Cookie Dough or Die (21 page)

Ignoring Tammy’s attempt at intervention, Edward kept his razor eyes aimed at Olivia. It was time, she decided, to take the offensive. In a nice way, of course.

“It seems to me,” Olivia said, “that if Clarisse had been slipping mentally, someone in the family would have noticed it before her death, not after. She taught me a great deal about business, and I can promise you that her mind was sharp and clear.” Before she could think better of it, she added, “However, I did notice that she seemed worried the last few days of her life. She certainly wasn’t failing intellectually, but something had upset her deeply. Any idea what it was?”

“Livie,” Hugh said, “I promise you, we had no idea Mother was upset. Perhaps we should have been more observant, but—”

“You seem to be the only one who thought Mother was upset,” Edward said.

“No,” Olivia said, “Bertha thought so, too.”

“What did I think?” Bertha pushed the kitchen door wide with her ample posterior to allow Mr. Willard to deliver a large platter holding a generous roast, surrounded by potatoes and carrots. Bertha followed him to the table, carrying a gravy boat and a loaf of bread.

“We were discussing Mother’s state of mind last week, before her accident.”

Trust Edward to be brutally blunt
, Olivia thought.

“Oh, let’s not talk about that,” Bertha said. “Not tonight.”

 

 

I
n deference to Bertha’s request, dinner conversation had been minimal and dull. The meal itself was superb and gave Olivia an unaccustomed longing to learn to cook. She could bake nearly anything, but the cooking of wholesome food had never interested her. Maybe she could take lessons. Or she could simply adopt Bertha.

Her taste buds might be delighted, but Olivia longed to probe for more information. At least she had observed some suggestive family dynamics, especially between Hugh and Edward Chamberlain. However, she needed more if she wanted to pin down the circumstances of Clarisse’s death.

After several glasses of wine and many compliments about her cooking, Bertha radiated content. “It’s time for dessert,” she announced. “No, no, I’ll bring it myself,” she said as Mr. Willard pushed back his chair to help her. “I worked on this all day yesterday, as a special tribute to Ms. Clarisse, so I expect you all to have at least one.”

Once Bertha was out of earshot, Tammy groaned and said, “I suppose I’ll have to eat one, but I won’t be able to fit into my new dresses.”

“A bite is all it will take to keep Bertha happy. She understands how small you are,” Hugh said, soothing but with an undercurrent of paternalism.

Bertha opened the kitchen door, once again by pushing with her backside. “Ta-da,” she warbled as she turned around. With a happy, loopy grin, she presented a large platter holding a precarious pyramid of decorated cookies.

Olivia was too stunned to speak. There was silence all around, interrupted once by a titter that sounded like Tammy’s voice. Mr. Willard frowned in the direction of the dining room ceiling, his thin fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the edge of the table.
He knows what happened to Sam Parnell
, Olivia thought,
but he wasn’t expecting this to happen
.

Across the table, Hugh tried to look composed and benign but couldn’t stop himself from shifting in his seat. Tammy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the cookies. She quickly dropped her head and began drawing light little circles on the tablecloth with one pink fingernail. Because everyone had faced toward the kitchen when Bertha emerged with dessert, Edward was behind Olivia. She couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t made a sound since Bertha’s arrival.

Bertha lowered the heavy platter to the table. “Now, I know this isn’t a traditional dessert, but Ms. Clarisse dearly loved her cookie cutters, so I borrowed a few. Not any of the valuable ones, of course. I found some recipes you must have given her, Livie. I used the one with the grated orange zest in the dough. Took me right back to my childhood, it did.”

It was very clear to Olivia that Bertha had heard nothing about Sam Parnell. On the other hand, she was sure that Hugh, Edward, and Tammy had, and the presence of the cookies made them distinctly uncomfortable. Whether they were squirming because the cookies had been made by the very cutters that now belonged to Olivia or because one of them was being reminded of what they had done to Sam, not to mention Clarisse, Olivia couldn’t be sure. But if one of the guests around the table—or two or even three of them—murdered Clarisse, she began to wonder if cookies and cookie cutters might be her best tools to catch a killer.

It was ten p.m. by the time Olivia returned from dinner at the Chamberlain home, and all she could think about was the soft, cool feel of her sheets as she slid into bed. There was Spunky, of course; he’d be whining to go out before she got her key in the lock. However, if he wanted a run, he was out of luck.

Olivia unlocked the front door and found the light on in the foyer. Maddie must have forgotten to turn it off when she left. They’d have to repeat that little talk about the energy bill. As she reached for the light switch, she noticed the corner of a piece of paper sticking out under the door to The Gingerbread House. She knelt down and managed to claw out a four-by-six recipe card, with The Gingerbread House imprinted at the top and a color drawing of a gingerbread woman holding a large spoon. In the space provided for a recipe, a scrawled note read,
If this note is here, so am I. Come in & talk to me. M.

Maddie had an annoying habit of using recipe cards for everything, including notes to herself. She could go through a package in a week. Another waste of money. Then Olivia remembered: she didn’t have to worry quite so much about money anymore. What a strange feeling.

Maybe bed could wait a bit. Spunky, however, could not. Olivia heard whimpering and scratching before she was halfway up the stairs. She opened her apartment door and squatted down quickly to intercept Spunky before he could race downstairs. Holding the squirming dog against her hip, she grabbed the leash she kept near the door. She hooked it on Spunky’s collar and hurried back outside barely in time to avoid a puppy accident.

After Spunky finished his little tasks, he growled and strained at the leash.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Olivia said. “Unlike you, I haven’t been napping all evening. After what I’ve just been through, it would take a fire to get me to run with you.”

Spunky began to plead in his pathetic puppy way. As Olivia reached to pick him up, he peered toward a cluster of three arborvitae at the edge of Olivia’s property. His small body went rigid, ears perked up and nose quivering.

Olivia knew this stance. Spunky had heard a noise he didn’t like. Probably nothing more than a bold bunny. On the other hand . . . Olivia’s ears were not as acute as Spunky’s, but when she held her breath, she did hear something. A snapping sound, or maybe a click. Could be anything. Squirrels made all sorts of odd noises when they were defending their territory.

Spunky decided the threat warranted action. He yapped with the fierceness of a much larger creature and pulled at his leash so hard Olivia worried his little neck would snap. She grabbed the puppy around the middle and held his squirming body against her stomach while she fumbled with the front door, thanking providence that she’d chosen to live in a well-lit area of town.

Olivia got the door open and slipped inside. She flipped the dead bolt, turned around, and rested against the door to catch her breath. Spunky stopped yapping at once and wiggled to free himself from his mistress’s death grip.

The door to The Gingerbread House opened. “Don’t tell me,” Maddie’s ironic voice said. “The zombies are at the door, and you barely escaped.”

 

 

H
alf an hour and a hot cocoa later, Olivia had described her dining experience in detail to Maddie. For his valor in the face of danger, whether real or imagined, Spunky was allowed to stay with them in the store kitchen. He had spent the first twenty minutes sniffing every inch and attempting to taste the sugar canister, the floor, and the lemon soap at the sink. Finally, he flopped down on a towel Olivia had put out for him. In moments, he was out.

“Okay, my turn,” Maddie said. She gathered a stack of notes—written on blank recipe cards, of course—that she’d left on the small desk holding Olivia’s laptop. “My evening wasn’t as fraught with human drama as yours, but I found a few suggestive tidbits. I’m sure a private detective could ferret out a lot more. I found annual reports online fairly easily, which surprised me because Chamberlain Enterprises isn’t answerable to stockholders.”

“Clarisse was a stickler about being open and aboveboard,” Olivia said. “She always said that when the product has to do with health, trust is crucial. However, you won’t find any trade secrets in those reports.”

“Let’s hope trade secrets won’t be important in this instance,” Maddie said. “So first, this is a list of the businesses owned by the Chamberlain family. I’m sure they are familiar to you, but I never had occasion to learn what they all are.” She laid one recipe card in front of Olivia, who nodded as she read the list.

“Do you notice anything about that list?” Maddie asked.

Olivia read through it again and it came to her. “Most of them have something to do with health care. The family’s first company, and their biggest by far, is Chamberlain Medical Supplies. Clarisse told me that when Hugh and Edward reached their teen years, Martin started them out as stock boys in that company. They worked in the warehouse, they learned to fill orders, handle problems with customers, everything.”

Maddie snatched the list out of Olivia’s hand. “Even better,” she said, “the Chamberlains own a walk-in clinic in Chatterley Heights, plus several drugstores here and in various nearby towns, and a pharmacy clinic that delivers medications to shut-ins. Hugh and Edward would definitely know their poisons. They could easily have slipped Clarisse some sleeping pills in a higher dosage than her usual prescription, for example. Or injected some sort of tasteless poison into our cookies before leaving them for Sam. Or maybe they put something in the cookies that would interact with his insulin?”

Maddie paused in her usual dramatic fashion. “You haven’t yet heard my truly cool discovery, my coup d’état.”

“I think you mean pièce de résistance,” Olivia said. “Coup d’état means overthrow of the state.”

“Language nerd.” Maddie sorted through her recipecard notes, selected one, and held it to her chest. “Tell me, did you ever wonder how Tammy Deacons and Hugh Chamberlain first met? Hugh is five years older than we are, so he was a year out of high school before Tammy even started. Their families certainly ran in different circles, too.”

“I don’t remember Tammy mentioning to me how she met Hugh. It was after I left town, that’s all I know.”

Olivia reached for the recipe card, but Maddie twisted away.

“I will explain all,” Maddie said. “As you may be aware, Tammy attended a small college nobody ever heard of in the DC area, where she got her elementary school teaching degree. She spent summers back in Chatterley Heights, where she worked at Chamberlain Drugs. During the first summer, none other than Hugh Chamberlain was her supervisor. I expect he gave her some hands-on training.”

“That doesn’t mean she learned anything about drugs or poisons,” Olivia said. “She was probably a salesclerk.”

“But wait! There’s more!” Maddie’s emerald eyes sparkled, and her hair had twined into corkscrews.

“Speaking of medications,” Olivia said, “you might want to consider something for that incipient bipolar disorder.”

“You’re just jealous,” Maddie said. “Tammy Deacons wanted to stay in town, presumably because she’d met the love of her life, but she couldn’t find a teaching job right away. So she trained as a pharmacy assistant and kept working at Chamberlain Drugs. Ha! Now tell me she wouldn’t have learned anything about drugs.”

Olivia digested Maddie’s information and found herself growing more and more puzzled. “Maddie, this is a wonderful find, and I take back every snide comment I’ve said this evening, but really, how on earth did you dig up all this fairly personal background information in such a short time?”

Maddie gave her a sheepish look. “I confess to a lovehate relationship with Internet social networks. It occurred to me that Tammy might be on Facebook, so I checked, and she is. You wouldn’t believe the amount of personal information people reveal on those sites, and Tammy is not one to hold back.”

“Wait a minute,” Olivia said. “Only in an alternate universe would you and Tammy be Facebook friends. How did you gain access to her page?”

With a light laugh, which to Olivia sounded nervous, Maddie said, “Interesting story, actually. You’re right, never in a gadjillion years would Tammy ‘friend’ me, or me her. However, I figured she would have invited you, her dear childhood buddy, to be her friend.”