Cookie Dough or Die (8 page)

Clarisse had been so much a part of The Gingerbread House’s creation, even before Maddie became half the team. Clarisse had prodded, advised, and cheered every step of the way. Olivia didn’t want to lose her love for The Gingerbread House the way she had for that lovely lake in Cape Cod. She knew she’d have to find out what really happened to Clarisse. Even if the truth came with a high price tag.

Meanwhile, Olivia badly needed a break, and Spunky would welcome a walk. He was willing to use puppy pads, but he hated being cooped up for long. With no customers claiming her attention, Olivia joined the small group surrounding Maddie as she announced the name of the customer who’d identified the most flower cookies. The contenders consisted of seven women and one man—Lucas Ashford.

“And the winner is . . .” Maddie made full use of her considerable theatric sensibility by pausing to meet the eyes of each contestant, stoking the delightful agony of anticipation.

Olivia had a bad feeling right before the winner’s name emerged from Maddie’s mouth. She wouldn’t, would she?

“Our own Lucas Ashford.”

She would.

After a moment of hesitation, the losers clapped politely, mostly because they knew and liked Lucas. However, they dispersed quickly, heads bending toward each other and shaking. The Heights Hardware might sell petunias and pansies in the spring, but Lucas didn’t garden and everyone knew it. Moreover, Lucas had followed Maddie around all day, hanging on her every outrageous word. She and Maddie were due for a private discussion about insider trading.

A few moments later, Maddie joined Olivia at the cash register. Frizzy red tendrils had escaped from the confection of curls she’d created for her role, but otherwise Maddie looked as if she’d awakened from a refreshing nap. Olivia found this irritating.

“Wow,” Maddie said. “Was that ever fun. We should have a contest for every event from now on.”

“And will Lucas win them all?”

“Huh?”

“We’ll talk,” Olivia said. “But right now, can you watch the store while I walk Spunky and grab some lunch?”

“Sure, no problem. Lucas thought he’d get some sandwiches from the café and bring them back here. So take all the time you want. Take a nap, even. You look peaked. Lucas and I can manage, even if it gets busy again. After all, he grew up with a cash register under his fingers. Better yet, take the rest of the afternoon for yourself; Lucas and I can close up.”

Olivia was certain she would grow to hate those three little words: Lucas and I.

Olivia had no intention of napping. Though it was past two p.m., and she had resisted Maddie’s flower cookies—even those little violets, the ones with the peach-colored icing and creamy orange dots—Olivia was too distracted to eat. She needed a walk.

Spunky greeted her with joy, barely standing still long enough for her to snap on his leash. If he’d been a bigger dog, she’d have gone down the stairs head first. She’d changed into her tennis shoes, so they ran through the grass in the town square until Spunky’s little legs finally tired out. Olivia carried him into the Victorian-era bandshell that marked the center of the square.

They settled on one of the benches that formed a semicircle around a small dance floor, which hadn’t been used for decades. Spunky presented his ears for scratching, then curled into a ball on her lap and fell asleep. Clouds had rolled in since morning, shrouding the dance floor in shadow. A burst of wind raised swirls of dust, as if dancing couples glided in time to a waltz. For a moment, Olivia was a young teenager on a hot summer day, reading a Regency romance in the cool shelter of the band shell’s curved ceiling. Before her father died and her marriage ended, before Clarisse . . .

Spunky stirred and whimpered in his sleep. “At least I’ve got you,” Olivia said, smoothing his long fur. “As long as you don’t take to the road again.”

A plan, that’s what she needed. A strategy. The thought gave Olivia a comforting sense of purpose. Her business plan for The Gingerbread House had provided the same feeling—that she was forging a path to her vision. Without it, she’d felt mired in anxiety and confusion about where to go next.

So, a plan it is.
As soon as she thought the words, all the hurdles in her way began to arrange themselves into a list of problems requesting solutions. She could almost see, waiting in the wings, a growing crowd of ideas vying for attention. Olivia knew from experience that most of those ideas would turn out to be useless, but the right ones would appear.

Olivia extracted her cell phone from her jacket pocket and punched in her mother’s home number. She wasn’t surprised to hear her mother’s chipper voice say, “Hi, this is Ellie. I’m out protesting at the moment, so leave a message. If I haven’t been arrested, I’ll get right back to you.”

“It’s me,” Olivia said. “Maddie’s minding the store, so I wondered if you had time for coffee or a late lunch this afternoon. I’ll try your cell, too, unless the cops have confiscated it again.”

At the sound of Olivia’s voice, Spunky’s head popped up, and he jumped off her lap. Hoping for another walk, he yapped and strained at his leash. Olivia pressed the button to lengthen the leash and managed to punch her mother’s cell number before her puppy tried to leap off the edge of the bandstand in pursuit of a squirrel.

Again, she left a message, crankier than the first. Didn’t her mother ever stay home, like a normal person? Olivia checked her watch; it was two thirty, so okay, she still had plenty of time to get started on her quest for information, but—

The opening notes of “Night Fever” announced a call on her cell. Maddie had been messing with her ring tone again.

Olivia managed, “Hi,” before her breathless mother said, “Livie, just finished my kung fu lesson, love to meet for lunch, meet me at Pete’s and order me a spinach salad if you get there first. I’ll order scallops for you, if I get there first. Give me ten minutes for a quick shower. I know you have a plan to discuss. I can hear it in your voice. Peace out.”

“What do you mean, you can hear it in my voice?” Olivia demanded of a dead connection.

 

 

“
E
xactly what did you mean, you could hear it in my voice?” Olivia had arrived breathless at Pete’s Diner, having delivered a tired Spunky back home. Her mother had already commandeered a table by the window and was sipping a cup of coffee.

Ellie Greyson-Meyer tried to look innocent, but Olivia saw the corners of her mother’s eyes crinkle in silent laughter as their food arrived. Olivia slid her mother’s plate out of reach. “No food until you explain.”

“Oh all right,” Ellie said. “Even when you were tiny, I could always tell when you were hatching a plan. I remember when you were learning to walk, you’d pull yourself up a table leg with this big triumphant grin on your pudgy little face. Then you’d let go and plop down on your behind. You did that over and over.”

“Tell me you didn’t stand around and laugh at me.”

“Now, now,” Ellie said. “I tried to help, but you wouldn’t let me. You were so determined to do it yourself. Finally, I watched you sit on the floor for a bit, frowning and apparently thinking deep thoughts. Then you faced down that table leg, pulled yourself right up, and walked two steps sideways, holding onto the edge of the tabletop. When your father got home, I told him we had spawned a brilliant little problem solver.” Smiling with motherly pride, Ellie snared one of Olivia’s scallops and popped it into her mouth.

“And after the two steps, what happened?” Olivia said, moving her plate out of snaring distance.

“You couldn’t figure out how to slide your hands along the tabletop without letting go, so you fell down. That’s when I laughed, and you burst into tears. But you kept on figuring things out. Once you’d learned to talk, I could tell by the tone in your voice when you were about to implement one of your action plans. Which brings us to the reason for this impromptu lunch, not that I don’t treasure every fleeting moment you can spare for me.” Ellie dipped a forkful of bacon and spinach into her side bowl of dressing.

“I need to catch up on Chatterley Heights happenings for the last dozen years or so,” Olivia said. “At least for the period I lived in Baltimore.”

A mouthful of salad prevented Ellie from speaking, but her forehead puckered in puzzlement.

“And yes, I guess you could call this a plan. Don’t try to talk me out of it, okay?”

“It would be pointless,” Ellie said, having swallowed. “Does this have anything to do with what happened to Clarisse Chamberlain? Because you knew her better than I did. Our circles rarely intersected, and even when they did, we usually had little to say to each other. What do you need to know?”

Olivia skewered a scallop and let the butter sauce drip back to the plate, breathing in the pungent aroma of garlic and lemon. On second thought, she sloshed the scallop through the sauce and ate it, butter and all. Some experiences were worth a clogged artery or two.

“I can’t accept the way Clarisse died,” Olivia said. “At least not without understanding what led up to it. All I know is she was upset when I saw her on Tuesday, and then suddenly, two and half days later, she has her accident. If it was an accident.”

“You think it might have been suicide?”

“Not that, either. Sheriff Del wants to call it an accident, but try as I might, I cannot imagine Clarisse Chamberlain so distracted that she wouldn’t notice she was taking too many sleeping pills and drinking a whole bottle of wine. It’s even more absurd to think she would purposely take her own life. But maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought. And I know very little about Hugh and Edward, only what Clarisse said about them.”

“You know,” Ellie said, “your stepfather might be able to fill you in on Clarisse’s history, at least as it pertains to business. He knew Martin Chamberlain well. They often got together to talk shop, right up until Martin’s death. He and Clarisse worked so closely together. It’s too bad their sons didn’t inherit the cooperation gene. Anyway, Allan might know if Clarisse was having business problems.”

“If she was having serious business problems, surely I’d have gotten some hint about it. Apparently she was in perfect health. If I’m as good at planning as you say, why do I feel so confused?”

Ellie pushed aside her empty plate and settled her elbows on the table. “I can think of several reasons, starting with shock and guilt. Now don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m still your mother; I occasionally have useful insights about my own progeny. You were quite fond of Clarisse. She seemed strong and vigorous, and you didn’t see her death coming. You’re in shock, you can’t understand how this could have happened, and you are upset with yourself because you should have seen the signs. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’d love to, but I’d be lying.”

“Okay, then. So good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Olivia signaled the waitress to their table and ordered a double chocolate brownie for dessert. “The biggest one you’ve got.” she said. “With chocolate frosting.”

“Just more coffee for me,” Ellie said. Once the waitress had left, she added, “Livie dear, I didn’t mean to drive you to triple chocolate.” She sounded contrite, though the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Mom, you’re good but not
that
good. It’s this whole situation. Sometimes I need endorphins, the gooey kind.”

“Understood. After your father died, I ate my way through a chocolate cake every four days.”

By the time her brownie arrived, Olivia had serious misgivings, but they didn’t stop her from digging in. With a second forkful of chocolate almost to her lips, she paused and asked, “Do you know Bertha, the Chamberlain’s housekeeper?”

“Of course, we’re in a knitting group together. Why?”

“She told me the strangest story. She said she’d heard Clarisse say that she wanted one of her sons to marry me. I barely know them.”

“Perhaps I’m biased,” Ellie said, “but I don’t find that strange at all. She was fond of you, respected you, so it’s only natural she would hope to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

“But according to Bertha, she also heard Clarisse say something about feeling she could trust me to handle some unspecified situation, but she could never trust Tammy to do so.”

“Ah,” Ellie said. “That is interesting. It brings to mind . . .” She began to stir her coffee in an absentminded way while her eyes wandered around the restaurant.

“Mother, are you aware that you aren’t speaking actual words?”

“Hmm?” Ellie dropped her spoon and it clattered against the side of her cup. “Oh, sorry, I was connecting several bits of information in my head. Tammy Deacons has been in love with Hugh Chamberlain for years, everyone knows that, but Clarisse was dead set against the union. The odd thing is that she didn’t always feel that way. When Tammy and Hugh first started dating—oh, it must have been about ten years ago, while you were still in college. Anyway, Bertha told me back then that Clarisse was glad Hugh was ready to settle down.”