The Baker’s Secret
By Kevinette H. Considine
Copyright 2010 Kevinette H. Considine
As requested, the family of the recently departed Priscilla Connolly (Cookie, to her friends) assembled in the office of the funeral director of the Doherty Funeral Home, precisely at 9am.
Though it was a sad occasion, this appointment allowed them to relive and reflect on all that their mother had accomplished over the years. It was to be tribute to a loving and compassionate woman, who even though she came from a tragic background, had made an incredible life for herself and for her children. A woman that was looked up to and respected by all that had the pleasure to become acquainted with.
"Tell me a little about your mother." The funeral director asked.
Priscilla Connolly's oldest daughter spoke first. "Well, to be quite honest, we know little about mothers early years, except a story she once told me about some tragedy that occurred when she was young. I know that it really affected her throughout her life. Although, we never met our grandmother, mother told us that she was very unstable, well, you know, mentally, and she moved quite often. This particular time, I guess when mother was 7 years old; there was a horrific murder in her apartment building. All she ever really said about the incident was that it changed her life.
The youngest daughter interrupted. "I know that in the past couple of weeks, you know, before mother died, she kept referring to that murder, I guess it did really bothered her."
Mr. Doherty impatiently looked at his watch, he had another appointment at 9:45. He needed to speed things up.
"Was your mother able to specifically request any desires regarding her funeral?"
"Why yes," the older daughter spoke up, "she specifically asked that we not put out her cookies at the gathering, after the funeral."
The funeral director was becoming annoyed, looking again at his watch. "Ah, cookies?" He asked.
"Sure, oh, you don't know. Our mother was well known for her delicious homemade cookies all over the country, that's how she got the nickname Cookie! Why each time she traveled, she always brought her famous thumbprint cookies with her and as always, after people would try them, she would sell dozens. Especially the strawberry filled. Oh and she was a great traveler." Turning to her siblings she smiled. Then as on cue, each recalled the many trips her mother would make, sometimes being gone as long as two to three weeks.
Mr. Doherty tried unsuccessfully to interrupt.
"Then when she came back," the youngest continued, "she would have wonderful ideas about even more types of cookies. She was an incredible woman and we will miss her dearly. They all nodded in agreement.
The impatient man once again looked at his watch.
Three days prior to her passing and heavily medicated by morphine, Priscilla lapsed in and out of consciousness, her life playing like a movie at the Grand Theater on Main Street. She kept reliving the murder that took place when she was 7 years old and the life long road she took as a result of the incident.
She could visualize the horrid woman that lived on the first floor, hear her screaming voice and even after all these years, she could still smell her.
Every day when Priscilla would return from school, this poor excuse for a human being would open up the door and scream at her. When her apartment door opened, Priscilla would be nauseated by the thick smoke that attempted to escape, accompanied by her other prisoners; stale beer and human sweat. Even though this was an offense to Priscilla's senses, it was the physical appearance that offended her the most. The woman was beyond obese and wore the same dirty and faded pink sleeveless house dress every day and it seemed to bulge at the seams, as though it would split open at any moment. Each roll of fat was visible and there were permanent creases below her huge protruding belly, made by weeks of sitting at her kitchen table while drinking large bottles of beer and smoking Pall Malls. Physically absent of any teeth she managed to always have this unfiltered cigarette hanging from the right side of her mouth, with a brown nicotine stain forming a half circle around her puckering lips! Not a pretty site.
Priscilla hated every fiber of this woman. She knew with all heart that this thing, this woman, just had to go! Every day she would work on her plan. How would she do it, what would she use as a weapon and what would happen if she were caught? For weeks she spent every waking moment working it all out, she had to be sure that every detail was perfect. Yes, the perfect murder! Let's face it; no one in 1957 would ever expect such a horrific act of murder to be done by a 7 year old!
When the time came the deed was done to perfection. Though the handle was a bit large for her childlike hand, the butcher knife was the perfect weapon. That "thing" that sat at her kitchen table never knew what hit her. Five deep stab wounds in the back and her face dove into the round filthy gold ashtray overflowing with dead cigarette butts. The dead joined the dead. It was a fitting end to IT'S life!
Priscilla and her mother moved within a week of the front page murder, and to this day, the murder has remained unsolved.
That was 60 years ago and as Priscilla approached her final journey, she feared that all her secrets would be revealed, secrets that she had kept hidden in the large box freezer in the basment.
The funeral arrangements were finally made, much to the relief of Mr. Doherty. The wake would be held on Thursday 4 to 7pm. Friday, at 10 am the funeral would be held at Saint Lucia's Church, down the street, then immediately following the trip to the cemetery, everyone would be invited to the VFW for a reception to celebrate the life of Priscilla Connolly.
To the surprise of the family, hundreds attended the wake and almost everyone commented on "Cookies" kind heart and her delicious creations. By the end of the day, the family had made the fateful decision to overrule their mother's only request and bring some of her cookies to the reception. A decision that would forever change the way they thought of their beloved, now deceased mother.
"I think I'll run downstairs and see just how many of mothers cookies are in the freezer." the eldest daughter called out, as she opened the basement door.
The light switch at the top of the stairs illuminated only half of the basement and once she reached the bottom step she had to walk another 10 feet to reach the second switch, which lit the area where the large white box freezer was kept. As she drew closer, she could hear the constant humming of the ancient motor.
She was about to lift the lid when a noise startled her from behind. Turning quickly, she saw her husband walking up to her. "You scared the crap out of me!" she yelled, "For some reason, this part of the basement always gave me the creeps!"
"Have no fear, my dear, I will protect you!" Then he put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "Let us see what goodies your mother left us."
Standing side by side, the couple opened the lid. They were both surprised at the amount of frozen cookies her mother had. Especially since the majority of them were her famous thumb print cookies. She was hoping to find a stash of butterscotch pecan, her favorite.
"Regardless of what mother said, these are going to make a lot of people very happy tomorrow."
As they started to take out container after container, a large plastic box at the bottom caught their eye. Without hesitation her husband reached down and picked it up.
"I wonder what's in this one?" he said, as he piled it on top of the others. "I bet it's your butterscotch pecan." They both laughed as they carried the containers upstairs to the kitchen.
Once upstairs they began opening up each container, revealing quite an assortment of thumb print cookies: strawberry, raspberry, lemon and orange marmalade. It wasn't until they came to the large plastic container that had be
en hidden, that their lives changed forever.
The family gathered anxiously around the kitchen table as the odd plastic container was opened. The first thing they saw was a clear zip lock bag containing what appeared to be a hand written log, numbered from 1 to 73. Alongside each number was a date and town. Taking out that paper, was the moment their mother had tried to protect them from. Her secret was finally revealed.
Richard read the list aloud starting with the first entry; #1-1957, Brookline, MA., #2-1962, Allston, MA., #3-1965, and the list continued until 2 years prior to their mother's death. After reading down to #8 he abruptly stopped and turned to his wife. Her face was ashen with a bewildering look. He turned his attention once again to the contents of the large plastic box. Staring down at the small packages that had been originally hidden by the zip lock bag, he noticed that every package had a corresponding number on it. He immediately had a bad feeling.
Reaching down into the container, he lifted out several of the small packages. Opening one of them, sheer terror overtook him. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, beads of sweat covered his brow and he felt nauseous. He quickly dropped to his knees and as he did the contents dropped to the floor. It was a perfectly severed human thumb.
It took all that he had, to murmur three words, "Thumb Print Cookies?"
The End
About the author:
Kevinette H. Considine resides in Plymouth, MA. where she has lived with her husband for the past 24 years.
Kevinette enjoys the challange of writing prose and poetry. She belongs to two writers groups and is a past president and an active member in the Plymouth Garden Club. She also has a small cookie business that she runs out of her home.