There is a new mystery to solve in Havenford

Welcome back to “The Havenford Mysteries” series by local author R.A. Coscia. Main character Cora has moved on from the holidays and found a new mystery to deal with in "The Cookie Tin Letters." Enjoy installment one, "Tied With Red Ribbon."

Cora is trapped in the gray gloom period. The time between New Year’s Day and the spring equinox seems to extend into one endless day of nothing. She wakes each morning wondering if she will see sunshine and is often disappointed to find herself shrouded in gray once again.

Refusing to be trapped inside all winter, Cora decides to spend her lunch break at the antique mall. The day is gloomy, but there is no wind to prick the air, making the short walk across the courthouse square almost enjoyable.

The antique mall is housed in a building constructed in the late 1920s that originally served as a department store. The two-story façade hides the fact that the store extends into the basement. Inside, the stairs are wide, with hand-carved wooden banisters that create an opulent entrance. The front windows, which once displayed the newest fashions, toys and appliances, now showcase wool and fur coats, most likely from the same era as the department store’s heyday.

Cora steps inside and is met with the distinct smell of a well-run antique store. The owner Rachel Anders is behind the counter, busy on the phone. Rachel and Cora spent many summer days exploring the creek that runs between Aunt Mae’s farm and the Anders' farm. Rachel smiles broadly as Cora walks in but keeps her focus on the person on the other end of the line. Cora waves and ducks down into the basement.

Lost among coats, dolls, books and furniture, Cora spots something that catches her eye. On an old oak shelf sits a Whitlock and Sons Biscuit tin. She is flooded with memories of every time Aunt Mae had grabbed the exact same tin, from her hall closet. Aunt Mae had stored a sewing kit inside it. Whitlock and Sons had gone out of business long before Cora was ever born.

This tin is exactly the one from her memories, round, faded dark blue with raised lettering on the front. Whitlock and Sons appears in yellow, Biscuit Company in red. A beautiful border of flowers and white stalks of wheat decorates the outer rim of the lid.

Cora wants to reach out and touch it, the pull of childhood memories strong. “I am not here to buy, just to look. And touching leads to buying,” she reminds herself. She turns to move on to the next section, but her heart won’t let her.

She reaches up, running her fingers around the lid. It feels exactly as she remembers. She lifts the tin from the shelf. It has weight to it, and she wonders if it holds an old sewing kit. “Do all women keep their sewing kits in biscuit tins,” she wonders, or was that just Aunt Mae?

Cora opens the lid and is met with the faint scent of metal. “Isn’t it strange how sight, touch and scent can all bring back a memory?” she thinks. Inside the tin is a stack of aged papers, neatly gathered and tied with a faded, red ribbon. The top paper is a recipe card titled Shortbread Cookies.

Cora places the lid back on the tin. She is not a baker and has never been drawn to the kitchen, but something about this tin has pulled at her, and she can’t seem to put it down.

“Always trust your gut” is one of Aunt Mae’s phrases. Cora decides to take the age-old advice.

When she returns upstairs, Rachel is still on the phone, and she smiles apologetically. Cora waves it off, shows her the tin and lays the required $7.75 on the counter.

Rachel covers the receiver and whispers, “That tin has been here for years. Isn’t it in beautiful condition? Let’s catch up soon!”

That night, in the drafty farmhouse, the wind rages outside and Cora can’t sleep. Wrapped in a blanket, she pads downstairs to make a cup of herbal tea. There, on edge of the counter, sits her newly acquired tin, quietly calling to her.

“Maybe reading some recipes will put me to sleep,” she thinks.

Cora lights a few candles and sits at the large, wooden kitchen table. She opens the tin and unties the red ribbon, lifting the first recipe from the stack.

Shortbread Cookies

1 cup sweet butter

½ cup sugar

2 cups flour

Cream the butter and sugar until light. Work in the flour with your hands until it forms a soft dough. Press into a shallow pan or shape into rounds. Prick with a fork.

Bake in a moderate oven until pale and just set. Do not allow to brown. Let cool completely before cutting.

Cora makes a note to ask Aunt Mae how anyone could bake without any oven temperature listed. She turns the recipe over and picks up the second piece of paper. It is thinner and folded in half. When she opens it, she realizes it is a handwritten letter.

X,

It is dark now, but I cannot stop thinking of how wonderful our meeting was today. Your stories always make me laugh. I begrudge the clock for moving so fast when we are together. I would rather time slow, not hurry, when I am with you. I await hearing from you again.

All my love,

O

The letter is written in the same small, perfectly spaced cursive as the recipe. “How odd to keep something like this in a recipe tin,” Cora thinks. She hesitates, feeling as though she is snooping, reading something deeply personal.

Her curiosity wins.

She picks up the next paper. It too is a letter.

O,

Hearing from you always warms my heart. I have been thinking fondly of our last meeting. The shortbread cookies you brought were perfection, not browned one bit. I would tell a thousand stories if it meant hearing your beautiful laugh. Meet me at our spot next Sunday after Mass. Until then, I will await your next recipe and dream of you.

Always yours,

X

This letter is written in a larger, messier, more looping cursive, distinctly more masculine than the first.

“Thumbprint Cookies,” Cora reads aloud as she picks up the next paper. She flips through the stack and sees a pattern: one recipe, then two letters, one from O, followed by one from X.

“X and O,” Cora murmurs, tracing the symbols with her finger. At first, she thought nothing of them, but now she sees they are used in place of names. “Why are they hiding who they are?”

The chamomile tea begins to have its desired effect. Cora carefully repacks the papers into the tin and carries it upstairs to her room. She would hate for Aunt Mae to accidentally throw the tin away along with its contents.

As Cora lies in bed, she can’t stop thinking about the people behind the notes and recipes.

Why hadn’t they used their names? Were they hiding their relationship? And how had the letters ended up in the antique mall? Surely, they were never meant to be forgotten. Perhaps the writers had passed, and their love had quietly slipped out of memory.

“What a sad thing to happen,” Cora reflects. “I can’t let them be forgotten. I need to find out who they are and return these letters to their rightful family.”

She rolls over and looks at the tin sitting on her nightstand.

“I won’t let you be forgotten,” she vows softly to the unknown X and O.

Her eyes grow heavy as she stares at the tin, and at last, she drifts off to sleep.