CHAPTER FOURTY-ONE ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

A cool breeze blows and I think I see shadowy people in the corner of my eye while Josh and I wander around the block waiting for my Mustang to return from the body shop. We discuss what just occurred with Ernie and pause next to one of Ernie’s rental cars to look at Beal’s photographs of Char’s event.

“Wow.” I squint at one of us on the ground next to my Mustang. “These really show what happened.”

“This could’ve turned out tragic.”

I tuck the stack of photos back in the envelope and we stop at the car Fredrik Koshechka rented so can I snap some pictures. He tugs on the driver’s side handle. “It’s locked.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” I grow quiet while Josh walks around examining the exterior. Images of Valentine flash before my eyes. I shiver.

Josh comes over. “You all right? You look like you saw a ghost.”

I lift my shoulder. “I feel strange as if something bad is about to happen.” Josh just nods and glances around the vast parking lot full of expensive cars and limos. “Come on; let’s go see what’s keeping Junior.”

At six o’clock, Junior finally returns with my Mustang fixed and shinny “They did a full detail on her,” Junior says, “Sorry it took a bit longer than expected. Our body shop people are perfectionist. They refurbished your Mustang and feel akin to her.”

“Thanks. No problem. She looks great.”

Junior leaves to assist another customer. Josh and I get in my Mustang and buckle up. “The interior smells fresh and clean,” Josh says and inspects the clean dashboard. “Yeah. As usual the Zavallas do a top-notch job and went above and beyond what your average mechanic is willing to do.”

Even though it took a lot longer than planned, I think clicking off my long to-do list in my head. I adjust my seat, fire up the engine. I pull away from Zavalla’s Family Garage and it starts raining yet again. “Josh, I still need to run a few Labor Day vaca errands. Sure you want to go?”

“Sure, if you want the company.”

“I do.” I adjust the rear view mirror. “Last thing I want right now is to be alone.” On the way to the Georgetown Mall, a big truck splashes water on my car. “So much for my car wash.” I laugh and my eyes go to the side mirror. “I guess I’m not alone.”

Josh twists around and glimpses the faithful Mazda Men follow us through the dim streets of Georgetown. He straightens up and asks out of the blue, “What are you thinking?”

“Um, that everything around me is familiar, but I feel like I am in another world. All I can think of is where are you Mom? Don’t ask me why, but at this point, I absolutely believe she is alive and needs us to rescue her.”

Josh doesn’t say anything. We grow quiet.

Josh takes out his cell phone. “Better check in with his parents.” He put the phone to his face. “Hi Mom. I’m hanging out with Cookie Blakely.” He nods. “Yes, I’ll be there for dinner…” Without thinking, I reach over and touch his arm. Josh looks at me. “Mom, hold on a sec.” He puts his hand over the phone. “Yeah?”

I whisper, “Can you hang out with me for awhile longer. I’ll feed you.”

Josh nods and says, “Hey Mom, I forgot that we need to finish a portion of our project.” I can hear Mrs. O’Dell’s voice coming through his phone. “The one with Cookie. We have the to hand in after Labor Day weekend and she won’t be here… A couple of hours... Yes, I promise I’ll be home by eleven.” Josh clicks off.

I smile at him. “Thanks.”

Inside the Georgetown Mall, I tell Josh, “I need to purchase a few short-sets and new flip-flops for Florida. Hope you aren’t too bored.”  

“Not at all. Let’s do it.”

Unlike Sean, Josh is a total Fashion Trooper. He doesn’t complain as I drag him through the mall—he even helps me decide on colors and styles. Back home, it’s raining so hard, we just leave everything in the Mustang for now, and run for the house. The rain has to stop sometime. The foyer is stacked with coolers. We kick off our wet shoes and Pop sticks his head out and calls me into the kitchen. “Missy, get your fanny in here, I need help pronto!”

I call, “Okay!”

When we step inside the kitchen, I realize I’d promised to help prepare food for the West’s pre-wedding party.

“Sorry Pop, it totally slipped my mind that I had to work. I’m not used to having a job.”

“No biggie. We’re not actually working this particular shindig. Because we’ll be gone. I’m just delivering coolers of prepared food for a hundred guests attending “a pre-wedding” garden brunch at the West’s mansion this Sunday. Their staff can handle the catering just fine.”

 “Well, I love to cook or whatever,” Josh says smiling wide. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

I turn down my mouth thinking what a nice person. “Okay, but can we eat something first? I’m famished. You too Josh?”

“I’m always hungry.”

After a quick meal of leftover Irish stew and yeast rolls, Josh and I tidy up our mess then report for duty. Pop puts down a bowl of cherry tomatoes. “Great, you can sit at the kitchen island and chop veggies.” He makes us dawn white aprons and plastic disposable gloves. Then hands Josh four large heads of broccoli. “Scrub them in the sink, pat them dry and just snip off the tender little heads leaving an inch long stem.”

Josh shrugs. “Yo, flowerets are my forte.” 

I roll my eyes and fetch a paring knife to chop celery. The knife rack is full. “Glad you finally retrieved the butcher knife out of the bushes.” I say as Pop comes thru the back door carrying a large foam cooler and sets on the floor near the sink.  

“Eye, I had a nightmare that the Fredrik Koshechka came at me welding this sharp blade at my throat.” He holds out his hand. “Hand me it.” I do and he cuts the plastic binding around the cooler, and then lifts the lid releasing a cloud of dry ice fog.

I make a face, and peer into the cooler at bundles wrapped in pink butcher’s paper. “What’s this?”

“Maine lobster tails,” Pop says merrily. “Mary Bess Rothschild’s father had them flown in from this morning.” He sets the butcher knife down, slides on heavy rubber gloves, reaching inside the cooler.

“Impressive.” I sit on the stool next to Josh and start slicing celery sticks. “So, Pop, did any of Alpine staff tell Ivan anything new?”

“Well let see,” Pop says, talking over his shoulder while he unwraps the lobsters. “One of the waitresses working in the Alpine Hof restaurant said every morning since she’d worked there, Mr. Gandler arrived around six o’clock to mooch a free breakfast. Gandler said it was a quite time. But just incase a delivery arrived while he was gone he’d stick a block of wood in the back door.” Pop turns around and looks at us. “Ivan said he wanted to pummel him on the spot. He already knew about my run in with the coward.”

I shake my head. “Do they know if anybody entered through the door that morning while Gandler was gone?”

“Gandler came back from breakfast and saw it was closed. He thought that he’d just forgotten to insert the block.”

I flick a look at Josh. He looks deep in thought while he cuts up the broccoli. I’d love to know what he’s thinking. I keep checking outside to see if the rain has let up, I’m anxious to get my things out of the Mustang. After a minuet I ask, “What about finger prints, Pop?” Then I remember Valentine’s black leather gloves. “It was cold and Fredrik Koshechka always wears leather gloves. Even in the summer.”

“Yep,” Pop says removing package after package, rinsing the whole lobsters in the sink, and then chops them up with a kitchen hatchet. I keep my eyes down and try not to cringe every time I hear a whack. He scoops the lobster parts into a steel colander. Clink-clink-clink.

Josh sees me squirm and laughs. “Why are you worried about the lobsters? They’re dead and frozen.”

 “I know, but it’s gross.” I lean closer and whisper, “I don’t think I’m cut out for the catering business.” We snicker at my little pun. Assisting Pop is temporary until I find a real job.

Pop faces us and slips on a fresh pair of plastic disposable gloves “Apparently Gandler decided it was better to tell the truth.” He separates the claws from the tails and seals them in plastic containers, placing them in another cooler. “On his back from the restaurant the morning Eva disappeared, Mr. Gandler saw Agent Werthoust snoozing on a small sofa on the mezzanine.” He raises his voice, “Werthoust was sleeping on the job.

“That’s

Josh says, “That means Eva was left to fend for herself.

“Can you believe it?” I gasp. “Werthoust is so going down town.”

“Ivan asked Gandler, why he didn’t tell anyone about this?”

I picture Gandler looking at Ivan with his frightened little eyes.

Pop places the lid on the cooler and stacks it next to the kitchen door. “His response was I didn’t think anything of it. Guest are always resting in the lobby.”

I just shake my head and pick up another celery stalk.

“Helena said ‘all employees know that it is strictly against the resort’s rules to allow loitering in the resort’s common areas.” Pop cuts open the plastic binding on another cooler full of lobster. “Ivan figures Gandler didn’t want to bother with Werthoust because his hand-out was getting cold in the kitchen.” Pop shakes his head in amazement as he rinses out the sink with the spray attachment. “There’s more?” –He turns off the water and peels off the gloves dropping them into the old lobster container. “Ivan read over Gandler’s personnel files of course and he has several written warnings. Turns out, Helena caught Gandler chitchatting with the servers numerous times. He was let go this morning. Now he’s vanished and Ivan’s afraid Fredrik Koshechka might have something to do with it.”

I say, “So, the blame suddenly shifts to whom…everyone involved?”

We are silent for a few minuets as if each of us mulls over the implications.

Josh says, “All done.”

Pop takes away the broccoli and sets down a bag of red onions, he passes Josh the butcher knife by the handle and slides over a big chopping board. “Mind dicing some onions?”

“Sure.” Josh peels one of the strong smelling onions and his eyes fill with tears.

I pass him the toothpick holder.

“What’s this for?”

“Hold one between your lips too keep from crying.” I glance over and see Josh has the toothpick mashed between his lips, but he’s holding the knife all wrong, I’m afraid he’s gonna chop off his fingers. “Yo Josh.” He looks up. “It’s safer to curl you fingers back like this.” I demonstrate and he waggles his head, blinking back tears. The toothpick trick doesn’t always work. I grab another stalk of celery and whack it hard with my little paring knife. “I think Agent Werthoust is a complete screw up. So what happens now? I mean, who’s to blame Werthoust, Gandler? Both?”

Josh removes the toothpick. “Synchronicity. Cause-and-effect. Think about it.”

“Uh, explain all that to me later. I can’t think that deeply right now.”

Pop says, “Anyway, Gandler takes the glass elevator to avoid being caught by Helena while making her morning rounds.”

“Helena takes the stairs to stay in shape,” I tell Josh, and picture the layout of the resort. He and I looked at the website pictures. I chop and keep talking, “So, the Alpine’s front wall is thick glass and faces east. When the sun comes up over the mountains it shines through and can be blinding. But it was cloudy and snowing lightly that morning.” I point with the celery stalk. “Still, from the glass elevator you can see the whole village. Across the street from the Alpine is the cafe and the shops. Gandler saw the speeding black car from the elevator.

Pop says, “Ivan thinks that Fredrik Koshechka knocked Eva out with Chloroform, carried her down the back stairs through the laundry room, her put in the car and sped away.”

I tell Josh, “After Gandler told us about the car, Pop chased the scared little man around the lobby. He hid out in Helena’s office until Pop to calm down. I’d never seen Pop so angry. I thought he was going to kill Gandler.” I look at Pop. “So, do they think the KGB killed Mr. Gandler?”

Pop shakes his head. “At first. Then some of Agent Brody’s people found the little Bavarian bum hiding in a restroom stall at the train station. And with a little old fashion persuasion he suddenly remembered the make of the black car. It was a…” Pop picks up his legal pad. “A Skoda Octavia, it’s similar to an Audi. They found a brochure from an auto dealer in Gandler’s desk; he’s saving up to buy one himself.”

“Did Mr. Gandler get a look at the plates?” Josh wants to know.

“As a matter of fact he did.” Pop show us his notes. Слон

It had one of those vanity license plates…I translated it on the internet…means elephant in Russian.”

Josh whispers, “Koshechka.” I jump off the stool as if electrocuted and cut myself. The bowl of celery and paring knife hit the tile floor with a crash.

Pop looks at me startled. “Cookie, you’re bleeding.”

I look at my hand and run to the sink. “Ouch!”

Josh hops off his stool and dashes me over to the sink. I rinse the slice in my hand and Josh checks my gash. “It’s not deep. Where’s your first aid kit?” He asks wrapping white paper towels around my hand.

“In the pantry, top shelf, left side as you go in.” I motion with my head.

Pop comes over and lifts the blood soaked paper towels. He takes my hand in his and pressed down on the wound. “Apply pressure on the wound.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll get some dressing,” Pop shouts, hurriedly drying his hands as he pushes through the kitchen door. He yells over his shoulder, “I what to know what this elephant thing is about when I get back.”

Josh says, “This is good.”

I stare at Josh in horror. My ears are ringing. No, it’s the phone in the foyer. Dizzy, I perch on a stool and squeeze my hand. The Irish stew burns its way up to throat. “How is slicing my finger good?”

“It’s not. I’m saying we have a witness. Koshechka was scooping out the Alpine. He waited for the perfect moment to step in and kidnap your mom.”

Pop is back in a flash.

“That was Ivan on the phone,” Pop says, barreling though the door. “He’s meeting with the President late tonight.” He passes the first aid kit to Josh. His face is bright red, beads of sweat are on his forehead, and he’s short winded.

Josh guides me to back to the sink and pours peroxide into the cut. He pats my skin dry, squeezes out a glop of antiseptic on a butterfly bandage, and places it over the wound, pressing it gently to my skin. “Thanks,” I mutter and return to my stool. He washes his hand, dries them on his apron then fishes his little notebook outta his backpack.

Pop plucks his handkerchief out of his back pocket and swipes his face. “Ivan said he’ll call once more...after this meeting he won’t be able to contact us for a few days.”

I sway on the stool. Something’s going on in my head, a throbbing. Like the throbbing is in my hand. Pop comes over, looks down at my hand, and studies my face. “I’m fine.” Pop goes over to the lobster pile and I take in a deep breath. “Pop where’s Ivan right now? Did he catch Koshechka?”

I look at him and he shakes his head, red curls bounce. “I don’t think so love. Ivan just said to sit tight, go about our business as if nothing is going on.”

I look at Josh. He’s looking at me. “Ivan doesn’t want to alert Fredrik Koshechka.”

“So we can still go to Florida, right?”

“Definitely.” Pop places his hands on the bar and stares off into space. “Our conversation strange. We didn’t talk long. Ivan sounded agitated though I could hardly understand him he kept slipping into Russian like Eva did when she was irritated. There were other people in the room with him. I could hear voices in the background.”

“Probably field agents,” Josh says.

Pop blinks himself back to the kitchen. “No, he said he was across the street from the Alpine. Sitting in The Blue Moon Café. It’s the only place open this early.” He looks up. “Remember the sign on the door in several languages?”

I nod. “We cater to the early-bird skiers.”

“Does Ivan think Fredrik Koshechka will show up there?”

Pop shakes his head. “No, Ivan wants to be there the same time we were Christmas Eve to speak to the employees and any locals who frequent the place at that hour. He spoke to a female server who remembers a large older man with a Russian accent. She said he came in four days in a row promptly at five-thirty in the morning. He always wore a red and black Louis Garneau skiing suit. He’d stay for about an hour eat a pastry and drink coffee then leave. However, on Christmas Eve morning, he got up several times and peered out the front window, all the while mumbling into his collar or talking to himself. After another trip to the window, he suddenly rushes out the door. The server ran to the table thinking he’d stiffed her. On the contraire, under his dish was a thousand rubles note.”

“Roughly forty bucks,” Josh says, swiftly converting the money.

A chill runs down my spine. “So, if this was Valentine, it means he bolted about the same time Pop and me were headed over to the café.” I look at Pop. “He was waiting for us to leave. Do you think he saw us crossing the street?”

Pop nods his head and his eyes grow dark. He starts bagging the pile of diced onions Josh chopped as if he needs to keep busy while considering the ramifications.

Josh murmurs, “He was mumbling in his collar to whom?”

I feel my heart sink as my thoughts run wild. “That would mean Mom was being kidnapped while we were munching on chocolate Bavarian pastries and laughing it up.”

Josh studies our upset faces. “Hey, listen, at least we’re on the right track. Moreover, there’s a chance Mrs. B is alive and well. We just have to find her. Let’s keep going.” He seals the bag of chopped onions and takes a deep breath, blowing off steam.

Josh holds up Pop’s legal pad. “Um, Mr. B there’s more to the elephant moniker.”

“Pop, Josh is right we can’t fall apart.”

I stare at him until he replies. “You’re right. I saw Agent Smith scar.”

Josh and Pop discuss agent’s Smith’s wicked scar and how it connects with the KGB and Fredik Koshechka. I glance over my shoulder. The rain has pretty much ceased. Good time to run out and get my stuff out of the Mustang. I dump the celery in a plastic container and stand up. I can’t handle any more Valentine talk…I’m on information overload.

 “Hey, sorry to interrupt,” I say, already at the kitchen door, “I’m gonna bring my things in from the car…be back in a few.”

Before Josh can offer to help, I excuse myself and walk into the living room and peer out through the curtains at the front yard. Our rain soak neighborhood looks normal, cars parked up and down the street, not a soul in sight. I hope. I glance around the yard feeling a little creeped out, and then push the door open all the way and sit down on the back seat of the Mustang, my feet on the wet grass. My backpack is unzipped and the envelope with Beal’s photographs is missing. I check around and find it under the passenger seat. Weird, how’d it get there? Must’ve fallen out somehow. I slide the stack of photographs out and look at the one that shows Josh and me on the ground in the parking lot. The photo has amazingly sharp details. The Endless Summer bumper sticker on the crunched bumper of Zak’s Bug. The Lexus hood is still smoking from the impact. Beal must’ve taken this, the mud caked on my jeans. The next one is shortly after the crash. It’s a close up of Char’s face with a freaked out expression. Her black eye makeup running down her face like a clown’s mask. Zak is in the shot and is clearly freaking out too. He’s the blurry figure running around everyone gaping and pointing at his smashed VW. There’s a dark figure standing off to the right Josh and I didn’t notice earlier. I unzip the side panel on my backpack and feel around for my plastic magnifying glass. Bending over, I study the dark figure standing behind a car parked fairly close to the scene. “Yes,” I whisper out loud, “it’s him.” I stare harder at Valentine’s image. I could swear that his eye winks back at me from the photograph.

“W-What,” I gasp and sit up straight, “j-just...happened?” An uncontrollable shudder rocks through my body and the photographs slide from my lap. I try to catch them, but my feet slip on the wet grass and I lose my balance, bang my elbow hard on the edge of the door, as I land with a squashy thump on the grass. I sit there stunned. Feeling like a total klutz. Gritting my teeth, I pull my self up, brush the wet grass off my butt and inspect my elbow. “Oweee!” There’s a gash about an inch long. I pinch it and blood oozes out. Lovely…just in time for the trip to Florida. I picture me in a bikini, my hand and elbow bandaged like a mummy. I straighten my arm. It’s not that bad, just put a flesh colored Band-Aid on it.

I pick up the photographs, the magnifying glass, I look at each one and see the dark man is in every shot before shove it in the envelope with shaky hands. My heart is beating like a base drum and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. “Curious. Why didn’t we see them before?”

I shake it off and gather the rest of the photographs scattered across the lawn, drying them off on the thighs of my jeans. Lights flash. I look over my shoulder. A car is coming down our street. My mind says “run”. I grab my shopping bags and rush around locking the Mustang. The car drives by, it’s Smith and Markowitz patrolling. I smile and wave feeling stupid.

Smith puts down the driver’s side window. “Everything okay Ms. Blakely?”

“Um, yes.”

He says, “We’ve got you covered.”

“Thanks.”

They turn the corner and I glance around once more. A white corner is under my Mustang. I swoop down and snatch up another photograph. I turn it over slowly and stare at the little dark figure. A nervous giggle escapes my throat. I swear... it looked like you’re winking at me!

—Get a grip, you’re imagination is running away. I scramble across the walkway with my stuff and struggle to open the front door. Josh grabs my packages, places them by the stairs, and nudges me toward the kitchen.

“There you are,” Josh says, swinging open the front door. “Here let me help.” He takes my backpack from me and I skirt past him.

“Just drop those bags on the first step. I’m going to wash up.”  I step into the downstairs bathroom, flip on the light and bend my arm back, inspecting my bo-bo. There’s a trail of blood running down the outside of my arm. I call out, “My elbow is turning black and blue.”

Josh looks through the open door. “What the heck did you do?”

“I banged it on my car door. I’m my own worst enemy.” Josh comes in and opens the medicine cabinet, taking out a box of multi-sized Band-Aids, a bottle of peroxide, cotton swabs, and some antibiotic cream. I pull off a wad of toilet paper and dab at my wound. He soaks a cotton swab with peroxide and holds my wrist gently patting the scratch. I flinch. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” he says, then blows on the area like my parents did when I was a kid. I try to twist my arm, but it hurts too badly. “I hope it’s not broken.”

 

 “It’s not as bad as it looked a few minuets ago,” he says, applying a rectangular, flesh colored bandage slathered with antibiotic cream. “What exactly happened?”

“I slipped on the grass and slid out of my car! Dumb huh?”

After returning everything to the medicine cabinet Josh says, “Come on lets get some ice on your elbow, it’s starting to swell.” He put his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward the kitchen. Pop frowns at us and I stick out my lip and hold up my battered elbow to him.

“What the—” Pop says clutching my wrist, inspecting Josh’s handiwork.

“I’m a klutz.” I say, and feel my knees buckle. “Uh, I don’t feel so good.”

“Got an ice-bag?” Josh asks Pop, steering me over to the kitchen nook. I plop down on the bench and the room starts to spin. “Cookie put your head between your knees!”

“What...? And kiss my butt goodbye?” I giggle and feel Josh’s hand pushing my head down.

“No dummy, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Cookie!” Pop scolds me and places the ice-bag full of crushed ice on the back of my neck. “For once, don’t be a cliste-asal.”

I lift my head and look at Josh to tell him that ‘cliste-asal’ means smart ass in Irish. But the words won’t come. My world goes black. When I came to and Josh and Pop are hovering over me like mother hens. They help me sit up. “What happened?”

“You passed out cold and almost slid out of the bench,” Pop says. His eyes are huge and worried.

Josh hands me a glass of water and I take a sip. “Wow,” I say, feeling spacey. “That was weird.”

 “When you’re able, I want you to march your fanny upstairs and hit the sack. I’ll run Josh home. I promised I’d deliver all of this food by eight. I open my mouth to protest and Pop gives me “the look”. “Better yet, help me get her upstairs.”

“I can stay,” Josh says as they practically carry me up to my room.

“You need your rest too lad.” Pop, says, and tucks me in my bed. He calls Agent Smith. When he hangs up, he says, “The Agents are parked outside so Cookie is safe. Let’s go. Good night Cookie.”

“Bye.” I mutter, already half asleep.