A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) (7 page)

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” Teresa finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Millie’s cookies are gone,” Libby said, wondering as she did if Barbara’s, Lillian’s, and Teresa’s responses were a tad too dramatic. After all, she wasn’t talking about the end of the world. She was talking about the loss of a dozen of Millie’s Majestic Meltaways.

“You looked?” Barbara said.

“Yes, my sister and I looked,” Libby replied. “Of course we did. We looked in Millie’s car, we looked along the road where she had her accident, and we looked in her house. No luck. The cookies weren’t there.”

“That’s horrible,” Lillian cried, although Libby didn’t think that Lillian looked that upset. In fact, Libby thought she looked rather pleased that Millie’s cookies were gone.

Barbara pushed her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose with her thumb once again. “But how could that be? I don’t understand. Do you think someone stole them?”

“What do you think?” Libby asked.

Two spots of color appeared on Barbara’s cheeks. “How would I know?” she demanded.

“I didn’t say you would,” Libby replied.

“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you, right?” Barbara said.

“Right,” Libby agreed.

“Are you suggesting that Barbara had anything to do with their disappearance?” Lillian asked.

“Of course I’m not,” Libby said, even though she had been. “Anything could have happened to them,” she continued, changing the direction of the conversation. “They could have fallen out of the car, they could have been picked up by someone. We simply don’t know.”

“Some people will stop at nothing,” Teresa said. She rubbed her hands together and rocked back and forth. “It’s horrible. After all Millie’s work too. I hate to think that all her efforts are going to go to waste. She spent weeks developing that recipe. I don’t know what the world is coming to.”

“Months,” Lillian corrected. “She spent months perfecting that recipe.”

“She wouldn’t let us in the house,” Barbara volunteered.

“She was afraid we were going to steal the recipe,” Teresa said. “Can you imagine that? As if any of us would do something like that.” She sniffed. “It would have been insulting if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

Barbara pointed to her head and lowered her voice. “Millie was losing it,” she confided to Libby. “I told the girls that and I’m telling that to you.”

Lillian shook her head. “I’m not sure about that,” she said. “In fact, I don’t think that was the case at all. I think she was just obsessed with winning. Once she heard the show was coming to town that’s all she ever talked about.”

“She would have done anything, and I
do
mean absolutely anything, to win,” Teresa stated.

“Like what?” Libby asked.

Lillian looked at Teresa for a moment and shook her head. “Let’s not exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” Teresa said.

“Would Millie have killed someone to win?” Lillian asked Teresa.

“No. Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“My point exactly, Teresa,” Lillian said.

Teresa put her hands together and touched her lips with them. “I suppose you’re right,” she said to Lillian. Then she turned to Libby. “You have to forgive me,” she said. “That statement came out wrong.”

Barbara snorted. “I’ll say.”

Teresa glared at her.

“Sorry,” Barbara said. “I’ll shut up.”

“Thank you,” Teresa said in a frosty tone. She turned back to Libby. “I tend to get carried away sometimes,” she explained. “Millie was just very competitive about her baking. Actually, we all are,” Teresa continued. “Some of us are just a little more so than others in that regard.”

Barbara and Lillian nodded their heads in agreement.

“Millie was good,” Teresa went on. “I don’t know anyone who made a better bundt cake. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Millie just wasn’t the best, if you know what I mean.” Teresa sighed. “She’s going to be so disappointed that she won’t be on
Baking for Life
. She just loved to watch that show. If she’d known how to use her VCR she would have taped it every week. This was her dream. It’s too bad she had to go and mess it up.”

“That’s right, blame the victim,” Barbara said.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Teresa shot back.

“She can’t be disappointed, Teresa,” Lillian pointed out. “Live people are disappointed; dead people aren’t anything. Or have you forgotten?”

“Ha. Ha.” Teresa pointed toward the ceiling “What I meant is that I’m sure she’s watching us from up there. I’m sure she’ll be able to see the show.”

Lillian rolled her eyes. “Spare me.”

Teresa straightened up. “I know you don’t believe in the hereafter, Lillian, and that’s too bad. But I do.”

“Then I guess you’re in trouble, Teresa.”

Teresa put her hands on her hips. “What does that mean, Lillian?”

“You know what I mean, Teresa. Don’t pretend that you don’t.”

“I most certainly do not,” Teresa said and she began tapping her foot. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Libby put her hands up and made a time-out sign. “Ladies, peace.”

“We’re very peaceful, isn’t that right, ladies?” Barbara asked Lillian and Teresa.

They nodded their heads in agreement.

Barbara smiled at Libby. “We just want to know what’s going on. I mean we’ve already baked our cookies for the show. Does this mean we have to do them over again?”

“Heavens, I hope not,” Teresa said. “Mine are perfect.”

“You mean you managed not to burn the bottoms this time?” Lillian asked sweetly. “Because that would certainly be a first.”

Jeez, Libby thought as she watched Teresa open and close her mouth.

Finally, Teresa managed to get the words out. “How can you say such a thing?” she spluttered.

“I can say it because it’s true,” Lillian replied. “I’ve been telling you for years to get your oven recalibrated and you haven’t listened.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with my oven,” Teresa answered. “Nothing. Unlike yours. That’s why your cakes come out with partially baked centers.”

“First of all, the cake you’re referring to was a molten chocolate cake, and its center was
supposed
to be partially cooked. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Teresa sniffed. “You can tell me as much as you like, but I don’t believe it.”

“Look up the recipe on the Internet,” Lillian told her.

“I have and you’re wrong.”

Lillian put her hands on her hips and took a step toward Teresa. “How can you lie like that? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“I’m not ashamed,” Teresa spat back. “I’m not the one who served a half-raw cake to her friends and exposed them to the risk of contracting salmonella from uncooked eggs. I have to say that I think that that is one of the most irresponsible things you have ever done.”

“All of you stop,” Libby cried as Lillian opened her mouth to reply to Teresa. Libby couldn’t stand the arguing anymore.

The three women instantly looked contrite.

“I’m sorry,” Teresa said.

“Me too,” Lillian added.

“It’s the stress,” Barbara observed. “We’re all just really upset because of Millie. This whole thing has been such a shock.”

Libby nodded. She wondered how much more of a shock it would be if she shared her and her sister’s suspicions about the accident with these three women. She almost did, but then decided it would be better not to, at least not yet. She and Bernie needed more time to piece things together.

Instead, she decided to tell everyone that they had to go home because she had work to do and that she would call them when she knew something. She had just begun when she caught sight of Bernie talking on her cell. Bernie pointed a finger at her and mouthed the word “Wait.” Then, as Libby watched, Bernie hung up and worked her way around George and Googie, came out from behind the counter, and walked over.

“Ladies,” she said to Teresa, Lillian, and Barbara. “I just heard from the producer.”

“And?” Barbara said, leaning forward.

“Yes,” Teresa chimed in. “What are we doing?”

“They’re postponing the taping until next week. As a sign of respect,” Bernie announced.

“Respect?” Lillian echoed.

“Yes, respect for Millie,” Bernie clarified.

“Well, I didn’t think it was out of respect for me. But that’s ridiculous,” Barbara said. “Millie would have wanted the taping to go on. She would have hated the idea of her being responsible for the delay.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Bernie answered, “that’s what the producers have decided.”

“Maybe I should talk to what’s her name,” Lillian said.

“Penelope. Let’s all talk to her,” Teresa suggested.

“Otherwise, we’ll have to bake our cookies all over again,” Lillian said.

“At least your cookies can last in a pinch,” Barbara told Lillian. “Mine can’t.”

Lillian drew herself up. “They most emphatically cannot, Barbara.”

Barbara smiled a tight little smile. “Of course they can. That’s one of the good things about using leaf lard. It has staying power.”

“I would never use lard,” Lillian exploded. “I use butter, high-butterfat butter that the co-op orders specially for me. That is an awful thing to say. I am beyond upset.”

“Sorry, Lillian.” Barbara looked down at the floor. “I guess I was misinformed.”

Lillian scowled. “I guess you were,” she said. “Who told you that?”

“Millie.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lillian said. “You’re making that up.”

“It’s true,” Barbara insisted.

“In fact,” Lillian said, “I bet no one told you that. I bet you made the whole thing up all by yourself.”

Bernie clapped her hands. Everyone stopped talking and looked at her.

“Ladies,” she said, “I believe the producer is at the Longely Community Center. But she’s only going to be there for the next half hour. If you want to speak to her, now’s the time.”

Teresa grabbed her coat and put it on. “Let’s go,” she said.

The other two women followed her out the door. They were still bickering when the door shut behind them.

“Poor producer,” Bernie said.

“All I can say,” Libby told her sister, “is better her than me.”

“God, I’m glad they’re gone,” Bernie said.

“You’re glad?” Libby responded. “What about me? I need an Advil after that.”

“Or a shot of scotch,” Bernie said.

“Or both. But I think I’ll stick with the Advil. If I had anything to drink I’d pass out, and I can’t afford to do that.” She looked at the clock. She was way behind schedule.

“You know we have to get the recipes,” Bernie told Libby. “We promised Amber.”

“And we will get them,” Libby promised. “We’re just not going to get them right now. Where is Amber anyway?”

Bernie shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her, but I assume she’s with her mother.”

Libby nodded and headed for the kitchen. At the moment, the only thing she was thinking of was the tortes and how long it would take her to put them together. She was halfway through the door when she remembered something. She turned, came back out, and walked over to Bernie.

“The next batch of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club members who come in to the shop are all yours. I’m simply not here.”

With that, she marched back into the kitchen and shut the door. The ganache was waiting, and she could hardly wait to get to it. At least the butter and the sugar and the eggs weren’t going to bicker with each other. She turned on her music, made herself a fresh pot of French roast, and began. Being in the kitchen always made her feel better. It was where she belonged.

I
t was a little after seven by the time Libby and Bernie had freed themselves up enough from their obligations at the shop to drive over to Millie’s house. It was dark by now, and it smelled as if it was going to snow.

“I hope those recipes are where they’re supposed to be,” Libby said as Bernie parked the van in the driveway.

“Why shouldn’t they be?” Bernie asked her as she noted that there were no lights on in Millie’s house—not that she’d expected there would be.

“Well, the cookies weren’t where they were supposed to be,” Libby observed.

“True. But this is different.”

“Let’s hope,” Libby was saying when a silver car roared past them. “Everything so far has been slightly twisted,” she noted as she watched the car take the curve, fishtail, and keep going. “Bad driver,” Libby commented as she and Bernie exited the van.

“Or someone in a hurry,” Bernie pointed out. She took the house keys that Amber had given her out of her pocket and followed the path up to the door.

Libby was right behind her. “It’s funny,” she said, “but I thought that the car that just sped by us was parked on the other side of the road when we drove in.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe the person driving pulled over to read a text and it was an emergency and they zoomed off,” Bernie observed.

“You’re probably right,” Libby said. “I just thought it was weird.”

“You think everything is weird.”

“Because it has been,” Libby said while she and her sister climbed the four steps that led to Millie’s front door. Libby stood on the landing with her hands jammed in her pockets and watched Bernie put the key in the lock. That movement was enough to swing the door open.

Bernie looked at it for a moment. Then she said, “Interesting.”

“We did lock the door when we left, didn’t we?” Libby asked.

“Most definitely,” Bernie replied.

“Maybe Amber decided to get the recipes herself and came back and forgot to lock the door,” Libby hypothesized.

“She would have told us if she had,” objected Bernie. But she dug her cell out of her pocket and called her to make sure anyway. “Nope,” she said when she clicked off her cell. “She hasn’t been here.”

“Maybe someone else has,” Libby said.

“Obviously,” Bernie said.

“I meant someone with a legitimate reason.”

“Like who?” Bernie asked.

Libby found a chocolate kiss in her parka jacket, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. “Like her son or her daughter,” she said when she was done savoring the last of the kiss. This one had caramel in the center, and she decided she liked the solid chocolate ones better.

Bernie shook her head. “According to Marvin, they would be the last people Millie would have given a key to, and judging from what Amber said, she was the only family member Millie talked to.”

“A friend, then,” Libby told her. “Or a neighbor. They came in to get something and forgot to lock the door on the way out.”

“I guess that’s a possibility,” Bernie conceded, sounding dubious.

“You don’t sound as if you think it is,” Libby said.

“It could be,” Bernie told her. “But from what I’ve heard of Millie, it seems doubtful that she would give
anyone
the key to her house.”

“Except for Amber.”

“Yes. Except for Amber. You told me that Millie wasn’t allowing any of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club ladies in her house because she was afraid they were going to steal her recipe for the competition.”

“Maybe the police were here.”

Bernie shook her head. “There’s no reason why they should be. They’re saying that Millie’s death was accidental. They’re not treating it as a criminal investigation. If they were, they would have sealed the house.”

“Do you think we should call them?”

“Who?”

“The police, of course.”

“Why? Do you want to?”

“Not really, Bernie. Do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Bernie replied. She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Most definitely not. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why the door is open. We just can’t think of it at the moment is all.” She stifled a yawn. “Anyway, it’s been a long day, and I just want to get the recipes, go to RJ’s, have a beer, and go home and go to bed. I really don’t want to stand around and wait for the police to arrive and take statements and all the rest of the nonsense. We’d be here for hours.”

“Works for me,” Libby replied. The thought of bed and sleep sounded wonderful to her at the moment, especially since she had to get up at five the next morning.

“Okay then,” Bernie said, pushing the door all the way open. “We’re agreed?”

“Yes, we are.” Libby almost said “for once,” but decided it would be better not to.

“Let’s do this,” Bernie said as she took a step inside. “How bad can it be?”

“Don’t say things like that,” Libby cried.

“I can’t believe how superstitious you are,” Bernie complained as she reached over and clicked on the hall light.

Everything looked as it had when they’d been there earlier. Libby and Bernie slowly advanced through the living room and the dining room. From what they could see, nothing had been touched. The two rooms were still pristine.

“Do you notice anything out of order?” Libby asked as they started toward the kitchen.

“No,” Bernie replied. “Do you?”

Libby shook her head. One of the nice things about Millie’s obsessive housekeeping was that it was immediately obvious when something was out of place, unlike Libby’s own bedroom, which was heaped with piles of clothes she had yet to hang up. Then they got to the kitchen. Libby reached over and clicked on the light.

“Oh my God,” she gasped.

Everything had been pulled apart.

“You can say that again,” Bernie replied, grimly surveying the open cabinet drawers and the canisters of flour and sugar spilled out on the countertops, as well as boxes of cereal, pancake mix, and Bisquick. She noted the open refrigerator and freezer, whose contents were slowly melting on one of the counters. “What an incredible mess, although it’s interesting that none of the cleaning supplies or the pans have been touched.”

“Yes, it is,” Libby agreed. She stopped to eat another chocolate kiss. “It suggests that what we have here is someone looking for the recipe for Millie’s Magnificent Meltaways,” Libby said after the last of the chocolate had melted in her mouth. “That’s what I think.”

“So do I. This was definitely not a random act.” Bernie paused for a moment and then said, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this is not the work of family or neighbors. No. Whoever did this knew where the recipe for Millie’s Meltaways was supposed to be. Hence the undisturbed cleaning supplies.”

Libby frowned. “Which means that whoever did this was most likely one of the members of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club.” She shook her head. “I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Me too.” Bernie said.

“They don’t seem like the types to do something like this.”

Bernie rubbed her hands together and cackled. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men,” she said, quoting from her father’s favorite old radio show. “The shadow knows. Heh. Heh. Heh.”

“I don’t know about the evil part, but I do know that Millie would be turning over in her grave if she could see this,” Libby observed.

“The hell with turning over. She’d be spinning.” Bernie took out her cell and snapped some pictures of the kitchen to show her dad. “I wonder if the recipes that Amber wanted us to get are still in the safe,” Bernie mused, “because I’m willing to bet the Meltaways recipe is not here.” She pointed to the empty flour canister. “At least not if that was where it was supposed to be.”

“Only one way to find out,” Libby said. “It occurs to me,” she said after a brief pause, “that it says a lot about Millie that she kept her recipes in a safe.”

“Or,” Bernie rejoined, “it says something about her friends. Given this mess,” she waved her hand, indicating the kitchen, “I’d say her instincts were one hundred percent correct.”

“Apparently,” Libby said, thinking about their recipes lying on top of their office desk or scribbled in various notebooks piled up on the shelves lining the walls. It never occurred to her to worry about them. “But then why have friends like that? Judging from what I heard from Barbara, Lillian, and Teresa, no one was exactly in love with Millie.”

“Yeah, but I bet things didn’t start off that way,” Bernie replied. “We are talking about people who have known each other twenty . . .”

“More like thirty . . .”

“Okay. Thirty years. A lot of grudges can accumulate during that time.”

“Well, she certainly wasn’t very likable these days,” Libby said.

“No, she wasn’t,” Bernie agreed. “Truth be told, you didn’t like Millie all that much. I didn’t like Millie all that much.”

“But Amber did,” Libby said. “She really loved her.” Then she stopped talking and put a finger to her lips. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Hear what?” Bernie whispered back.

“That noise.” Libby pointed upstairs.

Bernie listened. “You’re being paranoid,” she said. “I don’t hear anything. There’s no one here. Whoever did this is long since gone.”

“No, I’m not being paranoid,” Libby hissed. “I know what I heard. There. There it is again.”

This time Bernie heard it too. It was like a shuffle, and then she thought she heard a word, but she wasn’t sure. “It could be something in the walls,” she said in Libby’s ear. “Maybe a squirrel or the house settling. Or maybe our ears are playing tricks on us.”

“Like what kind of tricks?” Libby asked.

Bernie shook her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of any. “Okay,” she conceded, “maybe you’re right. Maybe someone is up there.”

“Of course, I’m right. My hearing is better than yours.”

“Marginally.”

“A lot better,” Libby said.

“Not so. Anyway, my sense of smell is better.”

“That is so not true.”

“It most certainly is. You didn’t smell the pie crusts burning.”

“That’s because I had a cold, as you well know.”

“If that’s how you want to remember it, it’s fine with me.” Then before Libby could reply, Bernie added, “Hey, how about we stop bickering and go up there,” indicating the stairs with a nod of her head, “and see what’s going on.”

“How about we leave instead?”

“What, Libby? Are you kidding me?” Bernie said. “I want to see who’s up there. I’m not leaving now. Not when we have a chance to get Millie’s recipes back. Besides, the people up there are probably the other members of the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club. We’re not talking motorcycle gang scary here.”

“But what if they’re not?” Libby asked her sister.

“Who else could they be?” Bernie asked. “Aliens from outer space? Call if you want,” she told her, “but I’m not waiting for the police to come.”

“Naturally,” Libby muttered.

“What do you mean ‘naturally’?” Bernie asked her. “We already discussed this.”

“We discussed coming in the house. We didn’t discuss going upstairs when someone is in the house.”

Bernie snorted. “Could you get anymore nit-picky? Come on. Where are your balls?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any,” Libby snapped. She hated when her sister talked this way.

“Jeez. It’s just an expression,” Bernie said.

“An offensive one, given what it implies.”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “Please don’t do your whole feminist number right now.”

Libby opened her mouth.

“Seriously,” Bernie told her before she could say anything.

“Fine,” Libby retorted, “if that’s the way you feel, but all I’m saying is that there could be someone dangerous up there. We don’t really know.”

Bernie pointed to the mess in the kitchen. “Somehow I think the person or people who are upstairs are the people who did this. I don’t think people who are looking for recipes are usually defined as dangerous. Since we’re pretty sure we know who they are, that goes double.”

Libby felt a flash of anger. She took a deep breath and let it out. She refused to let Bernie push her buttons. “First of all,” she told her sister, “we don’t know if what you’re saying is true or not; second, the people up there might have caused Millie’s accident, which makes them dangerous in my book.”

“To whom?” Bernie asked.

“Obviously to us,” Libby replied.

“I doubt that.”

“How can you say that with such assurance?” Libby demanded.

“Well, I don’t see a deer target around here, do you?” Bernie asked.

“No,” Libby admitted.

“We’re not in a car on a dark country road, are we?”

“No,” Libby repeated.

“Ergo, you don’t have to worry.”

Libby said, “What if they’re armed?”

Bernie rolled her eyes. “Oh please.”

“No. I’m serious.”

“With what? Rolling pins? Pastry bags?”

“One of those women—and I’m not saying it is one of them, mind you—could have a gun. You don’t know.”

“Fine.” Bernie went over to the rack that Millie’s pans were hanging from and grabbed two cast-iron frying pans. “Now we’re armed too,” she said as she handed one to Libby. “There. Does that make you feel better?”

Libby looked down at the frying pan. “Not really.”

“Do you want a knife? Will that do the trick? Because I see several on the counter.”

For a moment Libby considered it. Then visions of bad things flashed through Libby’s mind and she discarded the idea. “No. That’s okay. I’ll stick with the frying pan.”

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Bernie said, and she headed for the stairs. Libby followed.

“I still think we should call the police,” Libby whispered to Bernie as they started up the stairs.