“Livie dear, what a good idea to meet at Pete’s,” Ellie said. “Such tasty, old-fashioned breakfasts. I’m so hungry I could eat three of them.” She slipped off a form-fitting sweater-coat the color of ripe raspberries to reveal a comfortably loose dusty rose outfit with a mandarin collar.
“Ooh, nice.” Olivia ran her fingertips over the silky fabric of her mother’s sleeve. “What are those thingies down the front of your jacket?”
“They are called buttons, dear.”
“I guessed that, but—”
“They’re toad-and-ball buttons,” Allan said, looking pleased with himself.
Ellie bestowed an indulgent smile upon her husband. “Close, sweetheart, so very close. But I think you meant frog-and-ball buttons.”
“Can we order?” Jason asked. “I know we’re waiting for some other folks, but I’m starving.”
Ellie scanned her menu as Ida delivered coffee. “I intend to order instantly,” she said. “I need fortification as we finish our planning for the engagement party. I have a tai chi class at eight thirty. I can order for Bertha and Mr. Willard.”
“Don’t bother, I know what they like,” Ida said. “Those two old love birds eat here nearly every morning. Bertha has oatmeal and fruit, and Mr. Willard always orders pancakes, sausage, eggs, and a blueberry muffin, but I don’t know where he puts them.”
As usual, Ida didn’t bother to write down their orders. She wouldn’t forget. As Ida headed for the kitchen, Ellie said, “I’ve kept my Friday afternoon clear, Livie, if you need help preparing the decorations for Saturday. I can meet you after my crazy quilting group finishes. We are embroidering spider webs,” she added. “Such fun.”
Allan Meyers pulled a cell phone from his trouser pocket and frowned at the caller ID. “This is a new client,” he said. “I’d better—”
“Allan.” Ellie’s narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. Olivia and Jason exchanged a quick glance. They knew that look.
“Sorry, force of habit,” Allan said, a shade too heartily. “I’ll let it go to voice mail.”
“Why don’t I keep the phone for you,” Ellie said, producing one of the many macramé bags she had created. “That would make it so much easier for you to concentrate.” She held out a small, slender hand with shiny rose nails.
Allan grinned. “You’re a marvel, Ellie. And right, as always.” Handing over his phone, he said, “The next time I have an irate customer, I might just turn him over to you.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. It would make me cranky.”
“Much as we’re enjoying your repartee,” Olivia said, “could we hammer out the final details for the engagement party that’s happening in a mere three days? Because you know how I hate meetings. I want this one to be over before we start breakfast, or I will demonstrate cranky.”
“I need to get to the garage soon,” Jason said. “Struts hired Wade back, and she wants me to keep an eye on him. She’s afraid he’s started drinking on the job again. He might botch a brake job or something.”
Ida appeared with a tray of breakfast plates and a fresh pot of coffee. Clattering eggs and bacon in front of Olivia, she said, “Bertha tried to call, but you’ve got your phone turned off. That new girl of yours called in sick, so Bertha’s going to the store to help Maddie. But here comes Mr. Willard.” Ida pointed a plate of cheese omelet toward the window as a tall, painfully thin older man approached in long, loping steps. Aloysius Willard Smythe, known to one and all as Mr. Willard, smiled at the group inside, a gesture that tightened the skin across his prominent cheekbones. As Olivia’s attorney, Mr. Willard had more than once helped her with sticky problems, including her friend Clarisse Chamberlain’s murder.
As Mr. Willard seated himself, Ida delivered his pancakes, syrup, sausage, eggs, blueberry muffin, and coffee. “If you order any more food,” Ida said, “I’ll have to drag over another table.”
“We can finish our business in short order,” Olivia said, scanning her notes. “Mom has agreed to help with the decorating details.”
“I’ve already spoken with several friends, as well as my poetry-writing group,” Ellie said. “So far, eight women have agreed to help. I’m sure we’ll have more volunteers than we’ll need.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Mom,” Olivia said. “I mean, short of holding a knitting needle to their throats.”
“Completely unnecessary, dear.”
Olivia turned to her brother, who looked bored and hungry. “Jason, would you mind being a general ‘gofer’ on Saturday? Events never go off without a hitch. We always run out of something or need to find a broom in a hurry.”
“Okay,” Jason said. “Can we eat now?”
“We need a couple volunteers to offer toasts to the bride and groom,” Olivia said, her eyes flitting between Allan and Mr. Willard.
“Sure, I’d love to,” Allan boomed, startling several diners at nearby tables.
“I would be delighted.” Mr. Willard said. “I am quite fond of Maddie and Lucas.”
Olivia drained her second cup of coffee and held out her cup as Ida returned with the pot. Wearily squinting at her own handwriting, Olivia said, “I think we’ve covered the most important tasks both before and during the engagement party on Saturday. Bon Vivant will provide staff to help with the serving. That will cost a bundle, but it’s better than trying to do it all by ourselves. I’ll take care of the expense. Most of the refreshments will be provided by Bon Vivant, except for the cookies and the cake. The Gingerbread House, meaning Maddie and I, are handling those. Maddie insisted on helping, and thank goodness for that. I’ve been working with Mom on two new recipes for the event. I’ll be using one of the new recipes to construct a cookie cake. Wish me luck.”
A cell phone played a snippet of what sounded to Olivia like Mozart, though music wasn’t her strong suit. Mr. Willard checked his caller ID. “I need to take this call,” he said. “It’s a client. Do start without me.” He walked outside, where he stood in view of the waiting group. Mr. Willard’s call ended quickly, but before he could rejoin the group, he answered a second call. As he listened, Mr. Willard slowly shook his skull-like head. Only Jason began eating, immune to the frank curiosity exhibited by his companions.
By the time Mr. Willard returned, his normally benign expression had evaporated. He looked worried. He collapsed into his chair and frowned at his eggs and sausage as if they disturbed him. “Oh dear,” he said. “This is quite unfortunate.”
The group waited for Mr. Willard to elaborate. When he didn’t, Ellie touched his hand with her fingertips. “Has something happened to Bertha?”
“What? Oh no, Bertha is fine. I just spoke with her, in fact.” Mr. Willard shook his head as if to clear it. “Bertha relayed the most astonishing news about that incident at the bank early this morning. I suppose you heard that a young teller was injured by an assailant?”
Everyone nodded, with the exception of Jason, who was wiping up scrambled egg scraps with a slice of toast. Olivia did not point out that the teller was in his forties. Everyone was young to Mr. Willard.
Mr. Willard wrapped his long, bony fingers around his coffee cup as if he felt chilled. “Bertha told me the poor unfortunate man could not describe his assailant. He remembered only that he unlocked the bank’s outer door and someone jumped him from behind. His nose and mouth were covered with a wet cloth. His assistant arrived at the bank shortly thereafter and found the victim propped up against the building, unconscious. He promptly called the police department. The poor young fellow was rushed to the emergency room, where his wounds are being treated.”
Allan rested his elbows on the table and asked, “Any idea how much the assailant stole from the bank?”
“I can’t answer that question with precision,” Mr. Willard said. “Bertha was recounting what she heard from a friend of hers who is also a bank employee. However, it was her impression that very little was disturbed inside the bank. Or, I should say, that is the rumor Bertha heard. Perhaps the sheri
ff will reveal more soon?” He directed his last question to Olivia.
“You all realize, don’t you, that Del doesn’t automatically contact me when he is called to a crime scene? He’d be more inclined to suggest I get lost.”
“Oh, Livie, I’m sure he does so out of kindness and concern for your safety,” Ellie said.
“Or not.” Olivia took the biggest gulp of coffee she could manage.
“Well then, we’ll simply have to wait for further word on the poor head teller’s condition,” Ellie said. “He is in good hands; we must hope for the best. Would you pass the cream, Allan, dear?”
Chewing replaced conversation as they enjoyed their breakfasts. Olivia gazed out the window as she ate. The town square bustled with dog walkers, reminding her that she’d been neglecting Spunky during the frantic preparations for Maddie and Lucas’s engagement party. As she was getting ready to leave her apartment earlier that morning, the little guy had propped his head on his front paws and whimpered. His sad brown eyes had flitted between his mistress and his leash, which hung near the door. Olivia couldn’t take much more of that. Maybe she and Spunky could sneak in a run through the park before the demands of baking claimed her attention again.
Among the shop clerks and early customers cutting through the spring grass, one slender, bright pink figure caught Olivia’s attention. The woman’s gait was brisk yet wobbly, as if she might be wearing high heels. Her floppy hat, also pink, flapped in the breeze. When it threatened to leave her head, she clamped down on the crown with one hand. Olivia couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she knew who it had to be: Lenora Tucker Bouchenbein. Stage name: Lenora Dove. In Chatterley Heights, she was known as Herbie Tucker’s aunt Len.
“Uh-oh,” Allan said as he caught sight of Lenora heading straight for Pete’s Diner. “That woman terrifies me.” He shifted his chair away from the window.
“Allan, dear, I think ‘terrified’ is an exaggeration.” Ellie patted her husband’s muscular upper arm. “I think you could handle her in a street fight.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about. Last week she followed me into the hardware store and talked my ear off. Confused the heck out of me. Suddenly I realized I’d agreed to give her free business advice. I’m not sure, but I think I might have offered to ‘loan’ her money to buy a used computer so she can write the story of her life.”
“How kind of you, dear.” Ellie said. “The poor thing was left destitute, and she has led such an interesting life.”
Olivia’s sympathies were with her stepfather. “I know Gwen and Herbie feed Lenora, but she acts as if her survival depends on the free cookies we put out every day.”
“Lenora doesn’t wish to be a burden,” Ellie said.
Lenora had recently moved back to town after the death of her husband, Bernie Bouchenbein, a Hollywood producer who had believed in spending money as soon as it reached his hands, if not before. He’d left Lenora with very little. Consequently, she’d shown up on Gwen and Herbie Tucker’s doorstep, offering her glorious presence, as well as help with their new baby. According to Gwen, her visit had quickly become permanent, but the helping-with-the-baby part had yet to materialize. Aunt Lenora had, however, relieved Gwen and Herbie of every bottle of wine in their cellar. She required a steady new supply, which put a dent in the young couple’s budget.
Still and all, Olivia enjoyed Lenora. Which was a good thing, because Lenora was at that moment breezing into Pete’s Diner, a woman with a mission. She headed straight for the group at Olivia’s table, smiling as warmly as she could after several too many facelifts.
“Darlings, I’m so glad I finally tracked you all down.” Lenora dragged over a chair from another table and wedged it between Allan and Mr. Willard. “You don’t mind if I join your little gathering, do you?” Lenora appropriated Mr. Willard’s unused knife and speared one of his sausage links. “The food here is a bit heavy for my delicate figure, but the sausages are lovely.” As Lenora devoured the sausage, she eyed the other offerings around the table. Jason snugged his plate closer to keep it out of her reach.
“We would love to have you join us, Lenora,” Ellie said. “We were just discussing the upcoming party at Bon Vivant to celebrate Maddie and Lucas’s engagement. Olivia is planning it.” Ellie reached over to an unoccupied table for a clean, empty coffee cup and a spoon and fork. “May we offer you some breakfast? Allan and I are treating this morning.”
Allan shot his wife a look that begged for mercy. Ellie smiled as she patted his arm and said, “Allan is so sentimental about weddings, aren’t you, dear?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Lenora said. “I eat so little, these huge breakfasts simply overwhelm me. I’ll just sample here and there.” She liberated Mr. Willard’s one remaining sausage. Ever the gentleman, Mr. Willard did not object, but his eyes followed the sausage as it left his plate. “I’m just helping you finish quickly,” Lenora told him with a coquettish smile. “You see, we must leave very soon if we want to get to the airport in time.” It was well known that Lenora, hoping to steal Mr. Willard away from Bertha Binkman, was forever plotting ways to spend time with him.
As Mr. Willard’s eyebrows puckered in confusion—and possibly dread—his eyes appeared to sink into his skull. “Airport?”
Lenora scooped up a forkful of pancake. “Oh, silly me,” she said. “Did I forget to tell you? It’s so thrilling. Two of my dearest Hollywood friends are flying in this morning for a lovely visit. I don’t have a car, and I simply must meet them myself. They are staying at my place, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Olivia wondered how Gwen and Herbie felt about the visit, since Lenora’s “place” was, in fact, their home. She was trying to think of a sneaky way to mention that fact when she caught her mother watching her. Ellie raised her eyebrows a mere fraction, enough to warn her daughter that she could read minds. Drat the woman! How does she do it?
Ida appeared next to Mr. Willard and refilled his coffee cup. “Once a moocher, always a moocher,” she muttered.
Ellie aimed her eyebrow weaponry at Ida, who shrugged her shoulders and retreated. Around the table, forks busied themselves with remaining morsels, while Lenora opened a gold compact and patted her hair.
To her own surprise, Olivia took pity on Lenora. “Tell us about these friends of yours,” she said. “Are they actors?”
Lenora snapped shut her compact and paused for dramatic effect. Olivia tried not to wince as Lenora’s smile pulled to the right. “My dear friend, Trevor Lane, is a well-known actor. I’m sure you’re all familiar with his work. He is best known for his portrayal of the brilliant psychiatrist Dr. Patch Treadwell.” When the character’s name failed to produce sighs of recognition, Lenora added, “On Midnights in Manhattan.”
“Afraid I don’t have time for the soaps,” Allan said.
“Gotta get to work,” Jason said, scraping back his chair.
Ellie pushed the muffin basket closer to Lenora. “How delightful your friend was able to take a break from his demanding schedule to come visit you.”
“Well, Trevor is on a bit of a hiatus,” Lenora said. “He so longs to return to his first love, the theater. We began our careers together in the theater, you know. Bernie—that’s my dear late husband, Bernie Bouchenbein—invested in a lovely play in which Trevor and I performed together. Bernie usually stuck to movies, but plays always seem more respectable. I’ve never understood why. However, I was an ingenue at the time, and Bernie wanted me to have a good start.”
Olivia wasn’t an expert on the soaps, but she knew that “on hiatus” usually meant the actor’s character was dead or in a coma. And wanting to “return to the theater” sounded a lot like wanting “to spend more time with my family” after one has been fired. And now that she thought of it, a “good start” in theater suggested that Bernie Bouchenbein didn’t want his pretty young wife to begin her acting career as a disposable starlet. Olivia found herself liking Lenora’s deceased husband.
&nbs
p; “Naturally, Trevor is bringing along his assistant, Dougie Adair.” Lenora took a delicate sip of coffee. “Dougie has been tremendously helpful to Trevor’s career. Dougie isn’t an actor, of course, but he is such a clever young man, and he knows so much about the business.” With a sigh, Lenora said, “It will be such a lovely reunion.”
“A reunion?” Ellie asked. “So you haven’t seen Trevor and Dougie for some time?”
“Alas, no,” Lenora said. “Although by reunion, I meant having all of us back home together.”
“Back home?” Olivia asked. “Here in Chatterley Heights?”
“Oh, didn’t I say? Trevor and Dougie grew up here. Well, not in Chatterley Heights, but close by, in Twiterton. They went to high school together. Naturally, both of them played on the football team.”
Jason’s face lit up. “No kidding. I spent a year on the Chatterley Heights football team, and we played the Twiterton Twits. That’s not what they called themselves, of course. Anyway, they usually beat us.”
“They still do.” Allan scraped back his chair and stood up. “I need to get to work. Ellie, I know you’ll be helping Livie prepare for Maddie’s shindig, but you won’t forget we have dinner plans?”
Ellie said nothing as she reached a slender, graceful hand toward Allan’s wrist. Allan sat down. Turning to Lenora, Ellie said, “I know that poor Mr. Willard is snowed under with work at the moment, and it’s so important that you pick up your friends at the airport. Would you mind if Allan and I drove you instead? I would love to meet them.”
“Mom, don’t you have—”
Ellie turned on her brightest smile. “Don’t fuss, Livie. I’m sure I’ll be back in plenty of time for my meditation class. Unless you would care to drive Lenora and me to airport?”
Allan gazed toward Olivia with desperate hope in his eyes. It lasted only a moment, though. With a firm shake of his head, he said, “Now, Ellie, Livie is a businesswoman. She has a store to run. It takes time and dedication to keep a business going. We can’t send her off on errands during her workday. And don’t forget, Livie is preparing Maddie’s get-together almost single-handedly.”
One Dead Cookie Page 7
