“Good.” Maddie hopped out of the chair as the timer dinged. “I’ve got baking to finish. It’s okay to chatter at me about what you’re doing. I’m an excellent multitasker.”
“Well, multitasking is not one of my gifts, I’m afraid,” Olivia said. “Anyway, now I’m finding various sneaky ways to invite a select group to the store tomorrow morning. I’m giving out a few assignments . . . starting with my mom. She needs to get Calliope to come. I’m also asking Mom to pick up Anita and to park in the alley behind the store, just in case folks start gathering on the porch. Could you pick up Mr. Willard?”
“Sure,” Maddie said. “What about Bertha?”
“We won’t need her,” Olivia said. “I don’t want too many people around. I’ll let Mr. Willard know. He’ll be just as glad that Bertha won’t be in any danger.” When she had finished the email to her mother, Olivia emailed Bertha to ask a question and to tell her not to come to work in the morning.
The oven timer dinged, followed at once by another ding telling Olivia that she had an email. “Excellent,” Olivia said. “Mom promises to be mum. Cute. She will bring Calliope with her. Oh, and Mom had a great idea for getting Olaf and Desirée to show up tomorrow.”
“If there’s anyone who can accomplish that feat, it’s Ellie,” Maddie said.
“Mom says Polly called her with some gossip. Polly had just gotten home after she and her boyfriend celebrated their one-year anniversary with dinner at Bon Vivant. They saw Olaf dining with ‘that gorgeous blonde’ who came to our cookie event. I think we can assume the woman was Desirée. By the end of their meal, according to Polly’s friend, the two of them were acting mighty lovey-dovey. Polly is good friends with their waitress, who said that she heard Olaf and Desirée make a date for early breakfast at Joe’s Diner tomorrow morning.” Olivia paused for a sip of coffee.
“How very convenient,” Maddie said. “Isn’t small-town gossip wonderful?”
“Sometimes,” Olivia said. “I’ll drop by their table in the morning and simply tell them we’re showing some of Greta’s cookie cutters tomorrow. They aren’t likely to tell anyone else. Olaf will want to buy something for Desirée, and he won’t want competition.”
“What if they don’t show up?” Maddie asked.
Olivia shrugged. “Something will come to me.” Her computer dinged to announce the arrival of another email. “It’s Bertha,” Olivia said. “She is up late emailing her sister. Oh, that’s interesting . . .”
“What? What’s interesting?” When Olivia didn’t respond, Maddie shoved a pan of cookies into the oven, closed the door, and set the timer. Casually, she said, “Livie, the kitchen is on fire. Where did you put the fire extinguisher?”
“It’s over near the door,” Olivia said. “Wait. What did you just say?”
“I asked what you were reading that was so interesting.” Maddie handed Olivia a cooled speculaas. “Eat,” she said. “I suspect your sugar level has dipped into the danger zone.”
Olivia laughed as she took the cookie. “Somehow I doubt that. Anyway, I was reading Bertha’s email. She told me why Greta stayed in the Gingerbread House sales area while Bertha stuffed her precious cookie cutters into our wall safe. Greta insisted she was feeling tired and a bit faint. She preferred to rest in the cookbook nook until Bertha had finished. That didn’t seem odd to Bertha, so she didn’t think to mention it to us.”
“That is interesting.” Maddie pulled a chair next to Olivia. “But what does it mean?”
“It means, my friend, that our Greta had a plan from the beginning. She’d covered all the bases. If anyone questioned the authenticity of her cutters while they were in our store, she had the combination for our safe. She could take them back and pretend they’d been stolen. Also, since she wasn’t in the kitchen when Bertha put the cutters in our safe, no one would suspect Greta. She could accuse us of being negligent and then claim the insurance money.”
“You know,” Maddie said, “it’s hard to imagine Greta sneaking in here at night and robbing our safe.”
“Greta wasn’t as weak as she pretended, despite her fatal heart attack. I’m willing to bet that she was, among other things, a cunning thief. However, there are other scenarios I can think of offhand. She could have accused us of substituting fakes for her originals. We’ll probably never piece together Greta’s entire plan, but I’m sure it was thorough, covering every contingency with several alternative escape maneuvers. That woman was an experienced con artist.”
“Yikes,” Maddie said. “I’m beginning to realize what a gigantic bullet we dodged.”
“Well, we aren’t out of the woods, yet, my friend.” Olivia returned to her email program.
“Now for Mr. Willard’s email, which will be complicated. I sure hope he has time to help out. He’s the only one with the expertise and the contacts. If Del were here . . .”
“Yeah,” Maddie said, “except if Del were here, he would tell us not to do what we are about to do.”
“Ah, but Del would know we intended to do it anyway, and he would end up riding shotgun,” Olivia said. “I probably should try to lure Cody here tomorrow morning. He’s our only hope of protection, should our plan go awry.”
The oven timer dinged, and Maddie popped up to rescue her pan of cookies. “Our plan is wonderful,” she said. “What could go wrong? Don’t answer that.” She placed her pan on a rack to cool. “Why are you asking Mr. Willard to be here tomorrow morning?”
“It’s a long shot,” Olivia said, “but I’m hoping Mr. Willard can get some information for me, especially about Greta.” When she finished, Olivia glanced up at the kitchen clock. “It’s two a.m. Are you about done with the baking? I’ll be getting up to shower before I head to Pete’s Diner at six-thirty a.m.”
“You go on to bed,” Maddie said. “I’m starting some cardamom tangerine shortbread. I’ll clean up when I’m finished.”
Olivia hesitated with her hand on the kitchen doorknob. “I just have one worry left about tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’m afraid Binnie and Ned might get wind of our plan and hang out on our porch. We can keep the curtain closed, but knowing Binnie, she’ll pound on the window. She won’t let up, either.”
Maddie smiled, not unlike a cat hovering over leftover tuna salad. “I’ve been thinking about the Binnie-and-Ned dilemma. I have a cunning scheme in mind. Don’t fuss, Livie. Run along and get a good few hours of sleep. Let me take care of the local press.”
“I have a feeling I should be terrified by your offer, but I’m too tired.” When Olivia left the kitchen, Spunky awakened instantly, jumped off his chair, and met her at the door. Neither uttered a sound as they trudged up the stairs to the apartment. Olivia opened the door, and Spunky went straight for the bedroom. “Sometimes,” Olivia called to her pup, “I think you are more human than dog.”
Before joining her pooped pup, Olivia checked her kitchen phone. Her cell phone had run out of juice. She’d have to remember to charge it overnight. She had two messages on the old kitchen answering machine. Both were from Del. She punched the “play” button.
“Livie? I’ve been trying to call you for hours. I suppose you left your cell plugged in upstairs again. Anyway, it’s nine p.m., and I wanted to let you know that I’ll be out of touch for a while. Things are happening here. Can’t explain. More later.” Olivia left the machine going to hear the second message. “Hi Livie, Del again. Just hoping to catch you. Getting exciting here, more than I like, but . . . Okay, I’ll try again.” Click.
Chapter Twenty-one
Olivia awakened before six a.m., already thinking through the details of her plan to determine who had triggered Greta Oskarson’s death. She’d had only a few hours of sleep, but it was enough to convince her she’d been crazy to even think about gathering potential murder suspects in The Gingerbread House.
“Who do I think I am, Miss Marple?” Olivia asked herself.
Spunky answered with a sleepy yap. Olivia ruffled the silky hair on his head. “I agree with you. We should get up at our usual time and open the store at nine, like any other day.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “But it’s too late for that. I wish Del were here.” Olivia swung her legs over the side of her bed and slid her feet into her comfy, worn-out, lace-free tennis shoes. Spunky watched her through slitted eyelids. “Lucky dog,” Olivia whispered, “you get to stay in bed all morning, while your mama makes herself look like she’s lost her mind.” That plan appeared acceptable to Spunky, who curled into a ball and went back to sleep.
After a quick shower, Olivia dressed in her lightest blouse and work pants. She had decided to go through with her plan to tempt Olaf Jakobson and Desirée Kirkwood to come back with her to The Gingerbread House to discuss Greta’s collection. Even if she couldn’t unmask Greta’s attacker, Olivia figured she might learn more about Greta’s past in Chatterley Heights, which could lead to more suspects.
Since she would be eating breakfast at Pete’s Diner, Olivia decided to skip making a pot of coffee. However, Spunky would be alone all day. She went to the kitchen to leave him some dry food and found the little guy waiting expectantly beside his empty bowl. “You didn’t have to get up so early,” Olivia said. “I wasn’t going to forget you.” She poured an extra-generous portion in his bowl, which he instantly attacked with gusto.
“I’m running late,” Olivia muttered as she noted the time. Okay, what do I need? Cell phone, where’s my cell phone? She saw it on the kitchen counter, poking out from under a stack of dishes she’d forgotten to put away the night before. Olivia grabbed her phone and flipped it open. It didn’t light up. “Oh no, I meant to charge it. Honestly, that vacation messed with my brain.” She plugged in her phone and left it to charge.
Feeling flustered and impatient, Olivia hurried out of her apartment and down the stairs. She unlocked the foyer door, stepped out, and dropped her keys. Okay, Livie, take a deep breath like your mother taught you. Olivia knew why she felt so agitated. She didn’t have a firm plan in mind for the coming confrontation with suspects. She wasn’t even sure they were the right suspects. Whoever attacked Greta could be long gone by now. Well, she’d just have to wing it. And she wouldn’t be alone; she had help. After one more deep breath, Olivia left The Gingerbread House, proud that she had remembered to lock the front door.
Olivia walked through the well-shaded park, feeling more focused as she approached Pete’s Diner. No, she wasn’t Miss Marple, but she knew she was a good observer of people . . . not as good as her mother, but still pretty good. Olivia began to understand that her curiosity about Greta’s fate was tempered by a lack of enthusiasm for the woman herself. Greta hadn’t been a likable person. She had used people, hurt those who were foolish enough to love her, and possibly killed a husband or two. Greta had been a cold, cruel, entirely self-obsessed woman. She had created what was almost certainly a collection of fake antique cookie cutters, which she’d intended to sell to eager fools. Olivia and Maddie were among those Greta had duped; she had set them up to take the blame if her cookie cutter scheme failed.
Despite her reservations about Greta, Olivia entered Pete’s Diner feeling clear about her mission. Someone had triggered the chain of medical events that led to Greta’s death. That same someone had left Greta to die. Olivia couldn’t look the other way.
At six-thirty a.m., Pete’s Diner was filling fast. Most of Pete’s early morning customers wanted to enjoy their breakfasts before trudging off to work. Olivia saw Olaf Jakobson and Desirée Kirkwood occupying a booth against the wall, where they read the newspaper in silence as they waited for their meals to arrive. Perhaps the relationship wasn’t going well. Wealthy as he was, Olaf hadn’t been successful with women, at least not for long. He always failed the charm test, and he didn’t seem to notice or care.
Pete’s oldest and most acerbic waitress, Ida, appeared at Olivia’s table. “You’re up early, for a change.” Ida plunked a cup next to Olivia’s elbow and filled it halfway. “Plenty of room left for all that junk you put in your coffee.” To Olivia’s surprise, Ida pulled over an empty chair and sat down. “Saw you eyeing those two lovebirds, if that’s what they are. Hard to tell at the moment. Earlier they were gazing into each other’s eyes like a couple of soppy teenagers.”
“I’m curious about them,” Olivia said. She polluted her coffee with cream and sugar, as expected. Ida didn’t comment. “Ida, do you know anything about Desirée Kirkwood?”
Ida, an experienced gossip, did not look toward Desirée and Olaf’s booth. “She’s an odd one,” Ida said. “Looks to me like she got her hooks into Olaf, which most women couldn’t do. Right now, she doesn’t seem all that interested in him. I suppose that’s how she intends to string him along. She’s a pretty thing, I’ll give her that. Don’t know much about her, though. She’s not from around here. I’d know it if she was.”
“She dropped by The Gingerbread House the other day,” Olivia said.
Ida slapped her rarely used order pad on the table and clicked her pen. “Tell me what you want for breakfast. We can talk while I’m writing. Gives me a chance to get off my poor feet for a few minutes.”
Olivia always ordered the same breakfast: scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and toast. Ida knew that, of course, so Olivia suspected she wanted a gossip break. “I’ll have my usual,” Olivia said. “Have you heard Desirée say anything about where she came from or why she’s here in Chatterley Heights?”
“Nope,” Ida said. “Not a word. She doesn’t talk much.”
“She did mention to me that she was interested in Greta’s antique cookie cutters,” Olivia said. “Of course, I can’t sell them yet, but I was thinking of getting a few private bids . . . you know, in case Greta’s heirs, should she have any, want me to put them on the market.”
Ida stuffed her unused pen in her apron pocket. “Want me to drop a hint? From what I’ve heard, those two are the only folks I know who might be able to come up with enough cash to afford those cookie cutters. Olaf can, anyways, and he needs to give that girl a big gift soon, or she’ll be gone.”
“I guess you could mention that I’ll be back at the store after breakfast,” Olivia said. “Only wait until after I’ve finished my breakfast and left. I’d rather not talk about the cookie cutters in public, if you know what I mean.”
Ida nodded. “Most people gossip too much.”
“I’ll be in the store kitchen,” Olivia added, “so they could come through the alley to the back door, and I’ll let them in.”
“I’ll get your breakfast. More cream and sugar, too.” Ida frowned at the cream and sugar levels. Olivia felt an urge to point out that both levels had been low when she sat down, but she held her tongue. Ida was cooperating nicely, and Olivia didn’t want to spoil that.
While planning her strategy, Olivia munched through her eggs and bacon without tasting them. The early morning diners had begun to clear out and head for work, but Olaf and Desirée lingered over coffee and what looked like the Baltimore Sun. Neither spoke. When Ida offered to refill their coffee cups, they looked briefly at her, but not at each other. They looked like a bored married couple . . . until Desirée reached across the table and ran her index finger along Olaf’s hand. Olaf looked up and nearly smiled. The interchange was over so quickly that Olivia wondered if she’d imagined it.
Ida arrived at Olivia’s table and topped off her coffee. “I’ll be taking off soon, Ida,” Olivia said, “but I do have one question for you.”
Ida dropped wearily onto an empty chair and pushed a gray curl back under her hairnet. She was over seventy and looked every day of it, but she refused to stop working. “Things are slow right now. Ask away.”
The diner was quiet, so Olivia lowered her voice. “Remember a few days back, when Constance and I met here for breakfast? You stopped by our table as Constance was showing me a photo of Greta Oskarson. She
was in a ball gown.”
“She looked a lot younger, too,” Ida said with a snide grin.
“I remember what you said when you recognized her.” Olivia glanced over at Olaf and Desirée, who appeared engrossed in the newspaper. “You said she’d better not show her face around here again. What did you mean by that?”
Ida slid her chair closer to Olivia. “I knew a lot about that woman. We were about the same age, you know. We went to school together. Greta was trouble from the beginning. She had some sort of evil power over men, even in high school, and she used it to get what she wanted. The stories I could tell you . . . But all it takes is one story. Did you notice how much Olaf Jakobson hated Greta?”
“It was hard to miss,” Olivia said. “He had an argument with Greta at our cookie event in her honor. I know they were once engaged.”
An older couple came through the diner door and selected a table. “I’ll make this quick,” Ida said. “The second wave is about to begin. Anyway, Olaf says he broke it off with her, but Greta said she did the breaking off. Fact is, neither of them officially broke their engagement. Olaf gave Greta a big ring, they’d planned a huge wedding, and then . . . well, no one knows what really happened. Right before the wedding, Greta just up and left, ring and all. She took all the wedding gifts that had arrived, too. Said they belonged to the bride. I heard from a lot of folks that Greta never even thanked them for the gifts. She just walked off with them, like she deserved to keep them.” Three more customers entered Pete’s Diner and settled at a table by the window, which looked out on the town square. The elderly couple closed their menus and stared at Ida.
“Gotta go,” Ida said. “The natives are getting restless. I’ll pass along your message to Olaf once you’ve headed back to your store.” She shuffled toward the older couple to take their order.
Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) Page 25
