A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) (12 page)

“W
ow,” Bernie said as she stepped inside Amber’s room.

“You’re repeating yourself,” Libby pointed out. “That’s what you said when you saw the house.”

“I’m impressed. I don’t think even my room was ever this bad.”

“Maybe not,” Libby said, “but it’s come close.”

Bernie nibbled on her lower lip as she surveyed the carnage. “Amber certainly has enough clothes. I’ll give her that. And coming from me, that’s saying a lot.” Bernie reached up and tightened the elastic around her ponytail. “Well, there’s one thing we know about her,” Bernie told her sister.

“And that’s?”

“She likes stuff.”

“To say the least,” Libby said. An idea occurred to her. “I wonder if Amber’s room is always like this.”

“You mean you think someone’s gone through it?” Bernie asked.

“It’s a possibility,” Libby replied. “Look at what happened in Millie’s house. Look what a mess the kitchen was in.”

“This is a different kind of mess,” Bernie pointed out.

“It’s still worth asking about,” Libby said. She stepped out into the hallway and called for Marissa to come up. “Is Amber’s room always like this?” she asked once Marissa was standing beside her.

Marissa giggled. “Pretty much,” she said. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised,” Libby replied. “Amber’s so neat at work.”

“Obviously not in her private space,” Marissa said before she left and went back downstairs.

It took Bernie and Libby the better part of an hour to go through Amber’s room.

“Well, at least we don’t have to go through her drawers or closets since everything is out on the floor,” Bernie noted. She began picking up items of clothing, shaking them out, and going through their pockets. After she was done with each piece, she added it to a growing pile in the middle of the room.

While Bernie went through the clothes, Libby looked in Amber’s closet, dresser drawers, and nightstands for something that would give an indication of what had happened to her. She found nothing. Libby sighed and started on the bed, even though she suspected it was going to be an exercise in futility.

Libby held up a stuffed Minnie Mouse that was propped up against the headrest. “Somehow I don’t see Amber with Disney.”

“Just shows to go you that you never know,” her sister replied as she went through the pockets of a purple plaid jumpsuit.

“No, you don’t,” Libby said as she lifted up the mattress and ran her hand under the box spring.

There was nothing there. Next, Libby moved on to Amber’s desk. The first thing she did was power up Amber’s computer, but it was password-protected, and after a couple of tries Libby gave up trying to figure out the password—given Amber, it would definitely be something weird—and started on the papers strewn around it instead.

They consisted of a deck of tarot cards, an astrology magazine, a bill for her car insurance, a bill for her cell phone, and a receipt from a nail salon. The three drawers yielded receipts for her rent, a few pencils, four pairs of earbuds, an iPod, a large package of cough drops, and a twelve-inch-by-twelve-inch square of fabric with an outline of a skull and crossbones stitched on it. It took Libby a moment to recognize what it was.

Libby held it up for Bernie to see. “Is this, by any chance, a square for a patchwork quilt?”

“Let me see,” said Bernie, reaching out her hand. “You know, I think it is,” she said after she’d studied it.

Libby shook her head. “Amber quilting. Who would have thought?”

“Not me,” Bernie answered.

“It would be interesting to see what the rest of the quilt is like,” Libby mused. She couldn’t imagine sleeping under a quilt like that, but then she couldn’t imagine Amber quilting either.

At the end of thirty minutes, the only things that Libby and Bernie had found out about Amber that they hadn’t known before, besides the quilting, was that she was a fan of Hello Kitty and Boy George, that she liked graphic novels, that she had five stuffed animals on her bed, and that she hadn’t taken her toothbrush or hairbrush with her, but her mascara and eyeliner weren’t there.

“Maybe she carries her makeup with her,” Bernie said, thinking of all the eye stuff Amber used.

“Maybe,” Libby said, “but I can’t imagine her leaving her computer or her iPod behind.”

“Me either,” Libby said. She sighed. “We haven’t found out much, except for the fact that Amber is an incredible slob.”

“But we will,” Bernie told Libby. “We’re going to talk to those ladies and kick some ass.”

Libby giggled.

“You’ll see,” Bernie said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this one way or another.” She clapped her sister on the shoulders. “Are you with me?”

“Definitely,” Libby said.

“Good,” Bernie said. “Then let’s go to Alma’s house.”

Libby nodded. “Alma’s house it is.”

Although once she was back in the van, after she and Bernie had brushed the snow off the windshield, Libby realized she didn’t have the vaguest idea how they were going to accomplish their goal, especially when Alma had every right not to speak to them.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to us?” she asked Bernie. “What if she won’t come to the door?”

“Don’t worry,” Bernie told her as she started Mathilda up. “I have a plan.”

These were not the words that Libby wanted to hear. “Like what, exactly?”

“Like this.” Bernie reached in her bag and came out with Amber’s skull and crossbones. “Alma’s a quilter, right? We’ll ask her about this.”

Libby raised an eyebrow.

“Do you have a better idea?”

When Libby confessed that she didn’t, Bernie smirked and pulled away from the curb. The snow was coming down lightly now, and Bernie decided it looked like a lace curtain drawn over the night.

I
t was a little after eight by the time Bernie and Libby pulled into the driveway of Alma Hall’s house.

Ten Westward Drive was a modified, white clapboard ranch, with green trim, arborvitae foundation plantings, and an attached garage that someone had added a second story to at some point. The house was completely unremarkable, and made even more so by the fact that it looked exactly the same as the ones on either side of it. Even the Christmas decorations were similiar.

All three houses had white lights strung around the windows and the front door. Bernie couldn’t help thinking that Ten Westward Drive was one of those houses that went into your mind and out again without leaving a trace behind. For all intents and purposes, it was invisible.

As she and Libby walked up to the doorway, Bernie heard voices coming from the television. The curtain wasn’t drawn, and Bernie could see the living room from where she was standing. It was like a stage set. The furnishings consisted of a white sofa, two beige armchairs, a glass coffee table, and a shelf full of what looked like knickknacks. A rerun of
Law and Order
was on the TV, although as far as Bernie could tell, Alma wasn’t in the living room. When she and Libby got to the door, Bernie rang the bell.

“Coming,” Alma called. A moment later she opened the door.

She was wearing a three-quarter-length light blue quilted housecoat, black socks that highlighted her white skin, and fuzzy slippers on her feet. Her white hair was in curlers, except for three pin curls on her forehead.

“My goodness,” she said, when she saw Bernie and Libby standing there. “What are you doing here at this time of night? Is it something about the show?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Libby said.

“What manner of speaking?” Alma demanded. “Have they canceled the taping?” she asked, her voice rising in alarm.

“Not as far as I know,” Bernie said. “We need to talk to you about something else.”

“Can’t it wait?” Alma asked. “I’m busy.”

“I’m sorry, but it can’t,” Libby replied.

Alma made a show of looking at her watch. “It’s late, and I’m not dressed to receive company. We can talk sometime tomorrow if you’d like.”

“We’re not company,” Bernie said, stepping into the hallway. “And we need to talk now.”

Libby followed her sister in. She took a quick look around. The hallway was painted a cool bluish white and lined with small display units that held Alma’s collections of thimbles, teaspoons, and miniature teacups. Libby made a note to herself to stay away from them. She was such a klutz, she could just imagine herself crashing into them by accident.

Alma coughed and touched her pin curls. “There’s no need to be rude,” she told the sisters.

“We’re not being rude,” Bernie said.

Alma frowned. “I don’t know what you call this, but in my day people didn’t barge in on people, especially in the evening, without calling first. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As I said, I’m busy.”

“We will leave in just a moment,” Bernie assured her. “We just want you to answer one question for Libby and myself.” With that she whipped out the square of material Libby had found in Amber’s room. “We just wondered what this is?” she asked as she handed the square to Alma.

Alma looked at her. “A skull and crossbones, obviously.”

“We thought it was going to go on a quilt.”

Alma shrugged. “I guess it could. Anything can go into a crazy quilt. It could be something for a pirate flag as well.” She handed the square of material back to Bernie. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“We found it in Amber’s desk drawer,” Libby told her.

Alma sniffed. “Then I suppose your time would be better employed asking Amber about it.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” Libby said.

She waited for Alma to ask why, but she didn’t.

“Don’t you want to know why I can’t?” Bernie asked when the silence had gone on for longer than it should have.

“I assume you’re going to tell me,” Alma replied, looking at her watch again.

“She’s missing,” Libby told her.

“Missing?” Alma said, as her hands moved down to her housecoat and began to finger the top button.

“That’s right,” Bernie said, watching Alma closely. “We were hoping that this quilt square . . .”

“If it
is
a quilt square,” Alma interjected.

“. . . might help us find out where she went.”

Alma blinked. “I don’t see how it would,” she said.

“Well, we were hoping she’d talked to you.”

Alma shook her head. “Hardly. Are you sure she’s missing?”

“Positive,” Bernie replied.

“Maybe she just ran off with someone,” Alma said. “You know how young people are these days.”

“Not in this case,” Libby said.

“How can you be so sure?” Alma asked. “Given her hair and those things she has in her face.” Alma shuddered. “I don’t know why anyone would disfigure themselves like that. Who knows what someone who looks like that will do?”

Libby pointed to herself. “I know. Think about it.”

“Think about what?” Alma said. Her voice took on an indignant tone. “As far as I can see, there’s nothing to think about. Certainly nothing that concerns me.”

Libby leaned forward. “First Millie gets into a fatal accident, then Amber disappears. You don’t find that coincidence just a little suspicious?”

Alma looked up at Bernie and Libby. Her nostrils flared. “So what are you two saying exactly?”

“We’re saying,” Bernie went on, “that’s there’s a connection between the two events.”

Alma Hall’s eyes got smaller, which made her nose and her jowls look bigger. “What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it, Alma?” Bernie said.

Alma crossed her arms over her chest. “Not to me, Bernie.”

“My sister isn’t implying anything,” Libby said.

“She’d better not be,” Alma said.

“We’re just wondering if you could help us find Amber,” Libby told her.

Alma looked from one sister to another and back again. “This is why you came to my door at this time of night? This is why you disturbed my rest?”

“Don’t you care about Amber?” Bernie said.

Alma’s eyes were now slits. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, you didn’t seem very upset when I told you she was missing,” Bernie pointed out. “And you don’t seem very anxious to help us out now.”

“That is because I have nothing to contribute. I don’t know where Amber is, and I can’t believe that you would think I would know. I also can’t believe that you think I had anything to do with her disappearance—if that, indeed, is what it is. Which I highly doubt,” Alma told her. She raised her hand. “How you can come to a conclusion like that is beyond me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Bernie said.

“You didn’t have to,” Alma retorted. “Your face said it for you. Just because I’m seventy-three doesn’t make me stupid, you know. If you want to talk to someone about Amber and Millie, you should talk to Rose and Sheila. Sheila hated Millie ever since she tried to steal her boyfriend away.”

“Boyfriend?” Bernie couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice.

“What, Bernie? You think that only young people have sex lives?” Alma demanded. “You don’t think us older folk are entitled to them too?”

“That’s not what I said,” Bernie protested.

“You didn’t have to. It was in your tone of voice. As for Rose, I don’t think she ever forgave Millie for the comment she made about the lilac bushes she ran over. Plus, there was the small issue of the twenty dollars she borrowed from Millie and never returned.”

“Twenty dollars?” Bernie said, lifting an eyebrow.

Alma put her hands on her hips and stuck her jaw out. “You don’t think twenty dollars is worth bothering about?”

“It’s not that,” Bernie stammered. “It’s . . .”

“A penny is a penny,” Alma interrupted. “If you had been through the Depression you would know that.”

“But what about you, Alma?” Libby asked, figuring it was time she stepped up to the plate. “I understand that Millie got you thrown out of your quilting club.”

Two red dots appeared on Alma’s cheeks. “Who told you that?” she demanded of Libby.

“What difference does it make?” Libby asked.

“It was Rose, wasn’t it?” Alma cried.

Bernie noticed that Alma’s hands were clenched into fists. “Well, Alma, is what Rose said true?” Bernie asked.

Alma took a deep breath and exhaled. Then she uncurled her hands and let them hang loosely at her sides. “Fine. It’s true. Millie did do that,” she admitted.

“Were her charges true?” Libby asked.

“Of course not,” Alma cried. “How can you even say such a thing?”

“So you must have been pretty pissed,” Libby continued.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Alma asked.

“Yes, I would,” Libby replied.

“It was a horrible thing to have done. Simply horrible.” Alma shook her head at the memory. “And all I was trying to do was make sure that Millie didn’t kill herself or someone else on the road. If I were she, I would have thanked me instead of doing what she did. There was absolutely no call for that. None. On top of everything else, she’s still on the road.” She patted her curlers with her right hand to make sure they were all in place. “Or was.”

“Is that why you arranged for Millie to have an accident so she wouldn’t win the
Bake for Life
contest?” Libby asked Alma, carefully watching her face as she talked. “You figured it was poetic justice, and on top of everything else, you’d even the score a little. Plus, no one would suspect anything, given Millie’s driving record. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as planned, but then they rarely do.”

“That’s a ridiculous thing to say,” Alma scoffed.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Libby replied. “But that doesn’t necessarily make what I said any less true.”

Alma sniffed. “Do you have any proof? I thought not,” she said when Libby and Bernie remained silent. “Coming to the door with accusations like this. You two should be ashamed of yourselves.” She shook a finger at them. “I don’t need to do anything to win that contest. I’m a way better baker than Millie ever was. Way better. Ask anyone. Millie had an inflated opinion of her abilities. All of her abilities, if we’re being honest.”

“Does that apply to Amber too?” Libby asked.

Alma made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Amber is a counter girl, not a baker. The whole idea of Amber taking Millie’s place is absurd. I don’t know what that woman . . .”

“That woman?” Libby asked.

“. . . Prudence.” Alma moved her hand in a circle when she caught the blank looks on Libby’s and Bernie’s faces. “You know. The producer.”

“Penelope,” Bernie said. “Her name is Penelope.”

“Fine. I don’t know what Penelope was thinking about when she allowed her in.”

“It would definitely be better for you if Amber wasn’t in the contest,” Bernie observed.

Alma’s nostrils quivered in indignation. She pointed to the door. “I’ve stood for this long enough. I want you two out, and I want you out now. I have been patient long enough.”

“Or?” Bernie said.

“Or I’ll call the police. If you want to bother someone, bother Rose or Sheila. Now get out or I’m calling. I need my rest.” Alma put her hand to her heart. “If I have an attack I want you to know it’s on you two.”

Libby and Bernie left.

“Does Alma have a history of heart disease?” Libby asked once they were in the van.

Bernie snorted. “Don’t be silly. She’s as healthy as a horse.” She turned Mathilda on. “Rose Olsen’s house next,” she announced.