Free The Christmas Cookie Killer by Livia J. Washburn Page B

door, walking up the shrub-bordered space between the houses. A chilly north wind whistled through the opening, rattling the bare branches of the post oak trees. Phyllis heard a scraping sound and glanced up to see that one of the branches was rubbing against the shingles on the roof of the Simmons house.
    At the same time, someone pushed back a curtain in one of the second-floor windows, looked down at her and Carolyn, and then disappeared. In that brief glimpse, Phyllis wasn’t able to tell who the person was, but she supposed it had been one of Agnes’s children, in-laws, or grandchildren.
    When they reached the front yard, Phyllis saw that none of the cars that had left earlier had returned. “I guess they’re not back yet from wherever they went,” she said, “but I know some-THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 63
    one’s here. I just saw somebody at one of the second-floor windows.”
    “Well, we can give them the cookies,” Carolyn said as she went up the steps to the porch. “Maybe they won’t eat all of them before the rest of the family gets back.”
    She rang the doorbell while Phyllis held the plate of cookies. Moments went by, but no one came to the door. Carolyn rang the bell again but still got no answer.
    “Are you sure you saw somebody?” she asked with a frown.
    “Yes, I’m sure,” Phyllis said, although as a matter of fact she was starting to doubt herself. “At least, I saw the curtain move.
    I know that.”
    “Maybe it was the cat.”
    “Agnes didn’t have a cat.”
    “Maybe one of the others brought a cat with them.”
    “It wasn’t a cat,” Phyllis said, a little exasperated. “I think I saw somebody look out at us. I just couldn’t tell who it was. Ring the bell again.”
    Carolyn pushed the button for the bell several times, then shook her head when there was still no answer to the summons.
    “Whoever it was doesn’t want to come to the door. Maybe the person’s sick, and that’s why they didn’t go with the rest of the family.”
    “I suppose that’s possible.”
    “You could leave the cookies here on the porch. They’d see them when they came back in.”
    “Then a cat would come along and get them,” Phyllis said.
    Carolyn shrugged. “We’ll have to bring them back later,
    then, I suppose.”
    “Agnes hardly ever locked her door. Try it and see if it’s unlocked.”
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    Carolyn turned toward her and frowned. “I don’t like the
    idea of going into someone’s house uninvited.”
    “We wouldn’t actually go in,” Phyllis said. “All we’d have to do is just set the cookies inside. There’s a little table in the hall I could put them on.”
    “Well . . . all right.” Carolyn opened the storm door and tried the knob of the wooden door. It wouldn’t turn, and she sounded relieved when she said, “Agnes might not have kept things locked up, but her family obviously does.”
    “Let’s go around back and try the kitchen door,” Phyllis
    said.
    “Why are you so obsessed with taking those cookies inside?
    If somebody is here, you’re going to disturb them.” Carolyn’s eyes suddenly widened as she must have thought about what she’d just said. “If somebody’s here, it could be . . . Oh, my goodness! It could be the person who killed Agnes and hit you!”
    Phyllis hadn’t thought about that—but then she wondered
    if that suspicion had been lurking in the back of her brain all along, ever since she’d seen the curtain flick aside in that upstairs window.
    “I’m sure that’s not the case,” she said. “That business about the killer returning to the scene of the crime only happens in books and TV shows.”
    “And in real life, too, sometimes,” Carolyn insisted. “I’ve read about just such things happening.”
    “Well, it’s not like we’re going to search the house or anything like that. If the back door’s open, we’ll just put the cookies on the counter and leave.”
    Carolyn shook her head. “Absolutely