06 Dead Men Don't Eat Cookies, page 22
“Really?” Olivia almost lost her balance as Spunky lunged toward a squirrel. “Stop that,” Olivia yelled.
“Livie? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Del. Although I’m glad Yorkshire terriers are little critters. If Spunky were a Labrador, I’d have a dislocated shoulder. Now, what were you saying about rumors being worse than truth?”
“I’m referring to the items the crime lab extracted from the boarding house wall. The whole town knows we found more than we’d expected, but, miraculously, the details haven’t become common knowledge. Believe it or not, the rumors are even more incredible than what we actually found. I can tell Ida has been talking, because the satanic ritual theory has made the rounds. Some versions include human sacrifice. The most recent speculation I heard involved a serial killer who kidnapped random strangers and walled them up alive.”
“Yikes.” With her free arm, Olivia grabbed Spunky around his middle to keep him from leaping toward another squirrel that appeared to be taunting him. “You’re right, the rumors are worse than the truth. So may I tell Maddie what you really did find?”
“You may,” Del said, “though I’d appreciate it if you waited until you’ve closed the store. And please don’t tell anyone else.”
“That goes without saying.” Olivia checked the time on her cell phone. “Del, I need to get back to the store, but I wanted to let you know that Alicia has gone off somewhere. She left a note for my mom and Allan saying she was going to talk to someone about her father’s death. Mom is really worried that she’s putting herself in danger. Apparently, there’s a man at the homeless shelter who told Polly he came back to town because his stepdaughter lives here. His name is Jack.” Olivia repeated Jack’s description as best she could recall. “Mom thought the stepdaughter might be Alicia, so she called together a rescue posse that met in the Gingerbread House kitchen. They hope to find Alicia through this man.”
“Sounds like quite a long shot to me,” Del said, “but let me know if it leads to anything. If you have reason to believe Alicia is in danger from this man, let me know. Otherwise, there’s not much I can do. Alicia is nineteen. She can go off anywhere she wants. And I really can’t declare her missing after only a few hours. I’d rather she didn’t try to investigate her father’s death on her own, of course. That can get dangerous. I can’t stop her, though. If Cody were here, I’d have him talk to Polly, get a full description of Jack, hunt down his full name, see if he has a record, and keep an eye out for him. On an unofficial level, all I can do is keep my eyes and ears open. That’s the best I can offer at this point. But if anything changes . . .”
“I’ll let you know if mom’s posse comes up with anything,” Olivia said, “especially if it appears that this homeless man did know Kenny Vayle.”
“And definitely inform me if Alicia disappears altogether, particularly if the homeless man never returns to claim his belongings,” Del said. “Meanwhile, I can share with you one more tidbit about the evidence we took from the boarding house. In fact, I’ll need your help. We didn’t find another cookie cutter necklace. However, underneath the bones, cookie cutters, and dust, we found a fair amount of detritus, all of which we scooped up and carted back to the lab. I just got a call from the lab folks to tell me that they found a bullet. Not just any bullet, either. This one was old, certainly from well before Kenny Vayle disappeared. The lab techs are pretty excited. They think it might have been fired from an early twentieth century pistol. Also, the bullet appears to be a decent match to the hole we found in the second skull.”
“That’s fascinating.” Spunky squirmed to escape Olivia’s arm, so she lowered him to the ground and began walking him around the backyard. “In other words, it’s true that the owner of the skull was murdered. Is it possible he shot himself?”
“I doubt it. The bullet hole was in the back of his skull. I’ll let you know what the forensics reveal . . . if they can learn anything. Anyway, they should be able to determine how old the skull is. DNA testing could prove difficult without more clues.” When Olivia didn’t answer him, Del said, “I should let you go back to work. I’ll call Aunt Sadie and arrange the meeting this evening at seven.”
“Wait, Del.” Olivia hesitated a moment, thinking back to Tuesday night. “When you mentioned Aunt Sadie, it made me remember a story she told us yesterday. I wonder . . .”
“Now I’m curious,” Del said.
“Well, you know how knowledgeable Aunt Sadie is about Chatterley Heights history, not to mention cookie cutters, life, death, and the universe. Anyway, the other evening Maddie and I brought her dinner, and we talked about finding those bones. Aunt Sadie began reminiscing about the boarding house itself . . . you know, its history. She told us a marvelous story about Horace Chatterley, who actually built that boarding house at the behest of his mistress-of-the-moment, whose name was Imogene Jones. Aunt Sadie told us that Horace lost his fortune in the stock market crash and ended up living in his own boarding house. I’m sure she said Horace simply ‘disappeared,’ some years later.”
“Interesting,” Del said. “It’s a place to start, anyway. I’ll mention the story to the crime scene techs and see what they say. They might have some leftover Chatterley DNA.”
Olivia knew he was referring to a previous murder in Chatterley Heights that had occurred after she had moved back to town. “Thanks for keeping me in the forensic loop,” she said, “and for releasing me from best-friend purgatory. Speaking of which, I’d better get back to the store, or Maddie will be assembling a second search party. I’ll keep you posted.”
“See you tonight,” Del said. “I wish it were under more romantic circumstances.”
“Romantic is nice, but it isn’t every evening I get to look at potentially antique cookie cutters. I’m glad we’ll be able to see them up close and personal. I know Aunt Sadie can tell a lot more from actually holding a cutter in her hands.”
With a light laugh, Del said, “I aim to please. I also aim for the most accurate information I can get.”
Olivia sighed audibly. “You say the sweetest things.”
Chapter Seventeen
Visions of dancing cookie cutters swirled in Olivia’s head Wednesday evening as she and Maddie closed The Gingerbread House and headed toward Aunt Sadie’s house to see what might be antique cookie cutters from the fabled Chatterley collection. Olivia shivered in her light jacket as the wind picked up. But even the coming of winter wasn’t enough to quell her excitement. By the time she and Maddie bounced up the steps to Aunt Sadie’s porch, Olivia had already unzipped her jacket.
Olivia tried to maintain adult composure as she settled next to Maddie on Aunt Sadie’s living room sofa. As always these days, Aunt Sadie remained in her wheelchair, seated between Del and Anita Rambert, who were relegated to folding chairs. The rest of Aunt Sadie’s living room furniture waited in Maddie and Lucas’s garage for the completion of their new mother-in-law suite. Lucas had spent nearly every evening working on the project, hoping to finish before the arrival of winter.
Del held a box on his lap. “These cookie cutters have been thoroughly examined by our forensics team,” he said as he removed the lid.
“Ooh, what did they find?” Maddie clapped her hands like an over-excited child.
Anita raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Enjoying yourself, Maddie?”
“What, too much enthusiasm?” Maddie grinned. “Fine, Anita, play it cool. We know better. You are every bit as excited as we are about these cutters.” Maddie’s fingers twitched as if she could barely keep herself from snatching the box from Del’s lap. “What if they really are part of the Chatterley collection?”
“The mythical collection, you mean.” Anita flipped her sleek black hair over one shoulder. “The Chatterley cooks might have used cookie cutters, but I suspect the Chatterley wives were far more interested in balls and fancy gowns than in menial labor.”
Before Maddie could retort, Olivia said, “Let’s move on, shall we? I’d much rather discuss these cookie cutters than the culinary habits of the Chatterley women. Maddie is right. These might be genuine antiques.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” When Anita crossed her long, slender legs, the creases in her ruby red slacks remained obediently centered.
Anita was, as Olivia well knew, an expert on antique cookie cutters. However, her interest in these particular cutters would depend, ultimately, on how much money she could make by selling them. She might be tempted to undervalue them. If the cutters turned out to be genuine antiques, Olivia hoped they wouldn’t disappear into private collections. She wanted them to stay in Chatterley Heights, where they belonged.
“Now, now,” Aunt Sadie said. “We are so lucky to be allowed a peek at these cutters. Let’s leave it at that.” No one objected.
Del had observed the bickering with a look of resigned patience. “Whether or not these cutters once were used by Chatterley wives or their cooks isn’t really my concern right now,” he said. “I’m more interested in why, when, and by whom they were deposited behind a wall in a boarding house once owned by Horace Chatterley. If possible, I would like to know the approximate age of the cutters, as well as which Chatterley family member might have obtained them, and so on. We’ve taken care of the forensics. Now I want a sense of their history, which might help answer some questions we have.”
“And those questions are . . . ?” Anita asked.
“Not relevant for purposes of this discussion,” Del said.
Olivia could have kissed him, but that would have to wait. While Anita scowled at Del, Olivia contented herself with a quick glance at Maddie, who half winked one sparkling eye.
Del opened the small box he’d been holding on his lap. He removed five cookie cutters, and arranged them on the inside of the box lid. The forensics process had cleaned them of dust and dirt. At first glance, they looked remarkably free of rust. However, Olivia noticed dents and discoloration that pegged the cutters as old and well used. Of course, some damage might have resulted from the rough treatment the poor things experienced following the end of their culinary lives.
“Only five?” Anita complained. “I heard you found at least twenty-five cutters in that boarding house. I need to see all of them.” She crossed her slender arms over her chest. “Now I’ll have to arrange a private viewing. Tomorrow morning will work for me, as early as possible.”
“That number is somewhat exaggerated,” Del said with an affable smile. “And I’m afraid it won’t be possible to see the others at present. They are all exhibits in an active murder investigation. Two investigations, in fact. They will be out of circulation indefinitely. I selected these five cookie cutters because our forensics experts and I were most curious about them,” he said. “They aren’t necessarily the best preserved specimens, but the shapes intrigued us. We thought maybe their uniqueness might make them easier to trace.” Del shrugged, and added, “We could be wrong, of course.”
“Once the case is concluded, how will you handle the sale of the collection?” Anita asked. “I doubt you have antique cookie cutter experts on your forensics team.”
“The sale?” Del’s blank face gave nothing away, though Olivia sensed he was stalling for time to think. He must know he needed to keep Anita engaged. She was more knowledgeable even than Aunt Sadie. “These cutters belong to the town of Chatterley Heights, not to the police. After we’ve completed the investigation—and trial, if it comes to that—we’ll determine when or whether these items can be released.”
Anita groaned. “We’ll all be dead by then.”
Aunt Sadie reached over the side of her wheelchair to pat Anita’s arm. “Now dear, don’t fret. If these are Chatterley cookie cutters, then the town must preserve them. But, Anita, think how your help with this case will enhance your reputation. Why, everyone will be so impressed when they learn the police called upon you to help crack a cold case. Two cold cases, in fact.”
Olivia could swear she saw a glint in Anita’s dark eyes.
Aunt Sadie turned to Del, and asked, “Might we be permitted to hold the little darlings? I can tell so much more about a cutter if I feel its weight and examine those little nicks and bruises. My eyes are not as sharp as they used to be. Anita will know more about their authenticity and value, of course, especially if you allow her to examine the cutters closely.”
Anita’s shoulders relaxed against the back of her chair. Following Aunt Sadie’s lead, Del said, “I thought I’d start by having each of you choose a cutter to examine. Then you can pass them among yourselves however you want. Anita, why don’t you start.” By now, Anita was almost smiling. She looked carefully over the five cutters before selecting one that looked like a flower. She handed the box lid to Aunt Sadie, who selected a little girl with one arm slung out to her side. Maddie picked up an unusually fat pig. “This is to remind me not to eat too many cookies,” she said as she passed along the remaining two cutters. Out of curiosity, Olivia picked a shape she couldn’t identify. That left one lonely cookie cutter, a little boy, which Del offered to Anita. Now that she had been shown proper respect for her expertise, Anita focused her full attention on the two cutters she held.
“Del, dear,” Aunt Sadie said, “would you mind fetching the coffee from the kitchen? You can pour it into the empty carafe I left on a tray, along with cups and spoons. Cream is in the fridge, and sugar should already be on the tray.”
Del looked confused and a bit alarmed.
“I can promise we won’t discuss the cutters behind your back,” Anita said. “I want complete silence during my examination.”
“Aunt Sadie and I won’t give anything away,” Maddie said. “This room is teeming with competition.”
Del hesitated. Taking pity on him, Olivia said, “I’ll help you.” She handed her yet-to-be identified cutter over to Maddie and followed Del into the kitchen, closing the door behind them. “Del, if you’ve already done all the forensic stuff, what do you really hope to learn from us about those cutters? If you’re willing to tell me, that is.”
“Are you kidding, Livie? I owe you big time for passing on that story about Horace Chatterley. We do have access to Chatterley DNA, and we’ve already begun testing the skull.”
“I aim to please,” Olivia said. “What if it isn’t a Chatterley skull?”
Del shrugged. “At least we’ll know that much. If it is a Chatterley, the forensic folks will try to estimate the age of the skull. That will help us determine if it’s Horace Chatterley. Incidentally, I checked your story, and you were right. After the Stock Market Crash of 1929, Horace was destitute. His family kicked him out, so he moved into the Chatterley Boarding House. The place was well built, but without upkeep it must have declined steadily. Apparently, Horace remained arrogant even after his dramatic downfall. He treated nearly everyone with equal disdain, so he might not have been particularly popular with the other boarding house inhabitants.” Del peered into the refrigerator and selected a container. He frowned at the contents before handing the container to Olivia. “Is this the right stuff?” he asked.
“Looks like cream to me.” She sniffed it. “Fresh, too. Before we return to the living room, were you planning to tell me what we’re supposed to look for as we examine those cutters? Are you hoping to learn about anything in particular? I’d rather not appear too ignorant in front of Anita.”
Del chuckled and kissed Olivia on the tip of her nose.
“Was that it? That’s the thanks I get for telling you about Horace?”
“Not enough, huh.” Del sighed and shook his head. “About those cutters, I’m hoping for ideas, impressions, connections . . . anything to jumpstart our thinking about this case. Our top priority, of course, is the more recent murder. The plywood nailed over the hole wasn’t more than twenty years old. We think Horace’s killer patched the wall after depositing Horace inside. This is all still speculation, of course.”
“Was there any sign of the original patch?” Olivia asked.
Del leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Some nail holes. The original patch was probably just as obvious as the second one, so I suspect Kenny Vayle’s body was deposited behind that temporary wall as a matter of convenience.” Del’s eyes appeared to sparkle as the overhead light caught the gold flecks in their brown depths. “You know, if that skull belonged to Horace Chatterley, I’d get a real kick out of determining what happened to him.”
“I get that.” Olivia filled the cream pitcher and put the container back in the refrigerator. “I’d love to know how and why those cookie cutters wound up in the wall. Are they clues, or were they planted to incriminate someone? Did Horace have them with him when he died, and if so, why? Did Kenny Vayle rip out that wall and find the skull and the cookie cutters, or was he already dead before the wall was reopened?”
“Good questions,” Del said. “This is a complex case, which is what makes it so fascinating. Are we really dealing with two completely separate murders, or are they somehow connected? All we know at this point is that both men were probably murdered.”
“Well,” Olivia said, “that’s something. How was Kenny murdered?”
“Probably blows to the back of the neck and base of the skull, given the damage to some of the neck bones.”
“Blows . . . Does that mean—?”
The kitchen door opened and Maddie poked her head inside. “The natives are getting restless.” Del picked up the tray and Olivia followed him back to the living room. She noticed at once that Anita had collected all five cookie cutters and arranged them in a row on the coffee table. She picked up one cutter and examined it under a small magnifying glass. Intense concentration made her lovely face look tight and angry. Olivia and Maddie poured coffee in silence.
Anita lowered the magnifying glass to her lap and sat up straight. “These cutters,” she said, “are the real deal. They are genuine antiques, almost certainly dating back as far as the late seventeen or early eighteen hundreds. Four are tin, handmade by experienced tin workers. You can tell from the soldering, which is neat and precise. The fifth cutter is more recent—I’m guessing late nineteenth or early twentieth century. It is made of copper, rather than tin, and the design is most unusual. These five alone would fetch perhaps thousands of dollars in a bidding war among serious collectors.” Anita took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but these pieces should not be allowed to leave Chatterley Heights. They are museum quality. When the time comes, I would like to be involved in tracing their histories and arranging their display. They should be kept secure at all times. Above all, avoid damaging them any more than you already have.” Anita gave Del a pointed look.
