When the Cookie Crumbles Read online

  “Sure…” Maddie studied Olivia’s face. “Anything else?”

  “I worry about the little guy, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s with the intense stare? Spunky is sensitive; I’m his mom.”

  “You’re planning something, aren’t you? You have that look. I’ll bet you want Spunky out of here because you’re afraid somebody might get violent or something. I’m right, aren’t I?” Maddie pushed aside a stack of dirty bowls and hoisted herself up onto the counter. “Come on, spill,” she said. “Should I hide in the gingerbread village and take notes? Should I call Del and Cody?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Olivia said. “I’m not planning to unmask a murderer. I just don’t want Spunky to wake up in a strange room and panic. However, since you bring it up, I have been thinking more about that list of unanswered questions we brainstormed.” Olivia patted her ribs. Her décolletage had prevented her from stuffing the folded lists down the front of her blouse, so she’d laced them inside her gray bodice. However, she knew the questions by heart. “Karen ordered Rosemarie and Matthew to hang around, which means all our suspects except Hermione are in the building. I’m hoping a detail or two might slip out. Maybe I can fill in a few blanks. Then I’ll spill it all to Del, and he can take it from there.”

  “But you don’t want me to be there, right? That is so not fair.”

  “You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

  “Of course I am.” Maddie’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll check on Spunky, don’t worry.”

  “You’re going to eavesdrop on the meeting, aren’t you? Because if you aren’t, who are you, and what have you done with Maddie?”

  Maddie clasped her hands like an excited child. “I’ll bring out refreshments, make sure there’s plenty of coffee, maybe clean up a bit.…” Maddie opened the pantry door and retrieved the shawl embroidered with passion flowers. She tossed it around Olivia’s shoulders and said, “Better wear this, or no one will take you seriously.”

  “Listen, Maddie, if you insist on loitering in the meeting room, I have an assignment for you.”

  “Name it.”

  “If it looks like the meeting is breaking up, and you hear me say something about going home and getting some rest, leave the room and call my cell. You can hang up right away. I just want it to ring.”

  “No way am I hanging up,” Maddie said. “Tell me your plan.”

  “Really, there’s no plan. It’s just in case—”

  Rosemarie poked her head into the kitchen, and Ellie’s head appeared beneath Rosemarie’s chin.

  “Livie,” Rosemarie said, “Karen is getting impatient to start the meeting, and she’s in a mood.”

  “I’m afraid Binnie has been taunting her,” Ellie added.

  “You’d better get in there fast, or you’ll be Karen’s first victim,” Rosemarie said before disappearing.

  Ellie bestowed a gentle, concerned smile. “I’ll be wandering among the gingerbread houses, should you need me. And I’m rather afraid you will.”

  Mayor Karen Evanson cast a stern glance around the circle of beleaguered volunteers. Olivia prepared for an unpleasant experience by renewing her vow to avoid any future involvement with committees. Or any group led by Karen Evanson.

  Karen reached into her ever-present, ever-expanding file and produced her voice-activated handheld recorder. “Overall,” she began, “the Chatterley Heights two-hundred-fiftieth birthday celebration went fairly well. By that I mean none of our visitors appeared distressed by the myriad gaps and errors in the organization and administration of the event.” Karen’s piercing gaze focused on Olivia. In the artificial light, Karen’s eyes reminded Olivia of a great horned owl. “Did you have something to add, Ms. Greyson? I distinctly heard you sigh.”

  Before Olivia could think of a response, rescue came from the seat next to hers. Binnie Sloan produced a small notebook, a pencil, and her own recorder. “Just so you know, Karen, I intend to record and take notes on everything that’s said here tonight. It’ll be in next week’s article about the celebration. You might want to think about that.”

  “Put the recorder and notebook away,” Karen said. “This discussion is privileged.”

  Mr. Willard cleared his throat. He still wore his British barrister’s outfit, minus his white wig. Tapping his fingertips together, Mr. Willard said, “I would need to review the Maryland sunshine laws, but I believe our little gathering might qualify as a public meeting.”

  Olivia heard a faint click as Karen turned off her handheld recorder.

  “In which case,” Mr. Willard said, “we must allow public access to the content of our discussion. If we do not, it might appear as though we have something to hide. The press does have a right to provide an accurate, and I stress the word ‘accurate,’ report to the citizenry.”

  Karen clicked her recorder on again. “Very well then, Ms. Sloan, we will begin our discussion with a summary of your behavior last Friday, the day of Paine Chatterley’s murder. As I recall, you were arrested by Sheriff Jenkins for entering the Chatterley Mansion without permission and taking unauthorized photographs. If that tidbit isn’t in your so-called article, I will see that it does appear in public records.”

  Binnie shrugged her plump shoulders. “Why would that scare me? Reporters horn in on police investigations all the time. I was just doing my job.”

  “Let me explain,” Karen said. “The sheriff did not consider you to be a murder suspect because he assumed you had no personal involvement with the victim. But what if the sheriff was wrong? As mayor, I would feel it necessary to order an investigation into your movements, your past, every detail of your life, in case you did, in fact, have a relationship with the victim and/or his wife. During such a thorough investigation, I suspect we’d uncover a number of libelous comments and doctored photographs you and your niece have published about our citizens. So far, we’ve tolerated your unprofessional behavior, but that can change. Lawsuits might result. It could get very messy for both of you.”

  Olivia couldn’t say she’d ever seen Binnie hesitate in the face of a threat, but hesitate she did. She cared about her niece Nedra’s future. With another shrug, Binnie stuffed her notebook and pen back in their assigned pockets. “Have it your way.” Her secretive half smile said that her capitulation was temporary.

  Karen skipped over Lucas Ashford, whose strong, sculpted features couldn’t hide his intense discomfort. Olivia cringed as Karen focused on Mr. Willard. Mild-mannered, gentlemanly Mr. Willard had crossed Karen by bringing up the sunshine laws. He was about to be disciplined.

  “Now we have the matter of Paine Chatterley’s false death certificate,” Karen said. “Mr. Willard, would you care to explain to us how such a mistake was made?”

  Olivia had underestimated Mr. Willard. Unfazed, he cleared his throat and said, “I do apologize for the error. At the time, the town was hoping to open Chatterley Mansion to the public and could do so only if all ‘legitimate’ descendants were deceased. I contacted the appropriate officials about Paine Chatterley’s whereabouts and was sent a death certificate and other supporting documents. The examining physician’s description of the deceased was a good match to Paine Chatterley. Since this was nearly thirty years ago, DNA was not analyzed. Death occurred as a result of a skiing accident in Switzerland, and Paine’s identification papers were found on the body.”

  “And yet, it wasn’t Paine,” Karen said.

  “It was not,” Mr. Willard said. “A mountain climber came upon the body and reported it to the authorities. I was sent a copy of his account, which he was required to sign before being allowed to return to his native England. Everything seemed in order. I did not recognize the name and therefore failed to examine the signature thoroughly. The name was Howard Carswell, but the handwriting bears distinct similarities to examples of Paine’s writing I have in my files. Again, I do apologize.”

  There wasn’t much Karen could say to such a straightforward explana
tion. But she couldn’t help herself. “Well, it created quite a mess. Try to be more careful in the future.”

  Olivia tightened her shawl around her bare shoulders as the mayor’s gaze shifted to her. Perhaps no juicy criticism sprang to mind because, after several tense moments, Karen moved on to Quill Latimer. Quill appeared comfortable in his cloak and PhD hood. His mortarboard lay on his crossed knee, the tassel hanging down the side of his shin. He answered Karen’s stare with the faintest of smirks, as if he found her personal critiques entertaining.

  “Quill, we saw very little of you during the festivities. I thought I made it clear that, since you were not conducting tours of the mansion, you were to circulate among the visitors and talk about the history of Chatterley Heights. We deserve more prominence in Maryland state history, and the celebration was our chance.” Karen’s attempt at scathing criticism was a stretch, but she didn’t flinch under Quill’s disdainful stare.

  “Isn’t it a shame,” Quill said, “that Paine Chatterley’s murder spotlighted your town, and you as its mayor, for all the wrong reasons.” Karen’s recorder clicked off as Quill leaned back in his folding chair and stretched out his long, thin legs. “Paine did seem pleased to see you last week when he and his wife first arrived in town. He sounded almost…lascivious.”

  Olivia’s peripheral vision caught a movement from across the room, near the gingerbread town. She didn’t dare turn her head. She hoped Maddie had slipped into the room to eavesdrop on the meeting.

  Karen wasn’t about to back down. Her eyes never wavered from Quill’s face as she restarted her recorder and said, “I have no idea what you are talking about. Paine obviously mistook me for someone in his past, someone who happened to have the same first name. Years of heavy drinking addled the man’s brain; that was clear from his erratic behavior. You, on the other hand, did have a prior relationship with Paine, didn’t you, Quill?” A hard smile sharpened the perfect lines of Karen’s face. “It goes back, doesn’t it? All the way to high school?”

  Quill’s body stiffened. “Everyone knows Paine and I went to high school together, and some people know the truth about what happened during that time. If I were you, I wouldn’t toss out vague insinuations. I could sue you successfully for slander, and if I decide to do so, good luck winning a congressional seat.”

  Karen drew in a breath, as if to retort. Instead, she consulted her notes and said, “We need to move on. Local shops did a brisk business during the fete, and the town more than covered its expenses for decorations and so on. The opening parade could have gone more smoothly. Certainly the high school band needs improvement, but the spectators seemed appreciative.”

  Lucas Ashford had neither contributed to the discussion nor found himself an object of criticism. Nevertheless, he looked like a lumberjack facing a hungry grizzly bear. Gazing around the circle, Olivia saw Mr. Willard’s eyelids drooping. He was, after all, well into his seventies, and it had been a demanding weekend. Quill Latimer scowled in the direction of his extended feet, and Binnie Sloan reminded Olivia of Spunky after he’d captured the steak from the Chatterley Mansion garbage can—triumphant and stubborn. Binnie wasn’t finished with Karen. Olivia herself felt both drained and intrigued.

  Maddie appeared, as if on cue, carrying a plate laden with gingerbread cookies she’d whipped up in the community center during the last days of gingerbread house preparation. She had left her shawl in the kitchen and looked every inch the serving wench as she presented the cookie tray to each committee member in turn. Olivia grinned inwardly when she saw Mr. Willard’s eyes stray to Maddie’s impressive cleavage, then flick away. Quill took a cookie and ignored Maddie’s charms. As she served Lucas, his face lit up with relief. Rosemarie abandoned her dust cloth to join the group, and Matthew followed, bringing along his mop.

  Olivia nibbled on a running gingerbread man, iced with magenta and pink prison stripes, while she reviewed the tense meeting. She needed more information. Decorated cookies had such a relaxing effect on most people, maybe they would lower their guard. Unfortunately, the meeting was winding down, and no one felt like chatting. Then she thought of Binnie.

  As Maddie repeated her cookie rounds, Olivia joined her. In a conversational tone, she said, “I heard a rumor the police are investigating Paine and Hermione’s years in England, now that they know about the assumed names. I guess the police are interested in any contacts they had with Chatterley Heights citizens.”

  Olivia’s comment triggered a moment of suspended animation. Binnie broke the silence by saying, “Is that all you could get out of your boyfriend?”

  “It sounds like normal background investigation to me,” Quill said. “If there were anything to find, we’d have heard about it by now.”

  Olivia hesitated, pretending to search her memory. “I think the names were something like Sir Laurence and Lady Ariana.”

  Karen’s cup clattered on its saucer. “That’s absurd. No one would fall for that.”

  “You would know, wouldn’t you?” Binnie said. “Karin.”

  Bingo. Olivia had guessed correctly. If anyone would think of hunting down personal information about suspects on the Internet, it would be Binnie Sloan. Binnie might be obnoxious, but she was no fool. She’d come to the same conclusion Olivia and Maddie had. The actress named Karin Evensong—who’d played Doris, the betrayed wife, in the London play, Malice and Teacakes—was a twentyish Karen Evanson.

  “This meeting is over,” Karen said. She plunked her half-drunk coffee on the metal table and reached for her expandable file.

  “Now it’s getting interesting,” Quill said.

  Mr. Willard gave the impression he was confused, but Olivia noticed his watchful eyes shift between Binnie and Karen. Smiling to herself, Binnie strolled toward the gingerbread houses. She stopped at the conjoined St. Francis/St. Alban’s Church and pretended to listen at the candy stained glass window on the Episcopalian side. “I think I hear music,” Binnie said. I wonder what…yes, of course. The congregation is singing.…” Binnie looked directly at Karen. “It’s the right time of day for Evensong, isn’t it, Karin?”

  The only color remaining in Karen’s face came from artificial sources. Niggling discomfort made Olivia wish she hadn’t started what was turning into an all-out attack on Karen to the exclusion of other perfectly good suspects.

  Ellie’s petite form appeared from behind the gingerbread bakery and candy store. She strolled over to join the group. “Karen dear, your mother and I had lovely talks about your exciting year studying art in Europe. I wish all young people could have an opportunity to live in another culture. It makes one so much more appreciative of differences, don’t you think?”

  “Studying art,” Binnie sneered. “Yeah, right.”

  “I studied art at the Sorbonne,” Karen said. “When the year ended, I went to London and tried out for a play. To my surprise, I got the part. I decided to use a stage name. It was all simply a lark.”

  “I’ll bet it was.” Binnie rummaged in several pockets and produced her recorder, notebook, and pen. Switching on the recorder, she said, “Did your lark include continuing your torrid affair with Paine Chatterley?”

  “Binnie Sloan, stop it this instant!” Ellie’s curt tone took Olivia back to one day in seventh grade, when she’d come home from school in a cranky mood and flung her backpack on a table. It smashed a porcelain indigo bunting, her ornithologist father’s first gift to her mother.

  A stunned Binnie gaped at Ellie, which gave Olivia enough time to snatch the recorder and notebook from her slack grip. Since her tavern wench costume had no pockets, Olivia handed Binnie’s weapons of torture to Karen, who slipped them into the pockets of her blazer. Karen gave Ellie a startled yet grateful smile, then turned to Olivia. “Livie, I…” Karen’s eyes moistened, and she blinked rapidly to clear them. For a moment, Olivia noticed flecks of copper in her light eyes.

  “Hey, that was illegal!” Binnie’s pudgy face reddened. “You saw that, Mr. Willard. They stole m
y equipment. This is a blatant attempt to muzzle the press.”

  Mr. Willard’s long, bony fingers stroked his chin for a thoughtful moment. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that my eyes are not as reliable as they used to be.”

  Quill snickered and said, “Deeply satisfying as this scene has been, Binnie does have a point. Don’t the citizens of Chatterley Heights have a right to know if our mayor has had an ongoing relationship with a murder victim?”

  “I did no such thing,” Karen said. “As everyone in Chatterley Heights seems to know, Paine took advantage of me when I was underage. I recovered and went on with my life. I never saw him again until he and Hermione arrived here last Tuesday. I didn’t even recognize him.”

  With a sly smile, Binnie studied the gingerbread bakery and candy store, which had several cookie rosebushes in front. Olivia cringed as Binnie yanked up a pink and red rosebush by its royal icing roots and took a substantial bite.

  Karen checked her watch. “I hereby declare the celebration committee disbanded,” she said. “I’m going home.”

  “Not so fast.” Binnie pointed the remains of her cookie at Karen. “Last Wednesday evening, you spent nearly two hours inside Chatterley Mansion. You were renewing your affair with Paine, weren’t you? Poor old Hermione was probably sound asleep. She’s six or seven years older than Paine was, isn’t she? He married her because she had family money.” Binnie had done her homework.

  Karen glanced toward the community center’s front door and hesitated. She reached inside her blazer pockets for the confiscated recorder and notebook. Handing them back to Binnie, she said, “I have nothing whatsoever to hide. Good night.” She strode toward the door.

  “What happened, Ms. Mayor?” Binnie was beginning to sound desperate. As Karen reached for the doorknob, Binnie said, “Tell us what happened during that visit to the mansion, Karen, or we’ll have to assume the worst. Did Hermione walk in on you and Paine having a—”

  “Nothing happened.” Karen spun around to glare at Binnie. “Paine never appeared. Hermione said he was asleep, which I assume meant passed out. I talked to Hermione about opening the mansion for the celebration. Period. And if you print anything else, I will sue you. The Weekly Chatter will cease publication. Do I make myself clear?”