When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if they don’t sell?”

  “Not sell? Livie, are you implying that my aunt Sadie, the woman who rescued me from orphanhood and raised me as her own, who is related to me by blood, could possibly lack artistic talent? I suggest you take a look at those aprons before you leap to conclusions.”

  “I didn’t mean you aren’t an artist of the first order, only—”

  “Look at them, okay?”

  “Okay.” Olivia lifted an armful of folded aprons from the bag and placed the pile on the counter. Choosing the one on top, she shook it open and stared, speechless.

  “Well?” Maddie reached for a second apron and spread it out on the counter.

  “Amazing.” Olivia hung the remaining aprons over chairs and examined them one by one. Each displayed a different decorated cookie theme. Olivia’s favorite was an intricate gingerbread house complete with icicles hanging from the roof and lit candles in the windows. Sadie Briggs had used a variety of stitches and shades of color to create impressions of depth and shadow. “These are lovely. I had no idea. I know nothing about embroidery, but…”

  “But you know what you like?”

  “I know this is extraordinary work.” Olivia picked up the apron with the Victorian house and examined it more closely. Sadie had chosen fanciful colors for the design; the house exterior was peach, decorated with burgundy trim. Yet somehow it looked familiar to Olivia. “Wait, is this our very own Chatterley Mansion?”

  “Took you long enough,” Maddie said. “Have we got any more meringue powder?”

  Olivia took her eyes off the apron just long enough to locate a fresh bag of meringue powder in the storage cupboard. She handed it to Maddie and returned to the apron. “Look, there’s a little face in an upper window. It’s a child, I think.”

  “That’s Paine Chatterley,” Maddie said.

  “You’re kidding.” Olivia squinted closely at the dark-haired figure in the window. The boy’s upper torso was visible above the window frame; his clothing looked vaguely eighteenth century. His embroidered mouth curved slightly down at the edges, giving an impression of sadness. “What made Aunt Sadie use Paine’s image?”

  “She babysat him for a number of years.” Maddie measured two teaspoons of vanilla extract into the mixer.

  “Wait a minute,” Olivia said. “Not long ago you said that Aunt Sadie is sixtyish. She would have been too young to babysit Paine.”

  “Hang on a sec.” Maddie lowered the beaters into the bowl and whirred up a batch of royal icing. When she’d finished, she said, “Okay, here’s the scoop, but don’t talk about this, okay? Aunt Sadie is still sensitive. She really wanted to marry and have kids of her own, but it wasn’t happening, so at some point—Aunt Sadie is vague about when—she knocked a few years off her age. Well, maybe more like ten years. She looked really young. You left for college at eighteen and only returned recently, which is why you probably didn’t figure it out. Most people know, of course, but they don’t broadcast the information because Aunt Sadie is such a sweetheart.” Maddie shot a warning glance at Olivia.

  “My lips are glued shut,” Olivia said.

  Maddie began dividing her icing into containers for coloring. “Aunt Sadie used to eke out a living babysitting lots of Chatterley Heights kids. She stopped when I moved in and needed a permanent babysitter. Luckily, my folks were frugal and left enough money so she could concentrate on raising me. Now I pay her for room and board, but really, she needs more income. Especially since…” Maddie glanced at her emerald ring.

  “Are you closer to accepting Lucas’s proposal?” Olivia tried to make her question sound casual. For years Maddie had adored Lucas Ashford, owner of Heights Hardware. Yet when he’d proposed marriage, Maddie had found herself terrified.

  Maddie shrugged. “At least I don’t run screaming from the room at the mere mention of wedding gowns. Anyway, Lucas and I are fine. He doesn’t push. So can we sell those aprons for Aunt Sadie?”

  “They’ll be gone in about twenty minutes,” Olivia said. “I’ll price them high to slow down the feeding frenzy. I may have to buy the Chatterley Mansion apron myself. Does Aunt Sadie have any more of them?”

  “Does she! Only about eighty or ninety, and that’s a conservative estimate. They aren’t all cookie or cookie-cutter themes, though.”

  “Everything is a potential cookie-cutter theme.” Olivia moved the aprons away from the baking area to protect them from stains. “What was your aunt’s impression of Paine Chatterley? What kind of kid was he?”

  Maddie picked a small bottle of forest green gel coloring and held it to the light to see how much was left. “You mean, did she see in little Paine the arrogant jerk he grew up to become? No, she did not, and Aunt Sadie is a pretty good judge of character. She thought Paine was a sweet, quiet little boy. He was lonely, she said. Paine was, as they say, an unexpected child. I guess he intruded on his parents’ free-wheeling lives, which is why he spent most of his childhood with Aunt Sadie when he wasn’t in school. She lost touch with him once he started high school. Maybe that’s when he started to change.”

  Aware that time was passing quickly, Olivia and Maddie worked quietly for a while. Their focus was so intense they both jumped when the kitchen phone rang. Olivia checked the clock over the sink. Five forty-three a.m. Not a good sign. Her heart racing, she picked up the receiver.

  “Olivia? It’s Mayor Evanson. You sound breathless. You need more exercise to keep in shape.”

  “Karen, when the phone rings at this hour, it usually means someone died. I hope you’re not calling to tell me—”

  “Died? Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re a businesswoman, I’d expect you to be up and working by now. Why, it’s already…” Karen paused, presumably consulting her watch.

  “It’s five forty-three.” Olivia checked the clock again. “Excuse me, five forty-five. People don’t normally call each other this early except in dire emergencies.”

  “Nonsense. Anyway, no one is dead, although I have a candidate should you be feeling homicidal at the moment.”

  Olivia resisted temptation and let that one go. “As it happens, we are working against the clock, so if there’s something you want…”

  “I want you to knock some sense into Paine Chatterley, if that’s who he is, which is far from certain. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Whoa, hold on a minute, Karen. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  An exasperated sigh traveled across the phone line. “You are part of the two-hundred-fiftieth anniversary celebration planning committee, of which I am chair, and I am assigning you to go talk to Paine Chatterley. Reason with him, threaten him, whatever it takes. Just convince him to open the mansion for visitors during the festivities. We’ve invested a ton of money in that house, not to mention the donated materials and volunteer skilled labor. We have the right to get something in return. Talk to him as soon as possible. Get him to cooperate.”

  “Karen, I do have a store to run.” Olivia couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice.

  “That tiny store can’t possibly take all your time. Use your lunch hour to talk to the Chatterleys. Surely Maddie can keep an eye on things while she’s working on those little gingerbread houses. And listen, if we must, the town could pay for a motel room for the weekend, although nothing beyond the room, of course. Anyway, you handle the negotiations. Make it happen. You seem to be the only personable member of the celebration committee. Except for me, of course, and I’m too busy.”

  Olivia didn’t mention that Mr. Willard was quite a personable gentleman and could probably do a better job of reasoning with Paine. She saw no reason to subject Mr. Willard to Karen’s bullying. “Wait, Karen, I…you can’t possibly expect me to convince the Chatterleys to leave their home and stay in a motel room for a weekend so strangers can wander among their personal belongings and—”

  “That’s it exactly. The sooner the better.” A definitive click signaled the end
of the discussion.

  By nine a.m., when The Gingerbread House opened, Olivia had accepted her fate and decided to make the best of it. She would talk to the Chatterleys, but on her terms. She would bring Spunky and cookies. She could understand Paine and Hermione’s reluctance to let the town use their mansion during the celebration weekend. They had only just arrived after a long journey, they were tired, and they wanted to settle in without strangers tramping through their home. In their shoes, Olivia suspected she would react with impatience, as Paine had—though without the arrogance, she hoped. A friendly, welcoming visit might soften Paine’s resistance. Starting with decorated gingerbread cookies.

  Leaving Maddie and their part-time employee, Bertha, in charge, Olivia and Spunky walked toward Chatterley Mansion, located on Frederick Street, north of the town square. The original mansion grounds took up most of the north side of the block. The south side consisted of four cottages, all once owned by the Chatterleys. As the family’s financial situation declined, they’d sold off the cottages and some of the land.

  Frederick P. Chatterley had never lived in the mansion, which was built nearly a century after his death. The mid-nineteenth-century Chatterleys were rolling in money from their plantation farther south, so they built a large Victorian summer home in Chatterley Heights. Following the Civil War, the family lost their plantation, much of their fortune, and four out of five sons. They never fully recovered. Eventually, their summer home became their only home. By the time Paine’s parents died, in the early 1980s, the mansion had fallen into disrepair. The town tried to keep it presentable, hoping to draw tourists. Few visited. The house was inspected regularly but had been closed to the public for some years before the current renovation began.

  Olivia paused across the street from the mansion to admire the restoration efforts by Lucas Ashford and his team. The work was incomplete; scaffolding covered the west side of the mansion from the ground to the top of the roof. The trim around two upper windows was only partially painted. Viewed from the front, though, the house gave Olivia the feeling she’d stepped back into the nineteenth century.

  Lucas had chosen a medium-dark periwinkle blue as the dominant color. He’d used a paler version of the same color for the window trim, as well as the spindled railing and pillars of a wraparound porch at the southeast corner. Under each peaked roof, Matthew Fabrizio had re-created the mansion’s original three-part decorative design, most of which had broken off over the decades. Two shell pink circles, with sinuous red curlicues flaring out on either side, sat atop two burgundy curves that tapered up to points. Olivia laughed as she realized what the design represented. Two pink nostrils, a mustache, and smiling lips. A fitting symbol for a family named Chatterley. She couldn’t help but connect the image to Frederick P. Chatterley’s infamous dalliances as well.

  Olivia felt a thrill of anticipation as she and Spunky followed the newly repaired stone walk leading to the Chatterley Mansion. She hadn’t been inside since elementary school, when her class toured the house.

  Olivia rang the doorbell twice, to no avail. She began to wonder if an unannounced visit had been the best choice. She pressed the doorbell again. When she heard the sound of an upper-story window opening, she took a step back and looked up. Paine Chatterley’s head appeared through a screenless window in the turret. His gray hair looked matted, as if he’d been rousted from a sound sleep.

  “Whoever you are,” Paine said, “please leave our property at once. We buy nothing door-to-door.”

  “Mr. Chatterley? It’s me, Olivia Greyson. I brought you and your wife some gingerbread cookies from our store. You were there yesterday evening, remember?”

  Paine stared at her for several moments. Olivia felt like a kid selling unwanted candy to support the school marching band. Another upper-story window opened and Hermione’s head popped out. “Oh hello,” she said. “You’re the young woman with that darling store, aren’t you?”

  “Once again,” Paine said, “please go away. And take that beastly animal with you.”

  “Don’t be silly, Paine. Ignore him, dear. I’ll be right down to let you in.” Hermione closed her window gently. Her husband slammed his shut.

  While she waited, Olivia admired the freshly stained front door, with its leaded glass insert. The insert had been boarded up for years because most of the original glass in the design had shattered. The materials for the entire renovation must have cost the town and Lucas Ashford dearly. Olivia knew Paine’s parents had died penniless, so she doubted Lucas would be able to recoup his losses.

  Hermione was alone when she opened the front door. “Do come in, both of you. Such a fetching little creature. He’s a Yorkshire terrier, isn’t he? We have many terriers in England. Such determined dogs. One can count on them to do their jobs. Are these cookies from your store? How lovely.” She latched the door behind them. “Please forgive Paine. He hasn’t been well lately, and the trip was hard on him. He is normally quite gracious. I’m just brewing tea. Do stay and join me. I’ll put out these lovely cookies. Paine doesn’t care for tea; I can’t think why, it’s so soothing when one is ill.”

  Spared the necessity to talk, Olivia followed Hermione down a short, dimly lit hallway. She was surprised to notice that Hermione’s gait was quick and light, despite her bulk. She wore a straight dress, black with gray polka dots and belted at the waist. It reminded Olivia of a black-and-white photo of her own great-grandmother wearing a similar shapeless style. As a child, she’d thought of it as an “old lady dress.” Since Paine was in his midfifties, Hermione might easily be younger than Olivia’s mother, Ellie, who at sixtyish would never, ever wear such a dowdy outfit.

  “Now you stay right here, and I’ll be back in a tick with the tea.” Hermione hurried off, leaving Olivia alone in the parlor. She knew it was a parlor because it looked like one, with its carved chairs and tea tables. The padded brocade seats on the chairs were freshly recovered. Olivia remembered from her childhood visit how poor the lighting had been throughout the mansion. Now a shiny milk glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the entire room. Even the heavy velvet curtains, though Victorian in style, looked new. Chatterley Heights citizens had been busy. Lucky Chatterleys. Olivia had to wonder if they’d known about the renovation and timed their return to coincide with its supposed completion.

  Olivia noticed a photo on a dark mahogany bureau against the wall. She crossed the room, carrying Spunky, who had been good so far but couldn’t be trusted. With her free hand, Olivia picked up the photo. It was a color shot, faded with age, of a young bride and groom. She recognized the groom as Paine Chatterley, holding the bride’s hand. In his free hand, Paine held a cigarette. His smile had a wistful quality, as if he didn’t quite believe his happiness could last. The bride was a slender young woman with curly, light brown hair and a pleasant, round face. Olivia noticed she had a boyish figure, with slim hips not much wider than her waist. Hermione had been, if not quite a beauty, at least attractive.

  Hearing the sound of teacups clinking on a tray, Olivia hurried to take a seat. Spunky stiffened, as if to bark, but relaxed when he recognized Hermione.

  “What utterly delightful confections,” Hermione Chatterley said as she entered with a tray of tea, milk, sugar, and Olivia’s gingerbread cookies arranged on a plate. Olivia saw another item on the tray, something small, wrapped in white paper.

  “Shall I be Mother?” Hermione poured the tea, adding milk and sugar without asking what Olivia preferred. “I do wish Paine would join us. He can be so charming when he wishes. Unfortunately, this is not one of his good days.” As Hermione leaned forward to deliver a teacup, Olivia noticed her unusual copper-colored eyes.

  “You must both be exhausted.” Olivia sipped her tea. Not bad.

  “Oh, I have the constitution of a horse,” Hermione said with a laugh that verged on a neigh. “But poor Paine…”

  Spunky stood up on Olivia’s lap, his nose twitching. He jumped down and trotted over to Hermione.
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br />   “Hello, little one,” Hermione said. “Yes, I’ve brought you something, too.” She opened the folded white paper and placed it on the rug. Olivia got a glimpse of red meat before Spunky devoured it. He’d be impossible to live with now.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Hermione said. “I went out this morning to buy a nice little steak to cook for Paine’s breakfast—he needs to build his strength, you know—but he refused to eat it. He can be so fussy about food, and he does get the strangest ideas sometimes. Why, can you believe he actually accused me of putting strychnine in it?”

  Olivia’s gaze dropped to the white, bloodstained paper still on the floor, and her mouth went dry. But Spunky settled at her feet, showing no signs of sudden illness, and Olivia told herself that Paine’s erratic behavior did show a touch of paranoia. Still…there was something about Hermione Chatterley that made Olivia uneasy. She’d keep an eye on Spunky just in case.

  “Is your husband very ill?” It was a personal question, but Olivia had the sense that Hermione was eager to discuss Paine’s condition.

  Hermione placed her teacup on a round marble-top table next to her chair. She tilted her head as if pondering how best to answer. Something about the mannerism bothered Olivia, but she told herself she was still on edge about Hermione’s mention of poisoned meat.

  “It’s difficult to explain, you see,” Hermione said. “Paine used to be so vibrant. When we first met—nearly thirty years ago, it was—he was brimming with life. Oh, he was so handsome he fairly took my breath away. But over the years he has become…well, melancholy. He doesn’t seem to enjoy life anymore.”

  “Forgive me, I don’t mean to intrude, but has he seen a doctor?” Olivia didn’t want to use the word “psychiatrist,” though it sounded as if Paine might be suffering from depression or worse. She had to wonder why, in this day and age, Hermione was acting as if she couldn’t find a name for her husband’s condition. In fact, Olivia was beginning to feel as if she were in a play set in a previous era.