When the Cookie Crumbles (18 page)

“Maybe,” Olivia said. “I’ll explain later. Right now we have an assignment. I’ll be there in five.”

Olivia held Spunky in a tight hug as she wound through the impressive crowd in the community center’s large public meeting room. The gingerbread houses created by Maddie and her team formed a small village that filled a third of the room. A volunteer herded visitors through a line that started near the front entrance. Olivia paused for a longing gaze toward the gingerbread houses. Through a gap in the line of visitors, she saw a flash of peach and burgundy, the same shades Aunt Sadie had used to embroider the Chatterley Mansion on Olivia’s apron. She was glad she’d decided not to use the apron as a costume today.

Worried that Maddie might have given away the identity of the little boy in the mansion window, Olivia veered toward the display to get a closer look. The peach and burgundy gingerbread house represented a small Victorian cottage, not unlike The Gingerbread House. No little boy appeared in a window. Olivia looked down the row of gingerbread houses and saw the Chatterley Mansion showcased in the middle of the display. The gingerbread mansion’s colors matched the freshly repainted Chatterley
Mansion. She wasn’t close enough to see the cookie window scene Maddie had created, but she remembered the little boy had dark hair, and his clothing was vaguely nineteenth century.

Spunky was starting to squirm in Olivia’s grip, so she slipped past the line and headed toward Rosemarie York’s office. She glanced inside the kitchen as she passed and saw several women cleaning up after their baking marathon. No wonder Maddie was so eager to leave. Cleaning bored her, and Maddie did not tolerate boredom with good humor.

“Hey, you two,” Maddie said as Olivia appeared in the office doorway. “Heard you coming.” Spunky yipped and reached out his front paws toward Maddie, who held out her arms. “Come to me, my little tiger.”

Olivia handed him over. “He never appreciates me. It’s a mother’s lot.”

“Close the door, we have much to discuss.” With Spunky in her lap, Maddie swiveled Rosemarie’s chair around to face a blank computer screen the size of a large television. She hit a key, and the photo of Paine Chatterley’s four-poster popped up. “I’m assuming Del wanted us to take a look at those cookie bits next to Paine’s bed.” Maddie pointed to the photo, now enlarged but still fairly clear.

“I couldn’t tell what the shape was,” Olivia said, “but I did bring a bag of cookies to the mansion when I visited Wednesday morning. Most people snarf them up right away. I suppose Hermione might be the type to dole them out, though.…” Olivia shook her head, remembering the steak Spunky had liberated from the mansion’s garbage can.

“Hermione is the type to waste,” Maddie said. “And steal. I still think she killed her husband. If she did it by
poisoning one of our cookies, I’ll…Wait a minute.” Maddie squinted at the computer image. Her fingers traveled around the keys at warp speed, and the plate of cookies grew larger. More key tapping, and the image sharpened. “Huh,” Maddie said, stroking Spunky’s ears. “I don’t think that’s one of our cookies. Take a closer look and see what you think.” She held Spunky in a cuddle and relinquished her seat to Olivia.

“I see what you mean,” Olivia said. “It looks sloppy. Also, unless my twenty-twenty vision deceives me, it’s a sugar cookie. The cookies I brought on Wednesday were all gingerbread. We have plenty of sugar-cookie dough in the freezer, but I haven’t used any for at least two weeks.”

“Nor have I,” Maddie said. “And that sloppy icing job certainly isn’t my work. Or yours.”

“Thanks for the afterthought.” Olivia sat back in the roomy office chair. “You know, I just remembered…when was it? Thursday? The last week is a blur.”

“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” Maddie said. “What did you remember?”

Olivia laughed. “Ironically, it’s a comment Mom made in her dithery yet brilliant way. She was in the store to pick up emergency supplies for your baking team. I started to fuss about where all these supplies were going, and she mentioned something about the supplies disappearing from the community center kitchen. Did you notice that?”

“No, but then I might not,” Maddie said. “I was in creative-genius mode. As long as I have my paints and my canvas, I’m in my own little art studio. I trust your mom on stuff like this, though. She was probably keeping an eye on the supplies, trying to make sure everything went smoothly. Hey, you don’t suppose…” Maddie hooked her foot around the leg of a metal chair and pulled it next to Olivia.
“If Hermione Chatterley stole from some of the stores on the square, maybe she also took the baking supplies. She visited at least once while we were in the midst of maniacal baking. No one paid much attention to her.”

Maddie’s attentiveness to Spunky had waned, so he crawled onto Olivia’s lap and curled into a ball. “Which might indicate,” Olivia said, “that Hermione baked that cookie. Maybe that’s why the kitchen was such a mess, because Hermione had to dig through the displays to find baking equipment. Although it doesn’t explain the dining room.” Olivia reached over Spunky’s snoozing body toward the keyboard. She opened Del’s second attachment, the photo of the Chatterley Mansion’s back parlor. “What do you think of this?” she asked. “Del didn’t have time to discuss what he was looking for in these photos; he just asked for a first impression.”

“My first impression,” Maddie said, “is that somebody has no respect for antiques.” She pointed to the overturned chairs. “Those are genuine Victorian parlor chairs, although reupholstering their backs and seats lowered their value. Now one of them has a broken leg. And that poor little parlor table—also Victorian, ordered from Europe by one of the Chatterley ladies, can’t remember which one.” Maddie stroked the image on the screen, as if she were comforting it. “I might never be able to visit the Chatterley Mansion again.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Olivia said, “since that’s where I’m heading next. I was hoping you’d go along.”

“Of course I’ll go,” Maddie said. “I refuse to wallow in grief.”

“So brave,” Olivia murmured. “Now my first impression when I saw this photo was that it looked angry—or staged to indicate anger.”

“So maybe someone broke in? Someone very angry with Paine? That sounds a lot like Matthew Fabrizio,” Maddie said. “Or maybe someone else set up the scene to make it look like Matthew had had an outburst of rage. If that’s the case, the perpetrator could be anyone who knew how much Matthew wanted to insinuate himself into the Chatterley clan. Which could be just about anyone in Chatterley Heights, given Matthew’s penchant for high drama.”

Olivia stared at the image on the screen for several moments, trying to make sense of an idea that hovered in her mind. “There’s another explanation,” she said, “but it might be far-fetched. Several rooms in the mansion are in chaos, maybe for unrelated reasons. But what if someone has been tearing rooms apart looking for something? Maybe, and I’m just spinning ideas here, but maybe Paine Chatterley came back to town to get even with someone, to settle a score. If he threatened his victim with damning evidence of some sort…”

Maddie leaped from her chair so quickly that Spunky jumped to his feet and wobbled on Olivia’s lap. She held his middle to steady him.

“Remember when Paine and Hermione came to the store Tuesday evening? Paine made a point of hinting that he knew both Karen Evanson and Quill Latimer,” Maddie said, hoisting herself onto Rosemarie’s desk.

“Yes,” Olivia said, “and I now know the story behind Paine’s relationship with Quill, at least according to Rosemarie.” She filled Maddie in on Rosemarie’s tale of having caught Paine cheating on a test.

Maddie ran her fingers through her wild hair until the tangles defeated further progress. “So Quill has a reason to hate Paine, if Rosemarie is telling the whole story. Maybe Quill was cheating, too, and Rosemarie didn’t catch him.
Maybe Paine and Quill were in cahoots, helping each other with test answers, but Paine fixed it so only Quill got blamed.” Maddie’s shoulders drooped. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Not if Rosemarie is sure Paine was the one who benefited.”

“Maybe Quill had a guilty secret that Paine knew about,” Olivia said. “Otherwise, why would Quill take the blame without protest?”

“You know,” Maddie said, “this might explain why Hermione has been stealing. If she and Paine came back here because they were broke, maybe Paine turned to blackmail to fatten the family wallet. Isn’t it the blackmailer who usually gets murdered? Come to think of it, I’ll bet Paine had something juicy on Karen, too.”

“This is a whole lot of conjecture,” Olivia said.

“Party pooper.” Maddie slid off the desk and began to shut down Rosemarie’s computer. “This is our cue to visit her ladyship, Hermione Chatterley. If the docs at Johns Hopkins are right—and really, what are the odds those guys would be wrong?—Hermione probably isn’t the one who’s been tearing up the mansion. Aunt Sadie has congestive heart failure, and she’d keel over if she started flinging furniture around. But I’m betting Hermione is involved, or at least she knows a lot more than she’s letting on.”

As she watched the photo and email program disappear from the screen, Olivia said, “There is one other possible explanation for the condition of Chatterley Mansion. It’s a long shot but worth thinking about.”

“Tell,” Maddie said. The sparkle in her eyes matched her emerald ring as it caught the overhead light.

“What if someone, or more than one someone, believes the Chatterley cookie-cutter collection is more than fantasy. A whole collection has never been found, but from Aunt
Sadie’s description, Paine’s parents might have unearthed a number of genuine pieces. Paine saw them, too.”

“You’re thinking Paine was searching the mansion before he died? Maybe he had some reason to believe his parents hadn’t found all the cutters and sold them. Hermione had to be in on it, even if she couldn’t do much searching. But someone killed Paine, and it probably wasn’t Hermione.”

“At least not alone,” Olivia said. “Unfortunately, if the motive involves the famed Chatterley cookie-cutter collection, the suspect list gets longer.”

“It does indeed,” Maddie said. “One particular name comes to mind: Rosemarie York. She’s a cutter fanatic.”

Holding Spunky, Olivia got up to check the corridor. “Empty,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Why didn’t I know about Rosemarie’s interest in cutters? And why wouldn’t she have visited The Gingerbread House more often?”

“Because she’s only interested in truly antique cutters, and we mostly sell vintage ones. Not to denigrate vintage cutters, which I love with all my heart and soul.”

“As do I. How come you know about Rosemarie’s passion?”

“Two reasons,” Maddie said. “Shortly after you inherited Clarisse’s cookie-cutter collection, Rosemarie asked me if you were planning to sell any of the older pieces. She didn’t want to ask you because it might seem insensitive. I told her you were unlikely ever to part with those pieces. I might even have hinted you’d be buried with them, which, in retrospect—”

“We do need to leave for Chatterley Mansion before winter arrives.”

“The second reason is…” Maddie opened the bottom
drawer of Rosemarie’s desk. “Take a gander at these. They ought to look familiar.”

The drawer was stuffed with magazines, catalogs, and articles printed off the Internet, all relating to cookie cutters. Olivia picked up a copy of
Early American Life
magazine, featuring an article on the history of tin cookie cutters. “I have this,” she said. “It’s fascinating. And look at all the books from the Cookie Cutter Collectors Club. Oh, and I love this one.” Olivia picked up a dog-eared copy of
300 Years of Kitchen Collectibles
by Linda Campbell Franklin.

“The whole drawer is full of research materials on cookie cutters,” Maddie said. “I would never have guessed Rosemarie was so interested in antique cookie cutters. I mean, she never helped with the baking for the celebration, except for picking up supplies when we needed them. So here’s what I’m wondering: what if she’s really interested in the Chatterley collection? Matthew Fabrizio is her sister’s son, and he is descended from Frederick P. Chatterley. So Rosemarie is, too, right?”

Olivia replaced the magazine on top of the stack of materials and closed the desk drawer. “Given all the materials Rosemarie has gathered, she’s been studying antique cookie cutters for some time. Her interest might have nothing to do with the Chatterley cutters.” Olivia absently stroked her thumb across her sleeping pup’s head. “I’m inclined to think the Chatterley collection is either a myth or was found and sold off long ago. That’s what Clarisse used to say. It’s hard to believe there’d be any hiding places left after all the renovation on the mansion.”

Olivia’s cell vibrated, and she flipped it open. “Del, glad you called. I’m about to head over to the mansion.”

“Livie, I wanted to let you know, we released Matthew
Fabrizio. Thanks for the info from Rosemarie York. I questioned her and talked to some folks at the school. Her story checked out. I just finished questioning Quill Latimer. He admitted he was accused of cheating but insisted Paine was the real culprit.”

“Does Quill have an alibi for Thursday night?” Olivia put one finger to her lips to warn Maddie not to squeal with excitement.

“Until midnight,” Del said.

“On a school night?”

“He doesn’t teach on Fridays, so he got together with a couple of friends for an ‘intellectual discussion’ involving several bottles of wine. His companions confirmed he was sloshed when they left his house at midnight. Not a perfect alibi but better than Matthew’s, which is nonexistent. They both have motives, both had keys to the mansion, and both were under the influence.”

“So no arrest, then?”

“Not yet.”

“There’s a murderer roaming the streets,” Olivia said. “Goodie. I’m heading over to the mansion now for my babysitting assignment. I’ll sneak into a closet and call at once if Hermione gives herself or anyone else away.”

“There’s something odd about that woman,” Del said. “If she gives herself away, get out fast.”