When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “Olivia, I’m so glad to find you here,” Hermione said. “I was feeling rather cooped up in the house and wanted a walk, so I thought I’d toddle on over to your charming little store. I’ll wander around a bit, if I may. I don’t want to be in the way.” She stood aside as two women entered the store, chattering to each other.

  Since Bertha was busy ringing up purchases, Olivia helped the two women find a set of football-themed cookie cutters from among the displays in the cookbook nook. When she returned to the main sales floor, Hermione had gravitated to the sturdy, glass cabinet that housed, under lock and key, the more valuable vintage cookie cutters.

  “Are you interested in antiques?” Olivia asked when she joined Hermione.

  “Dear Paine is rather fond of antiques,” Hermione said. “I prefer new things myself. So much sturdier. Paine has a birthday coming up in a month, and I’m looking for something he might enjoy. Cookie cutters do seem an odd gift for a man, but if you have one that is especially valuable…”

  “Cookie cutters tend not to be the most valuable of antiques,” Olivia said, “at least not in monetary terms, though some are pricier because they are rare. The truly valuable antique cutters are mostly in museums or private collections. I think many collectors are drawn to the sense of human history attached to cutters—you know, the thought that generations of mothers and grandmothers used them to fashion beautiful cookies for their loved ones.” Olivia unlocked the cabinet and selected one of her favorite vintage cutters, an aluminum gingerbread man with a pointy head. “This cutter was sold in the 1950s and isn’t terribly unique. But I’m fond of the little guy because I can see how well loved he was. See the handle, where it’s nearly broken in the middle? Someone used this cutter over and over until the handle weakened from being pressed into the dough and lifted up. Vintage cookie cutters are often bent or even broken, but for many of us those little imperfections make them even more fascinating. We imagine the story behind every dent.”

  “How sweet.” Hermione had barely glanced at the cutter. “I do think Paine would be more appreciative of something with a bit more value. He had rather an unhappy childhood, you see. I doubt his mother ever made cookies for him. His family had a cook, of course; I believe she might have baked treats for him.”

  “I hope I’m not being rude,” Olivia said, “but I was wondering…why was it important to your husband to return to Chatterley Heights? I mean, if his childhood memories are painful, won’t he be unhappy here?”

  To Olivia’s surprise, Hermione giggled. “Oh, you don’t know dear Paine the way I do,” she said. “I do think he enjoys being miserable. Although”—Hermione’s gaze slid across the shelves of vintage cutters as if she were looking for one in particular—“now that you mention it, I’ve wondered if he wanted to come back here to, shall we say, settle some issues from his past.”

  Olivia thought of Paine’s odd comments to Karen Evanson and Quill Latimer. Was “settle some issues” a euphemism for exacting revenge? Only Quill had admitted to knowing Paine Chatterley before Tuesday evening, but he’d shrugged it off as casual. Karen had ignored Paine’s oblique reference to a prior meeting.

  “But never mind all that,” Hermione said. “Do you perhaps have a truly antique cookie cutter? Something at least a hundred and fifty years old? Perhaps a cookie cutter that one of Paine’s ancestors might have used? You see, sad as his memories are, he is frightfully proud of his heritage. Why, he can trace the Chatterleys back at least as far as written records exist, and even further from stories handed down through generations of Chatterleys. His grandfather told him that Sir Cedric Chatterley fought in the Crusades.”

  Olivia thought of the extensive cutter collection she’d inherited from her friend and mentor, Clarisse Chamberlain. Clarisse had managed to obtain a number of tin cookie cutters that were one hundred or more years old. She’d amassed an enviable collection of cookie molds, precursors to cutters, that had been brought to the colonies by German immigrants. Those molds and cookie cutters were valuable in every sense of the term, but Olivia had no intention of selling them. Someday, when she was ready to let go of them, Olivia planned to donate them to museums.

  Gesturing toward the glass display case, Olivia said, “I’m afraid these vintage cutters go back only sixty or, at the most, seventy years. Occasionally we come across an older piece; I could keep an eye out for one, if you’d like.”

  “That would be nice,” Hermione said, but her attention had already wandered toward the view of the town square through the front window.

  Olivia was grateful when Bertha called to her from the sales counter that Maddie was on the phone and needed to talk to her. The interchange with Hermione had left Olivia feeling uncomfortable, though she couldn’t pinpoint the reason. She felt as if there’d been two conversations going at the same time, and she’d been privy to only one of them.

  Answering the call from the kitchen phone, Olivia said, “Hey, Maddie, how come you didn’t call my cell? I have it in my pocket on vibrate, as usual.”

  “My reasons will become clear in a moment,” Maddie said, “but it will take a bit of explanation, so don’t get impatient with me, okay?”

  “When am I impatient with you? Don’t answer that. Tell me what’s up.”

  “I’m in Rosemarie’s office at the community center,” Maddie said. “First, act normal, okay? Is Hermione Chatterley in the store right now?”

  “I think so. Let me check.” Olivia peeked out the kitchen door. She saw no one in the main sales area.

  Bertha was helping two customers at the same time, so Olivia quickly checked the cookbook nook herself and found it empty. Back in the kitchen, she picked up the phone and said, “Looks like she’s gone. Why?”

  “Okay, here’s the scoop,” Maddie said. “My friend Lola is helping with the last-minute decorating here at the center, for which she took the afternoon off from her job at Lady Chatterley’s.” Lady Chatterley’s Clothing Boutique for Elegant Ladies drew wealthy customers from well beyond Chatterley Heights. “Lola is a manager,” Maddie said, “which is why she had to deal with this.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Don’t interrupt. I warned you this would be complicated. Your mom’s right, you need a yoga injection or something. Anyway, Hermione came into Lady Chatterley’s this morning and said she was looking for a nice dress. Lola said she tried on six or seven dresses. They were all in the seven- to eight-hundred-dollar range. Hermione picked one she liked and told Lola—told, not asked—to put it on her account. Well, Lola made it clear that Lady Chatterley’s did not do business that way. Hermione got all huffy and mentioned that the Chatterleys were nobility in England, so she was the real Lady Chatterley, and the store was using her name without permission.”

  “Wow.” It crossed Olivia’s mind that Hermione Chatterley was both gutsy and quick-witted. “How did Lola handle that zinger?”

  “Lola doesn’t rattle easily. She can do the raised-eyebrow thing, so I’m imagining she did that first. Then she explained that ‘Madame’ was welcome to charge her purchase with any major credit card accepted in the United States. Hermione said she never used such middle-class objects as credit cards. Back home in England, she said, she simply authorized her bank to pay the shopkeepers’ bills directly each month.”

  “So did Hermione walk out of Lady Chatterley’s with a dress or not?”

  “You’re getting impatient again,” Maddie said. “The answer is no, but there’s more in between. Trust me, you’ll want to know this. Lola decided to play along a bit, so she said the store might consider such an arrangement providing the bank in question dealt directly with U.S. banks. She got Hermione to rattle off the supposed name of her supposed bank. Lola said it would take a day or two. After Hermione left, Lola called her husband, who is, as it happens—”

  “A vice president at Chatterley Heights National Bank, I know,” Olivia said. When Maddie responded with silence, Olivia added, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I really am
hooked. What did Lola’s husband say about Hermione’s bank?”

  “That it doesn’t exist.”

  “I wonder why…” Olivia’s mind was popping with possible explanations for Hermione’s use of a false bank name.

  “Lola thinks she might be hiding her real identity,” Maddie said.

  “Except Paine seems to be the real Paine Chatterley.” Olivia thought back to the Chatterleys’ surprise appearance at the celebration committee meeting on Tuesday evening. “At least he seemed to recognize Karen and Quill. From their reactions, I’d say they both recognized him, too.”

  “Aunt Sadie definitely recognized him,” Maddie said, “and she isn’t easy to fool. She might use a walker, but her mind is as sharp as ever. Maybe Hermione has some sort of control over Paine?”

  “That thought crossed my mind after my first visit to them Wednesday morning.” Olivia glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. Interesting as this information was to her, she needed to get back to work. The Gingerbread House closed in an hour.

  “I know you’re checking the time,” Maddie said, “but there’s one more tidbit I want to tell you. Lola called around to a few of the other business owners, and guess what she discovered. Three more upscale stores also experienced the joy of a visit from Hermione, during which she bought nothing. After she left, all three owners noticed some expensive items were missing from their shelves. So we might want to schedule a thorough inventory once we get through the weekend festivities.”

  “Good idea.” After Olivia hung up, she thought about her impression that Hermione often seemed to be acting a role. Yes, she might be some nefarious and powerful criminal holding Paine Chatterley under her control. But maybe there was a simpler explanation. Maybe she and Paine were flat broke. Maybe they’d decided to use the last of their resources to come home because they had nowhere else to live.

  With only Thursday evening and Friday left to prepare for the weekend celebration, Maddie had practically moved into the Chatterley Heights Community Center kitchen. While she and numerous volunteers rushed to finish an ambitious number of gingerbread houses, all representing the town’s historic buildings, Olivia was left to close The Gingerbread House on her own. Not that she minded. She loved everything about the store, right down to the dirty dishes cluttering the kitchen.

  Once Olivia had finished tidying up and restocking the shelves, she dimmed the lights in the store and sat on the soft chair near the front window. She shifted the chair so she could see both the town square and the store’s main sales area. Since Spunky considered the chair and Olivia to be his property, he hopped onto her lap. He watched the action in the park, where volunteers hung banners and strung lights for the celebration, while Olivia soaked up the peacefulness of The Gingerbread House. The faint scent of cinnamon, cloves, and ginger hung in the air. Though it wasn’t yet dusk, the store’s ever-changing cookie-cutter mobiles twinkled as the low sun peeked into the room.

  Spunky jumped off Olivia’s lap and pattered to the front door. “Hang on a sec, kiddo,” Olivia said, as she retrieved his leash, a couple plastic bags, and her own sweater from a shelf behind the sales counter. As an afterthought, she slipped into the store kitchen, where she picked up an envelope containing the check she’d written to Sadie Briggs, profit from the sale of a dozen of her hand-embroidered aprons. She filled a Gingerbread House bag with half a dozen decorated cookies and rejoined Spunky. The impatient little Yorkie stood on his hind legs and pawed at the front door while Olivia tried to snap the leash on his collar. “Keep your fur on,” she said. “Honestly, you’d think I hadn’t walked you in a week.”

  Bothered by the noisy activity in the town square, Spunky wanted to head in another direction, but Olivia tucked him under her arm and headed south. “We’re off to see Aunt Sadie,” she said. Spunky did not object.

  At the southwest corner of the square, Olivia took a shortcut Maddie had taught her, through the grounds of the Chatterley Heights Library to Cherry Blossom Lane, the short, curvy street where Sadie Briggs lived. As she walked past the back door of the library, usually kept locked, she saw the head librarian, Heather Irwin, with Matthew Fabrizio. Olivia remembered hearing they were dating, which would explain the lingering kiss they were sharing. She picked up her pace and was almost off library property when Spunky decided to comment on the couple’s behavior. He disapproved with gusto. Heather and Matthew pulled apart and turned to stare. Olivia couldn’t help herself. She laughed. When it was clear that Heather and Matthew didn’t share her lighthearted reaction, Olivia waved and picked up her pace until she reached the entrance to Cherry Blossom Lane.

  “We’re almost there, Spunks,” Olivia said to her overexcited pet. As they followed the curvy road, Olivia felt a compulsion to look back at the library. Heather and Matthew were still there, too absorbed in each other to notice her curiosity. Matthew bent forward, his head in his hands, while Heather stroked his back in a soothing way. Olivia couldn’t be sure, but he appeared to be sobbing. Olivia spun around and walked briskly toward Sadie Briggs’s house. Whatever issue Heather and Matthew were hashing out, it wasn’t her business. Thank goodness.

  Olivia was delighted to see Sadie, whose infirmities often kept her housebound, sitting on her porch. Maddie looked more like her curvy, curly-haired aunt than her own mother, who had died, along with Maddie’s father, in an automobile accident over twenty years ago. Though not in the best of health, Aunt Sadie refused to give up what she referred to as her handwork. She could carry on a conversation and knit or embroider at the same time. Olivia often tripped when she tried to walk and talk at the same time.

  As Olivia neared the house, she saw that Aunt Sadie was talking with someone hidden behind the high latticework decorating the side of the porch. Aunt Sadie laughed and paused in her knitting to flap her hand at her guest. Olivia could almost hear her say, “Oh, you’re such a joker,” which she said to Maddie on a regular basis. Maybe Maddie was taking a break from her baking? She rarely felt the need for a break, but perhaps…Olivia rounded a curve in the road that gave her a full view of the porch. Sadie’s amusing guest wasn’t Maddie. It was Paine Chatterley.

  Aunt Sadie smiled and waved when she saw Olivia walk toward the porch. Paine turned toward her with a smile, which disappeared as he recognized her. His animation dissolved as well. Intrigued, Olivia placed a porch chair between Sadie and Paine, forming a semicircle. Plunking Spunky on her lap, she studied Paine’s patrician profile. Though he appeared distant, removed, Olivia noticed his jaw tighten as if he were uncomfortable.

  “Oh, you’ve brought your sweet little boy,” Aunt Sadie said, reaching out her arms. “May I hold him?” Spunky leaped to her lap, licked her face, and settled into a happy ball of fur. “I do miss having a pet,” Aunt Sadie said, “but I couldn’t take proper care of one.” She glanced toward the porch railing, where her walker stood within arm’s reach.

  “Spunky and I have brought you something, Aunt Sadie.” Since Olivia had grown up calling her Aunt Sadie, that’s who she would always be. “Your embroidered aprons are stunning,” Olivia said as she reached into her sweater pocket and withdrew a substantial check. She handed it over. “They’ve been quite a hit with our customers. I’ve raised the price, but they keep flying off their hangers.”

  Paine shifted in his seat. “I’d better toddle on home,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “Oh, no you don’t, Paine Chatterley,” Aunt Sadie said. Spunky’s ears perked up at her gently commanding tone. “You’ll stay right here and meet Olivia Greyson. Livie’s like part of my family, so you just put that shyness in your hip pocket and join in the conversation. If you’re going to live in Chatterley Heights, you need to be friendly. Now sit.”

  Paine sat. Olivia thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch. Aunt Sadie had that effect on most people.

  “Paine, I must tell you my exciting news. You never met my niece Maddie, but I brought her up from the age of ten, and she is so dear to me. Well, she is engaged to be m
arried. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Paine hesitated. It was only for a heartbeat, but Olivia noticed. She also noticed that Aunt Sadie left out the fact that Maddie hadn’t yet accepted Lucas’s proposal. If it were anyone else, Olivia would chalk it up to hopeful thinking, but not Aunt Sadie. Aunt Sadie was observant; she would have her reasons for assuming Maddie was inching closer to the alter.

  “I hope she will be happy,” Paine said quietly.

  Aunt Sadie studied Paine’s face, a worry wrinkle between her eyebrows.

  “How are you and Mrs. Chatterley settling in?” Olivia asked. “Are you managing without your belongings? When do you expect them to arrive?”

  Paine’s glance flicked toward Olivia for a moment. “Not for a week or two,” he said. “The house is tolerably well equipped, however, so we will be comfortable enough for now.” Paine had slipped back into the persona Olivia observed on Tuesday evening—distant and superior.

  “Livie,” Aunt Sadie said, “Paine has brought me the most lovely gift, all the way from England.” Aunt Sadie reached toward her side table and picked up a teacup and saucer decorated with a gray fleur-de-lis motif. Olivia loved all antiques but wasn’t an expert on china. It was a Spode design, no longer available, she knew that much. The silver rim of the cup was worn in one area. Olivia imagined a right-handed lady holding the cup to her lips in precisely that spot.

  The china rattled in Aunt Sadie’s hand. “My tremor is beginning to act up,” she said. “You’d better take it, Livie.”

  Olivia accepted the cup and saucer with both hands and lowered it to her lap. Inside she saw a small metal cookie cutter. She picked it up for a closer look. It was a teapot shape attached to a backing, made from several smaller pieces of tin soldered together. She turned the cutter over to look at the backing. By the porch light, Olivia could clearly see the outline of the teapot pressing through the tin from many years of hard use. This teapot cutter had passed through many generations of bakers before landing in a Spode teacup. And though she and Maddie had yet to check their inventory for missing items, Olivia knew the cutter had not come from The Gingerbread House.