All my life I’ve been haunted by Snickerdoodles.
My mother used to make them when I was a kid. She’d always say “As long as there are Snickerdoodles in the world, you know there’s still some good in it.” Sometimes she’d say it when she was putting them in the oven, and sometimes when she was taking them out- but she always said it.
I hated Snickerdoodles. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t make chocolate chip cookies sometimes like the other kids mothers’ did- but no, it was always the damned Snickerdoodles. It made me the wierd kid at school- the one with the wierd cinnamon cookies in his lunch. Eventually, it occured to me to stop taking my lunch but, in a small town, the damage was already done.
Ok, here’s where I got to while I was mixing the cookies- I can continue in one of two ways
#1) It was the surprise of my life when I proposed to my first wife and she accepted. She was pretty and sweet- not too popular- and everything I thought I wanted in a wife. And then I came home from work that balmy afternoon and she was just pulling the damned cookies out of the oven. She smiled and said “I made Snickerdoodles for you- your Mom says they’re your favorite.”
I killed her on the spot.
Or I can go this way
#2) So when the first of the murders crossed my desk, I got a cold shiver as I read the details in the report. The killer had left a calling card, a Snickerdoodle, on the victim’s mouth.
Of course if any of you would like to take what I’ve got and run with it, please do so! I’ve no time for writing murder mysteries and I don’t even have a good plot.