Olivia saw only one easy way to get Maddie’s attention. She pushed the stop button on the CD player. Maddie’s hand froze over the bowl of icing. As her head snapped toward the CD player, a drop of royal blue coloring retreated back into its dropper.
Catching sight of Olivia, Maddie grinned. “Livie! Hey, sleepyhead.”
“I don’t suppose you know what time it is?”
“Not a clue. Is it time to open? Because I stowed some work clothes in the bathroom, so I can be changed in a jiffy.” Maddie’s eyes flicked to Olivia’s attire. “You’re in your jammies. Are you sick or—?”
“Or,” Olivia said, “it’s the middle of the night.”
Maddie twisted her head to check the clock over the sink. “It’s almost five o’clock.”
“That’s four twenty-four. In the morning. Your music woke me up at four. I was catching up on paperwork until midnight, so I had my heart set on at least three more hours of sleep. I need those three hours.”
“Oh, Livie, I’m sorry. You’ll get those three hours, I promise. I’ll open the store; you can sleep till noon if you want.” Maddie reached toward a rack of cookies. “Only first let me show you what I’m making for our special spring event on Saturday. You’ll love it, and you’ll sleep so much better knowing how fabulously fun it will be. Please?”
“What the heck, I’m awake now.” Olivia dragged a tall stool over to the table and crawled onto it. “I don’t suppose you’ve made coffee?”
As Maddie shook her head, a red curl escaped its restraint and bounced on her cheek. She swept it behind her ear. “I’ve got extra icing, though. A good dose of sugar would perk you right up.”
“Tell me your brilliant idea.”
Maddie’s face lit up. She pushed the rack of cookies toward Olivia and asked, “What do you think?”
“Flowers? For spring, right?”
“And?”
Olivia picked up a cookie. “This looks like a tulip, but I don’t remember having a cutter quite like this in stock.”
“And you would be correct,” Maddie said. “I used our regular tulip cookie cutter, but then I worked the dough a bit to make it look more like a lily-flowering tulip. I did the same thing with all our flower shapes.” She reached to a rack on the table and plucked up another cookie. “This is a daisy I’m turning into a sunflower. See?”
It still looked like a daisy to Olivia. “I’m sure I will once you’ve outlined the petals.”
“Maybe you will and maybe you won’t,” Maddie said, with her signature mad-scientist smirk. “I’m decorating them with wild colors, and Saturday we’ll ask customers to identify each flower. You guess right, you get the cookie. Whoever gets the most right wins a free lesson on making creative cutout cookies. We’ll show customers how versatile cookie cutters can be, so when they buy a set of five ordinary shapes, they are really investing in endless possibilities.”
Olivia bit a petal off her cookie and chewed, enjoying the sweet-butter feel of it melting in her mouth. Maddie was truly gifted when it came to anything cookie related.
When Olivia didn’t answer immediately, Maddie’s full lips began to droop. “You hate my idea.”
Olivia swallowed quickly. “Girlfriend, your idea is nothing short of brilliant. Cleaning up after your fits of genius is a small price to pay. However, next time bring your iPod and plug it in your ear.” She slid off her stool, taking the remains of the cookie with her. “And now I am going back to bed. I’ll be down by nine.”
Olivia was about to leave when she heard a knocking sound from the direction of a door that opened into the alley behind the store. She spun around. Maddie, her hand hovering over the bottles of food coloring, stared over her shoulder at Olivia. “Who on earth . . . ?” she whispered.
Another knock, louder this time. Olivia, who was facing the back door, saw the doorknob turn. The door rattled as someone tried to push it open. Olivia reached across the kitchen table toward the knife Maddie had been using to trim cookie edges. She curled her fingers around the handle, pulled it to her.
“Livie? Maddie? You kids okay in there?” It was a man’s voice, authoritative, concerned, and familiar.
“Thank God,” Maddie said. “It’s Del.”
Olivia realized how tense she’d been as her shoulders dropped about a foot. Del was Sheriff Delroy Jenkins. He was only in his late thirties, but he always referred to younger women as kids. Olivia suspected it was his way of keeping some professional distance. Which was fine with her—she’d felt the occasional spark between them, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready for a new relationship. Her divorce was barely a year old.
Maddie unlocked the back door and flung it open. Sheriff Del stood in the dark alley, his hand on the butt of his service revolver. As he stepped closer to the doorway, his eyes darted around the kitchen.
“You scared the life out of us,” Maddie said. She grabbed the shoulder of Del’s uniform and pulled him inside.
The back door was small, and Del was one of the few men in town who didn’t have to duck to go through it. However, he was still taller than Olivia’s five foot seven. Which didn’t matter, she reminded herself, because there was nothing whatsoever between them.
Sheriff Del locked and bolted the door behind him.
“What the heck are you doing out there?” Maddie demanded. “Are you on night shift or something, or is this a cop thing, wandering around alleys at—well, whatever time it is, it’s still dark.”
Del had an easygoing, unflappable manner, but to Olivia he looked shaken.
“You two sure you’re okay in here?” Del asked, his eyes on the knife in Olivia’s hand.
Olivia held the knife up, pointing toward the ceiling. “Everything’s under control,” she said. “The body’s in the basement. Want to help bury it?”
Del relaxed enough to drop his hand from his gun handle. He grinned as his gaze flicked up and down Olivia’s body. “You are looking lovely this morning, Ms. Greyson.”
Olivia plunked the knife onto the table so she wouldn’t throw it at him. Though she wasn’t prone to blushing, she could feel her cheeks heat up. She’d forgotten what she was wearing when she’d been blasted out of bed. It wasn’t pretty.
Olivia’s ex-husband wasn’t an evil guy, but he’d been a bit on the controlling side. Ryan was a surgeon, which eventually became more important to him than being an equal partner in their marriage. Over time, he’d begun laying down rules for Olivia to live by. Ryan despised dogs, said they were smelly and noisy and carried germs. He had also insisted that a surgeon’s wife should always dress well, day and night. If even a neighbor saw Olivia wearing ratty clothes, it might trigger rumors that Ryan was a sloppy surgeon.
As soon as she moved to Chatterley Heights, Olivia set about breaking the rules. She’d adopted Spunky, a rescue Yorkie who liked to steal food off her plate. And she always wore her oldest, most dilapidated sweats to bed. The more holes, the better. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone besides Spunky or Maddie might ever spot her in them. So much for that hint of future romance. Probably for the best.
Del looked too tired to keep up the banter, so Olivia swallowed her scathing retort. “Has something happened?” she asked him. “Is that why you’re out at this hour?”
Del hesitated, frowning. With a shrug, he said, “Everyone will know soon, anyway. I was on my way home from the Chamberlain house when I saw the lights on in here. It got me worrying. Not that there’s anything for you to worry about, it looked like an accident, but I thought I’d check on you, to be on the safe side.”
“Could you be a little less clear?” Olivia asked.
“Sorry,” Del said with a faint smile. “We got a call around two a.m. from the Chamberlain housekeeper—you know Bertha, right? Anyway, Bertha said she’d found Clarisse unconscious. We got there right after the paramedics, but there was nothing anyone could do. She was dead.”
Chapter Two
Olivia managed a whopping hour and thirty-seven minutes of sl
eep before the alarm woke her. After the events of the previous night, she knew the store would be busier than usual. Even Maddie’s superhuman energy level might not be up to the demands of Chatterley Heights gossip.
After a shower, Olivia dressed in cords and a warm sweater to take Spunky on a quick walk. The morning air felt heavy and wet under slate clouds, so Spunky was more than happy to keep it short. He raced upstairs before Olivia could dry off his paws, leaped back onto her unmade bed, and burrowed his head under a blanket fold.
“Wish I could join you, kiddo,” Olivia said. She left the bedroom door ajar so Spunky could get to food and water.
For the first time since The Gingerbread House opened, Olivia felt no quickening of energy and interest at the thought of going to work. Her slump had less to do with sleep deprivation than with her struggle to grasp the reality of Clarisse Chamberlain’s death. In fact, Olivia had awakened that morning convinced that she’d dreamed the whole episode: the suspected intruder, Maddie’s middle-of-the-night baking frenzy, and Del’s bleak announcement.
She remembered feeling that same confusion when her father died, which told her how tightly woven into her life Clarisse had become. During the last few years of her marriage to Ryan, Olivia’s identity had shifted so subtly from beloved partner to appendage that she hadn’t been aware of it happening. One day they were working side by side to achieve a joint dream, and the next she was a mix of servant and arm candy. Looking back, the divorce was inevitable and necessary, but it had dealt yet another blow to Olivia’s sense of competence.
It was Clarisse Chamberlain who’d yanked her upright, brushed the dirt off her derriere, and prodded her into a turnaround. Clarisse, a successful businesswoman for over forty years, had spotted Olivia’s potential and encouraged her—okay, outright bullied her—into taking a chance on The Gingerbread House. She had become Olivia’s ongoing mentor, most enthusiastic customer, and friend. Clarisse would tell her to go downstairs and attend to business.
Olivia decided not to change out of her cozy cords and sweater; she might end up napping in the kitchen during work breaks. On her way to the staircase, she stopped for a critical look in the bathroom mirror. She looked better than she had at four a.m., but there was room for improvement. A touch of makeup, a hint of blush, and her puffy eyelids were less obvious. Her short auburn hair was behaving for once, falling in loose curls around her face. A few men, Ryan included, had noticed her unusual gray eyes, which could look blue or green depending on the color of her outfit. Arm candy, however, she wasn’t, and she had no wish to be.
Olivia drained her coffee cup and carried it with her downstairs. It was going to be that kind of day.
Maddie was opening the store as Olivia arrived. “Fresh coffee in the kitchen,” she said, eyeing the empty cup.
Olivia followed the scent of brewing coffee. “Did you get any sleep?” she called over her shoulder.
“Nope, not really. Don’t worry about me. My record is forty-eight hours without sleep. Always wanted to break that.”
“Let me know when you need a nap.”
“Will do.”
In the kitchen, Olivia filled her cup, gathered a pile of orders, and sat down at her little work desk. She’d barely begun when the kitchen door opened and Maddie poked her head inside.
“I could use some backup out here,” Maddie said.
“Sure thing.” Olivia followed her into the store. “Did we announce a fire sale? There must be a dozen customers in here already.”
“Thirteen, to be exact,” Maddie said. “And I can see more arriving. I’m guessing they’re curious to hear the latest about Clarisse’s death.”
“But why here?”
“Because,” Maddie said, “you and Clarisse were close, that’s why. If anybody has details, it’ll be her sons or you. Edward and Hugh will stay out of sight. You don’t have that option. You’re not in Baltimore anymore. But fear not, I’m right behind you.”
The moment Olivia appeared, customers flowed toward her like water through a sieve. She felt like a starlet who’d stopped in to ask for directions. However, unlike adoring fans, Chatterley Heights residents behaved with subtlety and restraint. Usually, anyway. She recognized every face, including several she’d never before seen inside The Gingerbread House.
For the next hour, customers vied for Olivia’s attention. Most of them bought something, if only a spatula or one of the less expensive cookie cutters, for the chance to talk to her for a minute. She tried to quell the most shocking rumors—especially the one that Clarisse was murdered by a motorcycle gang during a home invasion. When word spread through the store that, as far as Olivia knew, Clarisse’s death had been natural, the crowd began to shrink.
Olivia busied herself restocking shelves, while Maddie went straight for Lucas Ashford in the cookbook nook, which had once been a family dining room. A red plaid flannel shirt tucked into jeans draped Lucas’s strong, lean body. He appeared to be testing the weight of a gray marble rolling pin as if he thought it might be useful at a demolition site. Maddie was nuts about him. Her descriptions of him always included words such as “yummy,” but to Olivia, he was simply Lucas, the guy next door. When Maddie appeared at his side, he smiled down at her, and she touched his arm. A prick of sadness caught Olivia by surprise. She remembered those feelings.
“Sweetheart, how are you holding up?”
Olivia started at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Mom. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“You didn’t see me down here, you mean.” It was an old family joke, but Ellie Greyson-Meyers laughed as if she’d just thought it up. At four foot eleven, Ellie was a good eight inches shorter than Olivia, who had inherited her height from her six-foot-two father.
“Maddie can handle the store for now,” Ellie said. “Come talk to your mother.” With a firm maternal arm, she pulled Olivia into the kitchen and closed the door. Ellie hoisted her small frame onto a stool. A child of the 1960s, now approaching sixty, Ellie still favored long, flowing skirts and peasant blouses. She’d long ago cut her waistlength hair, which now hung below her shoulders in loose gray waves.
“Oh my,” Ellie said, eyeing the kitchen table. Maddie had managed to decorate about half of her flower cookies. “You and Maddie have outdone yourselves.”
“All Maddie’s doing,” Olivia said. “She is the creative genius.”
Ellie leaned forward and pointed to a cookie. “Is that a purple daffodil? If we were back in the commune, I’d wonder if Maddie’s genius got a boost from—”
“Trust me, Mom, purple daffodils grow in Maddie’s world.”
“And what about your world, Livie? You look tired. I know how close you’d become to Clarisse; her death must be a blow. Now don’t look at me like that, I’m not after gossip. It’s just that . . .” Ellie gathered her hair and pulled it behind her neck, giving it a twist so it wouldn’t fall forward. “When your father died, I grieved of course, but I also began to question myself. Should I have seen it coming? Should I have insisted he see a doctor sooner? Why didn’t he tell me about his symptoms until it was too late?”
Olivia picked up a cookie that looked like a green and orange striped rose, snapped it in half, and handed one piece to Ellie.
“I honestly don’t know how Clarisse died,” Olivia said, “but . . .”
Ellie waited, nibbling the icing off an edge of her cookie half.
“Right up until three days ago,” Olivia said, “I’d have sworn there was nothing wrong with Clarisse. She was as sharp and vibrant as ever. Then she came into the store Tuesday, and she seemed to be in a different world.”
“Maybe she’d been given some bad news about her health,” Ellie said.
The kitchen door opened, and Maddie poked her head in. “Hi, Ellie. Livie, could you come out and watch the store for half an hour, pretty please with buttercream frosting on top? Lucas wants to buy me a cup of coffee. Thank you, thank you!” She disappeared before Olivia could open her mouth.
“Are you sure you’re all right? I was planning to go to Baltimore,” Ellie said, “to take a seminar on natural healing, but I can skip that if you need me.”
“I’m okay, Mom. I need to keep busy. You go ahead to your seminar and give me a call when you get back.”
Ellie put her arms around Olivia and gave her a motherly squeeze. “I’ll keep my cell on vibrate, so promise you’ll call if you need to talk, okay?”
“Thanks, Mom. I promise.”
“Take care of yourself, Livie. Don’t beat yourself up about something you couldn’t have prevented.” She stood on tiptoes and pulled Olivia down by the shoulder to plant a kiss on her cheek.
Olivia followed her mother into the empty store, waved good-bye, and finished her restocking project. And thought about Clarisse. She wished their last time together hadn’t been so odd and unsettling. Clarisse had seemed vague and scattered, at times unaware of Olivia’s presence. Clarisse was a hardheaded businesswoman with laser-beam focus. She did not dither. But dither she did on that last visit to the store.
Olivia had the store to herself, so she sat on the high stool behind the sales counter and punched some numbers into her cell phone.
After three rings, Sheriff Del answered. “Livie, hello there. Sorry I disrupted your sleep this morning.” Olivia heard some male guffaws in the background, then, “Hang on, I’m going outside.” A minute later, Del said, “Sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’re a bit short on sleep, too.”
“No kidding. What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking about Clarisse. We had dinner together last Saturday, and she seemed fine. But when she came to the store on Tuesday, she was distant, distracted. She behaved oddly, though I wouldn’t say she looked ill. I can’t help but wonder. . . . Maybe something was wrong. I think I’d like to talk with you about it. Are you free for lunch?”
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