When the Cookie Crumbles (8 page)

“Afraid so.”

Maddie made a face at the mangled steak. “That thing is gross.”

“The steak or Spunky?” Olivia struggled to her feet, holding the meat out of Spunky’s reach.

Maddie stood aside to let Olivia and Spunky enter the store. A dejected pooch straggled across the sales floor to his chair. He jumped up to the padded seat and curled in a ball. Maddie led the way to the kitchen, where Olivia disposed of the meat and gave her hands a thorough washing. With a dampened old dish towel, she wiped the stains off her clothes. More or less clean, she sank onto the chair at the little kitchen desk, where the day’s receipts lay in an untidy but healthy heap. No matter what Karen Evanson thought, it took time and attention to run a business.

“I won’t bother changing my clothes,” Olivia said. “Those receipts aren’t going to reconcile themselves.”

“Good,” Maddie said, “because I want company while I finish up these window scenes for the gingerbread houses. A little admiration would not be unwelcome, either.”

“Looks like we had a good day,” Olivia said as she picked up the receipts.

“An excellent day, which Bertha mostly handled.” Maddie pointed to a decorated rectangular gingerbread cookie resting on a rack. “Now, about that admiration?”

Olivia joined Maddie at the worktable to get a closer look at the design on the cookie. “Exquisite, as always,” she said. “Hey, is that the little boy in the mansion window, the one your aunt Sadie embroidered on an apron?”

“You got it in one,” Maddie said. “This is sad, lonely little Paine Chatterley staring out an upper window of Chatterley Mansion, which is where I’ll put this cookie scene—in a window of the gingerbread mansion. I wonder if anyone else will figure out who he is. Aunt Sadie said Paine’s hair lightened as he grew up.”

“I’m definitely keeping that apron, by the way,” Olivia said. “Maybe we should use this cookie in a contest. Whoever guesses the child’s identity gets to keep the gingerbread mansion after the weekend.”

“Aha! I knew it was only a matter of time before you created a mystery to be solved. You are so addicted. Except we’d have to eliminate Aunt Sadie from the competition, of course, and swear her to silence. Not that she talks much anyway. Your mom could be a problem, too. Ellie is likely to figure out that little boy’s identity in a matter of seconds because she’s…” Maddie’s forehead furrowed as she searched for the right word.

“From an alternate dimension?” Olivia suggested.

“I was reaching for ‘intuitive,’ but your theory has merit. Anyway, the contest idea sounds fun. I’ll talk to Aunt Sadie, and you make sure your mom is on board, okay? Then I’ll put together a flyer.” Maddie started gathering the dirty baking equipment.

“You can leave those,” Olivia said. “I’ll load them in the dishwasher as soon as I finish the receipts.”

“You are a true friend.” While she arranged decorated gingerbread cookies in single layers inside sheet-cake pans, Maddie said, “The icing is almost dry, and I’m getting antsy to see how the scenes look inside our gingerbread houses. As soon as I’ve got all these cookies packed, I’ll head over to the community center. Lucas is bringing corned beef sandwiches from the Chatterley Café. At least
we’ll get to spend a little time together while I work on the exteriors of the houses.”

“How is Lucas? I imagine he’s still pretty upset about Paine Chatterley shutting down the renovation project and making those crazy demands?” Olivia decided to load the dishes and leave the receipts until Maddie had left. They’d both been so busy with preparations for the celebration, they’d had little time to catch up with each other.

“Between you and me, right now Lucas is more worried than angry.” Maddie slid a lid on one of her cake pans. “I mean, sure, he’s irritated with Paine and upset about the labor and materials he and his team ended up giving away for free.”

“Except for Matthew Fabrizio, that is,” Olivia said. “I hope Matthew isn’t hoping to work at Heights Hardware ever again.”

Maddie paused with another pan lid in her hands. “You didn’t hear? Paine took advantage of Matthew, too. The poor kid thought if he kept working on the Victorian trim on the mansion, Paine would welcome him into the Chatterley dynasty and help him prove his lineage. He suggested the exchange to Paine, and Paine played along. Matthew worked a while and decided to finish the next day. Before leaving, he went to the Chatterleys and told them more about his great-great-great-whatever’s dalliance with dear old Frederick P. These revelations were not well received by Hermione, and Paine did a sudden about-face, claiming he had no idea what Matthew was talking about.”

“I can’t imagine why Matthew would expect anything different.”

“I can,” Maddie said. “Matthew is an artist. He can imagine wonderful possibilities.”

“So you’re saying artists don’t have a good grasp of reality?”

“I’m saying he’s broke, and this seemed like a good way to become part of a wealthy family.” Maddie lifted her covered pans into a large Gingerbread House bag. “So yeah, Matthew’s grasp of reality is limited. Also, he has that dark, tortured-soul thing going for him, so now he’s probably drinking away his disappointment. By the way, Heather Irwin seems to have fallen for Matthew. She sure knows how to pick ’em.” Maddie double-bagged her precious cargo and carried it to the alley door. “Close up behind me, would you? I can’t afford to drop these cookies. Thanks.”

As Olivia locked the kitchen door behind Maddie, she thought about Heather Irwin, the town’s shy young librarian. Heather had misjudged men in the past, trusting when she should have run for the hills. Olivia had hoped Heather had learned her lesson the previous summer after falling for a thief with a violent temper. On the other hand, Maddie might have overstated Matthew’s negative qualities. He was, after all, a fine craftsman. Olivia had heard Lucas say that Matthew would work on a curlicue of Victorian trim until it was flawless, no matter how long it took.

Lady Gaga declared her love for Judas from the direction of the kitchen desk, where Olivia had left her cell phone. Maddie had been messing with her ring tone, again. Olivia was tempted to let the call go to voice mail until she saw it was from Del Jenkins.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, okay, Livie?” were the first words out of Del’s mouth.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Olivia said. “What’s up?”

“Remember I told you that Paine Chatterley more or less ordered me to guard his block over the celebration weekend? Well, Friday morning Karen and members of the press intend to descend upon Chatterley Mansion, cameras
and microphones at the ready. And Karen insists that Cody and I accompany her.”

“So you’re caught between the dog and the tree,” Olivia said.

“Exactly.”

“Karen is really getting on my nerves.” Olivia opened the refrigerator to scour for a spare cookie, her solace in moments of irritation. “Who does she think she is?”

Del heaved a manly sigh. “She thinks she’s mayor. She’s threatening to get me removed as sheriff if I refuse. And here’s the wrinkle: Karen insists she talked at length to Hermione Chatterley, who promised she’d get her husband to consent to letting the public wander through the mansion this weekend. I find that hard to believe.”

“Hermione made a similar promise to me when I visited them this morning,” Olivia said. “To be honest, I got the impression she has more power in that relationship than we’ve been assuming.”

“Or maybe she was just trying to get rid of you.”

“So cynical of you, Del. But you have a point. Did you call the Chatterleys to check on Karen’s story?”

“I tried. I called the old number, the one from the mansion’s museum days, but it’s been disconnected. The phone company said they’ve had no new request to provide service for the mansion. So I sent Cody over to knock on the door. No one answered. He went around back, too, and looked in some windows, but there was no sign of life. I’m hoping the Chatterleys skipped town to avoid our celebration altogether.”

“That’s what I’d do,” Olivia said. “But I also know how determined Karen can be.”

“Either way, I’m stuck,” Del said. “I’ll have to show up at the mansion Friday morning and see what happens. If
Karen is right and the Chatterleys do allow the press to invade their privacy, I’ll hang around to keep the peace. If Karen misunderstood, I’ll have to cart her off and disperse the reporters.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” Olivia said, laughing. “Stop by the store afterward. I’ll feed you gingerbread cookies and coffee, and you can vent.”

“Not so fast, Livie. I am to convey a message to you from our mayor.”

“Gee, maybe later. I think I hear Maddie calling for—”

“You are to be at the mansion Friday morning at seven thirty sharp. Karen plans to drill us until eight, at which time she, and she alone, will knock on the mansion door. You’ve been assigned to help Karen coordinate the interviews. She said something about you being the only more or less levelheaded committee member.”

“What she means is I’m the only committee member she thinks she can control,” Olivia said. “I’m in a mood to prove her wrong.”

“Livie, you know that if you refuse to show up, Karen will blame me. And she is not without political influence.”

“I think you’re tough enough to handle her. Besides, I do, in fact, have a store to run. I know Karen doesn’t take that seriously, but you should.”

“And I do,” Del said. “I will try my very best to get you back to The Gingerbread House by opening time. Karen also instructed me to remind you to arrive in costume. I’m envisioning you as a serving wench.”

“Thanks, but Maddie already claimed that role. We wouldn’t want too many serving wenches wandering around.”

“Livie, there’s no such thing as too many serving wenches.”

“Good-bye, Del.” Olivia flipped her cell shut.

After a busy, productive Thursday morning in The Gingerbread House, Olivia felt ready to tackle anything Karen decided to throw at her. During a lull, she used her burst of energy to straighten and restock shelves. Olivia had displayed three of Sadie Briggs’s embroidered aprons, all of which had sold in one morning. She hung three more aprons on an antique oak coat stand in the cookbook nook. On each, she pinned a new price tag reading “$125.00.”

“Such lovely work,” said a familiar voice behind her.

“Mom, you startled me.”

“Sorry, Livie. It must be the moccasins. Bertha said you were in here.” Ellie’s attire was, for her, understated: a long, soft faux-suede skirt, in dark brown, and a light brown T-shirt that read, “Will Protest for Food.”

Ellie chose one of the aprons, decorated with a riot of spring wildflowers, and ran her hand over the embroidery. “Sadie’s work is exquisite. These are underpriced,” she
said, checking the tag. “Not that I could afford it, of course, but I know several well-to-do women who would snap these up at twice the price.”

“Is this your way of telling me you aren’t leaving me millions?”

“Livie dear, if I ever have millions, you may rest assured that I will spend them.” Ellie retrieved a piece of paper from a small pocket at the waistband of her skirt. “I can’t stay long, I just need to pick up some emergency supplies for the gingerbread houses. Maddie called and gave me a list. I’m heading over to the community center to help.”

“More supplies? But you and Rosemarie were both here yesterday with long lists. Rosemarie said she didn’t think you’d need anything more.” Rosemarie York ran the Chatterley Heights Community Center, which possessed a kitchen large enough to accommodate Maddie and her team of gingerbread house bakers.

Ellie’s normally serene face puckered with concern. “I know, but we seem to be running through our icing ingredients quickly. It worries me, though I hate to think that anyone from Chatterley Heights might be involved.”

“Mom, you’re leaving out sentence parts again.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry. I haven’t said anything to anyone else, especially not Rosemarie. She’d feel responsible because she’s the community center’s administrator, but what can she do? She has to leave the front door unlocked so the decorating team can come and go, which they are doing until well into the night. And, of course, the kitchen door doesn’t have its own lock.”

“Mom, are you saying someone is walking off with the icing ingredients? The Gingerbread House is donating most of the baking items. Have you mentioned this to Del?”

“Not yet.” With a slight shake of her head, as if she
couldn’t believe her own observations, Ellie said, “I’ll be glad to cover the cost from my own pocket, dear.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know that, Livie. To be honest, I can’t be certain that ingredients are actually disappearing. Royal icing can be tricky, as you know. Our less experienced bakers might be trying to hide their failures out of embarrassment. Silly of them, of course, but…forget what I’ve said, Livie. I’ll keep my eyes open, and if I think someone is stealing, I’ll report it to Del at once.”

Olivia nodded, silently vowing to tell Del as soon as she saw him again.

W
ith Maddie at the Chatterley Heights Community Center, frantically working on the finishing touches for the gingerbread houses, Olivia and Bertha were kept busy through lunch and beyond as a steady stream of customers visited the store. Spunky held court from his chair in front of the window. He had merely to lift his head or thump his tail, and most customers succumbed. Now that school was back in session, he was safer from kids who thought it was fun to yank the long hair that flopped over his eyes.