Free Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) by Virginia Lowell

destructive, and you never really know where someone else has been.”
    Olivia tried to feel reassured, but she was afraid the story would be all over town five minutes ago.
    *   *   *
    B y early evening, Olivia had dusted all the shelves in the Gingerbread House sales area, as well as every item on those shelves. She’d left the disturbed sparkling sugar display as she had found it in the early morning hours. Neither Maddie nor Bertha had mentioned noticing anything amiss. Olivia wasn’t deeply concerned about how or why the colored sugars wound up out of order, but she couldn’t let it go, either. The puzzle niggled at her.
    Olivia had begun arranging items on the display tables when the snow and the holiday season popped into her mind.
Why?
Autumn certainly wasn’t nipping the air, since the outdoor temperatures were stuck in the nineties. Olivia glanced back at the shelf of cookie decorations, where the jars of red and green sparkling sugars were still clustered together, ready for holiday baking. Maybe that accounted for her flash-forward in time.
    As Olivia worked her way closer to the sales counter, the luscious aromas drifting from the kitchen grew stronger. Maddie had begun the baking phase, and Olivia realized at once why she’d thought of the holidays. She smelled cloves and . . . was that cardamom? An interesting choice, cardamom. Delicious, too, though a little went a long way. Why would Maddie choose cardamom-flavored cookies for a summer event? Unless . . . of course, Greta’s family was Swedish. Leaving a display table partially arranged, Olivia entered the kitchen and walked into a cardamom cloud laced with tangerine. Maddie was removing two octagonal shortbread molds from the oven.
    “Maddie, wow, you made shortbread. You must be feeling well rested. Shortbread is labor-intensive. I think it’s better when the batter is kneaded by hand, but I can never get it to work right. Either it comes out too dry, or half the dough sticks to the mold when I try to pop it out.”
    “Aw shucks, nothin’ to it,” Maddie said. “Shortbread takes a bit of practice, that’s all. I’ve certainly dumped my share of failures into the garbage, but eventually your fingers get the feel of it. This recipe is sort of an experiment, so I make no promises. I wanted something productive to do while my lebkuchen dough is chilling in the freezer.”
    “
Lebkuchen?
Do I detect an ambitious Germanic theme here, Maddie?”
    Maddie’s tangle of red curls looked as if they’d lost a skirmish with a flour bin. “I should take vacations more often. I got way too much rest, so I’m bursting with excess energy.”
    Olivia recognized the maniacal glint in Maddie’s bright green eyes. “Does this mean you’ll be up all night baking? If our event is tomorrow afternoon, you don’t have much time. And now that I think of it, doesn’t lebkuchen take several days to make properly?”
    “Technically, yes.” Maddie opened the freezer door and pointed to a covered bowl. “I found a recipe that shortens the process. The dough stays in the freezer for about four hours, maybe a bit more, till it firms up. Then I’m supposed to scoop out the dough and bake the cookies right away, while they are really cold. I’ve never tried it before, so I have no idea if it’ll be wonderful or dreadful. But no worries. Bertha should be back soon with supplies, in case we need to repeat a recipe or two. Or more. I’ve got bunches more cookie recipes to try.”
    “Try?” Olivia trusted Maddie’s baking skills, but . . .
    “This is such a kick.” Maddie said. “Remember your mom mentioned that Greta’s parents emigrated from Sweden to Chatterley Heights? And her father had a crush on Greta Garbo, so he insisted his daughter be named after her? Which probably explains why she moved to Europe and married all those counts and so forth. Anyway, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that Aunt Sadie said Greta also spent a lot of time