When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “When I opened the box,” Olivia said, “I found a note from Clarisse on top of the cutters.” She unfolded the note. Her breath caught in her throat. “Maddie, I can’t quite…would you read it?”

  Maddie took the note and skimmed it. With a wide-eyed glance at Olivia, Maddie read:

  Dearest Livie,

  You might not receive these cutters for many years, by which time I might be too dithery to have told you their history. These are the last of the Chatterley collection, secreted for decades throughout Chatterley Mansion. My friend, Sally Chatterley, sold them to me. She needed the money, so I did not drive a hard bargain. I intended to keep them for her or for her young son, but both of them have died.

  Sally told me she’d left one cutter, a teapot shape, in Paine’s childhood bedroom. She’d put the cutter inside an old Spode teapot and left it in a hiding place in Paine’s closet where he used to keep his little treasures. It was a gesture of love for the little boy who’d loved tea. I left it where it was.

  Olivia heard a quiet gasp and scanned the guests. Aunt Sadie was dabbing her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.

  Maddie continued:

  After you and I became friends, Livie, I determined you should have my cookie-cutter collection. Until then, I wished to keep the existence of the Chatterley cutters a secret. I am including this note to alert you to the value of these rather worn specimens. They are yours to do with as you wish. I know you will be kind to them.

  Love, Clarisse

  “I think Clarisse would be pleased to know I am donating the Chatterley cookie cutters to the town of Chatterley Heights. But first I wanted to share a few of them with all of you, my friends and family.”

  “Ooh, I did the cooking, so I get to help.” Maddie jumped up and stood next to Olivia.

  “I’ll need an expert to authenticate the cutters,” Olivia said, “but I think these are probably the oldest.” Olivia held up two cutters. “One is a rearing horse and its rider, who carries a quiver for arrows on his back. The second is a cow. They are made of hot-dipped tin, so they are heavier than most later cutters.”

  Maddie held one cutter in each hand, like an offering. “I’ll bet Amelia Chatterley brought these with her when she and Frederick P. came to the colonies.” She passed them on only when Olivia picked out three more.

  “And these,” Olivia said “are simple shapes—a heart, a star, and a bird. They are typical of early American cutters made from tin scraps.”

  “Okay, so probably from the 1800s, right?” Maddie examined the cutters one by one before relinquishing them. “A later Chatterley wife might have bought these from an itinerant tinsmith who appeared at her door. Very cool. Next?”

  “Next,” Olivia said, noticing a few drooping heads, “it’s time for bed. Most of us have to work in the morning.”

  “Olivia Greyson, you are such a—”

  “Poop head, I know,” Olivia said. “You can help me catalog all the antique cutters.”

  “Okay, I forgive you.” Maddie grabbed Lucas’s hand and pulled him toward the front door. “But you can do the dishes.”

  The other guests said their good-byes and filed out, leaving only Del. “I just got a text message that Quill is ready to make a full confession, so I’d better take off soon. Tell Maddie that she needs to turn in that old cookbook she took from the mansion. I believe that belongs to Chatterley Heights, too.”

  Olivia took Del’s hand. “So are you upset with me for butting in again? I should have been more careful around Quill.”

  “Agreed,” Del said. “Don’t do it again. Or at least think twice before you do.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “My heart nearly stopped when I realized how close I came to losing you. However, I will forgive you on one condition.” Del pulled Olivia to her feet and toward the front door.

  “Which is?”

  “Take me to Bon Vivant on Friday, seven p.m.” Del kissed the tip of her nose and stepped onto the porch.

  “Done,” Olivia said, following him down the front steps.

  Del checked his cell and sprinted toward his squad car. Olivia watched as he slid inside and slammed the door. Before starting the engine, Del rolled down his window. “And one more thing,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll expect to see you dressed as a tavern wench.”