Doors, Danishes & Death: A Cookie and Cream Cozy Mystery, #3

Chapter 1

New England pudding with sterling sauce. What could be better for a town Centennial?

Cookie bent over the stove holding the oven door open just a bit, smelling the delicious aromas of cinnamon and ginger and clove and molasses. Mmm. So good. Let’s see, she thought. There were four hundred cupcakes boxed up in the walk-in refrigerator. She’d made strawberry bagels instead of donuts because they would say fresh longer. So many last minute details to take care of. The celebration started tomorrow, after all, and the whole town would be there. They’d be expecting treats from the Kiss the Cook Bakery.

This had been her home for over four decades. As a young single mother with nowhere else to go, being given a job at the only bakery in Widow’s Rest had provided her with a purpose and way to provide for both her and her daughter Madison. The previous owner, Fran Hazelton, had left the bakery business to Cookie. Besides a name change and some modern improvements to the appliances, Cookie had left the building exactly as it had always been. It was a legacy she intended to take care of. She loved this place.

Now, she was helping to raise her granddaughter. Madison’s daughter Clarissa, as it turned out, had a real knack for cooking and had fit into the bakery life just fine. Early to bed, early to rise, and lots and lots of hours right here in the kitchen. She was just eighteen and not even out of school yet, but she was so mature for her age. Cookie was so proud of the young woman Clarissa had become. She was tall and pretty, with rich auburn hair that was dark enough to be brown in the right light, and she was starting to look more than ever just like her mother Madison had at that age.

Once upon a time Cookie’s hair had been that color, too, before she’d gotten old and her locks had gone snow white. She supposed, if her boyfriend Jerry was to be believed, that she was still a very pretty woman. Her skin had formed laugh lines and worry lines though, and she was… well. She supposed the right term would be pudgy. A side-effect of running her own bakery was having to sample the things she made. On top of that, she was definitely not young any more. Youth was a thing that Clarissa now got to enjoy.

Ah, well. Jerry never complained.

She smiled a wicked smile to herself as she closed the oven up again. Jerry Stansted wasn’t just her boyfriend anymore. He was her fiancé. He’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes. After putting her sunflower oven mitts down on the counter, she held up her hand to look at the diamond engagement ring on her finger. It was a simple silver band, with a sparkling little diamond, in an equally simple setting. She liked to look at it, sitting there and sparkling. She’d been afraid that it would look out of place on a woman her age, getting married for the second time as she was. Instead it looked just perfect.

There was this little flutter that she got in her belly every time she remembered how close in time her wedding to Jerry was. Just two months away. She already knew what kind of cake she was going to make for herself and most of the other details had been settled on. Most, but not all. A wedding was never the casual, easy soiree that it should be. But, one party at a time. For now, she was preparing food for the Centennial.

Arf, said her little friend, sitting patiently over by the doorway leading to the stairs up to their apartment on the second floor. Cream, in his infinite Chihuahua wisdom, knew better than to get in the way when she was baking. There were health code violations against it, for one thing, and for another he was a good dog and knew when to stay out from underfoot.

Her little friend was getting up there in years just like she was. His fur had always been the color of CoffeeMate creamer—which was where the idea for his name had come from—but now his coloring was starting to fade from tannish brown to a milky white. He was starting to show his age in other ways, too, like how he had to stop and rest more often on their walks around town. Or how he had trouble getting up on the bed to sleep with her. They both carefully ignored his issues, of course. Cream never said a word whenever Cookie had to loosen the old apron strings a notch, and she would never say anything about how the stairs were starting to give him trouble.

Be a good boy, Cream, Cookie promised him, and when I’m done I’ll add some bacon bits to your dinner.

He pranced on his front paws and tipped his head to the side, lolling his tongue out in a doggie grin. He obviously liked that idea.

I don’t understand what the big deal is, Clarissa said. She was sitting on a stool at the island counter, kicking her sneakers against the crossbar, checking her sparkly blue fingernail polish for chips. She thought Cookie didn’t know about her date tonight, but grandmothers knew things. Besides, that blue top was new, and those were her favorite jeans with the sequined stars on the back pockets. It’s just a picnic tomorrow or whatever, right?

The big deal, young lady, Cookie explained, is that this party is for the birthday of Widow’s Rest. One hundred years is a goodly time for a town to be sitting in the same place, giving a home for generations of families to grow up. We should celebrate with our friends and laugh and have a good time. Don’t you think?

Well, sure Grandma. I’m always ready for a party. This seems like too much though. We’ve got people coming in from all over and we’ve got newspaper reporters in town and there’s balloons strung from every sign and lightpole… It’s like the Fourth of July or a Thanksgiving parade or something.

You’re only saying that because you grew up in a city.

Wait, what? Clarissa crossed her arms and tried to hide a smile. What’s that supposed to mean?

It means in the city there’s no pride in where you come from. You go to school with dozens of other children your own age who you don’t know, and you come back home to a place where you don’t know your neighbors. Cookie shrugged at the thought of it. Widow’s Rest has a history. We have a sense of belonging here that I never did feel when I lived anywhere else. So we’re going to all get together and have some good food and some good times and make some memories. You’ll have lots of fun, dear, I promise. There’s always games and carriage rides and such.

And lots of your baking. Clarissa gave her grandmother a wink. I bet you’re working harder than anyone else to make this happen.

Well, I do my share. Cookie went to rinse her hands in the sink. Your help made it all possible. You did win the cupcake war, after all.

Clarissa beamed under the compliment. She’d managed to make exactly a dozen cupcakes more than her grandmother, and she’d done it fair and square. You still owe me five dollars, remember.

I do. Now. The New England pudding needs another hour to cook. Then we’ll need to start the sauce.

Clarissa made a face. I don’t think I’ll be trying any of that. Who puts suet in pudding?

It’s a very old recipe, Cookie explained. Brought over by the pilgrims when they came to the New World. Back then people had to use whatever they had at hand. No running to the grocery stores for a few sticks of unsalted oleo. I’m substituting lard for the suet, but it’s a very traditional dish. I can’t think of anything better to bake for a party celebrating our town’s one hundredth birthday, can you? There. I’ve got the timer set. Want to beat me at another game of cards while we wait?

Checking her watch, Clarissa spun back and forth on the stool and tried to look casual while avoiding eye contact with her grandmother. Actually, I was kind of hoping that I could, um, leave a little earlier than we talked about? I have some, um, stuff to do in town.

Oh? This stuff you have to do wouldn’t include meeting up with a young man named Hamish would it?

Gram, Clarissa complained, drawing out her nickname for her grandmother in one long syllable. Still, she couldn’t help the way her face lit up at the mention of Hamish’s name.

Oh, don’t mind me, Cookie said. I’m just an old woman who likes to live vicariously through her granddaughter. Young love. You’re having your first serious relationship and you’re having it with a fine young man at that. He’s home from culinary school now, I take it?

Yes, he is. He got in yesterday and we were supposed to meet later down at the ice cream shop but if I leave now I’ll be able to surprise him, she added hopefully.

Cookie made her wait a few long seconds for the answer while she ran through her mental list of things she still needed to do. Really, the only thing they had left to create was that sauce and she could certainly handle that herself. Clarissa had been, as always, a big help to her today. She deserved to go and have some fun. When she had been that age herself, as soon as her chores were done Cookie had always been out with her friends. Boys especially. Including, she reminded herself, one who would eventually become a husband who ran off on her after the birth of their daughter.

Well. She firmly believed Clarissa’s young Hamish was made of better stuff than that. She was happy for her granddaughter. To be in love at that age… it was heady stuff. Like rich, dark chocolate.

Besides, Clarissa had gone through a lot recently. Her and her mother both, what with Clarissa’s stepfather being murdered and her mother pregnant with his child, and so much else. Things were just starting to get back to normal for them. Time with her boyfriend would certainly help.

I suppose, she said, that I can do without you for a few hours. You’ll be back by dinner?

Actually… Hamish was going to take us somewhere. He has the whole evening planned out.

Hmm. I see. Well, it was nice that Hamish wanted to spend so much time with her on his first day back. A lot of guys would have been looking to hang out with their buddies. All right, then you’ll be back by nine.

Grandma. Nine? Really?

All right. Nine-thirty. You two go and have fun. I don’t like that woman who runs the ice cream parlor but there aren’t many places to choose from when you’re going out on the town in Widow’s Rest. So enjoy yourself but don’t you go anywhere else but the restaurant without telling me first, hear? And call your mom. She worries.

Clarissa bounced off the kitchen stool and over to Cookie, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Thanks, Grandma! Oh, by the way, you don’t have any reason to be living through me. You’ve got a good man of your own. Maybe you should ask Jerry to come over while I’m gone?

With a wink she spun away and practically danced out of the kitchen into the front room of the bakery. As she opened the front door to rush out, she called back, See you later, Cream!

At the bottom of the stairs, Cream jumped up on his paws and barked his own goodbye, sniffing the air as his tail wagged furiously, as if to ask why he was being left behind.

Cookie clucked her tongue. So cheeky, that girl. Well, she wasn’t wrong. Jerry was one of the best things to happen in her life. This bakery, and her man, and her family.

Arf, Cream whoofed at her.

Yes, and you too, my little friend. Come on, she said to him. Let’s go upstairs and read for a little while. How’s that sound? Let me just grab the bacon bits for your snack like I promised. Oh, and I should lock the front door, I suppose.

It was Sunday, and her official business hours had ended at two o’clock, but Cookie always kept the door open through the afternoon in case any of the people in town wanted to drop in for cookies or a loaf of bread. As far as the tourists knew, she wasn’t open. It had given her time to do the final baking for tomorrow. There were lots of tourists in Widow’s Rest for the centennial party. In hotels in the surrounding towns, too. She appreciated the business, but she needed time to rest and relax. Just her and Cream.

Then again, the idea that Clarissa had given her of calling Jerry to invite him over was definitely an appealing one. She could make him dinner. He could help her finish the sauce and they could watch that movie he liked so much with Liam Neeson… the one about the military squad accused of a crime they didn’t commit. The way to a man’s heart was often through cake, and comically violent movies.

Ha, she laughed to herself. That was a sentiment that wouldn’t make it to a bumper sticker any time soon. Even if it was true.

Going to the door, she hummed a happy little tune, thinking about—

Jerry, she said in surprise as there he was, standing on the other side of the glass doors at the front of the bakery. He had that look on his face that she loved so much, that look that said he’d done something really good, especially for her. When he lifted up two heavy paper sacks, she understood why he was smiling. The name printed across the front of the bags was from their favorite restaurant.

After a moment he lifted his eyebrows up, and purposefully looked down at the door. Oh, right, Cookie sputtered, realizing his hands were full. The door. Heh. Come in, come in. What on Earth do you have there?

Dinner, he said, holding the bags to the side as he swept in and stole a kiss from her. Chicken parmesan and red potatoes. I thought we could stay inside tonight.

Really? she chuckled. I was just thinking the same thing. You and me and a night together with dinner. You’re a man after my own heart.

Always.

The way he said it made her blood heat up.

Um, she stuttered. So, no dessert?

When I’m dating the best baker in the world? He put the bags down on one of the several tables in the main room of the bakery, where customers would often stop and eat and chat, or peruse