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Authors: Livia J. Washburn
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stove.
“Why, Sam Fletcher,” Phyllis said, “I didn’t know you could bake cookies.”
56 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
Sam started a little and looked around, almost guiltily, like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t, Phyllis thought.
“Well, you, uh, don’t have to bake these,” he said. “You just mix
’em up in a saucepan and cook ’em on the stove. Actually, I’ve made these before, and I think they’re pretty good. Just about the only thing I can make, except sandwiches.”
From the other side of the kitchen, Carolyn said, “I know; you could have knocked me over with a feather, too, when he came in here and started rummaging around. But I didn’t think it would do any harm.”
“No, of course not,” Phyllis agreed. She went over to where Sam was working. “What are you making?”
“I call ’em fudgy peanut butter cookies,” he explained as he spooned the mixture from the saucepan into the depression in the center of the last cookie. “They’re sort of like oatmeal cookies. You mix up milk, sugar, cocoa, and butter in a saucepan, boil it a little, take it off the fire, and blend in some oatmeal and a little vanilla. Then you put ’em on the wax paper, gouge out a little place in the center while they’re still soft, and fill it with a mixture of peanut butter and corn syrup.” He hefted the saucepan in his hand. “This stuff here.”
Phyllis looked over at Carolyn and said, “That’s sort of like your pecan pie cookies, isn’t it, only with peanut butter instead of pie filling.”
Carolyn shook her head. “I’ve never gouged anything in my life.”
Phyllis let that go and turned back to Sam. “If you knew
how to make these, why didn’t you make some for the cookie exchange?”
“Oh, I didn’t figure they’d be good enough for somethin’
like that, what with you ladies almost bein’ professionals at bakin’ cookies and all.”
THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 57
“Nonsense,” Phyllis said. “You should have entered them in the newspaper contest, too.” She patted him on the shoulder.
“Well, maybe next year.”
“Better wait and see how they taste first.” He paused. “My wife liked ’em. I made ’em for her when she was sick, sort of a treat for her since I couldn’t make anything else, and, well, since you got hurt and were in the hospital . . .” His voice trailed away and he shrugged.
Phyllis tried not to show how touched she was, but there
was a lump in her throat. She managed to say, “I’m sure they’ll be very good, Sam.”
And they were. She ate three of them for dessert after lunch, and of course Eve exclaimed over how good they were, too.
Even Carolyn ate a couple of the cookies and grudgingly admitted that they were tasty. “Maybe you should enter the recipe in the contest next Christmas,” she told Sam.
Still feeling a little tired, Phyllis went upstairs to her room to read for a while. Sam and Eve started watching a football game on the big-screen TV in the living room. Phyllis figured Eve was more interested in sitting on the sofa with Sam than she was in watching the game, but she also thought it was unlikely that Eve would be able to distract Sam very much from the Dallas Cowboys.
The sound of car doors slamming caught her attention. She got up from the comfortable chair in her bedroom and went to the window, which looked out over the front yard. From here she could see the Simmons driveway and the street in front of the house. She saw people coming from the house and getting into the various parked cars. She thought she recognized Ted Simmons, who was taller and balder than his older brother, Frank.
Billie, who was the baby of the family, had sandy brown hair, a slender figure, and the nervous mannerisms of a constant dieter.
58 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
Phyllis saw a couple of women and a man she didn’t know and supposed they were the spouses of the Simmons siblings. Several children, a mixture of teenagers and
“Why, Sam Fletcher,” Phyllis said, “I didn’t know you could bake cookies.”
56 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
Sam started a little and looked around, almost guiltily, like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t, Phyllis thought.
“Well, you, uh, don’t have to bake these,” he said. “You just mix
’em up in a saucepan and cook ’em on the stove. Actually, I’ve made these before, and I think they’re pretty good. Just about the only thing I can make, except sandwiches.”
From the other side of the kitchen, Carolyn said, “I know; you could have knocked me over with a feather, too, when he came in here and started rummaging around. But I didn’t think it would do any harm.”
“No, of course not,” Phyllis agreed. She went over to where Sam was working. “What are you making?”
“I call ’em fudgy peanut butter cookies,” he explained as he spooned the mixture from the saucepan into the depression in the center of the last cookie. “They’re sort of like oatmeal cookies. You mix up milk, sugar, cocoa, and butter in a saucepan, boil it a little, take it off the fire, and blend in some oatmeal and a little vanilla. Then you put ’em on the wax paper, gouge out a little place in the center while they’re still soft, and fill it with a mixture of peanut butter and corn syrup.” He hefted the saucepan in his hand. “This stuff here.”
Phyllis looked over at Carolyn and said, “That’s sort of like your pecan pie cookies, isn’t it, only with peanut butter instead of pie filling.”
Carolyn shook her head. “I’ve never gouged anything in my life.”
Phyllis let that go and turned back to Sam. “If you knew
how to make these, why didn’t you make some for the cookie exchange?”
“Oh, I didn’t figure they’d be good enough for somethin’
like that, what with you ladies almost bein’ professionals at bakin’ cookies and all.”
THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 57
“Nonsense,” Phyllis said. “You should have entered them in the newspaper contest, too.” She patted him on the shoulder.
“Well, maybe next year.”
“Better wait and see how they taste first.” He paused. “My wife liked ’em. I made ’em for her when she was sick, sort of a treat for her since I couldn’t make anything else, and, well, since you got hurt and were in the hospital . . .” His voice trailed away and he shrugged.
Phyllis tried not to show how touched she was, but there
was a lump in her throat. She managed to say, “I’m sure they’ll be very good, Sam.”
And they were. She ate three of them for dessert after lunch, and of course Eve exclaimed over how good they were, too.
Even Carolyn ate a couple of the cookies and grudgingly admitted that they were tasty. “Maybe you should enter the recipe in the contest next Christmas,” she told Sam.
Still feeling a little tired, Phyllis went upstairs to her room to read for a while. Sam and Eve started watching a football game on the big-screen TV in the living room. Phyllis figured Eve was more interested in sitting on the sofa with Sam than she was in watching the game, but she also thought it was unlikely that Eve would be able to distract Sam very much from the Dallas Cowboys.
The sound of car doors slamming caught her attention. She got up from the comfortable chair in her bedroom and went to the window, which looked out over the front yard. From here she could see the Simmons driveway and the street in front of the house. She saw people coming from the house and getting into the various parked cars. She thought she recognized Ted Simmons, who was taller and balder than his older brother, Frank.
Billie, who was the baby of the family, had sandy brown hair, a slender figure, and the nervous mannerisms of a constant dieter.
58 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
Phyllis saw a couple of women and a man she didn’t know and supposed they were the spouses of the Simmons siblings. Several children, a mixture of teenagers and
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