Case of the Butter Cream Cookie Hanging Read online

  "You know what I mean," she said, biting back a smile, deven though she was alone in the car.

  "OK, I'll do you this one favor, but then you owe me one." Beatrice knew this was coming. Every Time that she asked a favor he agreed, so long as she would go on a date with him. And although he didn't specify this time, she was certain that was what the favor would entail. Fortunately, Beatrice was ready this time.

  "How about this. I'll owe you one if it comes up negative. Otherwise, I think it will be you who owes me one," she confirmed. For some reason, now more than ever, she was certain that she was right.

  "I'll take my chances," he joked.

  Oh, I bet you will, Beatrice thought to herself as she hung up the phone.

  --

  When Beatrice did get back home, she was exhausted. Between the walk with Stella, the handling of Lucy and dealing with Detective Rogers, it had been quite the day. Dumping her purse onto the couch as she collapsed onto it, she was surprised to see a piece of food roll out.

  On further inspection, it wasn't just any piece of food, but a cookie, wrapped in a handkerchief. It didn't take her long to realize that it was the one she took the previous night from the janitor's closet -- the very the same one that Ms. Elwin had made.

  Beatrice picked it up off the floor, unwrapping it from its makeshift case. It was Ms. Elwin's buttercream cookie alright. Although looking at it a little closer, Beatrice couldn't help but notice some very odd markings on the top. She had studied the cookies backstage thoroughly, as a fellow baker would want to do, and where those were plain old cookies with nothing distinguishable about them -- besides what was expressed as an extraordinary flavor -- this one had a cross carved into the top of it.

  Not that this bothered Beatrice. All she wanted to know was what was so special about these cookies. About to bite into the treat to see what all the fuss was about, she stopped herself, deciding that right now she was not in the mood. It had been in her bag all day after all.

  Instead, she opted to place the marked cookie in the fridge and let it cool down first. There would be time for tasting later. Then she would see who made the best cookies in town.

  7

  Knock, knock, knock!

  Knock, knock, knock! The pounding on the front door was incessant and never ending. Beatrice sat up in bed, taking a few moments to realize what it was that had woken her up in the first place. She was dazed and still half asleep.

  Knock, knock, knock!

  Throwing on her pink bathrobe, she hurried from her bedroom, reaching the door before whoever was on the other side knocked it from its hinges.

  If she wasn't still half asleep, the shock at seeing Detective Rogers on the other side of the door as she threw it open, might have registered a little harder on her face. Instead, it barely warranted a reaction as she stepped aside and let him in – or rather barge in.

  "I don't believe it," he bellowed, pacing back and forth across the living room.

  "Good morning to you too," Beatrice offered, closing her bathrobe. Now that she was awake she was aware of just how odd she must have looked. She still had rollers in her hair, her sleep mask resting on her forehead and her favorite bunny slippers on. "Coffee?" She asked, hoping this might give her a chance to duck into her room and get changed.

  "What? Oh no, no thank you. I've been up for a – how did you know?" He asked. He was still pacing, acting like his behind had been stung by a bee.

  "Know what?" She asked, genuinely confused.

  "You were right. Thomas was murdered."

  If there were any remnants of Beatrice still trying to wake up, they were well and truly kicked to the curb as what Detective Rogers said hit her in the face like a well-aimed punch. "What?" She blurted in surprise.

  "I got a call from the coroner this morning. Believe me; he was just as shocked as you. The janitor was poisoned," he finished, flopping onto the couch. It looked like he had just run a marathon, his face was so red and sweaty.

  "Poison? So, the hanging --"

  "Was still the cause of death. But from what the coroner told me, the poison in his body was a particularly nasty one. Slow acting, would have taken days to kill the poor guy. Very painful days by the sound of it. If I was to guess, he knew this and opted to take his own life instead. Did himself a favor."

  Beatrice's mind was spinning. She couldn’t believe that Lucy was right. She couldn't believe that her initial instinct was right. With so much going on inside of her mind right now Beatrice didn't know what she could believe. All she knew was that she had found herself again, in the middle of a murder investigation.

  "Hey," Detective Rogers said, eyeing Beatrice. "I know that face."

  "What face?" She asked, trying to hide her smile. "This is my face. It's what I always look like."

  "You know what I – this is an official police investigation. Please, Beatrice, stay out of it this time. There's no need for you to get involved."

  "Please," she scoffed, heading into the kitchen. "Why would I waste my time interfering in this one. It has nothing to do with me."

  "Because," Rogers began, following her in. "I know you. Plus, you are the one who asked me to look into this in the first place. So, there must have been a reason?"

  "Nope," Beatrice said, turning her back on him to make some coffee. At least that was what it was made to look like. She just really wanted to hide her face because if Rogers had seen it, he would have known that she was lying. "I was just doing what I thought was right. It's up to you now."

  "Good to hear," he concluded, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Now, I believe there was some talk of a favor?"

  "From you, yes," she said, turning back to face him, a pot of coffee in hand. "And I will be calling it in soon enough I assure you. If you're lucky, it might serve both our interest too."

  As Detective Rogers smirked, taking a sip of his coffee, Beatrice had already begun to plan her next step. Obviously, she was going to look into this murder; there was no way that she couldn’t. But she also knew that there was no way she could do it alone. If she was going to solve the case of the murdered janitor, there was one other person she would need to help her.

  --

  If Beatrice had thought that she and Lucy were similar before, this belief increased tenfold as she arrived at her granddaughter’s house an hour later to deliver the news.

  Beatrice could smell it from the front lawn; from the moment that she stepped out of the car. It was the unmistakable aroma of baked goods. Those sweets of sugar mixed with the earthy scents of spices and flour. They wafted through the air like a siren song, calling Beatrice.

  She hurried to the front door, assuming that maybe Dave was baking. She had never known him to be big in the kitchen, but perhaps fatherhood had changed him. A few knocks later and a call to enter the house quickly diminished any notion that Dave was the one behind the apron.

  Beatrice’s heart leaped for joy when she wandered into the house spotting Lucy in the kitchen. With a white apron wrapped around her tiny frame, a hair net strapped over her blonde locks and a mixing bowl cradled in her arms, Beatrice had never seen such a beautiful sight. It almost brought a tear to her eye.

  "Grandma!" She called, ushering Beatrice into the kitchen.

  "Lucy! What are you doing?" Beatrice gushed as she entered the very clean and organized space. Even in mid-bake, the layout was meticulous. She spied in the bowl that Lucy was currently working on, and guessing from the batter; she was making some sort of chocolate cake.

  "I'm baking. Whenever I get upset or mad, I bake. It helps me think and calm down," Lucy said, continuing a smooth, even stir into the batter.

  Beatrice’s legs almost gave out at the admission. She wanted to run around the table and take Lucy in her arms right then and there, kiss her all over and announce that the two were destined to be the best of friends, but she controlled herself, knowing that it was a cardinal sin to interrupt the baking process like that.

  Instead, she did the next
best thing. "Would you like some help?" She asked.

  "Of course!" Lucy beamed.

  Beatrice quickly grabbed a spare apron, threw on her own hair net and proceeded to act the assistant in Lucy's bake-off.

  "You want to fold the mixture over," Beatrice explained ten minutes later as the two worked their way through a batch of scones. "That way the air can filter through the dough, allowing for it to rise when cooked."

  "Oh, like this," Lucy asked as she demonstrated her perfect technique; using her hands to knead and fold the dough. Beatrice couldn't have done it better herself.

  "Yes!" Beatrice gushed. "Who taught you to cook like this?"

  "Oh, I kind of taught myself," Lucy said, blushing. "But Ms. Elwin had been helping me too."

  Beatrice chose to ignore that last part, clenching her jaw as she watched her granddaughter. Instead, she opted to imagine that Ms. Elwin had done no more than offer the occasional kind word of encouragement and nothing more.

  At the same time though, hearing Ms. Elwin's name reminded Beatrice why she was there in the first place. She had been so excited over stumbling across Lucy baking that she had almost forgotten the reason for her being there.

  "Oh, I forgot to tell you," Beatrice began excitedly, before quickly pulling herself back. She had to remind herself that this wasn't exactly a cause for celebration. "I spoke to Detective Rogers, my friend on the force, and he agreed to look into the incident with Thomas."

  "He did?" Lucy asked, stopping her kneading of the dough.

  "Yes and... and I don't know how to say this exactly Lucy, but you were right. Thomas didn't kill himself."

  Beatrice didn't know what reaction she was expecting from her eleven-year-old granddaughter, but it certainly wasn't the one that she got. In response to the news, Lucy nodded her head, as if being told that her favorite TV show had been canceled. She then went back to kneading the dough in silence; concentrating on it this time.

  It was only after a few moments of silence, which Beatrice thought best not to interrupt, that she chose to speak again. "So, how did it happen? I mean... what was the... what killed him?"

  "Poison," Beatrice confirmed. "He was poisoned, so he chose to take his own life instead." She reached out, placing her arm on Lucy’s shoulder. She was so strong in that moment, and Beatrice couldn't help but be impressed.

  "So, what now?" Lucy asked. "Are the police going to solve it? Do you think they can?"

  "Well actually, that's what I came over here to talk to you about," Beatrice began, trying to hide her smile. She had a feeling that Lucy was going to be more than excited about the proposition she was about to make. "I don't much trust the local authorities. They make mistakes more than they solve cases. I thought that this was one that I can look into. But, I don't know anywhere near enough about Thomas or anyone that might have been involved. I thought that I could use your help. What do you say?"

  Lucy didn't say anything. She didn’t need to say anything. Instead, she turned and threw her arms around her grandmother, giving her the biggest hug yet, and of course, Beatrice returned it. She knew that between the two of them, they would solve this murder.

  --

  With the food in the oven, the two ladies got to work solving the case. For Beatrice, this meant a pot of hot coffee, and for Lucy, it meant a tall hot chocolate. Together they sat in the living room as Lucy gave Beatrice the rundown on who might have had a reason for wanting the janitor dead.

  "I've been thinking about it a lot," Lucy began, taking a long and very serious sip of her hot chocolate, "and there are two people that I know wanted Thomas gone."

  "OK. And who are they," Beatrice asked, feeling herself slip into detective mode as if she were putting on an old dress. It was amazing how easily this came to her, she thought. It wasn't to quite the same degree as baking, but it was a close second.

  "First, there is Principal Chalmers." Lucy offered.

  Beatrice cast her memory back to the other night, vaguely remembering Principal Chalmers. He was the one that suggested she check in the janitor's closet for Lucy. Although he seemed nice enough at the time, Beatrice did remember the way that he had dismissed Thomas, seeming not even the least bit upset by his death.

  "And why him?" Beatrice asked, playing into her role as the voice of sound logic and reason. She knew that Lucy was emotionally involved in this case, so it was up to her to try and provide a calm head.

  "Because he wanted to fire Thomas, he had for a while," she said, taking another long sip of her drink.

  "Fire him? What for?"

  "Something to do with his nephew, but Thomas didn't tell me. All I know is that Thomas refused to quit, even threatening to take legal action if they tried to fire him. I told you he loved his job. He looked forward to it every day."

  "OK," Beatrice confirmed, taking a mental note about the principal. "And who's next?"

  "That’s the nasty Mr. McKay," she said, nodding to herself. Beatrice could sense the animosity in her voice and wondered if this suspect wasn't more on a personal level.

  "The cookie monster?" Beatrice asked, delighting in the giggle this received from Lucy. "Why him?"

  "Because I heard him and Thomas arguing last week."

  This peaked Beatrice's interest, especially as she remembered the argument that she had heard him having just before his death. It was possible the two were related. "Arguing? What about?"

  "No idea, but I walked in on it by accident. Thomas knew something he shouldn't have, and Mr. McKay was threatening him not to tell anyone. Which Thomas wouldn't have done!" She defended angrily. "Even when I asked him what it was about he refused to tell me. He said it was adult business and I shouldn't worry about it."

  Beatrice couldn't help but chuckle as she watched Lucy polish off her hot chocolate with gusto. Even when the drink was empty, she tilted the glass back, making sure to get every drop; so much so that a little bit even dripped down on her nose.

  As Beatrice leaned forward to wipe the chocolate off the nose of Lucy, she suddenly realized how empty the big house was. She had been so excited about Lucy baking and even more so to work the case with her that she hadn't even stopped to think about where Dave was.

  "Lucy, where's your father?" She asked.

  "At work," Lucy said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  "Work? But it's a Sunday!" Beatrice exclaimed, working very hard to keep her voice down and the anger from it. Knowing that she was angry at Dave was the last thing that Lucy needed right now.

  Lucy just shrugged. "He works every day. He should be back tonight though if you need to see him."

  "Should be?" Beatrice pressed, sure that it was just a figure of speech from the young girl.

  "Yeah. I mean... he doesn't always come back. Sometimes he sleeps at the office. But it's OK, truly. I can just get the bus to school tomorrow, and I know how to make lunch and everything." She spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and the worst part was that to Lucy, it probably was.

  Although Beatrice offered Lucy a smile, inside, she was raging. She had been mad at her son before, beyond angry even, but what she felt now was something else. It went beyond anger. It left rage by the wayside. It was an odd mix of disappointment and fury. Both of which she was going to unleash on him.

  8

  Beatrice stormed into Dave's office thirty minutes later, fully intent on giving her a piece of her mind. She spent the whole care ride going over in her head what she was going to say. She was fully committed to remaining calm and reminding him that he was a father and that he had a responsibility as a result. She wasn't going to yell or curse, but lay her points on it a reasonable manner.

  Well, that was the plan anyway.

  Unfortunately, the car ride had had the opposite effect to what she had wanted. She thought it might allow for her to cool off, but instead, it had only made her more heated. So, by the time she parked her car and walked into his building, she was in a worse mood than ever.

&
nbsp; Dave worked as an accountant for a rather large law firm too, of which she knew her son to be an integral part. He was without a doubt successful, and where this should have made her proud, right now she would have rather him be unemployed. At least that way he might have been able to act like the father he should have been.

  Beatrice's plans took a very sharp turn however as she stormed down the hallway of his office. She had a pretty good idea of where his office was and was thrilled with herself when she saw him, sitting alone in a big glass room at the end of the hall.

  As she got closer, she very quickly noticed that he wasn't alone. There was one other person in the room with him. Where Dave sat with his back to the glass wall, hunched over the table hard at work, the other person, a male in an all-black suit, paced the room continuously. Although she couldn't hear a thing, Beatrice didn't need to be a lip reader to tell that the man in the black suit was yelling at Dave.

  Dave just sat there and took it. The man screamed and cursed, throwing his arms around wildly as Dave remained where he was, hunched over working. Even after the man in the suit stormed from the office, making a quick turn so that he didn't even spot Beatrice, Dave remained where he was, working.

  Once she was sure that the man in the suit wasn't coming back, Beatrice crept closer to the room, the whole time watching her son. It was only when she was but a few feet from the room that she came to a stop, gasping in shock at what she saw.

  Dave wasn't hunched over working. In fact, he was crying. His head was in his hands and tears pouring down his face.

  Beatrice guessed that man in the suit to be Dave's boss; one so mean and vindictive that he had brought her son to tears.

  Beatrice very quickly felt the anger at her son wash away as she now had someone new to aim it at. It was time that Beatrice had a little chat with Dave's boss.