“Wow, those look great in here,” Maddie said, nodding with satisfaction at the plate of vegetable-shaped cookies.
“Nice shorts,” Olivia said, hoping to distract Maddie from the disappearance of the evil smirking eggplant. “Sure you’ll be cool enough?”
Maddie arched an eyebrow at her. “I see you are wearing one of your several pairs of gray slacks. Sure you’ll be warm enough?”
“You sound crabby.”
“You moved my cookie, didn’t you?” Maddie slid the eggplant from its hiding place and switched it with the apple cookie. Using both hands, she nestled the grinning vegetable back on top of the cookie pyramid. “I love this cookie. I think it’s one of my best efforts.” She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and took three pictures of the display. “This goes on our website,” she said.
“Over my dead—”
“Yoo-hoo, girls. I’m here.” It was the breathy voice of their part-time clerk, Bertha Binkman.
Maddie said, “Sorry, Livie, I forgot to tell you I called Bertha in for an extra day. I think we’ll need the help. We’re in the nook, Bertha.”
Bertha appeared, out of breath. Olivia was glad Bertha wasn’t wheezing nearly so much these days, since she had lost at least twenty pounds. She was still well-rounded, but her health had improved considerably. Bertha had been at loose ends when her longtime employer and dear friend, Clarisse Chamberlain, had died the previous spring. Too bereft to remain in the Chamberlain home, where she’d been given a home for life in Clarisse’s will, Bertha had used part of her inheritance to buy a small house in Chatterley Heights.
“Did you girls know there’s a small crowd gathering outside? Oh my, Maddie, don’t you look cute.” Bertha caught sight of the cookie arrangement. “Are those especially for the event? When Maddie called, she mentioned we’d be celebrating foods. My, my, aren’t they . . .” She caught sight of the blue confection on top. “Interesting.”
“It’s eight forty,” Maddie said, checking her cell. “Come on, Bertha. We still have work to do.” She headed for the main sales area, with Bertha following, her white eyebrows puckered in confusion.
Olivia stayed behind in the cookbook nook. As soon as she was alone, she snatched the cursed eggplant cookie, opened her mouth to its widest circumference, and aimed. With her first bite, she took out a third of the blue flesh plus most of the gruesome grinning mouth.
Olivia’s mother poked her head into the nook. “Hello, dear,” Ellie said. “Just thought I’d drop by.” She wore loose, silky blue pants and a long matching blouse tied at her waist with a midnight blue sash. With her long hair swinging in rhythm, she flowed into the cookbook nook like a gentle ocean wave. “You have a bit of blue icing on your lip,” she said.
“Mother, what on earth are you doing here?” Olivia asked as she wiped the telltale icing away from her mouth. “Don’t you have a class in mountain climbing or hang gliding or something?”
“Don’t be silly,” Ellie said. “I gave up such dangerous activities when I turned sixty. I am, however, considering a class in hip-hop dancing. It looks like such fun, and I think it would be excellent exercise.”
“Are you really my mother?”
Ellie smiled benignly at her daughter, who towered over her by eight inches. “One wonders at times.” She took a long look at the plate of cookies, now missing its eggplant. “I was afraid of this,” she said.
“How did you—?”
“Allan and I stopped for breakfast at the café this morning. We ran into Bertha and that sweet beau of hers, Mr. Willard. Though why everyone doesn’t simply call him Willard, I can’t grasp. He is quite approachable.”
“Mom, I really have to—”
“No, you don’t. Not yet,” Ellie said. “Trust me. When Allan and I ran into Bertha, she mentioned that Maddie had called her to The Gingerbread House to help with an event. Bertha said Maddie had described the event as ‘unique and challenging.’ Imagining those words coming from Maddie’s mouth gave me a flicker of apprehension. I left half a serving of eggs Benedict on my plate to come rushing over here.”
Olivia herself felt a shiver of foreboding. Her mother might seem vague at times, even to her family, but Ellie possessed an impressive ability to read people and situations. With trepidation, Olivia asked, “Do you suspect Maddie dreamed up this event with someone in mind? A certain someone who worships vegetables? Because I sure do, and I’ve been in the store since five o’clock this morning, trying desperately to think of a way to prevent a disaster. I’ve had one idea that might deflect some attention away from Charlene, but . . .” Olivia slid a candy-striped banana from the cookie pyramid and began to nibble. “I can’t understand it. Maddie has been acting like a completely different person lately.”
Olivia’s peripheral vision caught Bertha walking past the nook entrance, followed by Sam Parnell, their postal carrier. Since the store wasn’t yet open, Bertha must have offered him a cookie. Good. The faster the cookies disappear, the earlier the event will be over, Olivia thought.
“We’ll examine Maddie’s psyche later,” Ellie said. “Right now we’d better concentrate on damage control. This is Chatterley Heights. Charlene is bound to hear that her beliefs are being mocked. It’s no use hiding in here with your cookbooks, munching away at the evidence. Although . . .” She reached for an ear of fuchsia corn covered in yellow sugar sprinkles. “This looks diseased. I’d better do away with it.”
“I saw Maddie making these cookies yesterday,” Olivia said. “I should have known better. If she weren’t my lifelong friend . . .”
“Yes, and lovable despite her sometimes misguided impulses.”
“I know, I know,” Olivia said. “I don’t believe she really means any harm.”
“Maddie gets an idea and runs with it,” Ellie said. “Like the gingerbread man. And rather like that younger brother of yours.” She held a thoughtful index finger to her chin. Olivia noticed the nail was painted the same deep blue as the sash around her waist. “Perhaps we should revisit the question of Maddie’s psyche. You mentioned she hasn’t been herself lately. Do you think something is bothering her? I only ask because Jason tends to wind up like a top when anything goes awry in his world.”
“Now that you mention it, I have noticed it’s been a while since I heard the words ‘Lucas and I’ burst giddily from Maddie’s lips. When I’ve asked about their plans, she sounds distant. Maybe they’ve had a fight.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the problem.” Ellie polished off her corn cookie and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I believe I will give up my yoga class for once. I like Maddie, and I like Charlene, despite her unsettling sensitivities. I think I might be able to help calm the atmosphere.”
“Mother, you are the best.”
“Yes, dear. Now, tell me your plan to deflect your customers’ attention from Maddie’s exuberant creations.”
“Okay, first the simple part. I’ll announce early and often that the fruits and vegetables represent a harvest theme. I mean, it is August, so that should sound perfectly reasonable. However, I’m not taking any chances. I’ve also devised one of our special contests. Come over here, I’ll show you.” Olivia led her mother into the main part of the store. The bright summer sun shone through numerous leaded-glass windowpanes, imposing geometric shapes of shadow and light on the tables loaded with cookie cutter displays, baking gadgets, and plates piled with decorated cookies. Strings of cookie cutters festooned the circumference of the room, looping down from thin wire originally meant for hanging pictures. More cookie cutters, clustered into mobiles, tinkled in the light breeze from the new air conditioner.
The mobiles dipped low enough for customers to touch. Olivia stopped at one of them, a collection of bird shapes. Maddie and Bertha both scurried back and forth from the kitchen, preparing for the event, so Olivia lowered her voice. “We’ve had themed mobiles in the store since we opened,” she said, “but these are different. I created some new themes, and I
added one special cookie cutter to each mobile.” She cupped her hand under a cutter in the middle of the mobile. “Like this one. What do you think makes this different from the others?”
“Aren’t you always reminding me to pick up the pace?”
“Work with me, Mom. I need to know if this game will be intriguing and distracting or merely impossible and irritating.”
Ellie touched the cookie cutter, which at her diminutive height required her to lift up on tiptoe. “It’s unusual,” she said. “An antique, isn’t it?” When Olivia nodded, Ellie added, “It is made of tin, I believe, and in lovely condition.” She stepped back and inspected the entire mobile. “Well, it must be the only vintage cutter in the grouping, right? Is that the point of the contest?”
“Give me some credit, Mom. Yes, it’s the only vintage cutter, but there’s one more step. Tell me what the shape is.”
Ellie frowned up at the vintage cookie cutter. “It looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to the shape. I can name all the others, though. Chicken, cardinal, dove, turkey, and so on, but this one looks like a generic bird.”
“In the interests of time,” Olivia said, “I’ll give you a hint. Far back in the last millennium, when you were a youngster, there was an organization to which you belonged. I remember you telling me that you joined at the tender age of—”
“Six.” Ellie clapped her hands and bounced on her toes, as if she had reverted back to that age. “I know the answer now. That sweet cookie cutter is a bluebird, the symbol for little girls who were in training to become Camp Fire Girls. We were called the Blue Birds. Although I don’t believe that’s the name anymore, especially now that boys are allowed to join, which is only fair, of course, but it does change—”
“Do you think this might work?”
“What, dear?”
Olivia suppressed a sigh. “Okay, nutshell plan. I announce a contest to customers. They must identify the only vintage cookie cutter in each mobile and correctly name its shape. The customer who gets the most right wins one of the cutters, whichever he or she chooses.”
Ellie ran her finger along the hemmed edge of the bluebird cutter. “This is such a wonderful cookie cutter, so lovingly preserved. I assume it came from Clarisse’s collection? Are you sure you’d want to give it away? Now Livie, before you interrupt, yes, I’m certain this contest will be intriguing enough to keep many customers from wondering about the reason for so many oddly decorated vegetable cookies.”
“Thanks, Mom. And you’re right, all the vintage cutters come from Clarisse’s collection. I do hate to give up any of them, but I know Clarisse would understand. She loved this town. It would have broken her heart to see Maddie and me feuding with a fellow businesswoman.”
Ellie squeezed Olivia’s crossed arms. “You do realize that Charlene will still hear about this event.” As Ellie shook her head, a long spiral of hair slid over her shoulder. “Poor Charlene. She was always sensitive. Perhaps even oversensitive, though I dislike that term. It’s so judgmental, as if anyone could say how much sensitivity is too much.”
Olivia stared out the window at the view of the town square. It looked so peaceful. She remembered summer days when she would hide from the sun in the band shell, with its stone benches and small dance floor. She’d lived in Baltimore, but she had to return home before she understood that life in a small town wasn’t any simpler than it was in the city. Anger, jealousy, and resentment all flared as frequently in Chatterley Heights as they had in Baltimore. If anything, Olivia was finding it harder to escape here in her little hometown.
“Sweetie, don’t hunch up your shoulders like that,” Ellie said. “It isn’t good for your posture. I honestly think this is a brilliant contest idea. It will surely put everyone in a good mood and moderate the upsetting effect of Charlene’s reaction, which is likely to be dramatic.” She straightened her jacket and tightened the sash. “I see that I have my work cut out for me.” Her face lit with delight as she added, “I believe I made a pun—cookie cutters, my work cut out for . . .”
“I get it, Mom.” Olivia’s tone softened with hope. “Does this really mean you’ll stay to help me, um, handle the Charlene/Maddie situation?”
“Of course, Livie. It’s what I do best.”
Two hours into Maddie’s surprise event, The Gingerbread House held more customers than Olivia had ever seen on a Tuesday morning. Charlene Critch had not shown up, and Olivia had heard no mention of her from any customers. However, Olivia reminded herself, there were still plenty of hours left before closing time. Charlene could walk through the front door at any moment.
Olivia felt a tug on the back of her hair and heard her brother’s voice say, “Hey, Olive Oyl, great shindig.” Jason hoisted his tall, thin self onto a display ledge that jutted out from the wall. He narrowly missed a porcelain bowl brimming with handmade copper cookie cutters. Olivia grabbed the bowl and moved it to a high shelf.
“You break it, you buy it,” she said in her elder sister voice.
“Uh huh. Hey, Charlie, over here!” Jason yelled, waving his arm. “Charlie’s here,” he said.
“I gathered that.”
“This is my day off from the garage,” Jason said. “Charlie’s been working since six thirty, so he gets an early lunch. We heard about Maddie’s cool cookies, and we thought, hey, why not. Boy, are we hungry.”
“So . . . you two are meeting here for a cookie before lunch?”
“Guess again,” Jason said. “I mean, think about it, Sis. These aren’t just cookies; they are fruit and vegetable cookies, something we hardworking guys need lots and lots of, right?”
Olivia glanced around at the dwindling supply of cookies and the many hands reaching for more. Maybe they really might run out of cookies early, before Charlene had a chance to show up.
“By the way, great contest idea,” Jason said. “I already picked out the cookie cutter I want when I win.”
Olivia arched her eyebrows at him. “You? A cookie cutter?”
Jason lowered his voice and leaned toward her ear. “Not just any cookie cutter, Liv. It’s probably the closest I’ll get to a Duesenberg. I don’t expect you to know what—”
“Of course I know what a Dues—” More quietly, Olivia said, “I know what it is. Clarisse had it specially made for her husband, Martin, because he was restoring a 1930 Due—car he’d gotten cheaply. He loved that car.”
“Cool,” Jason said. “Which model? Never mind. See, I want that cutter thing to hang in the 1957 Ford Fairlane I’ve been working on. I found it rusting in a farmer’s field and told Struts. She made an offer on it; got it for practically nothing. But the best part is, she said if I find the parts and restore it on my own time, she’ll let me have it. Hey, here comes lunch.” Jason pointed toward the kitchen door, through which Maddie emerged, chewing on a piece of hay and carrying a large plate stacked high with decorated fruit and vegetable cookies. Charlie Critch stood nearby. He smiled at Maddie and said something. Maddie handed him the tray and waved her hand as if to say, “Put it anywhere.” When she disappeared back into the kitchen, Charlie flashed a broad grin across the room at Jason and lifted the cookie-laden plate above his head. Jason waved and slid off his perch. “Gotta get a picture of this,” he said, holding his cell phone above customers’ heads. “Later, Liv. Can’t wait till you hand over my prize.”
“What makes you think you’ll win the contest?”
Jason winked at her. “Maddie gave me a few little hints.”
Olivia decided that she and Maddie were due for another talk. Not that it would do any good. Maddie was Maddie, impulsive in her generosity, impulsive in . . . just about everything. Olivia began to wonder if moving back to Baltimore to work with Ryan wasn’t such a bad idea after all. However, her mood brightened as she watched her brother and Charlie Critch laugh together and stuff decorated cookies into their mouths. They both cared about Charlene. If it hadn’t occurred to either of them that Maddie’s cookies might be interpreted as a slap at
Charlene, maybe no one would make the connection.
An eruption of laughter distracted Olivia from visions of Charlene on the warpath. A group of women had clustered near a large mobile, which hung in front of the picture window looking out on the Chatterley Heights town square. Maddie had designed the mobile using a baby theme, and Olivia had added a copper cookie cutter shaped like an infant’s rattle. Clarisse had bought the cutter to celebrate the birth of her elder son. Heather Irwin, the young librarian at the Chatterley Heights Library, was touching the copper rattle as she spoke to her good friend, Gwen Tucker. Heather, normally shy, looked happy. Olivia had heard she had a new boyfriend, which might explain the color in her cheeks.
Gwen Tucker, along with her husband, Herbie, ran the Chatterley Paws no-kill animal shelter. At the moment, Gwen was pregnant, and she looked it. Fine-boned and about five feet tall, she was lugging eight months of healthy baby. Which reminded Olivia that she and Maddie had promised eight dozen decorated cookies for the baby shower Heather was organizing for Gwen on Wednesday evening. Maddie would have to pull off one of her frenzied baking miracles.
Olivia started at a light touch on the back of her shoulder, and a deep male voice said, “Livie? Could I talk to you for a minute?” She spun around and looked up several inches to Lucas Ashford’s handsome and worried face. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Lucas said. “I just . . . I know this is a really bad time, but . . .” He ran strong fingers through his dark hair and heaved a sigh that should have sounded manly, but the poor guy looked more like a tot who’d lost his puppy.
Over Lucas’s shoulder, Olivia saw Maddie push backward through the kitchen door, holding a large tray of cookies. She turned around and handed the tray off to Bertha. Maddie glanced around the crowded store with a pleased expression until her gaze landed on the back of Lucas’s head. Her smile melted into sadness, or so it seemed to Olivia. As Maddie spun around and vanished into the kitchen, Olivia said, “Yes, Lucas, let’s talk. Now is fine. Let’s see if we can find a spot in the cookbook nook.”
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