When the Cookie Crumbles (30 page)

Three loud booms outside startled Olivia, and Rosemarie’s body twitched. It took her several moments to calm herself enough to continue.

“Quill would never have said anything to Paine about me, I’m sure of that. And since I’m no longer a young woman, I probably didn’t look familiar to Paine at first glance. Then I ran into him again outside the mansion, while Matthew was working on some trim. I’d brought him a sack lunch; he never remembers to eat. Paine was standing on the lawn with his back to me, inspecting Matthew’s progress on the window trim. Matthew saw me and smiled, so Paine turned around and saw me. I couldn’t just walk
away. I gave Matthew his lunch, said I didn’t want to interrupt his work, anything to get away fast, but…Paine kept staring at my face, and I could tell he’d recognized me. You see, when I was doing my student teaching, Paine…to be blunt, he tried to seduce me. He told me then that I had unforgettable eyes.” Rosemarie reached for the chairs. “He didn’t succeed, by the way, in seducing me.”

“Paine knew you were the one who tried to prove he’d been cheating?”

“Yes.” Rosemarie rubbed her thumb across the metal edge of a chair back, as if it comforted her. “He wanted revenge, I could see it in his eyes. That afternoon, Matthew came home with a bottle of whiskey. I could tell he’d already been drinking. He’d been sober for some time, so I knew something bad had happened. I grabbed the bottle away from him, and he started to cry. Finally, he told me.”

The frequent popping sounds outside suggested the fireworks were building toward a dramatic finish. The committee would begin to arrive soon after that, and then Karen, following her wrap-up speech.

This time, Rosemarie showed no reaction to the noise as she said, “Matthew had nearly finished all the Victorian gingerbread trim on the mansion, and he was really proud of it. Some of the window trim still needed paint, but he figured he could do that the next day. Paine had promised they would talk more about his Chatterley lineage and how he would help him prove that he really was descended from the same family. Matthew was too impatient to wait, so he cleaned his brushes and went to talk to Paine about his connection to the family. Hermione was there, too. Matthew said Paine turned cold. He said he had no idea what Matthew was talking about. He sneered at Matthew and thanked him for all of his free work.” Rosemarie’s hand tightened
into a fist. “After all he’s been through, Matthew was so hoping he could prove he was a Chatterley descendant. He thought Paine was sincere and wanted to help. I could have killed him myself,” she said in a harsh undertone. “I wish I had.” Her hand relaxed as her shoulders drooped. “But I didn’t. And neither did Matthew.” Rosemarie met Olivia’s eyes. “Are you going to tell the sheriff?”

“He’s bound to figure it out,” Olivia said. “But it would be better if you told him yourself, as soon as possible. And there’s always the chance that Del won’t believe you. If Paine didn’t actually acknowledge that he recognized you, Del might write off your story as an attempt to blame the victim.” Olivia didn’t add that Paine had treated Lucas the same way, refusing to allow Lucas to benefit from his donated materials and labor. She was afraid Rosemarie was desperate enough to throw suspicion toward Lucas. She knew Maddie could vouch for Lucas’s whereabouts the night of the murder, but there was no point in further complicating an already complex investigation.

A
long burst of fireworks signaled the official end of the Chatterley Heights Celebration Weekend. Within moments, the community center door burst open. Binnie Sloan lumbered in, camera at the ready. Binnie let go of the door and didn’t look back as it slammed against Professor Quill Latimer’s foot. Quill scowled at Binnie as if he wanted to throttle her. Instead, he held the door open for Mr. Willard, who smiled his thanks. Lucas entered last, looking tired. He brightened as he caught sight of Maddie, peeking out from between the gingerbread versions of Lady Chatterley’s Boutique and Frederick’s of Chatterley, the men’s clothing store. She blew him a kiss.

To Olivia’s surprise, the front door opened again, and her diminutive mother appeared. A thigh-length, slim-fitting sweater covered much of her sleeveless, be-tasseled flapper sheath. Not for the first time, Olivia regretted inheriting her father’s bone structure. Ellie saw her and waved. Maddie left Lucas’s side to greet Ellie, and Olivia joined them.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“Karen said the planning committee was meeting here,” Ellie said. “Such a delightful weekend, it’s hard to see it end, but then I am a bit of an extrovert.”

“A bit?”

“Oh, Livie, you sound so much like your father when you’re being sarcastic.”

Maddie snickered.

“Now I won’t interrupt your meeting,” Ellie said, “but I’m at loose ends with Allan busy driving the madrigal singers home, which could take hours since they all missed their buses, and they live in several different towns. I thought I’d enjoy a last look at the gingerbread houses and help Rosemarie clean up.”

“While you’re at it, Mom, maybe you could convince Karen to go easy on us. I’m afraid we’re in for an all-night critique session.”

“And keep Karen out of the kitchen,” Maddie added.

Ellie’s normally sunny expression clouded over. “I must have a chat with Karen, the sooner the better. Although I fear the damage has been done. Transparency is always best in these situations.”

“Mom? Are you having a private conversation, or could Maddie and I join in?”

Ellie didn’t respond.

Maddie touched Ellie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, I was thinking.…” Ellie pulled a hank of her long, wavy hair over her shoulder and began to braid it. Olivia recognized the gesture as her mother’s reaction to worry. She followed the direction of Ellie’s gaze. It led to the gingerbread village, where Binnie Sloan was trying to lift a cookie shingle off the Chatterley Mansion. Was her mother’s worry focused on Binnie or on the mansion? Or, Ellie being Ellie, was she thinking about something else entirely?

Ellie snapped back as Rosemarie approached. “I’ll go ask how I can be helpful,” Ellie said, tossing her half braid over her shoulder.

“I’ll go with you,” Maddie said.

Olivia shrugged off the interlude. Karen would arrive as soon as she had delivered her closing speech. Knowing Karen, the speech would go on for too long, but it might not be enough time for Olivia to learn what she hoped to learn. She scanned the room until she saw the wispy hair on top of Mr. Willard’s head behind the St. Francis/St. Alban’s gingerbread church. She hoped he was alone.

When Olivia sidled up next to Mr. Willard, he gave her a delighted smile. “Livie, I’ve barely caught sight of you since our last committee meeting. I hope your Gingerbread House booth was a lucrative undertaking.”

“Too lucrative,” Olivia said. “We ran out of cookies two hours early. Mr. Willard, I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about—” She heard murmuring voices nearby and realized she and Mr. Willard might be overheard if they stayed inside the gingerbread village. “I need to check on Spunky,” she said. “He’s afraid of fireworks, so I sedated him and brought him along. Would you come with me? I won’t take much of your time.”

“Take as much as you need,” Mr. Willard said, his thin
lips stretched in a sly grin. “Between you and me, I’d prefer to miss this final meeting. It promises to be uncomfortable.”

“No kidding.” To avoid walking back into the meeting area, Olivia led Mr. Willard to the end of the gingerbread village, where a door opened into the community center’s staff section. The corridor was empty, the lights on dim. Near the back entrance to the building, beyond Rosemarie’s isolated office, was a small storage room. As they passed Rosemarie’s office, Olivia glanced at the bottom of the closed door. No light showed through. She hoped Rosemarie would be too busy to take refuge in her office for at least fifteen minutes.

Maddie had left the storage room door unlocked so Olivia could check on Spunky whenever she wished. Olivia inched the door open in case Spunky was awake and eager to escape. When no furry little snout tried to force the opening, she reached inside and flipped on the light. Even the sudden glare did not awaken Spunky. Olivia’s heart began to thump against her chest. She slipped inside the room, followed by Mr. Willard, who closed the door behind them.

“Is the little lad all right?” Mr. Willard asked.

Spunky lay still on his blanket in a corner of the room. Olivia kneeled next to him and reached out to touch him. He felt warm, and he stirred beneath her hand. “He’s okay,” Olivia whispered, “but I’m worried about how deeply he is sleeping. I’ll ask Maddie to check on him.” Olivia settled cross-legged on the floor. Sliding her hands underneath Spunky’s blanket, she lifted him and his makeshift bed onto her lap. “Sorry, this isn’t very comfortable, but I’ll keep it short.”

Mr. Willard found a short step stool and placed it across
from Olivia. When he sat on the top step, Olivia suppressed a giggle as his bony knees lifted almost to his shoulders. “You’re a good sport,” she said, “as well as a first-rate attorney.”

“That is kind of you, but I’m not so sure about the latter. I made a dreadful error in declaring Paine Chatterley deceased. However, spilt milk and so on. You have questions for me? As you know, I cannot divulge certain information about any of my clients, but I have a feeling your interest does not extend to my current clients. I have not represented the Chatterley family since the death of Paine’s parents.”

Olivia gently rubbed Spunky’s ears, hoping it would comfort him even in deep sleep. “My questions are more historical than legal,” she said. “I know the Chatterley family was wealthy at one time. Do you know if any of their fortune remained when Paine was born?”

“Ah. I’m afraid I was regrettably uninformed about their financial situation. They relied on an accountant who is now deceased. I did have the impression that Harold Chatterley was inclined toward unreliable investments, as a result of which their financial state fluctuated a great deal. Clarisse could have told you more; she and Sally were great friends.”

Olivia still missed her friend, Clarisse Chamberlain, and their almost daily talks about everything from family to business to cookie cutters. She felt a renewed sense of loss at the thought that Clarisse could have sat with her over coffee and answered so many of her questions.

“Did Paine ever communicate with his parents after leaving for Europe?”

“I know he did at least once. Sally was so excited to hear from him that she showed me the letter.” Mr. Willard
added, in a self-deprecating tone, “I can vouch for the fact that the letter was written with Paine’s hand. His mother would have noticed if it weren’t, and even I recognized the handwriting that time.”

“Do you remember what the letter said?”

“Let me think. I used to have a photographic memory, which is quite useful in the legal profession, but it fades with age. The letter arrived about a year after Paine left the United States, I believe. I do recall that the content was upbeat. Paine seemed happy. He reported that he’d recently married and that he and his bride were hoping to have a family. He mentioned nothing about his own income, but he said his wife came from a well-to-do family and had brought a dowry with her. Sally never mentioned receiving another letter, and Paine’s death certificate was dated only one year later.”

“One last question,” Olivia said, “and then we’d better make an appearance. I’ve been puzzled by the continuing vandalism inside Chatterley Mansion since Paine and Hermione moved in. When I’ve visited Hermione, she ignores the destruction, as if it’s of no concern to her. Her attitude makes me think she is involved, but with her heart condition I don’t see how she could have been the main perpetrator.”

“Ah yes,” said Mr. Willard, nodding his skull-like head. “I have a theory about that, based on a visit Paine made to my office shortly before his death. By which I mean his actual death. He was quite irate. Paine insisted his parents had valuable treasures—that was the word he used, ‘treasures’—which they had secreted throughout the mansion.

“When I mentioned the fine antiques throughout the mansion, Paine contended that they were merely of sentimental value, virtually worthless compared to his parents’
hidden treasures. To be honest, I had the impression Paine was not entirely rational.”

“I’ve wondered that myself,” Olivia said. She relayed Aunt Sadie’s memory of Paine’s boyish excitement when he showed her two of the cookie cutters his mother had found. “They might have been part of the Chatterley collection,” Olivia said.

“Ah,” said Mr. Willard, stroking his gaunt chin. “Boys can be impressionable. Perhaps he formed the belief these cookie cutters were far more valuable than the mere antiques that filled his home. He was bitterly disappointed that he hadn’t found any remaining cookie cutters in the mansion. When he consulted with me, he seemed unable to believe Harold and Sally might have sold all these treasures for their living expenses. Rather, he accused the town of Chatterley Heights—the entire town, mind you—of stealing them. Since I had been his parents’ attorney, he wanted me to confirm or deny the town’s involvement in the alleged crime. He planned to demand reimbursement. I knew that Harold and Sally had sold many family possessions, and I told him so. He accused me of lying and stalked out of my office. It was quite disturbing. I needed two café lattes to calm myself.”