Olivia heard concern in his voice. “I hoped you would.”
“Tread lightly. Listen, observe, but avoid showing suspicion. Then leave the rest to the authorities.”
Olivia nodded in agreement. There was nothing she would like better than to hand the whole mess over to the police, as soon as possible. And then, she vowed, she would never, ever involve herself in another crime investigation.
Chapter Twenty-two
Olivia donned her businesswoman smile as she welcomed the select group of potential buyers, otherwise known as suspects, onto the Gingerbread House sales floor. “Feel free to handle the cookie cutters,” she said. “They’ve endured many decades of use, and they have survived.” Maddie had divided a selection of Greta Oskarson’s cookie cutters among three tables, so the participants wouldn’t be too close to one another. The display included all the cutters whose antiquity Aunt Sadie had questioned, along with a number of cutters she’d thought to be authentic.
Fresh coffee and more cookies awaited on the refreshment table, where Ellie had stationed herself. Olivia chose to stand behind the sales counter, where she could pretend to do paperwork. Maddie stayed closer to the front of the store, where she could watch the proceedings and look busy reorganizing displays.
Olivia had relaxed after Mr. Willard’s advice to simply observe. She began with Olaf. He barely glanced at the cookie cutters as he followed Desirée around the display tables. Olaf’s obvious boredom and impatience made Olivia remember the bruises on Greta’s neck. Over the years, Olivia hadn’t interacted much with Olaf, and even less with his family, but she couldn’t recall a time when he’d appeared relaxed or content. From what Mr. Willard had told her about Olaf and Greta’s breakup, she could understand his sour outlook on life. He must have hated Greta for publicly humiliating him and causing his demotion from favored son. Olivia could easily envision Olaf, flushed with pent-up rage, lunging for Greta’s neck. Would he have released her and let her live? Maybe, if he’d realized in time that he might also be sacrificing his own life. Or would his swollen ego have convinced him he could get away with murder?
“Livie, dear . . .” Ellie’s voice startled Olivia so much that she jerked sideways. “Careful, dear, remember your balance.” Ellie placed a steadying hand on Olivia’s arm.
“My balance is fine, Mom.”
“Of course it is, dear. I only wanted to let you know I’ll be in the kitchen. If you need me, just pop your head in and let me know. I won’t be long. Calliope is quite late, and I do feel her presence would be useful.”
“Me too.” As her mother headed toward the kitchen, Olivia shifted her attention to the lovely, puzzling Desirée Kirkwood, who had arrived in town at a convenient moment if she was truly interested in antique cookie cutters. For someone who had denied any real knowledge of antique cookie cutters, Desirée appeared to be fascinated by Greta’s collection. She moved slowly around the tables, examining each cutter from all angles. Desirée’s eyes widened as she picked up the very cutter that had escaped from the Gingerbread House safe when Olivia tried to open it upon her return from vacation: a tin heart shape with an elegant narrow tail. Aunt Sadie had said it might be a genuine antique due to its weight and pattern of wear. Desirée peered at the inside edge of the heart cutter and smiled as she put it back on the table. Olivia was curious to see what Desirée had found inside that cutter, but that would have to wait until their guests had left.
As far as Maddie had been able to determine, Desirée wasn’t active on the Internet. She had no website or Facebook account, wasn’t on Twitter, didn’t blog, at least not under her name or anything close to it. Maddie hadn’t located a domain name owned by any Desirée Kirkwood. On the other hand, Desirée was older than she tried to appear, so maybe she hadn’t yet jumped onto the Internet bandwagon.
Olivia wished Calliope would show up. Maybe it was truly coincidental that she had appeared in Chatterley Heights at the same time Greta moved back to town. Or maybe not. In her favor, Calliope had admitted to having run-ins with Greta on board the Alice Springs. On the other hand, Olivia couldn’t dismiss Mr. Willard’s discovery that Calliope had been the only one on the ship to accuse Greta of murdering her husband. What if Calliope’s accusation had merely been payback for Greta’s public abuse of her, as the police concluded? Could any of Calliope’s stories be trusted?
Maddie took her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts, as if she’d felt it vibrate. With a shrug, she let herself into the foyer and closed the store’s front door behind her. Olivia assumed Lucas must be checking in with her. With any luck, he had transported Binnie and Ned to another state.
When Olivia returned to her covert observation, she saw Anita Rambert frowning at a cutter she held in her hand. With a glance toward Olivia, Anita took the cutter with her to stand directly under a ceiling light as far away from the tables as possible. Olivia abandoned her post and signaled Anita to join her inside the cookbook nook.
“Have you had any of these cutters authenticated yet?” Anita asked quietly.
“We showed them to Aunt Sadie,” Olivia said.
Anita nodded. “She undoubtedly warned you that some of them are fake antiques.”
Olivia shrugged. “She said they might be, but she couldn’t be sure. She did suggest that you might be a better judge of their authenticity.”
“I’ll bet she did. Is that why I’m here? Or did you suspect I finished off Greta to get at her collection?” Anita handed Olivia the cutter, a heart shape. “If Greta created this so-called antique, she was either completely ignorant or, more likely, insufferably arrogant. It’s one of the worst fakes I’ve ever seen. She didn’t even bother to add some variation to the antiquing job. And it’s made of very lightweight tin. It wouldn’t have held up to use for a week, let alone decades.”
“Maybe it was one of Greta’s early attempts,” Olivia suggested.
Anita dropped the cutter on a bookshelf. “I found several other cutters that are more skilled fakes.”
“Greta should have known the difference,” Olivia said.
Anita’s dark eyes narrowed. “Or maybe she was arrogant enough to believe that only she could identify a fake. Look, Livie, what’s going on? Some of those cutters are genuine antiques, and some are even signed. But they aren’t familiar to me, by which I mean they’ve probably been out of circulation for a very long time. Did Greta steal somebody’s collection and then spend years expanding it with fakes?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Olivia said with a shrug.
Ellie glided through the cookbook nook entrance, startling Olivia and Anita. “Livie, you should probably get out there. Your guests are becoming restless.” Olivia and Anita quickly followed Ellie back to the sales floor. Maddie had not yet reappeared. Mr. Willard was chatting with a bored Desirée, while Olaf paced in a circle, muttering under his breath. When he saw Olivia, he said, “Are you interested in unloading this bunch of stuff, or aren’t you? I don’t have all day.”
“Perhaps I haven’t been clear,” Olivia said. “I wasn’t intending to—”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Olaf said. “You need to unload these trinkets, which is why you gave us a message through that old waitress at the diner. As far as I’m concerned, this is all junk. If you’re smart, you’ll get rid of it fast. I’ll give you five hundred for the whole lot.”
Olivia was momentarily struck dumb. Anita, on the other hand, charged forward until she was inches from Olaf’s face. Olaf took a step backward. He recovered quickly, however. His fleshy face tightened and flushed with rage. Olivia edged aside. She decided to let Anita do what she did best: outright intimidation.
Anita’s willowy body straightened, making her slightly taller than Olaf. “Sir, that offer was ridiculous,” she said. “If you genuinely wish to negotiate for this priceless collection of antique cookie cutters, then start with a reasonable offer. Otherwise, we have noth
ing to say to each other. I am accustomed to dealing with serious clients.” When Anita turned her back on Olaf, her sleek hair swung over her shoulder. Anita sent Olivia the slightest of winks.
Desirée touched Olaf’s arm and nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen. Olaf followed her as she wove around the store displays until she reached the coffee and treats table, which Ellie had abandoned. They began a whispered conversation that looked intense.
Maddie appeared at Olivia’s side. “What the heck is going on here?”
“Obviously, Olaf wants to buy Greta’s collection for Desirée,” Olivia said, “but I can’t tell if that was his idea or hers. How about you? Is everything okay?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Didn’t you sneak out to the foyer for a phone call?” Olivia said. “I figured it must be from Lucas. Please don’t tell me Binnie and Ned are on their way back here.”
Maddie snickered. “Not a chance. Lucas knows how to lead women astray. It’ll be dark before Binnie realizes she’s been had. My phone call was—”
Olaf had Desirée by the wrist and was pulling her back toward Olivia.
“I’ll just be slinking along now,” Maddie murmured. “Good luck.” She strolled over to the refreshment table, where she checked the coffee supply before heading toward the kitchen.
Olaf’s color had returned to normal for an out-of-shape, hard-drinking older man with anger issues. As they passed the display tables, Desirée’s gaze lingered on one section of Greta’s collection. Olivia thought the grouping contained some of the cutters that both Aunt Sadie and Anita suspected might be genuine antiques. Might Desirée actually be a knowledgeable collector or antiques dealer masquerading as a nostalgic novice? As Olaf approached Olivia, Anita drifted toward the display tables, where she examined the cutters that had interested Desirée.
“Okay, here’s my offer.” Olaf’s thinning gray hair was damp with sweat, despite the air conditioner.
Olivia chose not to remind Olaf that the collection was not for sale. She wanted him to keep talking.
“Desirée says she’s only truly interested in a small selection of these things.” Olaf flung his arm in the general direction of the cookie cutter display. “They look old and beaten up to me, so they can’t be worth all that much.”
“They are antiques,” Olivia said. “They are supposed to be old.”
Olaf shrugged, and said, “I’m offering five hundred dollars, but this time it’s for only five particular cookie cutters. Those are the ones Desirée wants. They remind her of her childhood.”
Behind Olaf’s back, Anita gave a slight shake of her head to warn Olivia not to agree to Olaf’s terms. Olivia had no intention of doing so. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jakobson, I really am,” Olivia said, “but I can’t offer these cutters for sale at the moment.” She glanced toward Mr. Willard, who had been watching the proceedings in silence.
Mr. Willard cleared his throat, which caught everyone’s attention. “Livie is correct,” he said. “At present, she is legally required to keep the collection intact. It will take some time to locate Greta’s solicitor in England, where she last lived, and to determine whether she had signed a will. We must also determine whether she had any living relatives, who would, of course, inherit her estate. It is a complex, time-consuming process.”
Olaf spread his arms in a gesture of defeat. He turned away without further argument and returned to Desirée’s side. When Olaf tried to put his arm around Desirée’s shoulders to comfort her, she turned away.
“Well, she knows her antiques,” Anita said. “I took a good look at the five cutters Desirée was so interested in, and they are almost certainly genuine. I could sell those for five hundred dollars apiece, at the very least. However, I won’t hold my breath.” Anita checked her watch. “I need to get to work soon. Is my assignment here completed?”
Before Olivia could answer, her mother emerged from the kitchen with Calliope in tow. “Look who’s here,” Ellie said before withdrawing back into the kitchen.
Calliope headed straight for the coffee and cookies. Olivia suspected their guests were ready to leave soon, and she hadn’t made any progress. Maybe it was time to give up. Cody would be investigating Greta’s death more thoroughly now that the medical examiner had determined her bruises were at least relevant to her death. Let Cody have the glory, Olivia thought, as long as Maddie and I don’t become his prime suspects.
Carrying a full cup of coffee, as well as a plate piled with decorated cookies, Calliope headed for the cookie cutter display tables. Olivia thought she ought at least to introduce Calliope before the gathering broke up. As Olivia approached the tables, Calliope bit off half a cookie and had to put down her plate and cup in order to avoid dropping chunks of cookie on the cutters. Olaf snorted derisively at Calliope, who stared at him. She looked from Olaf to Desirée, who was standing beside him. Desirée said something to Olaf that made him laugh.
Olivia held her breath, remembering Mr. Willard’s story that when Greta ridiculed Calliope’s looks, on board the Alice Springs, Calliope had taken revenge by accusing Greta of murdering her husband. Desirée, however, was not Greta. Instead of joining in Olaf’s laughter, Desirée shushed him. Calliope’s angry scowl dissolved, to be replaced by puzzlement. “I know you,” Calliope said as she stared at Desirée’s face. “I’ve seen you before.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting you,” Desirée said. “You might have seen me around town. I don’t live here, but I’ve been shopping quite a bit.”
Calliope shook her head. “Nope, not here.” She stared so intently that Desirée moved closer to Olaf, as if she wanted protection. Olaf put his arm around her shoulders.
“I promise you, we’ve never met,” Desirée said.
Olivia heard a familiar clicking sound and saw Spunky on the sales floor. How on earth . . . ? Of course, she’d put him in the kitchen after he’d sneaked downstairs earlier. He must have squeezed through into the sales area when someone opened the kitchen door. She caught sight of his furry little body entering the cookbook nook. Good, he’d be safe from human feet in there.
“Now I remember,” Calliope said as she peered closely at Desirée’s face. “Wow. You must have had a lot of plastic surgery.”
“Excuse me?” Desirée turned to Olaf. “Let’s get out of here.”
Olaf nodded and spun her around. As they maneuvered around a display table, Calliope called after them. “It was on the Alice Springs, wasn’t it? You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember that light blonde hair. You had a fight with Greta. I thought you were going to punch her. Boy, did she let you have it.”
Desirée broke free of Olaf’s protective arm and turned to face Calliope. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. I’m twenty-five years old; I haven’t ever needed plastic surgery. My hair used to be white blond, but it has darkened over time. I’ve never been on a ship. And you are crazy.”
Calliope shrugged. “Well, you sure look like a woman I met on the Alice Springs back in 1995. Your hair is just like hers was, except maybe lighter, and really, how many women have hair like that? Either it’s natural, or you dye the roots every morning. You do look older than twenty-five, though. Maybe thirties. Plastic surgery can only do so much, you know.”
“Okay, so I’m thirty-three. Now, for the last time . . .” Desirée was standing near the five cookie cutters she had wanted so badly. She picked them up one by one, then put them back on the table, clustered together. A tear trickled down her cheek.
“I remember now,” Calliope said “That woman who fought with Greta . . . she had a daughter with her. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Olivia’s heart began to race. Disconnected facts swirled around chaotically in her mind. They were all connected, but she didn’t know how. Those five antique cookie cutters, an abandoned child, an argument between Gr
eta and a blonde on the Alice Springs, baking cutout cookies with a mother and grandmother, hair blowing in the wind as a car races past, following an ambulance . . .
“It was you in the car behind the ambulance.” Olivia thought the words a split second before she heard them come from her own mouth.
Desirée heard her, too. With a last, longing glance at the cutters on the table, Desirée reached under her silky jacket to a pocket in her slacks. When her hand reemerged, it was holding the smallest gun Olivia had ever seen. Not that she had seen many guns. Compared with Del’s service revolver, Desirée’s gun looked like a toy. Nevertheless, Olivia had no doubt it could kill as effectively. And it was pointed directly at her.
No one moved. Olivia heard a clatter as someone dropped a plate.
“All of you,” Desirée said, “slide your cell phones across the floor and under the tables. You too,” she said to Olivia.
Olivia pulled out the pockets of her slacks to show they were empty. “I left mine upstairs, charging. I’m . . . always forgetting to charge it.”
Desirée hesitated, but she accepted Olivia’s explanation.
“Desirée, why?” Olaf gulped loudly as if he were trying not to cry. “I wanted to marry you.”
“I know, Olaf.” Desirée sounded sad. “Only I didn’t know that when I first met you. That would have been the perfect revenge, wouldn’t it? You and me? Greta ruined both our lives.” With her free hand, Desirée grabbed the five cookie cutters, one by one, and stuffed them into her pocket. “Those are my cookie cutters.” She took a step away from the table, keeping watch on the entire group.
“Yes, I believe they are,” Olivia said. “You must have been looking for familiar scratches when you examined the insides of those cutters.”
“You understand.” Desirée swiped at a tear with her free hand. “My mother taught me to do that. She used to show me which scratches went all the way back to my grandmother’s time. She talked about my grandmother often. I felt like she was with us. She wasn’t, though. She killed herself before I was born.”
Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) Page 27