When the Cookie Crumbles Read online

  Praise for the Cookie Cutter Shop Mysteries

  Cookie Dough or Die

  “It’s always a joy to find a new series that…contains such promise.”

  —CA Reviews

  “Virginia Lowell made me a cookie cutter convert with her cleverly crafted Cookie Dough or Die. In fact, I unearthed my mother’s collection and looked at it in a whole new way after finishing this yummy tale…The writing is strong, the story line engaging, the characters ones you’d like to be your friends. This is what makes a good cozy mystery a special read. I look forward to more cookie adventures—with sprinkles and chocolate icing on top.”

  —AnnArbor.com

  “Readers will find the sleuthing of the main character hard to resist…This is a good cozy mystery.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Four stars! Here’s a dough-licious debut for the new Cookie Cutter Shop Mysteries…Olivia is a charming lead, and Chatterley Heights will entice cozy readers who like the drama and close-knit relationships in small towns. A great start to a new series.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “This was a great read. With a wonderful cast of characters and a great setting, this story will have you craving for one more cookie. The tone was very comfortable, and the witty and entertaining dialogue kept me engaged as I quickly turned the pages…[A] welcome addition to the cozy genre.”

  —Dru’s Book Musings

  “The author does a great job of setting up this new series. She includes such vivid descriptions of Olivia’s store that you can visualize the store and nearly smell the scent of baking cookies. Realistic, humorous dialogue supports the plot and keeps the story moving forward…Fans of Joanne Fluke or of Jenn McKinlay’s Cupcake Bakery Mysteries will enjoy this new culinary mystery series.”

  —The Season

  “Practically jumps off the page with an endearing heroine (and her little dog, too); smart, wisecracking dialogue; an ingenious plot; and a thoroughly satisfying, melt-in-your-mouth ending. And the cookie references were tempting enough to send me to the kitchen to whomp up a batch of my mother’s favorite decorated butter-sugar cookies (no kidding, I did). If you love mysteries set in a small town and treats fresh from the oven, follow this author! You will not be disappointed.”

  —Sherry Ladig, Irish Music and Dance Association magazine

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Virginia Lowell

  COOKIE DOUGH OR DIE

  A COOKIE BEFORE DYING

  WHEN THE COOKIE CRUMBLES

  When the Cookie

  Crumbles

  VIRGINIA LOWELL

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  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 • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • 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.

  WHEN THE COOKIE CRUMBLES

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

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / August 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher.

  Cover design by George Long.

  Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.

  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: 978-1-101-58133-9

  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.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  In memory of Carol

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a mystery series focused on cookie cutters and baking is great fun, in part because of the folks whose paths I cross during the journey. I am grateful to my editor, Michelle Vega, and to the skilled staff at Berkley Prime Crime; their perceptive queries more than once helped me clarify a scene or deepen a character. As always, my longtime writer’s group—Ellen Hart, Pete Hautman, Mary Logue, and K. J. Erickson—gave support and friendship, for which I am endlessly grateful. They also offered insightful critique, which I truly appreciated…after a few deep breaths and a couple cookies. And I am especially grateful to my husband, who missed celebrating a landmark birthday because the manuscript was due four days later. Instead, he helped enter my edits into the final draft and hardly complained at all. Not to worry, however; I threw him a big party a month later.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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 One

  Olivia Greyson made a mental note to develop spontaneous deafness the next time someone asked her to serve on a committee.

  Olivia and four other Chatterley Heights citizens sat in a circle near the large front window of her store, The Gingerbread House, ostensibly planning the two-hundred-fiftieth anniversary of the town’s founding. For Olivia, the aroma of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves drifting from the store kitchen held more allure than the clash of egos going on around her. Planning a birthday bash for Chatterley Heights had brought out the worst in some of its
citizens.

  “Mauve,” said Karen Evanson, the newly elected mayor of Chatterley Heights. As always, Karen wore a tailored suit, rich burgundy, which showcased her slender figure. The knee-length skirt revealed toned calves. She looked both professional and younger than her forty-six years. “Absolutely, the banner for the band shell must remain mauve. It’s a Victorian color, most appropriate.” The mayor’s authoritative voice left no room for argument. “Anyway, it’s far too late to change. The sewing club has nearly finished the banner. You should have spoken up sooner, Quill.”

  “I did. You ignored me, as usual.” Quill Latimer, PhD and town historian, crossed one long, thin leg over the other. Quill’s languid voice, tinged with disdain, exuded professorial superiority. He was in his midfifties, with a receding hairline, though Olivia suspected him of shaving the top of his head to look more scholarly.

  Olivia’s mind flashed to her father, who had died of cancer when she was a teenager, half a lifetime ago. He had been a scholar and author of popular books on ornithology. He was vague and forgetful, but never arrogant. Quill Latimer, on the other hand, often behaved as if he had something to prove.

  “Since Chatterley Heights’s founding date was close to the Revolutionary War,” Quill said, “I still maintain that mauve is the wrong color for the banner. Red, white, and blue would be far more—”

  Proving Quill’s point, Karen ignored him. “We’re running late, and we have several more topics to cover. First, I should remind you all that I expect you will return your keys to the Chatterley Mansion directly to me once this weekend is over. And I assume that no one has lost theirs and everyone has been using them to check in and make sure everything is on schedule?” The committee members nodded in unison, and Olivia half expected them to singsong like schoolchildren, “Yes, Miss Evanson.” Karen seemed satisfied. “We’ll continue with a report from Mr. Willard.” She held a voice-activated recorder toward a gaunt, elderly gentleman and asked, “Are all the permits finally in place?”

  Mr. Willard, whose real and cumbersome name was Aloysius Willard Smythe, had been advising the committee on the legal aspects of their proposed weekend celebration. He was also Olivia’s attorney. With a gentle smile that stretched his skin across his prominent jaw, Mr. Willard said, “Rest assured, we may now parade the streets of Chatterley Heights without fear of arrest.”

  Olivia laughed softly, appreciating the lightened mood. The mayor, however, was not amused. With an impatient shake of her honey blond hair, Karen turned to Binnie Sloan, editor of Chatterley Heights’s only newspaper, The Weekly Chatter. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to arrange publicity from any of the major DC or Baltimore newspapers, Binnie.”

  Binnie answered with a derisive snort as she dug into one of the many pockets in her wrinkled cargo pants. Given her plump, squarish build, Binnie usually wore men’s clothing. She preferred styles with deep pockets, so she could carry enough equipment to be prepared for any journalistic opportunity, whether real or fabricated.

  Olivia’s cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her tailored linen slacks. While Karen frowned at Binnie, Olivia sneaked a peek at her caller ID. It was a text from Del, Sheriff Del Jenkins. They hadn’t planned to get together later, but since it was a text, Olivia opened it and read, “Call me ASAP.” This was not a typical message from Olivia’s “special friend,” as her mother called him. Del was normally easygoing with a light sense of humor…except when his town or Olivia was in danger.

  Karen Evanson’s commanding voice interrupted Olivia’s thoughts. “We all agreed, Olivia. No cell phones during our meetings. Please put it away and pay attention.” Another snicker from Binnie drew a glare from Karen. Olivia slipped her cell back into her pocket.

  Before the mayor could repeat her demand for a publicity report, Binnie said, “I didn’t bother with the DC and Baltimore papers. They won’t be interested in our little birthday party. At least, not unless something really juicy happens. I could put something on my blog, maybe hint that one of Chatterley Heights’s prominent officials is about to be arrested for fraud or—”

  “As usual, I’ll have to complete your assigned tasks for you, Binnie. Now about the opening parade on Saturday morning…” Karen consulted a typed list. “I have determined the order in which notable Chatterley Heights citizens are to march in the parade. As mayor, I will lead. Following behind…”

  Through the store’s front window, Olivia watched streetlamps flash on, creating a rectangle of light around the Chatterley Heights town square. Inside the park, one old-fashioned streetlamp illuminated the historic band shell. Olivia wished she were sitting in it, watching the surrounding shops go to bed for the night.

  A rich, sweet fragrance wafted from the kitchen. Molasses. Olivia’s mind drifted, as it often did, toward cookies. A decorated gingerbread cookie might help alleviate her current frustration. Normally she loved being in the store, surrounded by cookie cutters, cookie cookbooks, and the colorful array of icing decorations, but if she had to hear one more heated disagreement about nothing…

  Not that their task wasn’t important. Two hundred and fifty years of survival was something to be proud of, especially for a small town. Olivia was not above feeling a tingle of pride and excitement. Chatterley Heights, her home until she left for college, nestled between Baltimore and Washington, DC. The little town was steeped in history, some of it downright amusing. Certainly the antics of their revered founder, Frederick P. Chatterley, made for some delicious stories. A number of town residents had recently discovered, through intensive research, that they were descended from Frederick P., though not strictly in a respectable way.

  “Olivia? I hate to interrupt your reverie, but our task would go more smoothly if you would try to pay attention.” Mayor Karen Evanson raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows at Olivia.

  “Everyone calls me Livie,” Olivia said before she could stop herself. If she’d been paying attention, she would have remembered that Mayor Evanson, as she preferred to be called, disapproved of informality. Nevertheless, perhaps in defiance, everyone in town called her Karen.

  “You know my attitude toward nicknames,” Karen said with an impatient shake of her head. She made an exception only for Mr. Willard. A strand of shiny hair grazed her chin and fell obediently back into place. “It’s your turn to report on your events planning. We only have three days before the celebration begins, so I hope you’ve made progress.”

  “The events are in place,” Olivia said. “Del and Cody will handle traffic during the parade, and—”

  “That’s Sheriff Del Jenkins and Deputy Sheriff Cody Furlow,” Karen articulated into her recorder. “And?” she asked, turning to Olivia.

  Suppressing a sigh, Olivia said, “And local businesses are lined up for the fete on Sunday.”

  “The tours of Chatterley Mansion? Are they arranged?” Karen’s clipped tone conveyed impatience with her less-than-competent assistants.

  “All arranged,” Olivia said. “As you know, Professor Latimer will lead the tour groups. He has a vast knowledge of Chatterley Heights history, and he knew Harold and Sally Chatterley for many years before they died.” Olivia noticed that when she began to compliment Quill, Karen stopped recording.

  “You really need to learn to be more efficient with your reports, Olivia. We don’t have time to waste.”

  Olivia’s little rescue Yorkshire terrier, Spunky, was curled on the needlework seat of an antique chair facing the front window. He lifted his head and growled at the mayor’s sharp tone.

  “Why you keep that dog in a place of business, I’ll never understand,” Karen said. “I’m not sure it’s even legal.”

  “Oh, it is quite legal,” Mr. Willard said. “And Spunky is very popular with customers.”

  Spunky slapped his fluffy tail on the chair seat and settled back to sleep.

  Ignoring Karen’s criticism of her pet, Olivia consulted her brief notes on her committee assignment. “As you’ve probably noticed, Maddie is making f
ragrant and delicious progress on her gingerbread house replicas of the oldest and most important buildings in town.” Olivia’s best friend and business partner, Maddie Briggs, was known for her creative, exuberant cookie designs. “In fact, she is just finishing the last gingerbread house, the Chatterley Mansion. She’s also decorating cookies with indoor scenes to put inside the rooms. It’s all amazing.”

  “I doubt they will hold up through the weekend,” the mayor said with a tight smile. “In my opinion, gingerbread houses are frivolous and potentially unsanitary.”

  “Can the attitude, Karen,” said Binnie Sloan. “Folks love stuff like gingerbread houses. They’re great for publicity photos.”

  Olivia would have appreciated Binnie’s support except it wasn’t given in defense of The Gingerbread House or Maddie’s baking skills. Binnie was sniping at Karen for insisting The Weekly Chatter hew to higher journalistic standards than had been its practice. Binnie’s stories favored sensationalism over truth. Olivia, who had been stung more than once by what passed for reporting in The Weekly Chatter, had to agree with Karen.

  The mayor’s flawless makeup couldn’t hide her flushed cheeks and tight jaw. She drew in a breath to speak, but before she could put Binnie in her place, Quill Latimer said, “Fascinated as I am by this weighty conversation, I must point out that I am teaching an evening class beginning”—he made a show of taking a pocket watch from his sweater vest pocket and springing open the lid—“beginning less than an hour from now. I have a twenty-minute drive, and I must stop at home to pick up my materials.”

  “Perhaps you should have been more prepared,” Karen snapped.

  Quill cocked one bushy eyebrow at Karen and said, “Perhaps you should beg the unpaid services of another PhD historian who happens to be an expert on the history of Chatterley Heights.”

  Olivia wondered if she should move the heavy mixing bowls and rolling pins out of snatching distance. She relaxed when Mr. Willard cleared his throat, a sign he was about to speak. To her irritation, she felt her cell phone vibrate inside the pocket of her linen pants. She should have left it in the kitchen with Maddie. She decided to ignore it.