When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “I see what you mean,” Olivia said. “It looks sloppy. Also, unless my twenty-twenty vision deceives me, it’s a sugar cookie. The cookies I brought on Wednesday were all gingerbread. We have plenty of sugar-cookie dough in the freezer, but I haven’t used any for at least two weeks.”

  “Nor have I,” Maddie said. “And that sloppy icing job certainly isn’t my work. Or yours.”

  “Thanks for the afterthought.” Olivia sat back in the roomy office chair. “You know, I just remembered…when was it? Thursday? The last week is a blur.”

  “You’re starting to sound like your mother,” Maddie said. “What did you remember?”

  Olivia laughed. “Ironically, it’s a comment Mom made in her dithery yet brilliant way. She was in the store to pick up emergency supplies for your baking team. I started to fuss about where all these supplies were going, and she mentioned something about the supplies disappearing from the community center kitchen. Did you notice that?”

  “No, but then I might not,” Maddie said. “I was in creative-genius mode. As long as I have my paints and my canvas, I’m in my own little art studio. I trust your mom on stuff like this, though. She was probably keeping an eye on the supplies, trying to make sure everything went smoothly. Hey, you don’t suppose…” Maddie hooked her foot around the leg of a metal chair and pulled it next to Olivia. “If Hermione Chatterley stole from some of the stores on the square, maybe she also took the baking supplies. She visited at least once while we were in the midst of maniacal baking. No one paid much attention to her.”

  Maddie’s attentiveness to Spunky had waned, so he crawled onto Olivia’s lap and curled into a ball. “Which might indicate,” Olivia said, “that Hermione baked that cookie. Maybe that’s why the kitchen was such a mess, because Hermione had to dig through the displays to find baking equipment. Although it doesn’t explain the dining room.” Olivia reached over Spunky’s snoozing body toward the keyboard. She opened Del’s second attachment, the photo of the Chatterley Mansion’s back parlor. “What do you think of this?” she asked. “Del didn’t have time to discuss what he was looking for in these photos; he just asked for a first impression.”

  “My first impression,” Maddie said, “is that somebody has no respect for antiques.” She pointed to the overturned chairs. “Those are genuine Victorian parlor chairs, although reupholstering their backs and seats lowered their value. Now one of them has a broken leg. And that poor little parlor table—also Victorian, ordered from Europe by one of the Chatterley ladies, can’t remember which one.” Maddie stroked the image on the screen, as if she were comforting it. “I might never be able to visit the Chatterley Mansion again.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Olivia said, “since that’s where I’m heading next. I was hoping you’d go along.”

  “Of course I’ll go,” Maddie said. “I refuse to wallow in grief.”

  “So brave,” Olivia murmured. “Now my first impression when I saw this photo was that it looked angry—or staged to indicate anger.”

  “So maybe someone broke in? Someone very angry with Paine? That sounds a lot like Matthew Fabrizio,” Maddie said. “Or maybe someone else set up the scene to make it look like Matthew had had an outburst of rage. If that’s the case, the perpetrator could be anyone who knew how much Matthew wanted to insinuate himself into the Chatterley clan. Which could be just about anyone in Chatterley Heights, given Matthew’s penchant for high drama.”

  Olivia stared at the image on the screen for several moments, trying to make sense of an idea that hovered in her mind. “There’s another explanation,” she said, “but it might be far-fetched. Several rooms in the mansion are in chaos, maybe for unrelated reasons. But what if someone has been tearing rooms apart looking for something? Maybe, and I’m just spinning ideas here, but maybe Paine Chatterley came back to town to get even with someone, to settle a score. If he threatened his victim with damning evidence of some sort…”

  Maddie leaped from her chair so quickly that Spunky jumped to his feet and wobbled on Olivia’s lap. She held his middle to steady him.

  “Remember when Paine and Hermione came to the store Tuesday evening? Paine made a point of hinting that he knew both Karen Evanson and Quill Latimer,” Maddie said, hoisting herself onto Rosemarie’s desk.

  “Yes,” Olivia said, “and I now know the story behind Paine’s relationship with Quill, at least according to Rosemarie.” She filled Maddie in on Rosemarie’s tale of having caught Paine cheating on a test.

  Maddie ran her fingers through her wild hair until the tangles defeated further progress. “So Quill has a reason to hate Paine, if Rosemarie is telling the whole story. Maybe Quill was cheating, too, and Rosemarie didn’t catch him. Maybe Paine and Quill were in cahoots, helping each other with test answers, but Paine fixed it so only Quill got blamed.” Maddie’s shoulders drooped. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Not if Rosemarie is sure Paine was the one who benefited.”

  “Maybe Quill had a guilty secret that Paine knew about,” Olivia said. “Otherwise, why would Quill take the blame without protest?”

  “You know,” Maddie said, “this might explain why Hermione has been stealing. If she and Paine came back here because they were broke, maybe Paine turned to blackmail to fatten the family wallet. Isn’t it the blackmailer who usually gets murdered? Come to think of it, I’ll bet Paine had something juicy on Karen, too.”

  “This is a whole lot of conjecture,” Olivia said.

  “Party pooper.” Maddie slid off the desk and began to shut down Rosemarie’s computer. “This is our cue to visit her ladyship, Hermione Chatterley. If the docs at Johns Hopkins are right—and really, what are the odds those guys would be wrong?—Hermione probably isn’t the one who’s been tearing up the mansion. Aunt Sadie has congestive heart failure, and she’d keel over if she started flinging furniture around. But I’m betting Hermione is involved, or at least she knows a lot more than she’s letting on.”

  As she watched the photo and email program disappear from the screen, Olivia said, “There is one other possible explanation for the condition of Chatterley Mansion. It’s a long shot but worth thinking about.”

  “Tell,” Maddie said. The sparkle in her eyes matched her emerald ring as it caught the overhead light.

  “What if someone, or more than one someone, believes the Chatterley cookie-cutter collection is more than fantasy. A whole collection has never been found, but from Aunt Sadie’s description, Paine’s parents might have unearthed a number of genuine pieces. Paine saw them, too.”

  “You’re thinking Paine was searching the mansion before he died? Maybe he had some reason to believe his parents hadn’t found all the cutters and sold them. Hermione had to be in on it, even if she couldn’t do much searching. But someone killed Paine, and it probably wasn’t Hermione.”

  “At least not alone,” Olivia said. “Unfortunately, if the motive involves the famed Chatterley cookie-cutter collection, the suspect list gets longer.”

  “It does indeed,” Maddie said. “One particular name comes to mind: Rosemarie York. She’s a cutter fanatic.”

  Holding Spunky, Olivia got up to check the corridor. “Empty,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Why didn’t I know about Rosemarie’s interest in cutters? And why wouldn’t she have visited The Gingerbread House more often?”

  “Because she’s only interested in truly antique cutters, and we mostly sell vintage ones. Not to denigrate vintage cutters, which I love with all my heart and soul.”

  “As do I. How come you know about Rosemarie’s passion?”

  “Two reasons,” Maddie said. “Shortly after you inherited Clarisse’s cookie-cutter collection, Rosemarie asked me if you were planning to sell any of the older pieces. She didn’t want to ask you because it might seem insensitive. I told her you were unlikely ever to part with those pieces. I might even have hinted you’d be buried with them, which, in retrospect—”

  “We do need to leave for Chatterley Mansion before win
ter arrives.”

  “The second reason is…” Maddie opened the bottom drawer of Rosemarie’s desk. “Take a gander at these. They ought to look familiar.”

  The drawer was stuffed with magazines, catalogs, and articles printed off the Internet, all relating to cookie cutters. Olivia picked up a copy of Early American Life magazine, featuring an article on the history of tin cookie cutters. “I have this,” she said. “It’s fascinating. And look at all the books from the Cookie Cutter Collectors Club. Oh, and I love this one.” Olivia picked up a dog-eared copy of 300 Years of Kitchen Collectibles by Linda Campbell Franklin.

  “The whole drawer is full of research materials on cookie cutters,” Maddie said. “I would never have guessed Rosemarie was so interested in antique cookie cutters. I mean, she never helped with the baking for the celebration, except for picking up supplies when we needed them. So here’s what I’m wondering: what if she’s really interested in the Chatterley collection? Matthew Fabrizio is her sister’s son, and he is descended from Frederick P. Chatterley. So Rosemarie is, too, right?”

  Olivia replaced the magazine on top of the stack of materials and closed the desk drawer. “Given all the materials Rosemarie has gathered, she’s been studying antique cookie cutters for some time. Her interest might have nothing to do with the Chatterley cutters.” Olivia absently stroked her thumb across her sleeping pup’s head. “I’m inclined to think the Chatterley collection is either a myth or was found and sold off long ago. That’s what Clarisse used to say. It’s hard to believe there’d be any hiding places left after all the renovation on the mansion.”

  Olivia’s cell vibrated, and she flipped it open. “Del, glad you called. I’m about to head over to the mansion.”

  “Livie, I wanted to let you know, we released Matthew Fabrizio. Thanks for the info from Rosemarie York. I questioned her and talked to some folks at the school. Her story checked out. I just finished questioning Quill Latimer. He admitted he was accused of cheating but insisted Paine was the real culprit.”

  “Does Quill have an alibi for Thursday night?” Olivia put one finger to her lips to warn Maddie not to squeal with excitement.

  “Until midnight,” Del said.

  “On a school night?”

  “He doesn’t teach on Fridays, so he got together with a couple of friends for an ‘intellectual discussion’ involving several bottles of wine. His companions confirmed he was sloshed when they left his house at midnight. Not a perfect alibi but better than Matthew’s, which is nonexistent. They both have motives, both had keys to the mansion, and both were under the influence.”

  “So no arrest, then?”

  “Not yet.”

  “There’s a murderer roaming the streets,” Olivia said. “Goodie. I’m heading over to the mansion now for my babysitting assignment. I’ll sneak into a closet and call at once if Hermione gives herself or anyone else away.”

  “There’s something odd about that woman,” Del said. “If she gives herself away, get out fast.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Struggling to catch her breath, Hermione Chatterley opened the heavy front door of Chatterley Mansion after five rings. “Oh how…how lovely,” Hermione said when she saw Olivia and Maddie on the front stoop. “And your little dog, too!”

  Maddie giggled at Hermione’s repetition of a line from The Wizard of Oz. Olivia tried to envision Hermione Chatterley as a wicked witch. The best image she could come up with was a plump version of the gingerbread house witch in the Brothers Grimm fairy tale, “Hansel and Gretel.”

  “Do come in and visit,” Hermione said, holding the door wide. “Oh, and you’ve brought cookies, how lovely. I’m so glad your friend has come, too. Maddie, is it? My memory isn’t what it once was, I’m afraid, but I do remember we met in The Gingerbread House. My poor Paine so enjoyed your cookies.” Hermione kept up her prattle as she led her guests down the hallway and into the front parlor.

  “I was just about to make tea,” Hermione said. “I’ll see if I can find a treat for the little one.” She gave Spunky a light pat on the head. Spunky perked his ears at the word “treat.”

  “We’d be delighted to help,” Olivia said as Hermione paused for several deep breaths.

  “Now you stay right here and make yourselves comfortable,” Hermione said. “I’ll put these cookies on a plate, and we can have a proper tea.” Her shoulders heaving, she plodded toward the kitchen. Olivia remembered her first visit, when Hermione’s gait had been brisk and lively. Either grief had weakened her condition or…“I wonder if she’s having as much trouble breathing as she seems to be,” Olivia murmured.

  Maddie jumped up and peeked into the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” Olivia said, louder than she’d intended.

  “It’s okay, she’s out of earshot,” Maddie said in a low voice. “Aren’t you planning to search the room or something? Come on, let’s get cracking.”

  “Honestly, I can’t take you anywhere.” Spunky yipped and leaped onto a velvet sofa. “Or you, either.” Olivia picked him up and stroked his head to quiet him. “Sit down, Maddie. When am I ever without some semblance of a plan?”

  “Hold that thought,” Maddie said. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the hallway.

  Olivia buried her face in her little Yorkie’s fur. “So much for planning.” She lifted her head and took a centering breath, the way her mother did when life threatened her inner peace. In a few seconds, Olivia came up with a reasonable explanation to give Hermione if she returned first. She’d say that Maddie needed the loo, information that didn’t invite follow-up questions.

  To Olivia’s relief, Maddie reappeared a few minutes later. “I wanted a peek into the back parlor, where Binnie took the photo Del sent us,” Maddie said.

  “But that’s right near—”

  “Yes, Livie, I know it’s near the kitchen, but that meant I could hear Hermione making tea. She kept huffing and puffing, by the way, so apparently that isn’t an act. Anyway, the back parlor door was closed, with crime scene tape hanging down one side. I figured the police finished with the room, or they wouldn’t have let Hermione stay in the mansion alone. I opened the door and slipped inside. The room still looks like it did in Binnie’s photo, at least as far as I can tell. Hermione hasn’t so much as picked up that sweet little Victorian parlor table, which I’m sure she could do without having a heart attack.”

  “I shouldn’t encourage you,” Olivia said, “but did you get a look at the dining room?”

  “Yeah, it’s still a mess, too. Plates and cups and shards all over the floor. Hermione has to walk through it to get to the kitchen. It’s weird…like she doesn’t care in the least that she’s surrounded by chaos.”

  The sound of rattling crockery halted their conversation. Olivia leaned close to Maddie’s ear and whispered, “I really do have a plan, of sorts. Follow my lead.” She plunked Spunky on Maddie’s lap and handed her the leash.

  Hermione entered the parlor carrying a tray laden with tiny sandwiches, store-bought gingersnaps, and a thin slice of turkey, in addition to a large pot of tea, three cups, cream, sugar, small plates, and napkins. The tray shook in her hands. “Here we are,” Hermione said. “A lovely tea for all four of us.”

  Olivia hopped up and reached for the tray. “Let me take that. You shouldn’t be carrying such a load.” As she’d guessed, the tray was quite heavy. She wondered how Hermione had managed to carry it, as well as pick her way through the mess in the dining room, without tripping.

  “Oh, nonsense,” Hermione said. “I’m certainly able to tote a tea tray. I took one of my little pills to help me breathe, and I’m right as rain. Now, I’ll be Mother, shall I?”

  As Hermione prepared tea and handed plates around, Olivia said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but it’s hard to lose a loved one. Maddie and I want you to know we’d be glad to help you in any way we can. The police left your things in such disarray.… Perhaps we could help you tidy up or pack everything a
way for when your own belongings arrive from England?”

  “So kind,” Hermione murmured into her teacup. “You have such busy young lives with that sweet little store to take care of. I’m sure I can manage.” Hermione’s teacup clattered as she placed it on its saucer. “Where are my manners,” she said, smiling at Spunky. “You haven’t had your treat, little one.” She put the plate of shaved turkey on the rug near her feet, and Spunky lunged for it. “There is one thing you could do for me,” Hermione said. “Would you tell me if the police are certain they’ve identified the awful person who made me a widow? I did rather like that young man—Matthew, as I recall—though he upset Paine terribly by bringing up poor old Frederick’s shocking behavior.”

  “I don’t think they are certain,” Olivia said. “I believe they are looking at other suspects as well.”

  “Oh my, that’s so unlikely, isn’t it? It must be that young man. He has such a temper; he quite terrified me. We’ve only been here a few days, hardly time enough for so many suspects to pop up out of nowhere.”

  “That makes the situation…difficult.” Olivia took a long sip of tea, allowing the silence to grow. She put down her cup and said, “You see, when there are no other suspects, the police turn their attention to family members.”

  “Well, there you are, then,” Hermione said. “That boy claimed to be a Chatterley, though really, when one comes from the wrong side of the sheets, one is expected to keep quiet about it.”

  “Livie, haven’t there been others in town who’ve discovered they’re related to Frederick P.?” Maddie asked. “What about them?”

  “I think they all had alibis.” Olivia had no idea if this was true. “I did hear a rumor that Matthew Fabrizio was being released for lack of evidence.”