One Dead Cookie (31 page)

“Oh, Dougie, look who’s come calling! It’s Livie and Maddie.” Lenora held out a self-manicured
hand in greeting. With her other hand, she retrieved a large wineglass from a table
next to the sofa. Her eyes strayed to a television showing a black-and-white movie,
which Olivia recognized as one of the Thin Man stories, starring William Powell and
Myrna Loy. The dimmed overhead lights created a movie theater ambiance.

Dougie Adair sat in a deep plush armchair, ignoring the movie. Instead, he read a
newspaper by the light of a lamp on a side table. The banner identified the paper
as the current
Los Angeles Times
. Olivia wondered how Dougie had managed to find a daily copy in little Chatterley
Heights. Even the Chatterley Café offered only the
Baltimore Sun
. Perhaps Dougie had driven to one of the bigger nearby towns to buy the paper.

Dougie seemed momentarily irritated when they walked into the room. He quickly composed
himself, smiled, and put aside his newspaper. “Lenora, darling,” he said, “perhaps
we could interrupt Nick and Nora for a bit? We have guests.”

“Oh, and you’ve brought sweet little Spunky, too.” Lenora picked up the television
remote but made no effort to mute the sound. “Gwen, be a dear and bring our guests
some wine. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to open another bottle, so we won’t run short?”

With a quick wink at Olivia, Gwen excused herself.

Maddie scrunched onto the sofa next to Lenora. “I
love
Nick and Nora Charles,” Maddie gushed. “Is this the one where Nick shoots the ornaments
on the Christmas tree? I never get tired of that scene.”

Lenora smiled indulgently. “No, my dear, this is
Another Thin Man
, the one where little Nicky tags along.” With a long sigh, Lenora said, “I’m devastated
by dear Trevor’s death, and little Nicky always seems to lift my spirits.”

“I
love
little Nicky.” Maddie kicked off her shoes and settled against the back of the sofa,
her legs snuggled up against her chest. “Oh, and there’s Asta. I
love
Asta.” Sensing a threat to his status as number-one terrier, Spunky jumped onto Maddie’s
lap and yapped at the television. “But not as much as I love you, Spunks. I promise.”

Olivia worried that Maddie might be overacting, though one look at Lenora’s contented
expression reassured her.

“My dear, the truly adorable one was William Powell,” Lenora said with a sigh. “I
so hoped to meet him after I moved to California. Although I was already married to
my darling Bernie, I was still young and quite the romantic. I’d seen so many William
Powell movies, only I hadn’t quite grasped the age difference between us. I was still
an ingenue, you see, and dear William Powell…well, when he died in 1984, he was ninety-one.
It was not meant to be. But he will always be handsome and dashing to me.” Lenora
sighed as she watched her lost love down yet another martini.

Olivia did some rough calculations and concluded that Lenora must have been an ingenue
for a long, long time.

Maddie gave Olivia a quick wink that said,
We’ll do just fine, Lenora and I. Run along and question Dougie.

Olivia glanced at Dougie, who’d given up trying to read the paper. He stared at the
floor, clearly bored. “I hear you’ll be leaving us soon,” Olivia said to him.

“If the sheriff will let me. There’s nothing for me here. I need to make arrangements
back in California.”

“Understandable,” Olivia said. “How about a walk outdoors? I’ve seen this movie several
times.”

With evident relief, Dougie put aside his newspaper. “I’ll see you later, Lenora,
dear.”

Lenora stared at the television screen, attentive only to William Powell’s presence.
A parade of emotions molded her features as best they could, given the limiting effects
of plastic surgery.

Dougie followed Olivia from the room. Closing the door behind them, he said, “It’s
sad, really. Lenora, I mean. She lives in a past of her own imagining.”

As they stepped outside, the sun floated from behind a cloud and warmed Olivia’s face.
A gentle breeze ruffled her hair. She had to remind herself she was pressed for time.
“I didn’t get to know Trevor well,” she said, “but to me it seemed his world was much
like Lenora’s. They both grew up in small towns. Lenora isn’t adapting well to being
back, and from what I observed, I doubt Trevor would have adjusted any better. Do
you?”

Dougie gave her a startled look, and Olivia noticed gold flecks in his light brown
eyes. Del’s eyes were much the same, yet somehow warmer. “That’s an intriguing question,”
Dougie said. “Trevor lived and breathed Hollywood.
Sometimes it seemed as if Hollywood was the only reality in his life. People didn’t
count. Don’t get me wrong; Trevor had scores of relationships, but he didn’t have
friends.”

Dougie opened the barn door and waited for Olivia to pass through. She felt a moment
of discomfort, as if she were entering a danger zone. She tossed it off and entered
the cool, dark interior of the old barn. The smell of hay and the cacophony of animal
sounds comforted her, made her feel safe. In addition to the barks and meows of dogs
and cats, Olivia heard the lowing of cattle, a sheep baaing, and several animal sounds
she couldn’t identify. Everyone within a fifty-mile radius knew that Herbie and Gwen
welcomed any and all homeless animals, so creatures appeared on their doorstep with
overwhelming regularity. Gwen often insisted they’d reached capacity, but somehow
the next abandoned animal always found a home with them.

A half-grown black kitten poked its head around a hay bale to check out the new arrivals.
Without hesitation, it ran up to Olivia and rubbed against her ankle. When she picked
it up, the kitten purred and cuddled against her. Olivia wondered how Spunky would
feel about a feline companion.

“You wouldn’t see this sort of place in Hollywood.” Dougie stopped at a stall and
produced an apple from his jacket pocket. A chestnut mare clopped over to him for
a nibble. “Old habits…,” Dougie said. “I grew up in Twiterton and worked summers on
several farms. I always kept my jacket pockets filled with treats.” When the mare
had finished her snack, Dougie turned to Olivia, and said, “I suspect you and Maddie
didn’t stop by to be neighborly. What’s on your mind?”

Olivia lowered the kitten to the barn floor and watched
it streak off after something she was glad she couldn’t see. “I’m curious,” she said.
“You mentioned Trevor didn’t have friends. Didn’t you count yourself as his friend?”

Stroking the horse’s forelock, Dougie said, “Trevor and I went to high school together,
and we played football together. But that was high school. Trevor was the handsome
star, even then. I was the tagalong and, if necessary, the muscle. I was also the
better student. Trevor got by on C’s. I’d make him study harder when the coach got
after him to raise his grades. Not that I didn’t benefit from the association. Trevor
usually passed his girlfriends on to me when he grew bored with them. In return, I
made him look good on the football field.” Dougie’s matter-of-fact tone made the arrangement
sound unremarkable, merely a business deal. “Trevor was quarterback, but I was the
better strategist. I set up plays for him, so he could be the hero.” Dougie leaned
against the stall. The powerful muscles of his upper body strained against his cotton
shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Olivia’s own muscles tightened against a vague sense of danger. She told herself there’d
been no personal threat in Dougie’s comments. When he relaxed his stance and gave
the mare a final pat, Olivia began to feel silly…until he focused those intense, nearly
translucent eyes on her face. She shivered in spite of herself.

“Now, Livie, I have a question for you,” Dougie said. “How much do you think you know
already about Trevor? And about me?”

“I—” Olivia’s mastery of language took a sudden hike.

Dougie chuckled. “Okay, I suppose that wasn’t fair. However, you might want to bear
in mind that you and Maddie aren’t the only ones on the planet who have computers.
I’m a writer. My laptop travels with me wherever I
go. I have access to the Internet, and I use it often. It seems you two have gained
quite a reputation as sleuths, at least locally.”

“I see,” Olivia said. “Then I won’t beat around the bush.”

“I have no intention of sharing any personal information with you, if that’s what
you’re hoping.” Dougie momentarily closed his eyes and took a quick breath. More calmly,
he added, “Sorry, Livie. Even though I wasn’t deeply fond of Trevor, this has all
been a shock for me. I’ve been thoroughly grilled by the police. All I want to do
now is go home. I didn’t kill Trevor. Period.” When Olivia didn’t respond, Dougie
said, “By the way, I heard that Wade Harald was arrested for Trevor’s murder. I vaguely
remember him from our high school football days, when he played for the Chatterly
Heights team. He’s the ex-husband of a good friend of yours and Maddie’s, isn’t he?
So that gives you two a powerful motive to finger another suspect.”

Despite his light, conversational tone and the absence of any overt threat, Dougie’s
blunt observation couldn’t have been clearer. He was warning Olivia to back off. She
felt a chill and suddenly longed for sunshine…and maybe a nearby witness or two. However,
this might be her only chance to question Dougie before he left town. “I suspect your
memory of Wade is clearer than you’re willing to admit, since you and Trevor drugged
him to get back at him for besting Trevor on the football field.”

Dougie didn’t flinch. “Not according to the police. I’m sure you’re aware of that
fact.”

“You’re wrong about one thing,” Olivia said. “If Maddie and I found evidence that
Wade Harald was guilty of murder, we wouldn’t hesitate to turn him in to the authorities.
We’re concerned only about our friend, Stacey Harald. It
looks like someone is trying to implicate her in Trevor’s murder, and we won’t allow
that to happen.”

“If that’s a threat,” Dougie said, “it is misdirected. I had nothing to do with Trevor’s
death, and I don’t much care who did kill him. I came back here to the farm right
after our impromptu meeting at the band shell. And before you bring up those photos
that appeared in that amusing little blog, yes, Wade did wander into the band shell
the night Trevor died. Wade was drunk, of course. He threatened Trevor and stalked
off.

Olivia sensed that Dougie was on the verge of cutting off their conversation, so she
decided against pushing the issue. “That night in the band shell,” she said, “Trevor
and Howie didn’t appear to be old friends. Why were the three of you there together?”

With a throaty snicker, Dougie said, “Those two never pretended to be civil. Howie
simply showed up at the band shell while Trevor and I were relaxing. Trevor was bored,
so he was already in a foul mood. Howie’s presence didn’t help any. I couldn’t understand
why Howie stuck around. He knew Trevor’s abuse would only escalate.”

“Did the three of you leave the band shell together?”

“I’ve told all this to the police.”

“I know,” Olivia said, “but Trevor’s body was left on my porch. I take that personally.”

Dougie shrugged. “Howie left soon after you and Maddie did. Trevor decided to stay
in town for a while, so I took off in the rental car. That’s the last time I saw him
alive.”

“How was Trevor planning to get back to the farm without a car?”

“I didn’t much care. I assumed he had found another place to sleep.” Dougie scooped
up a stone from the barn
floor and heaved it with such force that it lodged in a bale of hay.

“So are you suggesting Trevor had a friend in town? Perhaps a woman friend?”

“How delicate of you,” Dougie said with a mirthless chuckle. “I wouldn’t know. Trevor
wooed and deserted women ‘friends’ with remarkable speed.” Dougie’s casual tone contrasted
with his tight jaw. “In answer to your earlier question,” he said, “no, I did not
consider myself to be Trevor’s friend. He paid me well to do exactly what I’d done
in high school: to make him look good. I managed to keep his reputation more or less
intact, no matter how big a mess he got himself into, and I tolerated whatever abuse
he felt like hurling at me. I didn’t like it. However, I was highly compensated for
my calm forbearance.”

“What will you do now?” Olivia asked.

“Celebrate.”

“Trevor’s death?”

“Trevor’s exit from my life. But I did
not
kill him.”

“Look, I’m not here to accuse you. It’s just that…” Olivia decided to change her tactics.
Dougie might be more willing to share information that could implicate someone else
in Trevor’s murder. “I’m really not trying to set you up as a suspect,” Olivia said,
“but you are my best source of information about Trevor’s past. It seems he alienated
a number of people during his life. Since he was murdered here and not in Hollywood,
I can’t help thinking his killer might be someone from his youth in Twiterton, or
even someone here in Chatterley Heights. You’re the only one I can think of who might
be able to fill me in about people from that period of his life.”

“Like who?”

“You tell me.”

Dougie appeared to sink into his thoughts. As he headed toward the barn door, Olivia
followed, wondering if he were sifting through memories or calculating how to transform
someone else into the prime suspect for Trevor’s murder. Dougie remained silent as
he closed the barn door behind them and led the way to a barnyard pasture where a
small herd of sheep grazed on grass. To protect the sheep while maintaining the traditional
look of their farm, Gwen and Herbie had added wire mesh to the bottom half of an old,
but still functional, rail fence. Dougie leaned against a fence post and gazed at
the pasture. A sheep munched its way closer until Dougie could reach out and lightly
stroke its fleece.

“By the time I started high school,” Dougie said, “I was one of the few farm kids
left in Twiterton. Trevor’s family moved to town from Baltimore, where his father
worked as an attorney. They were well-to-do, and I was…well, we did fine, but developers
were rapidly eating up family farms. Most of the kids I knew in high school were from
DC or Baltimore or even farther away.”