point us in the right direction.”

“Frankly, at this point,” Bernie chimed in, “I don’t think Amber would care if we went through her stuff or not. I’m sure that all she wants to do is come home.”

Marissa didn’t look convinced. “But,” she said, “what if she’s with some guy and she’s having a real cool time and you guys just barge right in?”

“That doesn’t strike me as Amber’s style,” Libby observed.

“It’s not,” Marissa conceded. She took another bite of her sandwich. “But what if she were? She’ll be really pissed at us if that’s the case.”

Bernie laughed. “Let’s hope that’s what she’s doing, and if she is, we’ll apologize and leave, and I swear that your name will never pass my or Libby’s lips.”

Libby looked at Marissa. There was something in Marissa’s manner that made her wonder if Marissa was telling her everything she knew. Libby leaned forward. “So,” she asked, “is Amber seeing someone?”

“Not really,” Marissa replied.

Bernie’s eyes narrowed. “Define
not really.
”

“I think this guy’s a friend.”

“You think?” Bernie said.

“That’s the vibe I got,” Marissa told Bernie. “It’s all really casual.”

“Define
casual,
” Libby challenged.

Marissa sighed. “I don’t know. They hang out together sometimes.”

“Do you know this guy’s name?” Bernie asked.

Marissa shook her head and ate some more of her sandwich.

Bernie turned to Rudy. “Do you?”

Rudy shook his head. “I didn’t even know that she was seeing anyone.”

“She’s not seeing him, Rudy. She’s just hanging out with him.”

“Whatever,” Rudy told Marissa. He drained the last of his soup from the bowl and turned to Bernie and Libby. “And you really think you can find her?” Rudy asked. “If it’s like that . . .”

“Like what?” Bernie asked.

“Like kidnapped or something like that, why aren’t the police here?”

“For the police to be here,” Libby explained, “someone would have to fill out a missing persons report, which we will do sometime tomorrow.”

“So why didn’t you do it sooner?” Rudy demanded.

“Because,” Bernie continued, “the sad truth of the matter is that it’s not going to make any difference. The police aren’t going to actively investigate because they usually don’t concern themselves with missing adults.”

“That’s screwed up,” Marissa said.

“Yes, it is,” Libby agreed. “But in their defense, most people who go missing come home again. And Rudy, to answer the second part of your question, yes, I think we can find Amber.”

“Why?” Rudy asked.

“Because, Rudy,” Marissa said, “that’s what they do.” Then Marissa turned to Bernie and Libby and said, “Amber used to say you two were like a cross between Nancy Drew and The Cupcake Lady. I thought she was kidding, but maybe not.”

“I guess we are,” Libby conceded, “although I wouldn’t have phrased it that way.”

“Cool,” said Marissa.

Bernie looked at her watch. She and Libby had to get down to business. “Her room?” she said.

“She’s got the third bedroom to the right on the second floor,” Rudy said, pointing to the stairs. “You can’t miss it.”

Bernie thanked him, and she and Libby went upstairs. Looking around, she was once again struck by the overall neatness of the house. Amber’s room, on the other hand, was a different story.