Cookie Dough or Die (9 page)

“I’ve known Tammy since kindergarten,” Olivia said. “She can be a handful at times, but I can’t believe she’d do anything outrageous enough to alienate Clarisse. I know Clarisse wanted grandchildren, and Tammy desperately wants children, dozens of them. She teaches first grade; what could be better training?”

Ellie frowned. “If I’d taught first grade, I might have thought twice about having my own kids.”

“Thanks so much.”

With a good-natured laugh, Ellie said, “I suspect Clarisse’s change of heart had more to do with the Jasmine situation.” She scooted her chair closer to the table and lowered her voice. “It didn’t turn out well.”

“Who the heck is Jasmine?”

“Oh my dear, you have been spending too much time working and not enough engaged in one of the guilty pleasures of small-town living—gossip.” Ellie’s eyes glittered. “You know, there’s often a grain of truth in gossip, if you know how to ferret it out.”

While Olivia nibbled on her brownie, Ellie began. “It started seven or eight years ago. This impossibly beautiful young woman named Jasmine Dubois appeared in town and was hired as a waitress right here at Pete’s Diner. She had jet black hair that hung down her back in those soft natural curls that other women pay good money for.”

“All except you,” Olivia said. She snatched a loose, gray ringlet that had escaped from the fuchsia scrunchy holding back her mother’s hair.

“You’d have curls, too, if only you’d let your hair grow out a bit. And would it kill you to wear a dress once in a—”

“Could we stay on topic, Mom?”

“I’m only saying . . . Oh all right, Jasmine. She was stunning and graceful, and the male population of Chatterley Heights swooned at her feet for about a week, until it became clear that she wasn’t easy and she was smarter than all of them put together. One day I was here having a late lunch—after my Pilates class, I think it was—anyway, a man came in and sat at the counter. Some guy traveling through, I didn’t recognize him, but it was clear right away that he wasn’t entirely sober. Well, he took one look at Jasmine and whistled. Jasmine got this tight look, like her teeth were clenched, but she politely asked for his order.”

“Let me guess,” Olivia said. “He ordered Jasmine.”

“Exactly, and he did not use his indoor voice. Aren’t you going to finish that brownie?” Ellie asked, her hand hovering within plucking distance.

Olivia shoved the plate across the table. “I’m aching to know how Jasmine handled this jerk, so feel free to talk with your mouth full.”

“Triple chocolate must be savored.” Ellie closed her eyes in ecstasy. Olivia was beginning to wonder if the story would ever reconnect with Clarisse and her changed attitude toward Tammy, but she had to admire her mother’s sense of dramatic timing.

Licking a crumb off her index finger, Ellie said, “I had a good view of Jasmine’s face. She looked straight at the guy, slowly arched one black eyebrow—she had these intense eyes, nearly black, and even I felt a chill go down my spine. But the idiot didn’t get it. I couldn’t see his face, but he sat up straighter, like he thought he’d scored. He reached around to his back pants pocket and pulled out a key on a plastic ring, like they still use at the old Nightshade Motel south of town. Why they don’t switch to key cards, I’ll never know, except the owners are so old I’m pretty sure they died years ago and came back as zombies—”

Olivia edged back her sweater sleeve and examined her watch.

“You’re just like your father,” Ellie said. “Anyway, the guy plunked the key on the counter in front of Jasmine. He said, loud enough for the whole diner to hear, ‘I’ll get the whiskey, you bring your tasty self.’ Well. Jasmine leaned toward him a bit, let him see a hint of cleavage while she picked up the key. She took his empty cup over to that big, old urn they use for the coffee. She put down his cup and lifted off the top of the urn, like she was checking to see if it was empty. I can still see the steam swirling into the air as Jasmine held the lid in one hand and dropped that hotel key right into the urn. I saw coffee splash up, so I knew it was full. Then she gave the guy the sweetest smile and said, “Oops.”

“Wow. Did she lose her job?”

“As you can imagine, that wretched man made quite a fuss, which brought out the cook and Pete—Pete was still alive back then. They were both big fellows. Pete had been a prizefighter, you know. The customer sputtered about how he’d done nothing, nothing at all, and Jasmine threw his motel key in the urn for no reason. The cook exchanged a glance with Pete, then turned around and went back to the kitchen. Pete was quiet for a bit. Finally, he said to Jasmine, ‘Guess you’d better make fresh coffee.’ He crossed those muscular arms and stared at the guy.”

“That was it?”

“That guy didn’t say another word. He backed away from the counter, tripped over a chair, and left.” Ellie captured the last morsel of Olivia’s brownie and downed it.

Their waitress, a tired woman who looked to be in her seventies, appeared at their table and retrieved the empty dessert plate. Without asking, she filled their coffee cups. “You girls want another brownie?” Her eyes strayed to a crumb on Ellie’s chin. “Maybe two?”

“No, thank you, Ida,” Ellie said. “Olivia is watching her figure.”

Ida’s gaze shifted to Olivia, looked her up and down, and shrugged.

After Ida shuffled off to the kitchen, Olivia said, “I gather you two know each other.”

“My goodness, yes,” Ellie said. “Ida used to babysit me when I was little.”

“I don’t remember her.”

“Her husband had a stroke in his forties. She took care of him for decades afterwards until he finally died a few years ago. Right after the funeral, she rented out her house, collected his life insurance, and went on cruises until her money ran out. That’s when she came home and went to work. She’s in my Wild Widows group.”

“Your
what
?”

“Yes, there really is such a group, and I am one of the founding members.”

“But you married again.”

“I’m still a widow, I know what it’s like, and you never forget the friends who stand by you when you are no longer part of a couple. Our mission is to demonstrate that life goes on and can even be great again, whether or not we remarry.” Ellie reached across the table and patted Olivia’s hand. “Divorced women could do with a group like ours.”

“Mother . . .”

“I’m only saying, it’s a fun group. We asked Clarisse to join several times, but she always refused. Politely, of course. Which brings us back to Clarisse and Jasmine.” Ellie pushed aside her half-drunk coffee and reached for her macramé bag. “You thought I’d gone off on a hopeless tangent, didn’t you? Unfortunately, my timing was off, so I’ll have to talk fast. My papermaking class starts in fifteen minutes. Jasmine was, as you can now see, an extraordinary young woman. She was secretive about her origins, but she had gifts and great charm, when she chose to use them. Clarisse thought she had promise and was delighted when both her sons became friends with her. Rumor has it she dated Hugh Chamberlain, at least for a while. By all accounts, Clarisse was thrilled. So much so, in fact, that when Jasmine began to date Lucas Ashford, Clarisse quashed the relationship. She told Lucas that Jasmine was out of his league and off limits.”

“I can’t believe—”

“Believe it,” Ellie said quietly. “Clarisse could be remarkably single-minded when it came to her family. When she decided Jasmine should marry Hugh, Tammy Deacons was, as they say, toast, and she never regained Clarisse’s approval. Even though I suspect Hugh genuinely loves her now. Jasmine and Hugh were off-again, on-again for a long time, until Jasmine packed up and left town. No one knew why. Maybe she simply felt it was time to move on.

“Anyway, gotta run, sweetie. The store is still closed on Mondays, right? Then here’s an idea: come to the house about eleven on Monday for brunch. I’ll cook all your favorites, and you can talk to Allan about Clarisse and the boys. He still has a fair amount of contact with Hugh and Edward, and he’s quite good at observing people. For a man, that is.”

Ellie slid off her chair, which was, like all furniture, too big for her tiny frame. She gave Olivia a quick kiss on the cheek and turned to leave. After a couple steps, she stopped with her back to Olivia. She tilted her head to the side, as if she’d thought of something.

“Mom?”

Ellie pivoted around. “It’s nothing really,” she said. “I remembered a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are Maddie and Lucas seeing each other? If it’s still hush-hush, you don’t have to tell me, but I noticed a few looks between them the other day, when I was in the store, and I’ve been hearing rumors that Maddie . . . well, that she fixed the cookie contest this morning so Lucas would win a private baking lesson with her. So I wondered. . . .”

“The answers are: yes, they are seeing each other, and no, it isn’t a secret, since they practically shouted it through the entire event this morning. And yes, I’m pretty sure Maddie fixed the contest. We will have a serious chat about that before the next event. Do please spread the word that it will never, ever happen again.”

“Of course, Livie dear, don’t give it another thought. Most folks seem to have found it more amusing than irritating. This time, anyway.” Ellie’s normally sunny features gathered into a small frown. “Lucas and Maddie,” she said, almost to herself. “That is interesting. I wonder. . . .”

“What, Mom, what do you wonder?” Remembering her own concerns about the relationship, Olivia felt a ping of anxiety.

At that moment, the call of a wood thrush announced four o’clock from the restaurant’s Audubon clock. “Now I really will be late,” Ellie said. She raced for the door on her small but well-exercised legs.

“Mom, wait, what did you mean about the relationship being ‘interesting’? What kind of interesting?”

“Don’t fuss, Livie,” Ellie called over her shoulder. “We’ll talk Monday morning.” The door snapped shut behind her.

When her cell phone rang, Olivia let it go to voice mail. She was running through what her mother had told her about Jasmine. The mysterious woman certainly had an effect on the Chamberlain family. And what about Lucas? Was he in love with Jasmine, too, and did he hate Clarisse for keeping them apart? Olivia needed to know more for Clarisse’s sake and for Maddie’s. One thing she was sure of, the upcoming lunch at Tammy’s was going to be interesting.

She was stretched out on her living room sofa with Spunky nestled on her stomach and the Animal Planet channel on mute. At eight o’clock on a Saturday evening, it was the best she could find, and Spunky seemed intrigued by a show about a golden retriever being taught to fetch a beer for his owner. Olivia believed such education should be encouraged.

The phone went silent for about twenty seconds, then began ringing again. She’d left it, along with her unopened mail, on a small table in the hallway, midway between the front door and the living room entrance. She let it go to voice mail a second time. Almost at once, it began ringing for the third time.

Olivia felt a twinge of apprehension. Maybe something had happened to her mother . . . or Jason or Allan. Maddie might be stranded somewhere, trying to reach her. She moved Spunky to the sofa and trotted toward the insistent sound. In her haste to answer before the call went to voice mail, she didn’t check her caller ID.

“Hello?”

There was a pause at the other end. Then a tentative, “Livie? I’m at the front door, but the doorbell doesn’t seem to work, and you never gave me your new phone number.”

“
Ryan?
What are you doing here? I mean, it’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night, why aren’t you in Baltimore?” What she meant was, why wasn’t her ex-husband out with the soon-to-be new Mrs. Dr. Ryan Nathaniel Jeffries? She’d heard at once from friends when, four months after their divorce, Ryan became engaged to a wealthy Baltimore socialite. Not that she cared, but given how hard he’d begged her to stay, he had certainly recovered in record time.

“Can’t I stop by when I’m passing through?” Ryan’s tone was a familiar blend of cajoling authoritarianism.

“It’s late, Ryan. I’m tired.”

“I remember when we used to sit up until two or three, watching old movies.”

“You sat up. I conked out on the sofa.” Olivia didn’t like her own tone, either. She sounded harsh, resentful, which was, she knew, a reaction to the sadness she still felt. She also knew that Ryan would not give up easily.

So Olivia decided to tell a small fib. “You really should have called ahead, Ryan. I have plans for this evening.” Falling asleep on the sofa with the TV on could be called a plan, couldn’t it?

“I thought you were tired. Do you have a big date or something?” He chuckled smugly, as if he’d just said the most preposterous thing in the world.

Olivia’s sadness evaporated in an instant. She knew what he was doing. If he could get her to feel defensive, to begin justifying herself, she might weaken enough to let him in. However, now she knew better. Maybe she saw through him more easily now—or he needed something from her. Perhaps he was the desperate one. Otherwise, why show up on her doorstep? She felt a twinge of curiosity but not enough to allow him into her home.