When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “That’s something,” Olivia said, “though I don’t see much evidence that she cares about the house.” Spunky complained as his mistress left his side to get paper and pen from the little Queen Anne desk under the front window. She settled back on the sofa and began to jot down notes. “Del wants me to spend some time with Hermione, and I want to know what to listen for.”

  Maddie divided the last of the coffee between their two cups. “You know, we’ve been concentrating solely on Hermione Chatterley, but what about Quill Latimer and Karen Evanson? I’d love to learn how Paine knew them and why they seemed to dislike him. They had keys to the mansion, too.”

  Olivia wrote down the two names. “I wonder if anyone on the celebration committee would know about Hermione’s heart and back problems. We need to find out if any of the others had past connections to Paine, good or bad.”

  “Ooh,” Maddie said, “wouldn’t it be nice if we found out that Binnie Sloan hated him? Maybe she was taking pictures of that back parlor to set up someone else as a suspect. Sounds like Binnie, doesn’t it?”

  “Now, now.”

  “Okay, fine, but you have to admit she’s a better suspect than Mr. Willard.”

  “I think we can safely leave Mr. Willard off the suspect list,” Olivia said.

  “Although he did screw up by not recognizing Paine’s death certificate as a forgery. I mean, I love the guy, but we should think about whether he gained anything by Paine’s death.”

  “I suppose so,” Olivia said without enthusiasm. “I think I’ll chat with him. His memory goes back a long way. I know he’s trying to track down information about Paine’s alleged death certificate; maybe he’ll turn up something interesting.…”

  “Speaking of information sources, we should start with your mom,” Maddie said.

  “My mom, like everyone else in Chatterley Heights, is completely booked for the weekend. Us, too, much of the time. I’ll work on Hermione, with Del’s blessing, but otherwise we really have no business doing more than speculating and listening to gossip.”

  “Luckily, we do both well,” Maddie said. “Now, while we devour the last two cookies, I shall relate a fascinating cookie-cutter story Aunt Sadie told me.”

  “A perfect way to end the evening.” Olivia offered the cookie plate to Maddie, who selected a gingerbread girl with teal pigtails, leaving Olivia a boy with tangerine locks.

  “He clashes with my hair,” Maddie explained. “So about the Chatterley cutters…”

  “If this is about the legendary cookie-cutter collection that Amelia Chatterley allegedly began in 1765 or so and that succeeding Chatterley wives allegedly added to until the alleged collection allegedly disappeared—”

  “Enough with the legalese,” Maddie said. “Of course you’ve heard of Amelia’s famed collection, and I’m here to tell you there’s no allegedly about it. You have to keep this to yourself, though, because Aunt Sadie told me in the strictest confidence…although the central character is deceased.”

  “Are you talking about Paine or Amelia?”

  “Aunt Sadie is heartbroken about Paine’s death. She’s been talking about him a lot. I think she’s wondering what in his life could have led to such an end. She really loved him as a little boy.”

  “I saw a different side of Paine yesterday evening when I walked to Aunt Sadie’s house to deliver her first payment for her apron sales,” Olivia said. “Paine was visiting. He was almost…”

  “Human?”

  “A different person,” Olivia said.

  “Maybe he always was different with Aunt Sadie. Anyway, suddenly I’m hearing all these stories from her about Paine and his parents and the mansion, which is how I learned about the cookie-cutter collection.” Maddie curled her legs underneath her and nestled Spunky on her lap. “When Paine was a young boy, he used to prattle to Aunt Sadie about everything that went on at the Chatterley Mansion. One day he arrived at her house all excited, with his pockets bulging. He said he’d found out a secret. He’d heard his folks talk about a treasure they were looking for, something they thought was hidden in the mansion. Sally, his mom, was excited because she’d found some pieces of the treasure. Paine heard her tell his father that she’d hidden them in an old, empty coal bin in the cellar. She wanted him to put them in their safe-deposit box right away.”

  “But if Paine’s father—”

  “Don’t interrupt, Livie. Aunt Sadie said that Harold was a Chatterley man through and through, which I’m guessing meant he had outside interests of the extramarital kind, and he must have thought that Sally was just trying to keep him home. Anyway, he blew her off and said he’d take a look when he got back from his ‘important meeting.’ Which gave Paine time to sneak downstairs and check the coal bin. And guess what he found.”

  “Um, cookie cutters?”

  “Cookie cutters. But not your average, run-of-the-mill cutters. Paine had stuffed two of them in his pockets to show Aunt Sadie. She knows her antique cutters, and she’d never seen any this old or rare. She still remembered exactly what they looked like, too. One was a rearing horse with a rider who looked like he might be carrying something on his back. Aunt Sadie wondered if it might be a quiver for arrows, but it could have been a sack of potatoes for all she could tell. That piece was signed, but Aunt Sadie couldn’t make out the name because the tin was so worn. The second cutter Paine showed her was a cat with its tail in the air. It was fairly crude and unsigned, Aunt Sadie said, and it was so worn it probably wouldn’t cut well anymore. She said Paine really liked animals when he was a kid.”

  “Hard to believe we’re talking about one person,” Olivia said. “He wasn’t thrilled to see Spunky with me when I visited the mansion Wednesday morning.” At the sound of his name, Spunky stirred in Maddie’s lap. Olivia reached toward him and softly stroked his ears.

  “Maybe Paine was an impostor?” Maddie said. “Except if he was, he sure fooled Aunt Sadie. Anyway, if those cutters were part of the Chatterley collection, I’m guessing Harold and Sally sold them off. That was back when vintage and antique cookie cutters were starting to become popular with serious collectors. And legend has it that Harold and Sally were inclined toward unrestrained spending. They probably needed the dough. So to speak.”

  Olivia made it a rule to ignore puns, even if perpetrated by a best friend since age ten. “Did you see the teapot cookie cutter Paine brought Aunt Sadie? It makes me wonder if the collection really was sold off. If there was a collection to begin with, which is yet unproven.”

  “Livie, you are so skeptical, so…so businesslike.”

  “We can’t all be creative geniuses,” Olivia said as she gathered up their empty plates and cups. “One of us has to balance the books.”

  “For which you have my fervent thanks.”

  Olivia swept some cookie crumbs off the coffee table and onto a plate. “What, for recognizing your artistic talent?”

  “Mostly for balancing the books,” Maddie said as she shifted a groggy Spunky off her lap and onto the sofa. “But, yeah, the genius thing, too.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost midnight, and tomorrow will be nonstop madness. It’s time we—” The phone in the kitchen began to ring, and Spunky’s head shot up.

  “That could be Del,” Olivia said, heading toward the kitchen. “He probably wants to touch base about my visit with Hermione Chatterley tomorrow.” Spunky leaped off the sofa and trotted behind. Before Olivia could reach the phone, her new answering machine kicked on. A woman’s voice said, “Livie? Are you there? It’s me, Heather Irwin. I—I’ve got to talk to you. I’m right outside, and I can see your light on…though maybe you leave it on all night, I suppose. But if you’re up, please, could I talk to you? It can’t wait till morning. I’m desperate. They’ve arrested Matthew for murder.”

  Olivia opened a bottle of merlot and gathered three glasses while Heather Irwin sobbed. She’d admitted she rarely drank alcohol, but Olivia decided she needed a calming beverage, and coffee wasn’t it. Hoping she and
Maddie could get some coherent details out of Heather before she got too relaxed, Olivia handed her only half a glass of merlot. Heather poured the wine down her throat. Then she coughed for a good minute. Olivia brought her a glass of water and exchanged a rueful glance with Maddie, who shrugged.

  The coughing fit interrupted Heather’s sobs, but she still looked miserable. Her straight brown hair hung in tangled strings, and her generous mouth quivered. She did not offer her glass for a wine refill, so Olivia left it empty. “Okay, Heather, fill us in. Are you quite sure that Matthew has been arrested for murder? Are you sure he wasn’t, perhaps, drunk? We all know that’s something of a problem for him.” Maybe she’d been too blunt, but Olivia hoped to get the story out as fast as possible.

  Heather’s round young face flushed with anger. Good, thought Olivia, better anger than more tears. “He isn’t…it isn’t as big a problem as everyone around here thinks,” Heather said. “I mean, Matthew drinks maybe a bit too much sometimes, but only when he’s really, really upset. He’s sensitive. It’s because he’s so artistic. He’s been adding the most wonderful Victorian gingerbread to the library exterior in honor of Chatterley Heights’s birthday, and…and now…”

  Sensing the return of storm clouds, Olivia poured Heather another half glass of merlot. When Heather ignored the glass, Olivia said, “Let’s start with who Matthew is supposed to have murdered. Did the sheriff tell you that, Heather?”

  “Paine Chatterley,” Heather said. “Only Matthew didn’t do it, I know he didn’t.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  Heather’s plump shoulders drooped. “No. I’d lie for him, only it wouldn’t work. Thursday night my horse, Raven, got sick. I stayed with him in the barn to keep an eye on him. He kept getting worse, so I called the vet around one a.m., and she came right out. Raven was really sick. He kept throwing—”

  “Those details are probably unnecessary,” Maddie said, pushing the wineglass toward Heather. “When did the vet leave?”

  “Not until about five thirty in the morning, when Raven was out of danger. And I stayed in the barn with Raven until it was time to leave for the library. Oh, Livie, can’t you talk to Sheriff Del? Try to get him to understand, Matthew would never do such a terrible thing.”

  Olivia sipped her own wine and recalled what she’d heard about the falling out between Matthew Fabrizio and Paine Chatterley. Matthew was, as Heather had indicated, a temperamental artist who had a reputation for drinking too much. Olivia had heard stories of his temper, especially when he’d been drinking. He was also, in Olivia’s estimation, a self-absorbed dreamer. But she had difficulty imagining Matthew as a cold-blooded killer. If Paine had been killed in a bar fight, then yes, she’d be able to envision Matthew as a viable suspect. From what little Del had told her, though, she knew Paine’s murder had required a cooler head than Matthew possessed.

  “All right,” Olivia said, “I’ll call Del and—”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, Livie.” Heather bolted from her chair and threw her arms around Olivia. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll stay right here to hear what the sheriff says.” She plunked back down and sipped her wine. “I don’t suppose you have a cookie?” she asked.

  “Heather, you didn’t let me finish. I’ll call Del in the morning, but I can’t promise anything. I’ll just try to find out what I can.”

  “No, you have to call now. Matthew can’t spend the whole night in jail. He’s so very—”

  “Sensitive,” Maddie said. “Yes, we get that. But it’s past one in the morning, and poor Del is surely in bed. Give the guy a break; he has to keep the peace nonstop all weekend while the hordes descend. The Chatterley Heights jail doesn’t keep prisoners chained to the wall. Matthew will be fine for the night. It’ll give him a good chance to sober up and get through the nasty hangover coming his way.”

  “But you don’t understand.…”

  “I do understand,” Maddie said, slipping an arm around Heather’s plump shoulders. “If it were Lucas in jail, I’d be just as upset as you are, and yeah, I’d be beating down Livie’s apartment door to get her help. And she’d tell me exactly what I’m telling you. Do not roust Del from a good night’s sleep. A cranky sheriff is an uncooperative sheriff. Let Livie handle this in her own calm, collected way, and it will go better.” Maddie pushed Heather in the direction of the apartment door. “I’m off home myself. I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  “My truck has a flat tire,” Heather said. “I didn’t want to take the time to change it, so I rode to town on Raven. He’s feeling himself again, and he needed the exercise.”

  “Then I’ll walk you to your horse,” Maddie said, turning to roll her eyes at Olivia. “Lord save us,” she muttered. Or at least that’s what Olivia thought she heard.

  Chapter Nine

  The sky barely hinted at dawn when Olivia descended the stairs to The Gingerbread House, Spunky under her arm. The little Yorkie would find himself banished upstairs to her apartment before the store opened to the public, but for now he could have the run of the sales area. Spunky still had trouble with chaotic days, which this was destined to be. Maybe someday soon, he’d settle down. But not yet. When the Chatterley Heights High School marching band passed by the store, attempting “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” Spunky would make a run for the distant hills. Even hearing the band from the quieter safety of Olivia’s upstairs apartment might tempt the little guy to think more fondly of the puppy mill. Or not, Olivia thought as she watched Spunky whiz around the store, sniffing every corner for threats to his domain.

  Olivia strolled around the dimly lit store, allowing the faint gingery scent to fill her with a warm sense of pleasure. Cookie cutters hung from every available hook and wire. She reached up and tapped a mobile as she passed. The metal flower shapes rippled and shone as if ruffled by a breeze in the moonlight.

  Olivia settled onto Spunky’s favorite chair, an antique with a carved straight back and a needlepoint padded seat. It was surprisingly comfortable and afforded her a view of the town square. Around the perimeter, old-fashioned lamps dotted the park with warm circles of light, revealing colorful banners swaying in the early morning breeze.

  Spunky finished his rounds and clicked across the sales floor to Olivia. He jumped onto her lap and stared through the window, where dawn was announcing its imminent arrival. “Well, Spunks, this is going to be one heck of a weekend,” Olivia said as she massaged his ears. “Trust me, you’ll be happier out of it.” The Yorkie’s ears perked at the sound of Olivia’s voice, then relaxed for a moment. When his small body stiffened, Olivia followed his gaze. In the early dawn light, she could make out a figure in a raincoat walking north on Park Street. It wasn’t surprising, even at such an early hour. Shopkeepers would want to get an early start before the weekend celebration began.

  As the figure neared, Olivia realized the walker was a woman. The woman most likely to be out patrolling on this particular morning was, of course, Karen Evanson. And she was heading right toward The Gingerbread House.

  “I suspect we’re about to get a visit from our forceful mayor,” Olivia told Spunky. “Mind your manners.” She wrapped her arm around Spunky’s middle, in case he didn’t obey her order.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later the outside doorbell rang with irritating insistence. Spunky yapped fiercely and squirmed to free himself of Olivia’s tight grip. “Hush, Spunky. Be civil. If she doesn’t behave herself, I promise to let you chase her off. Deal?” The frustrated pup complied with a grumbling growl. Olivia rewarded him with a quick ear scratch.

  Olivia unlocked the door to The Gingerbread House and reached for the dead bolt on the outside door just as the doorbell rang again…and kept ringing. She imagined Karen smashing the innocent button through the door. By the time she’d fumbled the lock open, holding her squirming dog, Olivia was not in the best of moods.

  “It isn’t necessary to be so—” Olivia’s objection died on her lips, along with her anger. The woman in her
doorway was not the demanding Karen Evanson. She was Rosemarie York, the normally easygoing administrator of the Chatterley Heights Community Center. Rosemarie’s red, swollen lids highlighted the green in her troubled hazel eyes.

  “Livie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be strident, but I have to talk to you. I don’t know where else to turn.”

  While Olivia stocked and decorated The Gingerbread House before opening time, Rosemarie followed along, clutching a mug of coffee to her chest as if it were keeping her heart from leaping out. “I raised Matthew from the age of four,” she said. “He’s my sister’s child. Annmarie married the father but left him before Matthew was born. She divorced him, refused to let him see the baby. She wouldn’t even take money from him. I thought she made the right decision.”

  Olivia hung a macramé banner from a wire above the front window and stepped back to make sure it was straight. Her mother had created the hanging using purple and silver metallic yarn. She’d added silver beads knotted into the pattern to form the year Frederick P. Chatterley first wandered into what later became the town of Chatterley Heights. According to dubious yet persistent legend, Frederick P. had become lost on the way home from his newest mistress’s abode. He later dumped the mistress but claimed the unsettled land for himself and his future dynasty.

  “Why did you think it was a good idea for your sister to raise Matthew alone without financial support from the father?” Olivia asked.

  “That man was bad news,” Rosemarie said. “He hit Annmarie when she told him she was pregnant. He really wanted Annmarie to get rid of the baby, and she was afraid he’d hit her again to make her miscarry. When she divorced him, he didn’t fight for shared custody, just took off. Annmarie couldn’t go to our parents; they were very religious and would have criticized her endlessly for divorcing her child’s father, never mind how abusive he was. So she came to me for help. I was thirty-three and married at the time.”