Changes to the Recipe: A Cookie and Cream Cozy Mystery, #4

Prologue

The evening air was hot and heavy with the coming storm. Sheila sat on the balcony of the Cedar View Retirement Home and fanned herself with a magazine while she rocked in a wicker chair. At seventy-one, she seemed to overheat so easily. And freeze just as quickly on winter nights. Her old bones were aching now. Yes. Rain was definitely on the way.

She started humming a little tune she remembered from her childhood. It was something her and her friends used to sing whenever they played together on happy days. Just a silly little ditty about a bumblebee and a flower, and it wasn’t until she got older that she realized the whole song was really about a woman attracting a man. Ah, to be that young and that innocent again, she chuckled.

She’d been feeling nostalgic of late, remembering little things like that song. That was the joy and the curse of old age. Everything in life seemed so far away, and yet so very close to hand.

Her daughter Amanda was supposed to come for a visit tomorrow, along with that new boyfriend of hers. Grayson DeBeers. Sheila certainly didn’t like that boy. More than once she’d asked Amanda to ditch Grayson, and find a real man. Oh, her daughter was free to love whoever she wished, of course, but if anything had ever proved that love was blind it was Amanda and Grayson as a couple. When they came tomorrow she would smile and make nice but inside she would be silently counting the minutes until they left again.

Well. The day was wearing on. She should go back in and join the other residents of Cedar View for dinner. Pork chops tonight, with steamed green beans. Fried apples for dessert, too. She did love the fried apples here. Moving here and giving up her old home had been the best decision of her life. She and her husband had been happy here for years, until he passed away. Now she was happy here on her own. Well. Mostly.

Oh, and before bed she needed to finish that email to her good friend Karen Williams. Sheila chuckled to herself as she set the magazine aside. Karen would be cross with her for using her real name. Running that bakery of hers had earned her the nickname of Cookie and that was what she preferred her friends to call her. Everyone in Widow’s Rest stopped through Cookie’s bakery on a regular basis for the goodies she made. It was a centerpiece of the town. So was Cookie.

With one last deep breath of the fresh air Sheila levered herself up from the rocking chair. The backyard of the retirement home was full of blooming flowers now. A few of them she’d even planted herself. It made for such a nice view, and such a pleasantly scented breeze.

Hardly anyone was in the backyard right now. She knew the halls would be similarly empty. Everyone would be at dinner, or in their own apartments. This was a quiet time for Cedar View, a moment of rest before things started happening.

There was a twinge in her lower back as she got up and the arthritis in her fingers was getting worse. The rain would come soon. Odd, she thought, because the dark clouds were massing on the horizon but they were keeping their distance. The weatherman said the rain would start after nightfall. Rain, and thunderstorms, and strong winds. Well, her aching joints were saying the rain would be here in the next couple of hours. Of the two—her joints or the weatherman on Channel Eight—she would believe her joints any day.

As she looked out over the second-floor balcony railing, Sheila saw an orange PT Cruiser coming up the street and signaling to turn into the retirement home’s driveway out front. She lost sight of it around the building but there was no doubt it would be coming here. There weren’t many of those cars left on the road. Especially in that glaring color. Like an orange traffic cone dipped in shellac. Gaudy. That was the word that came to mind.

She knew the man who drove that car. Now what on Earth was he doing here?

There was no help for it. Sheila knew she would have to meet him downstairs before he caused a scene. He was so very, very good at doing that. He was one of those men who figured if he hollered loud enough he would get his way. Like a little child throwing a tantrum. She pursed her lips together. Well. He wasn’t going to get any more of her money no matter how he carried on. She’d given him enough. It was time for the man to stand on his own two feet.

With a sigh, she turned back toward the balcony door leading into her apartment. She took one step before realizing there was a figure in the doorway, cloaked in shadow. It startled her, and it took a moment for her to realize that she recognized who was standing there.

You… it’s you. What on Earth are you doing here? she asked, the words exploding out on a shaky breath. How did you get in? You gave me a fright, you did. You know you shouldn’t be here. Why don’t you just turn around and leave?

Silence met her words. Silence, and an icy glare that could have frozen steam.

Shoo, she tried again. Go away, now. I’ll scream for help. I will!

That didn’t work either. Soon enough she found herself backed up against the railing of the balcony. A horrible, terrifying thought occurred to her just seconds before it became a reality.

The railing.

The ground.

The anger in those eyes…

Sheila had a moment to realize she had forgotten to scream as she was thrown off the balcony, out into open space, and down, down, down—

Then the world ended in one, single instant.

Chapter 1

The smells of stew and steamed potatoes were unfamiliar aromas for the Kiss the Cook Bakery, but Karen Williams—Cookie to her friends—was trying out a new recipe. Something for the lunch crowd other than pastries and sweets. If these worked out, then the rich aroma of beef broth and steamed veggies was going to be a regular thing here. Stuffed Flakies, she was thinking of calling them. Sort of a croissant crust with hearty foodstuffs inside, like stew and potatoes. Or ham and cheese, although she was still trying to decide what the best cheese would be to pair with brown sugar ham. Or maybe she should use a different kind of ham. Hmm.

Usually, her granddaughter’s boyfriend would help her make these decisions. Hamish Carpenter had grown up to be a very good man. The way he came into Clarissa’s life might have been a little rocky, but that granddaughter of hers had a good head on her shoulders as far as Cookie was concerned. Clarissa had always said that Hamish would make something of himself, and so he had. Sure, working as a prep cook would never put him in the history books, but Cookie had started out working for someone else and now she owned her bakery. She was happy with the life she had built, and she was certain that Hamish would find his happiness as well.

Hamish was doing just fine, out there in Minnesota. He’d sent so many letters and photos of him smiling and waving, and even a few selfies from inside that restaurant where he was working. It seemed fancy. Clarissa had gushed over every letter, and every review she’d found online for Hamish’s restaurant. This week she was off visiting him and Cookie was certainly feeling her absence. She’d been her helper for so long here at the bakery that getting by without her was proving to be a chore. If, as Cookie suspected, this visit was going to turn into a more permanent thing, then she would have to hire someone new. She couldn’t do everything around here by herself. Not anymore.

At nineteen years old her granddaughter might not know what she wanted to do with her own life, but she was positive she wanted it to include Hamish.

Cookie chuckled to herself. She remembered being that young herself, once. Before age had snuck up on her and her waistline had grown from statuesque to what she might politely call ample. She had curves still. They just went out instead of in.

Of course, now she had a good man in her own life. No more young teenage love affairs for her. Jerry Stansted was a gorgeously handsome man who understood the needs of a woman her age. He understood that real women weren’t built like Barbie dolls, too. He was nearly the same age himself, and with age came wisdom. She was sixty-four now, God help her, and she had the pure white hair and the laugh-line wrinkles about her face to prove it. She was still spry for a woman her age, she thought, and had plenty of life left in her. If she’d lost a step between sixteen and now, she made up for it with the common sense earned from years of living.

Now she wiped flour off her hands onto her sunflower-print apron. The stew Flakies would be out of the oven soon, and they smelled delicious. She was pretty sure that she had the knack of it, finally. Trial and error. That was the mark of a good chef. Keep trying, until you got it right.

She stifled a yawn behind her fist and looked up at the clock. Oh, gracious. Is that the time? I didn’t realize we’d been at this so long. I think we should head to bed soon, don’t you Cream?

The little Chihuahua lifted his head up over the edge of his pet bed. She’d set it up for him at the bottom of the stairs that led from the kitchen up to Cookie’s apartment. He knew better than to be out here in the kitchen while she was cooking food but right now it was just the two of them. So long as he stayed over there, he could keep her company and snooze in his dreams. Neither of them wanted to get slapped with a health code violation. Cream’s white and creamy fur shook as he scratched at his left ear. Then his little pink tongue came out to lick at his nose.

Oh, hungry are you? Cookie asked him. They’d been together so long, she and her four-footed friend, that she knew what he was trying to tell her without having to actually speak the same language. Well. There might be a bedtime snack for any good dog who runs upstairs now and lets me finish up.

With a little whuff, Cream did exactly that. He climbed up over the side of his bed and padded his way up the stairs, one at a time, easing his old bones into each movement. Cream was a great friend. Just having him around made her feel better on days when the dough wouldn’t seem to rise and the eggs were all broken in the carton.

She was also missing Clarissa something fierce. They’d grown very close together in the time that Cookie had given her a place to live here. It had been a way of getting Clarissa through those troublesome teenage years when it had seemed she was lost and floundering. Not that Clarissa’s mother didn’t know how to raise a child, but when she had married again things had grown tense in that household, and Cookie had offered her services as sort of a respite for everybody. Now that Clarissa had finished high school she’d moved here to Widow’s Rest officially, into Cookie’s upstairs apartment. This was her home now.

That is, it would be her home until Hamish decided to get down on one knee and ask Clarissa to marry him, hopefully sometime in the distant future. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall for that scene! It was so romantic when a man asked a woman to marry him that way. One of the few times in a woman’s life she got to feel like a princess.

Cookie chuckled to herself. Not that she would ever feel that way again. She was far past the time when a man would make such a big spectacle out of wanting to marry her. Oh, she supposed that Jerry had asked her in a very romantic way, on a cruise ship, but now here they were nearly a year later and they’d put their wedding date off again and again. It was supposed to have happened last Summer. It was supposed to happen this past Spring, and a couple of other times as well. There always seemed to be something that came up. Jerry’s job. The death of Rick Santimaw, the town’s previous police chief. The hiring of a new guy from out of the area to take his place and the big adjustment Jerry had to his new boss. Clarissa breaking her arm. Cookie’s little heart scare two months ago.

Bad timing, good timing, and everything in between. There always seemed to be a reason to postpone the wedding.

Ah, well. No sense complaining about the way the soup tastes once it’s served and on the table. She had a man she loved, and she was happy, and that should be enough for her. Still, a part of her dreamed of having a man pull the moon from the sky and hand it to her as a wedding gift.

That was a lovely thought, a wonderful dream, but romance like that was for the young.

It was only nine o’clock, or just after, but all of the cleaning up she would have to do and the testing of the new batch of Flakies when they came out was going to take at least another half hour. If she wanted to be ready for tomorrow’s breakfast crowd then she needed to get a good night’s sleep after that. Besides, Jerry was working the night shift tonight and he wouldn’t be done until eleven and there was no way she was staying up for him that late! No sir. He could just call her in the morning because this old girl needed her beauty rest.

Cookie began putting away flour and sugar and spices back into the cupboards where they belonged. As she did, she hummed a song to herself. It was just a simple little tune that she remembered from her childhood, something about a bumblebee being attracted to a sunflower. Her friends and she used to sing that song all the time on the playground.

Pretty little flower, waving round and round, now comes Mister Bumblebee, flying through the town…

Such a silly song. It wasn’t until they were all eleven or twelve that they realized the song was really about a girl attracting a boy that she liked. Odd that it would come to her now. She had lost touch with most of her childhood friends and many of the friends she'd made here in Widow's Rest had moved away over the years. Her friend Sheila was still here,