With a wistful sigh, Ellie said, “There is no such class, at least not within a reasonable distance from Chatterley Heights. I’m afraid I’ve taken every class available to me, many of them more than once. The supply has been dwindling.”
“Mom, you sound bored. I’ve never heard you sound bored before.” Olivia headed toward the kitchen. “You need coffee and a cookie. I’m afraid the cookie will come directly from the freezer. Maddie hasn’t been around to bake a fresh batch.”
“A frozen cookie sounds perfect,” Ellie said. “Shall I put Spunky back on his chair?”
“Bring the ferocious beast with you,” Olivia said as she held open the kitchen door. “No baking is going on in this kitchen until Maddie returns.”
“Your health code violation is safe with me.” Ellie settled at the kitchen table and snuggled Spunky on her lap.
Olivia poured fresh coffee into two cups and took a plastic container from the freezer. “Maddie baked a batch of lime cookies before she left town. She said the flavor sounded cool to her. Since the cookies are currently frozen, I’d say she was right.” Olivia opened the container and offered it to her mother.
“Yum,” Ellie said as she bit into her cookie. “It’s like eating frozen limeade right out of the can.”
“Okay, Mom, explain yourself. Why did you and Allan come home early from your retreat? Was it really that disappointing?”
“It became less disappointing once I’d explained to the retreat leaders how their approach could be made more effective and interesting.” Spunky sighed in his sleep as Ellie stroked the silky fur on his back. “However, I had a strong intuition that you were going to need me, so I told Allan we should leave. I think he was grateful, given how quickly he packed his bag.”
“I’ll bet. I imagine he whimpered when you dragged him to that retreat.” Olivia’s self-employed stepfather’s greatest love—after her mother, of course—was creating Internet businesses. “Why did you think I might need you?”
“It was intuition, dear, not an actual thought. Intuition is hard to explain.”
“Really? Mom, I came home early only because I ran out of books and got bored, not because I was in dire need of my mother’s assistance. And I found out about Greta Oskarson and her cutter collection about an hour ago, and I don’t need your help with that. Intuition? I think not.” Olivia felt rather pleased with herself.
Ellie smiled in her otherworldly way. Without a word, she selected a second cookie, took a delicate bite, and closed her eyes as she chewed. “Such a lovely flavor,” Ellie murmured.
Olivia took a gulp of her coffee, which tasted faintly of lime. “Okay, Mom, I’ll bet you came back early because someone called and told you about Greta Oskarson and her cookie cutter collection. Am I right?”
“Nearly right,” Ellie said, chuckling. “In fact, three people called to tell me all about Greta’s return. She has caused quite a stir.”
“Let me guess,” Olivia said. “One call had to come from Polly Franz. She’s got a great view of the town square from her second-floor office at the food bank.”
“And Polly has such powerful binoculars,” Ellie said. “She knows I count on her to keep me informed.”
“Then there’s Ida,” Olivia said. “People tend to ignore waitresses, so Ida hears all sorts of juicy gossip at Pete’s Diner. She always passes it on to you because, as everyone knows, Ida adores you. You are the daughter she never had. Polly is her main competitor.”
“Competition can be so helpful, don’t you think? Although in this instance, the two of them cooperated. Polly spotted a well-dressed, statuesque stranger visiting all the stores on the square. It was Greta Oskarson. When Greta stopped at Pete’s Diner for a bite to eat, Polly called Ida to find out who she was.” Ellie reached for the carafe and divided the remaining coffee between their two cups. “This is fun,” she said. “And who did my third call come from?”
Olivia hesitated. Chatterley Heights contained plenty of gossips, but who else might have called her mother right away? “Maybe Struts Marinsky? She isn’t a big gossip, but Jason might have mentioned that Greta wanted me to broker the sale of her cutter collection.” As soon as Olivia uttered her younger brother’s name, she knew she was wrong. Jason Greyson worked as a mechanic at the Struts & Bolts garage, but he paid no attention to town gossip unless it had to do with cars or free food. “Never mind,” Olivia said. “I have no idea who the third call came from.”
“Two out of three is an excellent score.” Ellie patted her daughter’s hand. “Maddie called me. She and Lucas are heading home, by the way. Aunt Sadie called Maddie with the news about Greta Oskarson.”
“Maddie . . . of course, I should have known.” Olivia had lived in Baltimore for ten years, and, as Maddie often pointed out, her small-town gossiping skills had suffered. “I’ll bet Maddie is practically exploding with excitement about Greta’s cookie cutter collection. But Mom, I still don’t understand why you rushed back home.”
Ellie pulled her long braid over her shoulder, unraveled it quickly, then began re-braiding. Olivia recognized the behavior; her mother was worried. Olivia started another pot of coffee. While Ellie unbraided her hair a second time, Olivia took the remaining frozen lime cookies from the freezer.
“Something is bothering you, Mom. What is it?” Olivia refilled their cups with coffee and delivered the cookies to the kitchen table. Her mother didn’t appear to notice. “Earth to Planet Mom,” Olivia said.
“What, dear? Oh, thank you, you’re a mind reader,” Ellie said as she reached for a cookie.
“No, I am most definitely not a mind reader.” Olivia added cream to both coffees. “I’m dying to know what you’re thinking. Your face has been going through all sorts of interesting contortions, but no actual words have come from your mouth.”
Ellie maintained silence long enough to finish her braid and secure it with a pink band. “After Maddie called me, I called Sadie,” Ellie said. “Not many people are aware of this, Livie, but Greta Oskarson has a . . . a history. Many years ago, Clarisse told me what she knew about Greta’s past, and it was disturbing. That’s why I called Sadie Briggs. I thought she might know more than anyone about Greta’s background. I was right. You know what dear Sadie is like; she wants to believe the best about everyone. However, even Sadie felt uneasy knowing you and Maddie would be involved in the sale of Greta’s cookie cutter collection. Though, of course, she would never interfere. She kept saying that her information was secondhand and, anyway, people change.”
Ellie lapsed into silence. When she reached for her braid, Olivia grabbed her hand. “Hasn’t your hair been tortured enough? Tell me what you learned about Greta from Clarisse and Sadie. If I’m to help Greta sell her cutter collection, I need to know if her ‘history,’ whatever that means, will be a problem.”
“Yes, I realize that, Livie. Otherwise, I would never breathe a word of this. So much of it is hearsay.” Ellie bit into her cookie and visibly relaxed. “I never really knew Greta when she lived in Chatterley Heights. She is at least ten years older than I am, so I would have been a youngster when she left for Europe. I was given to understand that she had been accepted by the Sorbonne in Paris. A few years later, when I was a young teen, I remember learning that Greta had married a wealthy French count, which sounded terribly romantic. That was the last I heard of her until a few years ago when Clarisse and I met for lunch one day.”
“When was this?” Olivia asked.
“While you were living in Baltimore, but not long before you moved back home.”
Olivia thought back to her return to Chatterley Heights, after her divorce from Ryan. She had arrived with a brand-new business degree and a dream. Olivia had always wanted to open a store that specialized in anything and everything connected to cookies. Clarisse Chamberlain, an experienced and very successful businesswoman, had encouraged Olivia to reach for her dream, which led to th
e purchase of her Queen Anne house and a business partnership with her childhood friend, Maddie Briggs.
Thinking back to her many long conversations with Clarisse, Olivia said, “It’s odd; I don’t remember Clarisse ever mentioning a Greta Oskarson. Yet according to Constance, Greta insisted that she and Clarisse had bonded over a mutual fascination with cookie cutters.”
“Oh dear,” Ellie said as she nibbled on her cookie. “I must have a chat with Constance as well.”
“About what, exactly?” When her mother didn’t answer, Olivia added, “Mom, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, Livie, I’m just preoccupied. I wish I’d maintained my old contacts in the FBI and the CIA. Although perhaps I could reconnect—” Ellie laughed when she saw the expression on Olivia’s face. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to terrify you. Here’s the scoop: Clarisse told me that Greta’s French count—her first count, that is. I heard there were more, though I assume they didn’t all perish under mysterious circumstances—anyway, Greta’s first husband died barely a year after their wedding. The count—I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his name, if I ever heard it, Count Number One, let’s call him—he and Greta were alone together on their yacht, supposedly enjoying a romantic cruise off the coast of France, when the count somehow wound up in the water. He drowned. Clarisse read a newspaper article about the incident. Apparently Greta was hysterical, quite devastated. Of course, she was a lovely and highly intelligent young woman . . . and I’m sure the investigating officers were men.”
Olivia dipped a frozen cookie into her coffee and let it dissolve in her mouth as she mulled over the implication in her mother’s account. Rich older man, pretty young wife, no apparent witnesses. “Weren’t the authorities at all suspicious? I mean, Del is male, but a pretty face wouldn’t cloud his investigative instincts.”
“A different time, a different culture, Livie. According to Sadie, this wasn’t the only troubling incident she’d heard about from Greta’s past.” Spunky stirred on Ellie’s lap, and she stroked his back until he quieted.
Olivia checked the clock above the kitchen sink. “It’s nearly one o’clock. I’ll spring for lunch at the Chatterley Café if you’ll fill me in on everything you’ve ever heard about Greta Oskarson.”
“I’ll do my best.” Ellie rubbed Spunky’s ears to awaken him. “I wish we could take Spunky along.”
“He has been spoiled quite enough for one day. Pete let him come to breakfast with Constance and me, and now he thinks the Gingerbread House kitchen belongs to him. He’ll be impossible to live with for months.” Olivia scooped up her snoozing pup and led the way into the store. “I’ll leave him on his chair. If he wakes up, he can watch out the window.”
Spunky barely stirred as Olivia and Ellie entered the foyer. While Olivia locked the store, Ellie opened the front door. A blast of hot air infiltrated the space. “Ugh,” Olivia said. “I really hate letting that awful stuff get inside.”
“Thanks a lot,” said a familiar voice behind Olivia. She turned around to find her best friend since age ten, Maddie Briggs, standing on the porch, key in hand. Maddie’s sunburned cheeks were redder than the curly hair that puffed around her face. Olivia gave silent thanks for her own blush- and burn-resistant skin. Her wavy auburn hair, on the other hand, invariably went limp in humid weather.
“Maddie, dear,” Ellie said. “How lovely. We were just heading to the Chatterley Café to discuss Greta Oskarson and her cookie cutter collection.”
“Then my timing is, as always, perfect,” Maddie said. “I’m glad I asked Lucas to drop me off here as soon as we arrived. I had another long, long phone chat with Aunt Sadie while we were driving home. My cell phone finally ran out of juice, so I drained Lucas’s, too. I have much to tell, and time is short. Let’s get cracking.”
Chapter Five
The Chatterley Café was emptier than Olivia had ever seen it, probably because the heat had driven so many Chatterley Heights residents to mountains, lakes, or oceans. Ellie requested and was granted a prime booth far away from the kitchen. Normally the servers at the café were perky to the point of insolence, but the young brunette who took their orders for lemonade and cold sandwiches looked as if she needed a nap.
As the waitress dragged herself toward the kitchen to deliver their order, Olivia’s cell phone rang. She glanced at her caller ID and answered at once. “Constance?”
“I heard from Greta Oskarson and told her you’d returned early,” Constance said in her clipped voice. “She wants to meet with you this evening to discuss strategies for selling her cookie cutter collection.”
Olivia groaned. “Constance, it’s hot, I drove straight back from Upstate New York, I’ve had only a few hours sleep. . . . I’d much prefer to meet with Greta tomorrow, and I don’t mean first thing in the morning.”
“Greta is very insistent,” Constance said. “She is a strong-willed woman, used to getting her way. I advise you to suck it up and meet with her this evening.”
A surge of anger gave Olivia renewed energy. “Constance, you of all people ought to understand that a successful businessperson takes control of a negotiation. She does not shrivel up and cave in to unreasonable demands from a prospective client. I can carve out time to meet with Greta tomorrow, late morning or early afternoon. If you prefer, I will tell her myself.” A moment of silence followed Olivia’s ultimatum. Maddie and Ellie grinned at her.
“Whew,” Constance said with a light laugh. “I wouldn’t want to go up against you in a courtroom. You go, girl! I’ll relay your message to Greta, minus the hard edge. It’ll be fine.” Constance hung up her cell without saying good-bye.
Olivia flipped her phone shut and relaxed against the back of the booth.
“Wow, talk about assertive,” Maddie said. “I guess all that money you spent on business school wasn’t entirely wasted.”
“Livie has always had her assertive moments, even as a toddler,” Ellie said quietly. “Although in those days they were called tantrums.”
“No comment.” Olivia lifted her menu to cover her face.
“Uh-oh,” Maddie said.
“Come on, Maddie, don’t take Mom seriously, you know how she—”
“No, I mean ‘uh-oh,’ as in ‘look who is heading right toward us.’ It’s Anita Rambert, and she has that barracuda aura about her.”
Olivia lowered her menu and peered over the top. Sure enough, Anita Rambert’s gaze never left Olivia’s booth as she wove through the crowded restaurant. Anita was always on the prowl for rare and valuable items to offer collectors. Antique cookie cutters were high on her list. Although she sold many vintage cutters of lesser value, any serious collector knew that the truly rare finds would never make it to the sales floor; they were usually snapped up in private sales. For these special antique cutters, Anita conducted bidding wars among select customers.
“She is definitely heading toward our table,” Olivia said, “which means she knows about Greta Oskarson’s cutter collection, and she wants to get her hands on it. I should have anticipated this.”
Maddie slid down in her seat. “How? You only just found out about Greta’s collection. Knowing Anita, she has probably heard rumors about it for years. She is obsessed with antique European cookie cutters. I’m thinking this could get scary.”
“I’ll have to put her off until I’ve had time to assess Greta’s collection, but even then . . . Anita is a tough bargainer.” Olivia didn’t add that Anita’s success and stunning beauty gave her unshakable confidence. She usually got what she wanted.
“And I repeat,” Maddie said, “Anita is scary. I mean, look at that linen outfit she’s wearing. Not a wrinkle in it. She is superhuman.”
“Nonsense, you two,” Ellie said, using what her family called her “mother voice.” “Anita Rambert is a perfectly reasonable adult. Livie, not ten minutes ago you demonstrated your ability to stand up to pressure. I�
��m quite certain you can handle Anita.” Ellie lowered her voice as Anita entered hearing range. “And if that doesn’t work, you can always throw a tantrum.”
“Really, Mom? No deep breathing to cleanse and center myself?”
“That goes without saying.” Ellie straightened her spine and put on a smile. “Anita, how lovely to see you. Won’t you join us for lunch?” Ellie slid aside and patted the seat. “We haven’t had a chance to chat in such a long time.”
Anita hesitated only a fraction of a second. Olivia suspected she was calculating whether sitting down would enhance or diminish her power advantage. “I really can’t stay long.” Anita leaned against the side of the booth, forcing Olivia to shift sideways and look up at her.
The brunette waitress, looking wearier than ever, appeared at the table holding a menu. “I’ll bring an extra chair,” she said as she offered the menu to Anita.
Anita ignored the menu. “I’m not staying.” She took a step back from the booth.
“Okeydokey,” the waitress said. She shook her head as she walked away. Olivia decided an extra-large tip was in order.
Anita crossed her arms and impaled Olivia with her piercing black eyes. “We need to talk at once about the Oskarson collection,” Anita said. “I have private buyers who are impatient to bid on the more valuable cutters, so it’s important to move quickly.” Anita checked her watch. “I can carve out some time in about an hour. I’ll meet you at The Gingerbread House. You can transfer the collection to my care at once, and I’ll contact my customers as soon as I determine the value of the pieces. Now, I’ll leave you all to your breakfast.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Anita.” Olivia’s voice sounded breathy, so she paused to calm herself. “Greta is out of town today. I haven’t had a chance to meet with her, let alone determine how she wishes the sale of her collection to be handled. She might want to hang on to certain favorite cutters. Once I’ve had time to inspect the entire collection and estimate its value, I will decide the best way to sell it, or parts of it.”
Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) Page 4