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

the chocolate buttercream,” Libby reflected. “And the ganache. And the meringue mushrooms.”
    She stopped as another thought occurred to her. “What about the show? What if Millie doesn’t make it?”
    “I guess they’ll have to do it with seven bakers instead of eight,” Bernie answered as she reached for her coat. “Unless, of course, Millie makes a spectacular recovery.”
    “I hope she does,” Libby said, but given what Amber had said, she had her doubts.
    She and Bernie stopped on their way out of the Longely Community Center and told the producer, Penelope Lively, what had happened.
    “Friggin’ great,” Penelope muttered. “Just what I don’t need. Terri,” she yelled, calling for her assistant, “get over here.”
    “Not a happy camper,” Libby noted as she watched Penelope reach for her cell phone.
    “I wouldn’t be either,” Bernie replied as they stepped outside.
    Once they were in their van, Libby called Amber and told her they were en route. They arrived at the scene of the accident fifteen minutes later.

Chapter 2
    T he van’s brakes squealed as Bernie came around the curve. She stopped two inches in front of the orange traffic cones that were ringing the scene of Millie’s accident.
    “That was close,” Libby observed. “Too close. Mathilda would not be happy if she’d gone into the Buick.”
    “No, she wouldn’t,” Bernie agreed of their van.
    “And we don’t have money for a new van, and I’m not sure it would be worth fixing this one. The insurance company would probably just total her out.”
    “Libby, don’t talk like that,” Bernie chided. “You’ll upset Mathilda.” Bernie caressed the van’s dashboard. “Don’t worry,” she crooned to it. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry,” she said to it. “The curve came up faster than I expected.”
    “It always does,” Libby commented.
    Bernie glanced over at her sister, trying to decide whether she was being sarcastic and decided she wasn’t. As Bernie pulled the van over to the side of the road, she reflected that even in the daylight she would have had trouble avoiding the Buick, but at night, in the dark, it would be nearly impossible. The front half of the Buick was smashed up against the tree, and the back part was sticking out into the road.
    And you wouldn’t see it until it was too late. Especially if you were flying along. Which was why this particular stretch of road had such a bad reputation. Between the curve and the tree, it was impossible to see around the bend. If she remembered correctly, three people had died here over the last ten years.
    “I’d forgotten how bad this curve is,” Libby observed.
    “Me too,” Bernie said as she parked. Although she really hadn’t.
    She was thinking about how she and her friends used to race along here when she’d been seventeen and stupid, and how lucky they’d been not to end up dead or in a wheelchair. She remembered that the road surface got slippery when wet, so it was easy to slide off onto the gravel, especially if you were going fast. And oh boy, were they ever. At least once or twice a week. She recalled one memorable evening she’d gotten her dad’s car up to eighty miles an hour on this stretch of road. It had been raining and she’d fishtailed like crazy. Luckily, she’d managed to regain control and not kill the other kids in the car. In fact, she hadn’t even gotten a dent in her dad’s vehicle. He’d never known what had happened. Thank heavens. Otherwise she would have been under house arrest for at least five years.
    But that was then, and this was now. For openers, it was dry tonight, and while it was cold, chances were there weren’t any icy patches on the road. In addition, Bernie was willing to bet four pecan pies that Millie wasn’t going even thirty miles an hour when the accident had happened. In fact, if she was going more than twenty miles an hour Bernie would