When the Cookie Crumbles (14 page)

Olivia arranged a plate of decorated cookies—gingerbread men and women, all wearing crowns atop hair colors not found in nature. She placed the plate on a tray along with the coffee carafe and cups. Cream and sugar for both of them, of course. When she arrived in the living room, Spunky sat motionless on the sofa, his limpid eyes fixed on Maddie.

“Thank God you’re here,” Maddie said. “I think he was planning to kill me.”

“Nonsense,” Olivia said as she placed the tray on the coffee table. “Spunky is almost entirely nonviolent. Aren’t you, boy?”

Spunky’s ears twitched, but his concentration never wavered.

“Please tell me I can give him his tre—his t-r-e-a-t,” Maddie said. Spunky yapped and jumped onto her lap. “Hey, when did he learn to spell?”

“My little boy,” Olivia said fondly. “He wants to go to Harvard, but I told him, Mommy can only afford in-state tuition. He’ll have to get a scholarship. Anyway, you’d better throw his treat onto the rug. It’s your only hope.”

Maddie threw the treat so hard it hit the living room wall and broke in half. Spunky hit the rug running and crunched his way through both pieces.

“Two seconds,” Olivia said. “A personal best.” She selected a gingerbread queen with violet hair and settled back on the sofa. “About Paine Chatterley’s death,” she said. “I think Del left out some details about the order in which Paine was drugged, drunk, dragged, drowned, and/or suffocated.”

“As I understand it,” Maddie said, “Paine didn’t drown. The pills apparently didn’t kill him, either. Maybe he got really zonked on pills and alcohol, then suffocated accidentally? I can imagine someone in that condition getting dangerously tangled up in the bedclothes.”

“Except how did he get into the tub? According to Del, the medical examiner insisted it was murder. So there has to be something else, something technical that Del didn’t think we needed to know.”

“Geez, it almost sounds like Paine wouldn’t die, and his killer was desperate.” Maddie dunked her gingerbread king’s green hair into her coffee and got it to her mouth before the cookie dissolved. “Maybe Del didn’t think you needed all the details. As he keeps telling you, we aren’t police officers.”

“Which reminds me,” Olivia said, “I’m not telling you any of this.”

“Understood. Maybe Paine was already in the tub when someone came up behind him and strangled him.”

Having gnawed through his own version of cookies, Spunky leaped onto the sofa and nestled between Maddie and Olivia for a warm nap. Gently stroking his ears, Olivia said, “When Del called to tell me Paine was murdered, his last words to me were ‘I don’t want to find you facedown
in a bathtub.’ I might be overinterpreting, but I’m wondering…”

“You’re wondering,” Maddie said, “why Paine would be facedown? If he was in the tub when he died, wouldn’t he have slid underwater faceup?”

“Exactly. Although maybe Del wasn’t being literal.”

“Livie, when have you known Del to be imprecise about his work?”

“Point taken,” Olivia said. “Although Paine might have been trying to get out of the tub while he was being suffocated. I’d like to hear Hermione’s story.”

“And isn’t it convenient,” Maddie said, “that Del wants you to babysit Hermione. Maybe you can get her to spill a few clues.”

“I suppose we have to assume that Johns Hopkins School of Medicine knows what it’s doing,” Olivia said, “which would mean that the perfect suspect, Hermione, wouldn’t have the strength to get Paine into the tub after he was dead.”

Maddie reached for another member of the gingerbread royalty, this time with cobalt blue hair. “What would be her motive? I mean, aside from the fact that Paine wasn’t the ideal husband. So far, the last of the Chatterleys have behaved like bankrupt freeloaders. Hermione is a thief. Paine drank, took pills, and slept a lot. I’m not confident there’s an inheritance for Hermione, except maybe the mansion and its contents.”

“That’s something,” Olivia said, “though I don’t see much evidence that she cares about the house.” Spunky complained as his mistress left his side to get paper and pen from the little Queen Anne desk under the front window. She settled back on the sofa and began to jot down notes. “Del wants me to spend some time with Hermione, and I want to know what to listen for.”

Maddie divided the last of the coffee between their two cups. “You know, we’ve been concentrating solely on Hermione Chatterley, but what about Quill Latimer and Karen Evanson? I’d love to learn how Paine knew them and why they seemed to dislike him. They had keys to the mansion, too.”

Olivia wrote down the two names. “I wonder if anyone on the celebration committee would know about Hermione’s heart and back problems. We need to find out if any of the others had past connections to Paine, good or bad.”

“Ooh,” Maddie said, “wouldn’t it be nice if we found out that Binnie Sloan hated him? Maybe she was taking pictures of that back parlor to set up someone else as a suspect. Sounds like Binnie, doesn’t it?”

“Now, now.”

“Okay, fine, but you have to admit she’s a better suspect than Mr. Willard.”

“I think we can safely leave Mr. Willard off the suspect list,” Olivia said.

“Although he did screw up by not recognizing Paine’s death certificate as a forgery. I mean, I love the guy, but we should think about whether he gained anything by Paine’s death.”

“I suppose so,” Olivia said without enthusiasm. “I think I’ll chat with him. His memory goes back a long way. I know he’s trying to track down information about Paine’s alleged death certificate; maybe he’ll turn up something interesting.…”

“Speaking of information sources, we should start with your mom,” Maddie said.

“My mom, like everyone else in Chatterley Heights, is completely booked for the weekend. Us, too, much of the time. I’ll work on Hermione, with Del’s blessing, but
otherwise we really have no business doing more than speculating and listening to gossip.”

“Luckily, we do both well,” Maddie said. “Now, while we devour the last two cookies, I shall relate a fascinating cookie-cutter story Aunt Sadie told me.”

“A perfect way to end the evening.” Olivia offered the cookie plate to Maddie, who selected a gingerbread girl with teal pigtails, leaving Olivia a boy with tangerine locks.

“He clashes with my hair,” Maddie explained. “So about the Chatterley cutters…”

“If this is about the legendary cookie-cutter collection that Amelia Chatterley allegedly began in 1765 or so and that succeeding Chatterley wives allegedly added to until the alleged collection allegedly disappeared—”

“Enough with the legalese,” Maddie said. “Of course you’ve heard of Amelia’s famed collection, and I’m here to tell you there’s no allegedly about it. You have to keep this to yourself, though, because Aunt Sadie told me in the strictest confidence…although the central character is deceased.”

“Are you talking about Paine or Amelia?”

“Aunt Sadie is heartbroken about Paine’s death. She’s been talking about him a lot. I think she’s wondering what in his life could have led to such an end. She really loved him as a little boy.”

“I saw a different side of Paine yesterday evening when I walked to Aunt Sadie’s house to deliver her first payment for her apron sales,” Olivia said. “Paine was visiting. He was almost…”

“Human?”

“A different person,” Olivia said.

“Maybe he always was different with Aunt Sadie.
Anyway, suddenly I’m hearing all these stories from her about Paine and his parents and the mansion, which is how I learned about the cookie-cutter collection.” Maddie curled her legs underneath her and nestled Spunky on her lap. “When Paine was a young boy, he used to prattle to Aunt Sadie about everything that went on at the Chatterley Mansion. One day he arrived at her house all excited, with his pockets bulging. He said he’d found out a secret. He’d heard his folks talk about a treasure they were looking for, something they thought was hidden in the mansion. Sally, his mom, was excited because she’d found some pieces of the treasure. Paine heard her tell his father that she’d hidden them in an old, empty coal bin in the cellar. She wanted him to put them in their safe-deposit box right away.”

“But if Paine’s father—”

“Don’t interrupt, Livie. Aunt Sadie said that Harold was a Chatterley man through and through, which I’m guessing meant he had outside interests of the extramarital kind, and he must have thought that Sally was just trying to keep him home. Anyway, he blew her off and said he’d take a look when he got back from his ‘important meeting.’ Which gave Paine time to sneak downstairs and check the coal bin. And guess what he found.”

“Um, cookie cutters?”

“Cookie cutters. But not your average, run-of-the-mill cutters. Paine had stuffed two of them in his pockets to show Aunt Sadie. She knows her antique cutters, and she’d never seen any this old or rare. She still remembered exactly what they looked like, too. One was a rearing horse with a rider who looked like he might be carrying something on his back. Aunt Sadie wondered if it might be a quiver for arrows, but it could have been a sack of potatoes for all she could tell. That piece was signed, but Aunt Sadie
couldn’t make out the name because the tin was so worn. The second cutter Paine showed her was a cat with its tail in the air. It was fairly crude and unsigned, Aunt Sadie said, and it was so worn it probably wouldn’t cut well anymore. She said Paine really liked animals when he was a kid.”

“Hard to believe we’re talking about one person,” Olivia said. “He wasn’t thrilled to see Spunky with me when I visited the mansion Wednesday morning.” At the sound of his name, Spunky stirred in Maddie’s lap. Olivia reached toward him and softly stroked his ears.

“Maybe Paine was an impostor?” Maddie said. “Except if he was, he sure fooled Aunt Sadie. Anyway, if those cutters were part of the Chatterley collection, I’m guessing Harold and Sally sold them off. That was back when vintage and antique cookie cutters were starting to become popular with serious collectors. And legend has it that Harold and Sally were inclined toward unrestrained spending. They probably needed the dough. So to speak.”

Olivia made it a rule to ignore puns, even if perpetrated by a best friend since age ten. “Did you see the teapot cookie cutter Paine brought Aunt Sadie? It makes me wonder if the collection really was sold off. If there was a collection to begin with, which is yet unproven.”

“Livie, you are so skeptical, so…so
businesslike
.”

“We can’t all be creative geniuses,” Olivia said as she gathered up their empty plates and cups. “One of us has to balance the books.”

“For which you have my fervent thanks.”

Olivia swept some cookie crumbs off the coffee table and onto a plate. “What, for recognizing your artistic talent?”

“Mostly for balancing the books,” Maddie said as she
shifted a groggy Spunky off her lap and onto the sofa. “But, yeah, the genius thing, too.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost midnight, and tomorrow will be nonstop madness. It’s time we—” The phone in the kitchen began to ring, and Spunky’s head shot up.

“That could be Del,” Olivia said, heading toward the kitchen. “He probably wants to touch base about my visit with Hermione Chatterley tomorrow.” Spunky leaped off the sofa and trotted behind. Before Olivia could reach the phone, her new answering machine kicked on. A woman’s voice said, “Livie? Are you there? It’s me, Heather Irwin. I—I’ve got to talk to you. I’m right outside, and I can see your light on…though maybe you leave it on all night, I suppose. But if you’re up, please, could I talk to you? It can’t wait till morning. I’m desperate. They’ve arrested Matthew for murder.”

O
livia opened a bottle of merlot and gathered three glasses while Heather Irwin sobbed. She’d admitted she rarely drank alcohol, but Olivia decided she needed a calming beverage, and coffee wasn’t it. Hoping she and Maddie could get some coherent details out of Heather before she got too relaxed, Olivia handed her only half a glass of merlot. Heather poured the wine down her throat. Then she coughed for a good minute. Olivia brought her a glass of water and exchanged a rueful glance with Maddie, who shrugged.

The coughing fit interrupted Heather’s sobs, but she still looked miserable. Her straight brown hair hung in tangled strings, and her generous mouth quivered. She did not offer her glass for a wine refill, so Olivia left it empty. “Okay, Heather, fill us in. Are you quite sure that Matthew has
been arrested for murder? Are you sure he wasn’t, perhaps, drunk? We all know that’s something of a problem for him.” Maybe she’d been too blunt, but Olivia hoped to get the story out as fast as possible.

Heather’s round young face flushed with anger.
Good
, thought Olivia,
better anger than more tears.
“He isn’t…it isn’t as big a problem as everyone around here thinks,” Heather said. “I mean, Matthew drinks maybe a bit too much sometimes, but only when he’s really, really upset. He’s sensitive. It’s because he’s so artistic. He’s been adding the most wonderful Victorian gingerbread to the library exterior in honor of Chatterley Heights’s birthday, and…and now…”

Sensing the return of storm clouds, Olivia poured Heather another half glass of merlot. When Heather ignored the glass, Olivia said, “Let’s start with who Matthew is supposed to have murdered. Did the sheriff tell you that, Heather?”

“Paine Chatterley,” Heather said. “Only Matthew didn’t do it, I know he didn’t.”

“Can you prove it?”

Heather’s plump shoulders drooped. “No. I’d lie for him, only it wouldn’t work. Thursday night my horse, Raven, got sick. I stayed with him in the barn to keep an eye on him. He kept getting worse, so I called the vet around one a.m., and she came right out. Raven was really sick. He kept throwing—”

“Those details are probably unnecessary,” Maddie said, pushing the wineglass toward Heather. “When did the vet leave?”

“Not until about five thirty in the morning, when Raven was out of danger. And I stayed in the barn with Raven until it was time to leave for the library. Oh, Livie, can’t
you talk to Sheriff Del? Try to get him to understand, Matthew would never do such a terrible thing.”

Olivia sipped her own wine and recalled what she’d heard about the falling out between Matthew Fabrizio and Paine Chatterley. Matthew was, as Heather had indicated, a temperamental artist who had a reputation for drinking too much. Olivia had heard stories of his temper, especially when he’d been drinking. He was also, in Olivia’s estimation, a self-absorbed dreamer. But she had difficulty imagining Matthew as a cold-blooded killer. If Paine had been killed in a bar fight, then yes, she’d be able to envision Matthew as a viable suspect. From what little Del had told her, though, she knew Paine’s murder had required a cooler head than Matthew possessed.