When the Cookie Crumbles (2 page)

Olivia laughed softly, appreciating the lightened mood. The mayor, however, was not amused. With an impatient shake of her honey blond hair, Karen turned to Binnie Sloan, editor of Chatterley Heights’s only newspaper,
The Weekly Chatter
. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to arrange publicity from any of the major DC or Baltimore newspapers, Binnie.”

Binnie answered with a derisive snort as she dug into one of the many pockets in her wrinkled cargo pants. Given her plump, squarish build, Binnie usually wore men’s clothing. She preferred styles with deep pockets, so she could carry enough equipment to be prepared for any journalistic opportunity, whether real or fabricated.

Olivia’s cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her tailored linen slacks. While Karen frowned at Binnie, Olivia sneaked a peek at her caller ID. It was a text from Del, Sheriff Del Jenkins. They hadn’t planned to get together later, but since it was a text, Olivia opened it and read, “Call me ASAP.” This was not a typical message from Olivia’s “special friend,” as her mother called him. Del was normally easygoing with a light sense of humor…except when his town or Olivia was in danger.

Karen Evanson’s commanding voice interrupted Olivia’s thoughts. “We all agreed, Olivia. No cell phones during our meetings. Please put it away and pay attention.” Another snicker from Binnie drew a glare from Karen. Olivia slipped her cell back into her pocket.

Before the mayor could repeat her demand for a publicity report, Binnie said, “I didn’t bother with the DC and Baltimore papers. They won’t be interested in our little birthday party. At least, not unless something really juicy happens. I could put something on my blog, maybe hint that one of Chatterley Heights’s prominent officials is about to be arrested for fraud or—”

“As usual, I’ll have to complete your assigned tasks for you, Binnie. Now about the opening parade on Saturday morning…” Karen consulted a typed list. “I have determined the order in which notable Chatterley Heights citizens are to march in the parade. As mayor, I will lead. Following behind…”

Through the store’s front window, Olivia watched streetlamps flash on, creating a rectangle of light around the Chatterley Heights town square. Inside the park, one old-fashioned streetlamp illuminated the historic band shell. Olivia wished she were sitting in it, watching the surrounding shops go to bed for the night.

A rich, sweet fragrance wafted from the kitchen. Molasses. Olivia’s mind drifted, as it often did, toward cookies. A decorated gingerbread cookie might help alleviate her current frustration. Normally she loved being in the store, surrounded by cookie cutters, cookie cookbooks, and the colorful array of icing decorations, but if she had to hear one more heated disagreement about nothing…

Not that their task wasn’t important. Two hundred and fifty years of survival was something to be proud of, especially for a small town. Olivia was not above feeling a tingle of pride and excitement. Chatterley Heights, her home until she left for college, nestled between Baltimore and Washington, DC. The little town was steeped in history, some of it downright amusing. Certainly the antics of
their revered founder, Frederick P. Chatterley, made for some delicious stories. A number of town residents had recently discovered, through intensive research, that they were descended from Frederick P., though not strictly in a respectable way.

“Olivia? I hate to interrupt your reverie, but our task would go more smoothly if you would try to pay attention.” Mayor Karen Evanson raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows at Olivia.

“Everyone calls me Livie,” Olivia said before she could stop herself. If she’d been paying attention, she would have remembered that Mayor Evanson, as she preferred to be called, disapproved of informality. Nevertheless, perhaps in defiance, everyone in town called her Karen.

“You know my attitude toward nicknames,” Karen said with an impatient shake of her head. She made an exception only for Mr. Willard. A strand of shiny hair grazed her chin and fell obediently back into place. “It’s your turn to report on your events planning. We only have three days before the celebration begins, so I hope you’ve made progress.”

“The events are in place,” Olivia said. “Del and Cody will handle traffic during the parade, and—”

“That’s Sheriff Del Jenkins and Deputy Sheriff Cody Furlow,” Karen articulated into her recorder. “And?” she asked, turning to Olivia.

Suppressing a sigh, Olivia said, “And local businesses are lined up for the fete on Sunday.”

“The tours of Chatterley Mansion? Are they arranged?” Karen’s clipped tone conveyed impatience with her less-than-competent assistants.

“All arranged,” Olivia said. “As you know, Professor Latimer will lead the tour groups. He has a vast knowledge
of Chatterley Heights history, and he knew Harold and Sally Chatterley for many years before they died.” Olivia noticed that when she began to compliment Quill, Karen stopped recording.

“You really need to learn to be more efficient with your reports, Olivia. We don’t have time to waste.”

Olivia’s little rescue Yorkshire terrier, Spunky, was curled on the needlework seat of an antique chair facing the front window. He lifted his head and growled at the mayor’s sharp tone.

“Why you keep that dog in a place of business, I’ll never understand,” Karen said. “I’m not sure it’s even legal.”

“Oh, it is quite legal,” Mr. Willard said. “And Spunky is very popular with customers.”

Spunky slapped his fluffy tail on the chair seat and settled back to sleep.

Ignoring Karen’s criticism of her pet, Olivia consulted her brief notes on her committee assignment. “As you’ve probably noticed, Maddie is making fragrant and delicious progress on her gingerbread house replicas of the oldest and most important buildings in town.” Olivia’s best friend and business partner, Maddie Briggs, was known for her creative, exuberant cookie designs. “In fact, she is just finishing the last gingerbread house, the Chatterley Mansion. She’s also decorating cookies with indoor scenes to put inside the rooms. It’s all amazing.”

“I doubt they will hold up through the weekend,” the mayor said with a tight smile. “In my opinion, gingerbread houses are frivolous and potentially unsanitary.”

“Can the attitude, Karen,” said Binnie Sloan. “Folks love stuff like gingerbread houses. They’re great for publicity photos.”

Olivia would have appreciated Binnie’s support except
it wasn’t given in defense of The Gingerbread House or Maddie’s baking skills. Binnie was sniping at Karen for insisting
The Weekly Chatter
hew to higher journalistic standards than had been its practice. Binnie’s stories favored sensationalism over truth. Olivia, who had been stung more than once by what passed for reporting in
The Weekly Chatter
, had to agree with Karen.

The mayor’s flawless makeup couldn’t hide her flushed cheeks and tight jaw. She drew in a breath to speak, but before she could put Binnie in her place, Quill Latimer said, “Fascinated as I am by this weighty conversation, I must point out that I am teaching an evening class beginning”—he made a show of taking a pocket watch from his sweater vest pocket and springing open the lid—“beginning less than an hour from now. I have a twenty-minute drive, and I must stop at home to pick up my materials.”

“Perhaps you should have been more prepared,” Karen snapped.

Quill cocked one bushy eyebrow at Karen and said, “Perhaps you should beg the unpaid services of another PhD historian who happens to be an expert on the history of Chatterley Heights.”

Olivia wondered if she should move the heavy mixing bowls and rolling pins out of snatching distance. She relaxed when Mr. Willard cleared his throat, a sign he was about to speak. To her irritation, she felt her cell phone vibrate inside the pocket of her linen pants. She should have left it in the kitchen with Maddie. She decided to ignore it.

“I am eager to hear how your research is progressing, Quill,” Mr. Willard said with a sheepish grin. “Especially with respect to the possibility that our own Frederick P. Chatterley might have left a number of, shall we say, unacknowledged descendants?”

As the gathering responded with expressions ranging from amusement to disgust, Olivia’s cell vibrated yet again. This time she checked the caller ID. It was Del. His persistence gave Olivia a twinge of concern, but Karen was watching her. She’d call back as soon as the meeting ended.

Mr. Willard chuckled. “I realize it is perhaps unseemly of me to be so interested in our revered founder’s less-than-estimable pursuits, but nevertheless…” He shrugged his bony shoulders.

“It’s downright fascinating,” Binnie said. “I plan to do a whole spread on the old reprobate’s illegitimate descendants. How many have we got?” She retrieved her ever-present notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Okay, five so far. The latest is that kid who’s working with Lucas on the Chatterley Mansion, Matthew something. Don’t know the guy myself.”

“Matthew Fabrizio?” Olivia asked. “I didn’t realize his family lived in Chatterley Heights so far back. I met him when I was taking pictures of the Chatterley Mansion for Maddie’s gingerbread house design.”

“Yeah, Fabrizio, that’s it,” Binnie said, jotting the name down in her notebook. “So old Frederick must have knocked up some Italian chick back in seventeen-something-or-other.”

“That is incorrect,” Quill said. “There was no one of Italian descent living in Chatterley Heights until—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Binnie said, stuffing her notebook into a pocket. “I think I’ll interview the kid.”

Olivia barely knew Matthew Fabrizio, but she felt sorry for him.

“It is important to be precise,” Quill said in his lecturing voice. “Matthew Fabrizio is descended from Frederick through his mother, who belonged to an old Chatterley Heights family. And while intriguing, as Mr. Willard said,
this obsessive search for Frederick’s illegitimate offspring has no real significance. Harold and Sally Chatterley, knowing of Frederick’s proclivities, wisely foresaw this dilemma. Their will made it clear the family mansion was to pass to the town of Chatterley Heights if there were no more descendants born within wedlock to Chatterley parents.”

“That is correct,” Mr. Willard said.

“So if I may report my more important historical findings, I—”

An insistent generic ring tone from Karen’s cell phone interrupted Quill, who glared at the mayor. Without apology, Karen dug her cell phone out of a stuffed expanding file next to her chair. As Karen frowned at the caller ID, Olivia realized her own cell was vibrating once again. She slipped away from the group and escaped to the relative privacy of the store’s cookbook nook. Flipping the phone open, she found two voice mails and a text message, all from Del. The text read, “Call me. Now.”

Del answered at once. “Livie, you won’t believe this. You are about to have visitors. I tried to stall them by directing them to the mayor’s office, but sooner or later they will find out the celebration committee is meeting at your store.”

“Del, what are you—?”

“Hold on to your hat,” Del said. “It seems the Chatterley family has not died out, as we all assumed. Harold and Sally’s son, Paine Chatterley, is still alive.”

“You’re kidding!” Olivia lowered her voice. “But he didn’t show up for either Harold’s or Sally’s funeral.”

“Nonetheless,” Del said, “Paine is alive, and he has returned to Chatterley Heights. He and his wife Hermione are heading your way. They want the key to their mansion back.”

*    *    *

“T
his is outrageous!” Mayor Karen Evanson’s face reddened right down to her earlobes.

Paine Chatterley, a slight man with silver hair, eyed Karen with detached amusement. His plump wife, Hermione, stared at the mayor with frank curiosity.

“We will most certainly not give you our keys to the Chatterley Mansion,” Karen said. “You’ve presented no proof of your identity. You two are nothing more than scam artists. Do you honestly think we didn’t confirm Paine Chatterley’s death before taking possession of Chatterley Mansion?”

Paine Chatterley, if that’s who he was, gave Karen a faint smile, which conveyed a hint of superiority. “We have papers, of course,” Paine said. He selected several official-looking documents from his soft leather briefcase and handed them to Karen.

Karen’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she snatched the papers from Paine’s hand. She barely glanced at them. “You assured us he was deceased,” she said as she thrust the papers toward Mr. Willard. “I assume these are fake.”

Mr. Willard’s gaunt face turned ashen as he pored over the documents.

Maddie emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of decorated gingerbread cookies, cheerfully unaware of the unfolding drama. “Lucas called and told me we’d be receiving special visitors. I thought we could all do with some sustenance.” Maddie studied the Chatterleys, and they returned the interest with amusement. Olivia could understand why. Maddie had been baking and decorating for close to ten hours straight. Her curly red hair frothed around her head like cotton candy gone viral. Bits of
gingerbread dough and colored icing dotted her jeans and T-shirt, and she had flour on her nose.

“So you’re Paine Chatterley,” Maddie said. “I heard you were dead.”

Paine appeared charmed by Maddie’s bluntness. But then, Olivia suspected he was able to present himself in any way he wished. His emotional reactions must be under remarkable control, Olivia thought, if Karen’s brusque, mistrustful manner hadn’t phased him.

“I’m sure I shall shuffle off one day,” Paine said as he selected one of Maddie’s gingerbread cookies. “But not just yet.” His accent was faintly English, as one might expect given his story, relayed by Del, that he’d been living in and around western Europe since he left Chatterley Heights at about age twenty-five. “Meanwhile, it is lovely to be home. Hermione and I wish only for a quiet retirement. We were never blessed with children, so it means a great deal to us to regain a connection with my family.”

Olivia’s curiosity grew as she noted the physical differences between Paine and his wife. Paine was slender with fine chiseled features and straight silver hair combed back from his forehead. Hermione Chatterley, on the other hand, had broad shoulders and a plump figure with almost no waist. Her hair might once have been red and curly, like Maddie’s, but was now thin, white fluff.