A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes) Read Free Page A

continued, “she called Amber before she passed out and told her to come get the cookies.”
    “The cookies she was taking to the show for judging? The ones she baked from the dough we were storing under lock and key until yesterday?”
    Libby nodded. “Exactly. But when Amber got there and saw her aunt passed out she called 911. Then, after they came and took her aunt away, Amber remembered about the cookies and went back to look for them. But they weren’t in Millie’s Buick.”
    “Maybe Millie forgot them at home,” Bernie suggested. “Maybe she was confused. After all, she’d just been in an accident.”
    “That’s what I said to Amber,” Libby agreed. “But here’s the thing. When Amber got to the hospital, Millie had regained consciousness. Amber said it was like Millie was waiting for her.”
    “And . . . ,” Bernie said, making a rolling motion with her hand to indicate that Libby should move the story along.
    “And she told Amber to avenge her. And then she blacked out again.”
    “Avenge her?” said Bernie.
    “That’s what Amber said she heard,” replied Libby.
    “The poor woman was probably in shock,” Bernie observed. “Or maybe Amber heard wrong.”
    “Maybe, but now Amber is insisting that someone caused her aunt’s accident and stole the cookies.”
    “Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you saying that someone engineered Aunt Millie’s accident with the specific intent of stealing her cookies?” Bernie asked.
    “Amber’s saying it, not me,” replied Libby.
    Bernie lifted up her arms, then let them drop. “That’s ridiculous.”
    “Agreed,” said Libby.
    “I mean who would steal Amber’s Aunt Millie’s cookies? What would be the point?”
    “So they won’t be in the contest.” Libby shrugged. “I know it’s absurd, but there it is.”
    “And Amber wants us to do what?” asked Bernie.
    “What do you think? She wants us to investigate,” said Libby.
    “Great. Simply great,” Bernie groused. “Come on. Like we don’t have enough to do?”
    “Do you want me to say no to her?” Libby demanded.
    Bernie was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Yes. I do.”
    Libby scowled. “Seriously? You may want to rethink that answer.”
    Bernie nibbled on her lower lip for a moment. “I guess we can’t, can we?”
    “No, Bernie. We can’t,” Libby replied even though she would have liked to tell Amber they couldn’t go.
    Bernie clicked her tongue against her teeth. “So tell me exactly what, according to Amber, we are supposed to do.”
    “She wants us to look at the scene of the accident before the cops come and take the car away. I figured we’ll do that, and then we can tell Amber that everything is okay and that will be that. We’ll be off the hook.”
    Bernie thought for a moment. “That should work.”
    “I thought it would be the easiest thing to do.”
    Then Bernie had another thought, a more discomforting one. “You know,” she continued, “not to play devil’s advocate or anything . . .”
    Libby rolled her eyes. “Something you enjoy doing . . .”
    Bernie raised her hand. “Just hear me out. Much as I don’t like to say this, suppose Millie is right? Suppose someone did want to hurt her and steal her cookies? After all, the Christmas Cookie Exchange Club members do take their baking very seriously.”
    Libby snorted. “I refuse to believe that. Who are we talking about? A bunch of middle-class old ladies who have known each other for thirty or forty years. Not possible,” Libby declared.
    “Everything is possible,” Bernie asserted.
    “Not this,” Libby shot back.
    “The world is a strange and wondrous place,” Bernie retorted.
    Libby started toward the door. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have time to look. I’m in the kitchen all day long.”
    Bernie tsked. “So young and yet so bitter.”
    “No. Just tired. I’ve got to say, though, that if I never see another bûche de Noël it won’t be too soon for me. Of course, I’d miss