Snowdrop Dreams, Cherry Thumbprint Screams

By Kimberly Baer

When Annie Barkley discovers a boy living in the attic of her cookie shop, she's stunned—and oddly elated. She can almost believe the universe is giving her back the infant son she lost eleven years ago.

Annie senses that something bad happened to the boy, but he won't talk. All she knows is that he's terrified of being found. When her long-ago crush, police captain Sam Stern, stops by to inquire about a missing boy, Annie says she hasn't seen him.

Big mistake. Because that lie might cost her more than a romance with Sam. It also leaves her vulnerable to a ruthless pursuer, one who's determined to silence the boy for good.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Nov 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509237814

Kimberly Baer

Kimberly Baer wrote her first story at age six. It was about a baby chick that hatched out of a little girl's Easter egg after somehow surviving the hard-boiling process. Nowadays she writes in a variety of genres, including young adult, middle-grade, and adult romantic suspense. She lives in Virginia, where she likes to go power-walking on days when it's not too hot, too cold, too rainy, too snowy, or too windy. On indoor days, you might find her working through her to-be-read list, which is several miles long, or working on her next novel. You can call her "Kim." All her friends do. Visit her at www.kimberlybaer.com.

Book preview

The boy gave a mighty start. He jerked his head around, wild-eyed like the raccoon that had once entered Annie’s house through the long-unused doggie door and couldn’t find its way back out. He was trapped behind the counter because Annie was standing just outside the little exit gate. He tried to hurl himself over the counter. Annie stepped to the right, blocking him.

Stop right there, buster. You’re not going anywhere.

The boy slid off the counter and shrank into the corner, peering up at her like a baby mouse about to be devoured by an alley cat. She had just opened her mouth to ask what the heck was going on when he clutched his stomach and made a gagging, gulping noise.

Uh-oh, said Annie. With fumbling fingers, she unlatched the gate. The boy raced to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She heard him throwing up.

After a minute, she rapped on the door. Hey, buddy. You okay?

No reply.

She turned on the kitchen lights and paced up and down the short hallway, patting her thudding chest. It’s not Jonah, she told herself. It isn’t him. This was some other boy. Some other mother’s son. Not hers.

But Jonah, if he’d lived? He might look like this.

Praise for Kimberly Baer

Praise for The Haunted Purse

A heartwarming and thrilling YA mystery that will bring readers to tears.

~InD’Tale Magazine review

Baer’s heroine is courageous and determined… The plot is original, ramping up the suspense terrifically, and the characters are unforgettable…most highly recommended.

~Readers’ Favorite 5-star review

On a scale of 1-5, The Haunted Purse deserves a 7.

~Wild Women Reviews

Praise for Mall Girl Meets the Shadow Vandal

A lively, jaunty mystery with a terrific cast of characters.

~Kirkus Reviews

A great read full of fun, adventure, mystery, and the trials of making friends.

~Readers’ Favorite 5-star review

Part Beverly Cleary, part N. Drew…will keep you reading until the very end.

~N. N. Light Book Heaven Review (5+ Stars)

Snowdrop Dreams, Cherry Thumbprint Screams

by

Kimberly Baer

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.

Snowdrop Dreams, Cherry Thumbprint Screams

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Kimberly Baer

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: [e-mail]

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 978-1-5092-3781-4

Christmas Cookies Series

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

In memory of Mike K, the sweetest teenage crush a girl could have.

Chapter 1

Turns out our cookies really are disappearing, Jessica said. I’m not imagining it.

Good morning to you, too, said Annie, wondering why Jessica had to hit her with a problem the second she entered the shop. She closed the door with more force than necessary. The old-fashioned entry bell dinged indignantly.

I took inventory before I left last evening, Jessica went on, trailing Annie into the kitchen, and again first thing this morning. We’re short seventeen cookies. Eight snowdrops, five snickerdoodles, and four macaroons.

Annie tossed her purse into a cupboard and slammed the door. She crossed the room and turned a knob on the gas oven. A flame flared to life inside with a soft whump.

It’s been going on most of the week, said Jessica. But this is the first time I did a count. Our cookies are vanishing, Annie. Overnight! And there’s no logical explanation.

Annie got a mixing bowl out of a cupboard and thunked it down on the counter. Are you sure you counted right?

Yes, Annie. I’m sure. Jessica, age twenty-eight, wasn’t just a store clerk. She was also an MBA student and Annie’s informal business advisor. Of course she’d counted right.

And there wasn’t a last-minute customer you forgot about?

I didn’t do the count till after closing time.

Well. Annie’s gaze flicked to Jessica’s belly, which was the size and shape of a basketball, albeit one of those smaller, kid-sized ones. "The only other thing I can think of is you scarfed them down. I mean, you are eating for two. And then forgot about it afterward. Prenatal amnesia, ha ha."

Even as she made the feeble joke, a twinge snaked across her lower belly. A cesarean scar shouldn’t hurt eleven years after the fact, but Annie’s sometimes did. Especially in proximity to pregnant women.

The scar, a horizontal line just above her pubis, looked like pale lips pressed tightly together. Sometimes it spoke to her. It shrilled, Where is the baby? There was supposed to be a baby.

Jessica’s cool stare said this was no laughing matter. "This is your cookie store, Annie. Don’t you want to know what’s going on?"

Of course I do.

It might not seem like a big deal since it isn’t cutting into your profits. I mean, it’s the day-old cookies that are going missing, the ones we donate to the food pantry in the mornings. Jessica tossed her head as she spoke. Her hair, the same hue as burnished mahogany, shimmered in the gray-white glare of the neon lights. It’s just a shame those cookies aren’t getting to the people who need them most.

Annie tilted her head philosophically. "Does anybody really need cookies?"

Oh my God, said Jessica, pivoting on her heel. Forget I said anything. I’ll just stop giving a crap that our cookies are riding off into the sunset.

I’m sorry, Annie called as Jessica flounced out of the kitchen. Thanks for doing that count. You’re right—this is something I need to look into.

Her thoughts lingered on the missing cookies as she mixed snowdrop cookie batter. She had to admit it was strange. What could have happened to them? She got a sudden, vivid image of rats swarming the shop in the wee hours, carting off cookies.

Not that she thought that was it. If rodents were to blame, they were weirdly fastidious ones. She’d never seen droppings or other signs of critter infiltration. No telltale crumbs on the floor. No skittering noises in the walls.

Theft by humans was the most logical explanation. The question was, how?

While the cookies baked, Annie went to the windowless back door and gave the doorknob a hard yank. The door, held tight by a steel deadbolt, barely jiggled in its frame. The window above the sink was not only locked but also painted shut—and had been that way for years.

She went out front, waving at two ladies who were on their way out, having just delivered their daily wares. One of the great things about Cookie Heaven was that Annie didn’t have to oversee a bunch of employees or maintain a row of ovens, thanks to Grandma Joy’s vision from forty years ago, when she’d first decided to go into business. Cookie Heaven was a store, not a bakery. All the cookies were baked by local ladies—and a few men—in their own kitchens. Annie baked, too, but only when she felt like it.

She stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, surveying the big plate glass window and the thick wooden door next to it.

I don’t get it, she said. The security alarm has never gone off. There aren’t any signs of a break-in. How could anybody be getting in?

Jessica, who was arranging brownies in a display case, paused to glance at her. If it keeps up, we should call the police. Let them figure it out. Her bright smile said all was forgiven. Annie felt a pang of gratitude in her cold heart. Jessica really did care about the shop.

The oven timer beeped, summoning her to the kitchen. Warm, fragrant air greeted her,