Anita’s dark hair caught the light and glistened as she shook her head impatiently. “I know this business,” she said. “I’ve been conducting long-distance auctions for years, and I’m very good at it. I have the contacts, I know what they want, how much they can be convinced to pay . . . even their weak spots. Nothing personal, Olivia, but you run a little shop where you sell a few insignificant vintage cutters and some cookbooks. Can you honestly say that you are the better choice for selling the Oskarson collection?”
Olivia didn’t look toward Maddie and Ellie, but she felt their tension in the silence around the table. In the distance, Olivia noticed the young waitress watching their table as if she sensed all was not well. Olivia forced herself to hold Anita’s gaze for a few seconds before she said, “Yes, I believe I am the better choice, for one excellent reason.”
Anita did not respond, though she arched her sculpted eyebrows in a clear expression of disbelief.
“I’ve worked with you before, Anita, and yes, you are good at what you do. You’ve brokered many lucrative sales for scores of collectors. And you yourself have become wealthy in the process, haven’t you?” Olivia stated the question as a fact. “You take a healthy cut of the proceeds, more than I suspect your customers realize. Greta Oskarson and Clarisse Chamberlain were once close friends. As you well know, Clarisse was a very dear friend of mine. And she was murdered.”
Anita checked her watch and sighed. “If you’re going to—”
“I’m not finished,” Olivia said. “Greta wants to sell her antique cutters to help fund her retirement. Because of Clarisse, Greta feels she can trust me to help make that happen. I intend to earn that trust. I’ll do my homework, consult experts, whatever it takes to sell her collection for the highest price possible. And I will not be taking a cut of the proceeds. I’ll be doing all this to honor Clarisse.” Olivia hadn’t meant to decline payment, but she wasn’t sorry it popped out.
As Anita’s lips parted slightly, Olivia noticed a dot of bright red lipstick on an otherwise perfect front tooth. It made Anita seem a bit more human . . . a tiny bit.
With a dismissive flip of her hand, Anita said, “Up to you. It’s hard to believe you have a business degree, with such a naive attitude. However, it’s your future foreclosure, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anita turned her back and wove among crowded tables toward the front of the Chatterley Café. The eyes of numerous male customers followed her fluid movements.
“How sad,” Ellie said.
“You gotta hand it to Anita Rambert,” Maddie said. “She knows how to make an exit.”
* * *
“I’m stuffed,” Maddie announced as she pushed aside her empty breakfast plate. “But I don’t regret a single bite. The Chatterley Café makes the best eggs Florentine I’ve ever tasted. I wish I knew their secret.”
“Butter,” Ellie said. “Lots of butter.”
“Now I wish I didn’t know.” Maddie drank the last of her coffee. “On the other hand, I’m proud to report that Lucas and I hiked nearly every day last week, and I have the muscles to prove it . . . and the blisters, too.”
“Not me,” Olivia said. “Spunky and I took walks in the woods, but mostly we sat in the shade while I read out loud. It seems Spunky is a mystery fan. He did get a bit nervous when I read Miranda James to him, though. I think he’s afraid I’m planning to adopt a cat that’s four times bigger than he is.”
The waitress arrived with a carafe of coffee and a fresh pitcher of cream. She left both on the table. “Take your time,” she said. “The lunch rush is finally done.” She sighed and left.
Maddie refilled cups and passed the cream. “Drink up. I have much to recount about Greta Oskarson, as told to me by Aunt Sadie, who knows practically all and never makes stuff up.”
“What would we do without Sadie,” Ellie murmured.
After checking the nearest booths, all of which were empty, Maddie leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Aunt Sadie does know a lot, but even she can’t decide if Greta is a crook or merely a victim of unfortunate circumstances.”
“So many unfortunate circumstances,” Ellie said.
“Like what?” Olivia asked. “You’re killing me here.”
“Keep it down, Livie,” Maddie whispered. “Okay, here’s what I’ve found out so far. Ellie, feel free to jump in if I’m getting it wrong.” Maddie fortified herself with a gulp of sweet, milky coffee. “Greta burned through six marriages, starting with a guy named Count de . . . I don’t remember, but it was something French. Anyway, he was fabulously rich, seventy-five years old, and in poor health when they tied the knot.”
“How convenient,” Olivia said.
Maddie snickered. “Not quite convenient enough. Marriage to the lovely Greta dramatically improved the count’s health . . . until the drowning incident, that is.”
“Weren’t the French authorities the least bit suspicious?” Olivia asked. “I find that tough to buy. How many of her subsequent husbands were rich, elderly, and frail?”
Maddie grinned. “All of them.”
“And how long did they survive after marrying Greta?”
“Oh, from about four to sixteen months,” Maddie said. “Greta was questioned following each death, but she was never arrested. Technically speaking, all her husbands were found to have died of natural causes. And who knows, maybe they did. They were all pretty old.”
“And rich,” Olivia added.
“It’s not as if Greta should have felt impatient. She had access to their wealth while they were alive, and Aunt Sadie said Greta never lacked for younger companionship. However, none of those men came under suspicion, either.”
Olivia topped off her coffee. “Greta didn’t ever marry any of those younger men?”
“Nope, not according to Aunt Sadie. She married only rich, older men.” Maddie frowned. “I’m wondering, though . . . Greta’s six husbands were incredibly wealthy, and she inherited their fortunes. Why hasn’t she retired to a villa on the Riviera or somewhere equally swanky? Why come back to little old Chatterley Heights and buy a small house that’s worth less than Aunt Sadie’s? Why sell her cookie cutter collection to help finance her retirement? Where is all that money?”
“All excellent questions,” Olivia said. “From what Constance told me, it seems Greta spent her money freely. She probably needed to replenish her cash flow periodically.”
“Greta did grow up in Chatterley Heights,” Ellie said. “Perhaps she felt more comfortable returning to her humble roots.”
“Humble roots?” Maddie sounded miffed. “Aunt Sadie didn’t tell me about any humble roots. Although my cell did conk out before she had finished revealing all.”
“They are no secret,” Ellie said. “Greta’s father grew up in Sweden, one of eight children in a poor family. He emigrated as a young man to make a better life for himself. He learned carpentry and was quite skilled, as I recall, but he had a bit of a drinking problem. Greta’s mother was the daughter of Swedish immigrants. I didn’t know either of them. I do remember that they both admired the Swedish actress Greta Garbo, which is how our Greta got her name.”
Olivia snickered. “It sounds as if our Greta had some serious acting skills, too. All those rich, old husbands . . . you can’t convince me she married for love. Maybe she had the right idea.”
Ellie frowned as she watched her daughter gather her pancake remains into a neat pile shaped like a coffin. “And how is Del doing, Livie?” Ellie asked. “Has he shared more with you about his situation?”
“Not much.” Olivia picked up her knife and sawed the pancake coffin in half.
Maddie bounced to attention. “Are you telling me Del is still helping that crazy ex-wife of his?”
Ellie reached across the table and patted Olivia’s hand. “You’re upset, I can tell.”
Olivia shrugged one shoulder, and said, “I don’t
mind that Del is helping Lisa. She’s in a frightening situation . . . which she brought on herself, but never mind. What irks me is that Del has called me exactly twice, and our conversations were brief . . . almost impersonal.”
“And you are afraid he is falling, once again, for his ex-wife?” Ellie said.
Olivia shrugged, then nodded.
“Del isn’t that stupid,” Maddie said. “This conversation requires more coffee. Maybe some fresh raspberry sherbet.” She slid out of the booth and held her empty cup in the air. A new server materialized at once, filled their cups, and took their orders for sherbet. “I love this place,” Maddie said as she resettled next to Olivia and reached for the cream. “Now, fill me in. When Del called, did he say anything about what’s going on? How much danger is Lisa in? Or is she just playing the damsel in distress to get Del back?”
“I wish I knew,” Olivia said, cradling her steaming cup in her hands.
Ellie plopped her elbows on the table as if she were about to deliver a lecture. “I don’t know Lisa,” she said, “but I do know Del. He won’t fall for a damsel-in-distress act. Given what I’ve heard, Lisa is in real danger from her abusive husband, and divorcing him is unlikely to end that danger. I suspect Del is very busy trying to keep Lisa safe during the divorce proceedings. Once those are finished, he’ll want to get her as far away from her ex-husband as possible.”
Olivia felt a sliver of hope. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she said. “That won’t be easy, and it sounds . . . scary.”
“And it will take some time.” Ellie squeezed Olivia’s hand. “The last thing Del would want to do is involve you in any of this. He might very well be trying to keep you safe, too.”
Olivia shivered, and not because of the air-conditioning.
“On the plus side,” Maddie said, “we can take comfort in the fact that we are in Chatterley Heights, and Lisa lives in some little town in western Maryland, so there’s a bunch of miles between us. I’d be more precise, but I don’t do numbers. Even if Del has Lisa safely hidden, she’ll still have to appear for divorce proceedings and so forth, so he wouldn’t send her here to escape from her ex.” Maddie frowned into her coffee cup. “At least, not right now. Maybe after the divorce is—”
“Livie, dear, won’t it be interesting to meet Greta Oskarson?” Ellie asked, smoothly changing the subject. “From everything I’ve heard, her collection of antique cookie cutters is impressive and quite valuable. What fun that she chose you to help her sell it.”
Olivia ate her last bite of sherbet, paid the bill, and left a generous tip. As she reached for her cell phone, it began to play “Too Darn Hot” sung by Ella Fitzgerald. “I’m guessing we’re about to find out when I’ll be meeting Greta to start the process,” Olivia said as she flipped her phone open. “Hi, Constance, what’s up?”
“Tomorrow morning, eleven a.m.” Constance said. “That’s when Greta Oskarson agreed to be at my office for our meeting. Bring the cookie cutters stored in your safe. I heard Maddie’s back in town; you can bring her along if you wish. And your mom, too. Ellie has a way of calming the atmosphere. Does this meet with your approval?”
Olivia winked at Maddie and her mother. “Perfect. Thanks, Constance. We’ll be there.” Olivia flipped her phone shut and relayed the message to Maddie and Ellie.
“This will be fun,” Maddie said. “I’ll whip up some cookies for the meeting.”
“Good idea,” Olivia said. “Oh, and Maddie? When did Ella Fitzgerald sneak into my cell phone?”
Maddie grinned. “When you excused yourself to visit the ladies’ room. And I can’t take full credit. Ellie chose the song. Aren’t you glad we’re all together again?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” Olivia slipped her phone into her shorts pocket. “Mom, Maddie and I need to pick up some baking supplies. How about coming with us? Then we can all return to The Gingerbread House together. I want to tap your voluminous knowledge of Chatterley Heights and anyone who has ever lived here.”
“I wish I could, Livie, but I’ve scheduled several private yoga sessions. The first one starts in fifteen minutes, and the second is tomorrow at nine a.m. It was lovely to get out of town, but I had so little time to keep up my practice. I feel . . . disjointed.”
“If you say so, Mom.” Olivia led the group to the restaurant’s front exit.
“However, I’ll come to the store right after yoga tomorrow morning,” Ellie said as she stepped outside. “I’d love to accompany you to your meeting with Greta. I’m so curious to find out if the rumors I’ve heard about her are true.”
“Do you mean about her marriages,” Olivia asked, “and how they ended?”
Ellie remained quiet. Her hazel eyes flicked around the park as if she were searching for an answer. With a slight shake of her head, she said, “No, dear, I wasn’t thinking about Greta’s marriages, though they do bring questions to my mind. I was referring to much earlier rumors.” Ellie stood on tiptoe and gave Olivia a one-armed hug. “I’ll see you after yoga tomorrow, dear. We’ll talk then.” With a distinct sense of unease, Olivia watched her mother’s tiny figure head across the park.
Chapter Six
“Ugh. It must be a million degrees out here,” Maddie said as she trudged up the front steps of The Gingerbread House. “Lugging all these bags of groceries doesn’t help. Livie, you did crank up the air-conditioning in The Gingerbread House, right? Because I really need to bake. Oh, and I forgot to mention, I had another great idea while you and your mom were discussing yoga. It will require lots of baking, which is fine with me as long as the air-conditioning holds out.”
“And your idea is?” Olivia prodded.
Maddie plopped down on a porch rocking chair to wait while Olivia dug out her keys. “I think we should host a store event for Greta Oskarson,” Maddie said. “You know, like an official welcome to Chatterley Heights. We weren’t planning to reopen The Gingerbread House until Tuesday. Tomorrow is Saturday. We could hold the event tomorrow afternoon, maybe about one o’clock. I’ll have today and tomorrow morning to bake while you put the store together again.”
Olivia hated to give up her last hours of vacation leisure. “One p.m. sounds tight to me. We’re meeting with Constance and Greta at eleven a.m. Also, I’ll need some time to think before our meeting.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to think, I promise. I’ll do practically all the preparation. And a two-hour meeting is an eternity. We’ll have to plow through Constance’s agenda, whatever that is, plus the oohing over Greta’s fabulous cutter collection. If we get everything set up for the event before we leave for Constance’s office, Greta could come back here with us. Constance, too, for that matter. Please, Livie?”
“All right,” Olivia said. “A store event would be a great way to introduce Greta to Chatterley Heights, and it would help us spread the word about the sale of her cutter collection.”
“Uh-oh, what if Anita Rambert shows up and tries to corner Greta?” Maddie asked. “Geez, she might even try to convince Greta that you don’t have enough expertise to sell her collection.”
Olivia chuckled. “I’m not too worried. Greta sounds more concerned about trust than expertise. Anyway, all we have to do is put Mom to work at the event. She can pass the word, ever so gently, that Anita tends to jack up prices so she can take a substantial cut of the profits on private sales. Many collectors already know that, anyway, though they’ll put up with it if they can’t get what they want through another agent.”
“Ooh, and let’s not forget to ask Constance for help,” Maddie said. “She isn’t fond of Anita, and she isn’t as gentle as your mom.”
When Olivia opened the front door, cool air spilled out from the foyer. She stepped gratefully inside. Maddie followed, slamming the door behind her. The inner door to The Gingerbread House opened at once, and Bertha Binkman’s plump, cheerful face peeked out. “I thought all that nois
e might be you two,” Bertha said. “As soon as I saw Spunky in his chair by the window, I knew you’d beaten Willard and me back home. My goodness, you must be so hot and tired after carrying those heavy bags. Here, let me take one. Come on in out of that dreadful heat. By the way, I didn’t have anything to do, so I gave the kitchen a good scrubbing.” Bertha locked the door behind them and bustled off toward the kitchen.
Spunky hopped to all fours on his chair as Olivia passed, hoping to be allowed in the kitchen again. “Sorry, kiddo,” Olivia said. “The kitchen is sanitized, and we’ll be unpacking food, so you can’t come with us. It’s back to guard dog duty for you.” Spunky curled into a ball on the chair’s woven seat and closed his eyes. “Or you could just take a nap,” Olivia added, laughing.
While Bertha and Maddie stocked the kitchen shelves, Olivia switched on her laptop. She was hoping Del might have emailed, since he’d been stingy with his phone calls to her. As the computer awakened and yawned, Olivia helped Bertha tote the bags to a storage cupboard. “What brought you home early?” Olivia asked. “Don’t tell me you and Mr. Willard had a tiff, because that would destroy my fondest illusions.”
“Oh my, no,” Bertha said with her husky laugh. Olivia noted with relief that Bertha’s laughter no longer triggered a gasping fit. Since she and Mr. Willard had begun “seeing one another,” as Ellie put it, Bertha’s weight had gradually descended to what her doctor called “a healthy range.” She was now merely on the plump side, which was fine with Mr. Willard.
“Dear Willard and I had such a lovely time visiting museums and historical sites, but we were ready to come home. I must admit, we were both so curious to see Greta Oskarson.” Bertha hefted a sack of flour onto a high shelf and brushed off her hands on her apron.
“Did everyone know about Greta’s arrival except me?” Olivia was beginning to feel left out.
Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) Page 5