Cookie Dough or Die by Virginia Lowell

ankle to get her attention, so she dropped his treat on the rug as she lifted out her cell phone. Maddie didn’t answer after three rings. Olivia left a brief but insistent message for her to call back before two o’clock, when they were to arrive at Tammy’s house.
    Olivia flipped her phone shut and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. She rescued her mail and settled on her sofa to sort through it. Spunky snuggled up next to her. Bills, invoices addressed to The Gingerbread House, junk mail . . . the last envelope puzzled her. The postmark said Baltimore, but there was no return address. Her own name and address were printed in block letters in blue-black ink by an unsteady hand, as if the writer had been in a hurry or perhaps upset.
    Blue-black ink. Olivia had watched Clarisse write notes in blue-black ink, usually when they were discussing business ideas. Her handwriting had always been firm and distinct, showing an old-world flourish. Olivia ripped open the envelope and removed one sheet of white linen stationery. Clarisse’s full name and address were printed at the top. The date in the upper-right corner said Thursday, April 23. The last day of Clarisse Chamberlain’s life.
    Olivia read the brief note and called Maddie’s cell. Once again, she was sent to voice mail. After Maddie’s recorded message ordered her to “Talk now,” Olivia said, “Madeline Briggs. This is Olivia Greyson. It is Sunday, twelve forty-seven p.m. I need you at the store right away.” She texted the same message.
    When Olivia and Maddie, at age eleven, first vowed eternal best-friend-hood, they had designed a set of secret codes. They’d used the system through high school for notes they slipped each other between classes. If they used their full names in a message, it signaled urgency and a need for secrecy. Of course, in high school, an emergency usually meant a broken zipper or boyfriend trouble. Olivia hadn’t thought about those codes for a decade, but she remembered them all. Maddie would get the point.
    Taking Clarisse’s letter, Olivia went downstairs, unlocked the store, and locked herself inside. Maddie always carried her own keys. Olivia turned on the lights and settled cross-legged in front of the antiques cabinet to reread Clarisse’s letter:
    Dearest Livie,
     
    Since I haven’t heard from you, I can only assume that something must have interfered with your routine. I know how careful you are. However, I know that soon you will find my odd message to you and will worry unduly. You were the only one I felt I could trust to be impartial and to keep confidential anything I might tell you, but I should not have burdened you. I do apologize for letting myself get into such a state. At any rate, I have recently received further information. I am hoping to resolve this matter soon.
    So, my dear Livie, when you do come across my little packet, please return it to me unopened. If you have already opened it, I know I can trust you to keep the contents to yourself. Please don’t worry on my account. If you have any concerns, we can chat at your Saturday event. By then, I am determined that this issue will be concluded and all will be well.
     
    With great affection,
    Clarisse
    All will be well. Clarisse—clearheaded, meticulous, supremely competent, and so very wrong. Dead wrong.
    Olivia thought back to Tuesday afternoon. When they’d stopped at the cabinet to look at some vintage cookie cutters, Clarisse had asked for some cookie recipes. What if Clarisse had made such an odd request simply to get the room to herself for a few minutes? She’d known that Olivia normally tidied the store and emptied the antiques cabinet, including the bottom drawer, every day at closing time, while Maddie straightened the kitchen and reconciled the day’s earnings with receipts.
    However, Olivia was human. On Monday they’d received a large shipment of wonderful antiques, which had completely filled their safe. So Olivia had decided to