The Great Christmas Jelly Cookie Hunt, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
The Cass Peake Cozy Mysteries by Rena Leith
The Great Christmas Jelly Cookie Hunt
Copyright
Dedication
The Great Christmas Jelly Cookie Hunt
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press
“May I help you, too?” Donal asked hesitantly. “I used to help my gran bake.”
Gina paused to think. “I have enough ingredients here to make the gingerbread people. You could help decorate them.” A slow smile lit her face.
Donal smiled back, his eyes crinkling. “People? I thought they were men.”
“Don’t be so sexist!” Gina teased as she dug some cookie cutters out of a deep drawer and laid them out on the counter.
Donal poked around among the shiny metal forms. “You’re right. I’ve never seen a gingerbread woman before.”
“You will today. Emma can be very creative with her designs.” Gina tilted her chin up. “I wonder if you can match her.”
“Is that a challenge?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Can you rise to it?”
“Oh ho! Surely, you’ve heard of the prowess of Irishmen in battle!” He raised a cookie cutter as if it were a sword.
“Allow me to help you into your armor.” Gina slipped a flouncy pinafore-style apron over his head and tied it behind him. “This’ll help you slay the dragon.” She giggled. “You look lovely!”
He put one arm across his waist and bowed to her. “Yer servant, milady.”
The Cass Peake Cozy Mysteries by Rena Leith
Murder Beach
Coastal Corpse
The
Great Christmas Jelly Cookie
Hunt
by
Rena Leith
Christmas Cookies Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Great Christmas Jelly Cookie Hunt
COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Rena Leith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2021
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3767-8
Christmas Cookies Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Max and Emma
The Great Christmas Jelly Cookie Hunt
“Where is it?” Gina’s voice rose in frustration.
Every one of Nana’s cookbooks lay splayed out on the green granite kitchen counter in front of her.
“How should I know?” Her younger sister Emma jammed a glass into the ice and water dispenser in the front of the stainless-steel fridge.
For a few seconds, Gina’s rant was drowned out by crushing ice. She ground her teeth and waited for the noise to stop. “You cooked with her all the time when she was alive.”
“That’s because she couldn’t read the small print anymore.” Emma took a long swig. “Berating me won’t make the recipe magically appear.”
Gina sighed. Emma had adored her older sister when she was young and had followed Gina around like a puppy. Those days were long gone.
“That’s my point. If you read all her recipes to her, you should either know it by heart or, at the very least, know where the recipe for her old-fashioned jelly cookies is.”
Emma shrugged. “Beats me.” She put her headset on and danced out of the room, her long chestnut hair swinging out behind her.
Gina swore. Kid sisters! Where could it be? It wasn’t just socks that vanished in this house. She sighed and flipped through the cookbooks, hoping Nana had stuck the recipe between the pages. No such luck. Where else could she look? Weren’t there some old recipe boxes somewhere?
Elliot wouldn’t have a clue. Their brother should be arriving soon for Christmas. After a cursory search through the remaining cabinets and shelves in the kitchen, Gina headed up to the attic. Not her favorite place in the house, but Emma had enjoyed playing up there amid all the discarded bits and pieces of Nana’s life.
The house in Greenwich, New Jersey, which the siblings had inherited six months ago after Nana slipped away peacefully in her sleep on a warm summer night, was a squat 1920s Arts and Crafts house, once the color of a fine burgundy, with white trim. Now, with Nana’s death, it was as though the life had left the little house, which had taken on a rusty brownish look. Even the white trim had gone ecru. The overgrown garden in the backyard surrounded a murky pond that seemed to be partially frozen. Gina often wondered if anything lived in it. She’d spent many happy hours out there as a child, sitting among the beautiful pastel peonies and purple striped irises, watching the flashes of gold as the koi swam around in and out of the lily pads in the clear pond. Neither house nor yard had been cared for properly this past year when Nana had been so sick.
Gina shook off the old memories as she reached for the dull brass handle on the door to the attic stairs. The handle felt well-worn and smooth in her hand. She held her breath and opened the door. The memories flooded back. Now as then, piles sat on the steps, waiting for some kind soul to cart them up to the attic where they would lie forgotten until a curious child opened the trunks and boxes to play with the old feathered hats, button boots, and boas. She flipped the switch, and dim light filtered down the stairwell. Out of habit, she picked up a pile of dusty doilies and carried them up the steep, bare wooden stairs.
Nana had an oak railing built that extended above the floor to a newel post. That allowed her to steadily step out onto the unfinished mahogany flooring that extended almost the entire way to the roofline. By the look of things, she hadn’t been up here in quite a while.
Gina set the doilies down on a chair with a sagging rattan bottom and walked to the circular window that looked out onto the front lawn. She sneezed. The attic could do with an airing out. She turned the latch and pushed the window outward, knocking the small pile of collected snow down to the porch roof. The chilly fresh air smelled wonderful. The whole house needed to be aired out.
She shook her head. “When Nana was alive, this place was spotless, even the attic. Now where would those recipe boxes be?”
Gina heard a creak behind her and turned, thinking Emma had come up, but she was alone. She shivered and closed the window. When she turned around again, her heart skipped a beat. The three recipe boxes were lined up on the top of a Victorian traveling trunk, as if they’d been placed there on purpose.
“Oh!” Excitedly, she hurried across the floor and scooped them up in her arms. “Wonderful!”
Gina carefully picked her way down the narrow stairs, turned off the light switch, and gently closed the door behind her. She crossed the second-floor hall and started down to the first floor when Emma nearly bowled her over in her rush up the stairs. Gina stepped back into the corner of the little landing, where the stairs took a right-angle turn, to continue down.
“Watch where you’re going!”
“Sorry.” Emma paused at the top and looked back at her sister.
“Look!” Gina raised her armload of treasure.
“Good luck,” Emma said and continued toward her room.
“Don’t you…?”
But Emma was out of earshot before Gina finished, so she went down to the kitchen table, only slightly deflated by Emma’s lack of interest.
She set the boxes on the counter and opened the scarred green metal one first. A flash of movement in the garden caught the corner of her eye. She peered out the windowed top half of the back door and thought she saw movement at the back under the rose bushes. She rested her hand on the crystal knob and scanned for any creature that might be out there.
Nothing. Probably a neighbor’s cat. Nana had had a cat, but Gina, smiling at the memory of the large silver tabby, realized she hadn’t seen any sign of it since they’d moved from Philadelphia last month. She’d wanted a cat for a while, but her apartment complex hadn’t allowed them. Gina made a mental note to call the local animal shelter just in case her grandmother’s cat had wandered off and been taken there.
She turned back to the boxes. Nana’s jelly cookie recipe had to be in one of them. It just had to be. She could almost taste their buttery goodness, the jelly peeking out of the hole in the center of the top round through the sprinkle of powdered sugar, like a snowy stained-glass window. Yum. When she’d described them, friends told her they were Linzer cookies. She’d looked that recipe up online and made them, but they hadn’t tasted right. The cookies she remembered were thinner and lighter and very buttery.
After thumbing through the cards in the first box, she pulled out several recipes that she wanted to make for Christmas, including pecan tarts and candied yams. But no jelly cookie recipe. Gina closed the lid and moved the box to the side. She picked up the card
Gina set the cards back down and hurried to open the door.
“Elliott!” She hugged him, only then seeing the man who stood behind her older brother one step down from the stoop. She pulled back and let go of Elliott. “Oh.” She gazed back and forth between the two men: her brother with his sandy hair and peanut butter brown eyes and the stranger with hair the color of walnut and eyes like peridot. “You brought someone with you. For Christmas? We have private business to discuss, in case you’d forgotten.” She knew she sounded unwelcoming, but it was just like her brother to counter her plans.
“I know it’s been a year since we’ve seen each other, Gina, but there’ll be plenty of time to discuss business later. Besides, it’s only family business.” Elliott flashed his trademark smile. “This,” he stepped aside to give her a better look at his companion, “is Donal O’Brien. He’s in the New York office this year and works with me, and he isn’t able to spend the holidays with his relatives in Ireland. I invited him to spend Christmas with us, and since this house is one-third mine, I’m perfectly within my rights to do so.”
By the time he uttered the word “mine,” he was leaning forward and speaking through a very tight smile. This was the brother of her childhood who always thought that, if he pushed hard enough, she would bend to his will. She opened her mouth to tell him otherwise.
“Elliott.” Donal touched his arm. “I can stay in a hotel.”
The rolling lilt in his voice reminded her of Nana, who used to say it was a Scottish burr and an Irish brogue that married, and she was their child. She’d moved to America to be with the man who’d loved her.
“No.” Elliott straightened. “No, you’re staying here. Besides, you haven’t met my baby sister yet. You’ll like her. She’s friendly. C’mon.” Elliott pushed past Gina into the house.
Donal hesitated and then followed him in, smiling apologetically at Gina as he passed her.
Elliott dropped his suitcase in the hall. “Emma!”
Running footsteps upstairs heralded Emma’s appearance on the landing.
“Elliott! You came! Gina said you might be coming.” She ran down the steps two at a time and threw herself at her older brother.
He hugged her back. “You’ve grown so much in the last year since I saw you. You were what—twelve?”
She straightened, and her enthusiasm dimmed. “You know perfectly well how old I am. You abandoned me at boarding school.”
“Well, you’re certainly a lot taller, and you know why you were sent to boarding school. Neither Gina nor I were in a position to have you live with us when Nana started to decline. Speaking of decline,” he looked around, “this place has really deteriorated in a year. It looks dingy. Lackluster.”
“We’ve been cleaning,” Gina said a bit defensively. “Nana…she may have gotten worse faster than we thought.”
“She seemed fine, and the place looked clean and merry last year at Christmas,” Emma said.
“Emma, this is my friend Donal. He’s come to stay with us for Christmas. Most of his family is gathering in Cork, and he can’t join them.”
Emma held out her hand, and Donal shook it. “Pleased to meet you. I’ll bet Christmas in Ireland is pretty cool.”
“It is. Very. I hope I’m not putting you out by staying with you.” He glanced over at Gina.
Again, Gina started to speak, but Emma cut her off.
“Oh, no!” Emma said. “We’re happy to have you. Gina always says the more the merrier.”
“Oh, does she now?” Donal smiled at Gina, displaying a dimple.
“Besides, you can join us on the Great Christmas Jelly Cookie Hunt.”
“That sounds like fun.” He smiled all the way to his eyes.
“It’ll be more fun when we find the recipe and make the cookies. They’re scrumptious,” Emma said.
“I see. The recipe is lost then, and the hunt is to find the recipe, not the cookies.”
Emma nodded. “Got it in one.”
“I’m good that way.” His eyes twinkled.
“It’s going to be fun to have you here, but with Elliott home, we’re out of rooms. Where are you going to stay?” Emma asked. “In the cottage?”
“I thought this was the cottage,” Elliott said, glancing around at the cozy décor. The upholstered sofa had two extra pillows with embroidered cats on them, as well as a burgundy afghan thrown over the back.
“This is the main house. That’s the cottage. Didn’t you play in it as a kid?” Emma pointed out the French doors toward the garden where the overgrowth nearly covered a shed-like building by the frozen koi pond.
Elliott peered out. “Yes, I did. I remember it being bigger than that.”
“You were smaller.” Emma laughed.
Gina coughed, drawing everyone’s attention. “I guess that settles it. I don’t wish to be inhospitable, but I think you’d prefer a hotel room to either the couch or that shed.”
Not ready to give up, Elliott said, “How many bedrooms do we have here?”
“Three on the second floor. The attic is unfinished and not insulated. The couch in the living room is really more of a loveseat, as you can see. It’s about five feet long, and you—” She looked Donal up and down. “Mr. O’Brien, appear to be about six-foot-two. Might be a tad uncomfortable.”
“He can share my room,” Elliott said belligerently.
Gina raised an eyebrow. “It contains one full-sized bed as do the two other bedrooms. They’re antique bedframes, so even you will have to sleep diagonally if you want to be comfortable.” She turned back to Donal. “Our Nana was a small woman.”
Donal strolled over to the French doors. “The cottage doesn’t look too bad.”
“Are you joking?” Gina’s voice was strident as she strode to the doors, glared at him, and gestured at the small building.
Then her eyes widened. She would have sworn that the small building was completely covered in snow-dusted ivy, but now the ivy didn’t hide the cottage but rather made it attractive. All traces of last night’s snow had melted. Even the white paint and blue trim looked freshened.
She cleared her throat. “It hasn’t been used in years. It’ll be cold, dirty, and full of junk. Besides, I don’t know where the key is.”
“Shall we go see?” Donal opened the French doors and stepped out onto the flagstones.
Gina frowned. Just yesterday she’d called a lawn service about weeding and raking. Could they have come and done their work without her seeing them?
They all followed Donal out to the little house.
He turned the knob, and the door opened. “That solves one problem.” He ducked slightly to enter.
Gina, Elliott, and Emma followed him in, which made the little room rather crowded. The cottage, though small, was clean and neat. It looked ready for use. The space was small but cozy, about two hundred square feet at most, but there was a counter and cupboards that formed a small kitchen area with a one-cup coffeemaker and an electric tea kettle.
“This is perfect. I write and illustrate children’s books when I’m not working with Elliott, and this cottage has a creative atmosphere. I can feel it. If I’m out here, you won’t have to trip over me all the time. I can join you for meals, and I might even get some work done,” Donal said, peering into the bathroom. “I should just about fit in the showering tube.”
Emma giggled. “I loved pulling the circular door shut when I was little. Like being in a plastic cocoon.”
“Always had to snap on a shower cap, though.” Gina pointed at the rain-style shower head. “No escaping the downpour in this tiny tube.”
One wall had no windows. An embroidered pull hung down from a handle high on the middle blond wood panel that was flanked by two floor-to-ceiling, built-in bookcases.
Gina yanked on the pull, and the bed slowly descended from the wall. Everyone stepped out of the way.
“A Murphy bed! Yes, this will do nicely.” Donal grinned.
Gina was surprised again by his smile. His whole face beamed with joy like a small child on Christmas morning. Her own face relaxed in response. It might not be so bad having him here if he stayed mostly to himself. She could hardly turn him away at this time of the year. Emma seemed to like him.
