When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “This is an extraordinary piece,” Olivia said to Paine. “Do you mind telling me where you found it?”

  “A little shop in London,” Paine said without hesitation. “To be precise, that’s where Hermione said she found it. I know little about antiques, nor do I care, but when I saw the teapot, I was reminded of the time I spent here at this house. It was the happiest part of my childhood.” Paine’s thin lips curved into a faint smile as he added, “Whenever I stayed here for the afternoon, Aunt Sadie brewed a pot of tea and served it with iced cookies.”

  “At first I used Lipton’s tea bags,” Aunt Sadie said, chuckling. “Paine informed me that his parents had brought him along on their last trip to England, and—I’ll never forget his words—he said, ‘The liquid in that pot is not tea.’ He was all of seven years old. I nearly fell over laughing.”

  His smile widening, Paine said, “I was being quite serious.”

  “Yes, lamb, I know. Your little nose was out of joint, that’s for sure. But I did take you seriously, once I caught my breath. Why, I called all over the place and finally found a little store in Baltimore that imported tea. I ordered some real British tea leaves from them, and I kept on ordering as long as you came to spend time with me, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “I doubt that store exists anymore,” Aunt Sadie said, shaking her head.

  “Never mind.” Paine unfurled from his chair with smooth grace. “I shall bring you a packet of good tea when I visit next.” He bent over Aunt Sadie and dropped a light kiss on her forehead.

  “I’m so glad you are back,” Aunt Sadie said.

  “Olivia.” Paine gave her a quick bow. He was gone before Olivia could tell him to call her Livie.

  “Be honest, Aunt Sadie. Was that the same man I met Tuesday evening in The Gingerbread House? The arrogant one who managed to insult everyone? The cranky fellow who ordered me and Spunky off his property the next morning?”

  Aunt Sadie plucked the teapot cookie cutter from its teacup nest and smoothed her hand over the metal backing. “Paine was such a serious little boy. I loved him like a son, but I saw his flaws. Not that I blamed him; his parents treated him like a burden, as if he had chosen to be born solely to interrupt their lives. Whenever I saw Paine with his parents, he acted like a little adult. I made it my goal to help him be a little boy.”

  “Which is why he loves you,” Olivia said.

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t enough. I hoped he would learn how to be a friend. From what I’ve seen and heard, he has only his wife, and…well, I wonder if she was the best choice for him.”

  “Or he for her,” Olivia said. “On the other hand, who am I to judge? I’m divorced.”

  “And I never married,” Aunt Sadie said with a light laugh. “But that doesn’t seem to have kept me from analyzing the marriages of others. Normally, I find it a pleasant way to while away the hours. But not this time.”

  Chapter Six

  As commanded by Mayor Karen Evanson, Olivia arrived at the Chatterley Mansion by seven thirty a.m. Friday morning to find a small crowd gathered across the street. Del and his deputy, Cody Furlow, stood several yards away from the group. Both wore their official uniforms. Not that Olivia had put much thought into her own costume. Following a last-minute inspiration, she had selected her favorite from among Sadie Briggs’s aprons and tied it over light brown linen pants and a pale peach sweater. She’d been pleased with how the colors blended with the darker peach and burgundy of the embroidered Chatterley Mansion.

  “Love your costumes,” Olivia said to Del and Cody.

  Cody glanced down at his deputy sheriff’s uniform, faint lines of puzzlement furrowing his young brow.

  “Thank you,” Del said with a half smile. “I decided to play a sheriff.” Del looked Olivia up and down. “Is that the closest you could come to a serving wench costume?”

  With a slight curtsy, Olivia said, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “It’s a bit modern,” Del said, “though the colors look nice on you. Wait, isn’t that…?” He turned for a quick look across the street. “That’s the mansion on your apron, isn’t it? Who is that in the upper window?”

  Cody had moved out of earshot, so Olivia said, “Maddie told me it’s supposed to be Paine Chatterley as a little boy. Her aunt Sadie used to babysit him. Only we’re thinking about having a contest to guess who it is, so if you tell, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Fair enough,” Del said.

  A van pulled up to the curb and four equipment-laden strangers emerged. Olivia assumed they represented some of the weekly newspapers from small towns in the area. So far, they were the only press to arrive. Karen would be furious if the DC and Baltimore papers didn’t bother to send anyone.

  Olivia noticed that all the celebration committee members were present, though only one, Mr. Willard, had taken seriously Karen’s order to arrive in costume. A barrister’s cloak hung from Mr. Willard’s gaunt shoulders, and a white wig covered his sparse hair. Olivia assumed Bertha had made the outfit for him. A card-carrying Daughter of the American Revolution might object to the British style of the costume, but it was probably the only pattern Bertha could find at short notice.

  The mayor herself wore a tailored, pale gray suit and rose blouse. The jacket flared gently at Karen’s hips to draw subtle attention to the perfection of her figure. Only the habitual sternness of her expression kept Karen from being a beautiful woman. As she explained her rules to the visiting small-town reporters, Karen reminded Olivia of her first-grade teacher, to whom all children were uncivilized monsters until proven otherwise.

  Quill Latimer stood apart from the others, dressed in full academic regalia with cloak, PhD hood, and a mortarboard on his head. An odd choice of costume. Olivia remembered Paine Chatterley’s comment about Quill’s “well-deserved position” in life. Quill taught at a nearby community college. Olivia knew he had a PhD in history, but she didn’t remember hearing where he’d attended graduate school. If he had graduated from a first-rate university, Quill, being Quill, would surely have told everyone. Often.

  Olivia noticed Binnie Sloan was now missing from the group. Olivia remembered having seen her just moments ago, mixing with the other editors of weeklies. Predictably, Binnie had ignored Karen’s order to appear in costume. She’d worn her usual attire: men’s cargo pants, a flannel shirt, and a man’s jacket. All three items provided numerous pockets for Binnie’s array of small cameras, recorders, notebooks, and pens. Olivia was sure Binnie’s jacket had been red and black plaid, her pants and shirt beige. She peeked around the collection of reporters to get a view of the street and the mansion grounds. A squarish red-black-beige figure was passing the Chatterleys’ wraparound porch, heading toward the back of the house.

  Olivia touched Del’s arm to get his attention. “Binnie’s going in for a closer look,” she said in a low voice, nodding toward the mansion. “She’s at the wraparound porch.”

  Del muttered something curselike and took off at a run, with Cody close behind. Binnie had already disappeared behind the mansion. As Del and Cody raced across the street, Olivia caught Karen glaring in her direction. Olivia shrugged her shoulders, denying all responsibility for this glitch in Karen’s perfect plan.

  As two more vans pulled to the curb, Karen’s stern expression melted into delight. She waved an enthusiastic welcome and strode toward the first van. Olivia was impressed by the mayor’s speed, given she was wearing spike heels and walking through grass.

  Young, bored-looking crews emerged from the vans bearing microphones, cameras, and other equipment Olivia couldn’t name. She assumed they were junior staff representing major papers in DC or Baltimore, or both. They ignored Karen as she chattered at them. Olivia sympathized with their lack of enthusiasm. She longed to be back in The Gingerbread House sorting through that package of vintage cookie cutters she was expecting to arrive any minute or helping customers find the perfect gel icing color.

  As Olivia watch
ed, Del and Cody rounded the mansion porch, holding Binnie Sloan firmly between them. Binnie was no lightweight, but her feet barely touched the ground. As they drew closer, Olivia could see Del’s expression, tight and angry. His young deputy grew redder in the face with each step. At six foot three, Cody was probably doing much of the carrying. Binnie dragged her toes in the grass and grinned.

  Del and Cody delivered their captive to the mayor, who looked furious enough to sentence Binnie to death. As soon as her feet hit solid ground, Binnie wriggled free of her captors and made straight for the newly arrived news crews, who’d scored a prime spot to set up their equipment. They clustered around Binnie as she scrolled through photos on her digital camera.

  While Binnie soaked up everyone’s attention, Olivia glanced back toward the mansion. She thought she saw a light flick on and off in a turret window. Sheer curtains covered the window, so she couldn’t be sure. She was certain, though, that it was the same window a grumpy, disheveled Paine Chatterley had poked his head through when Olivia had visited two days earlier.

  As Olivia watched, the bottom corner of the curtain twitched. She wondered if Paine was keeping an eye on the activity across the street from his newly reclaimed home. The curtain rippled, and she realized the window might be slightly open. Maybe the light she’d seen had been no more than the sun striking a sliver of exposed glass. Olivia was glad she hadn’t said anything. Not that anyone would have listened. She seemed to be the only person neither fascinated nor angered by Binnie Sloan’s adventure.

  Olivia decided her presence wasn’t necessary. Karen was busy chastising Binnie, who was barely listening as she continued playing show-and-tell with her colleagues; it was a perfect time to slip away. Olivia had gone only a few steps when she heard an unfamiliar voice nearby say, “Look, something’s happening. Start the camera rolling.”

  Olivia spun around to see the mansion’s front door creep open. Hermione Chatterley stood motionless in the doorway. She wasn’t dressed to receive company. From what Olivia could tell, Hermione wore a frilly pink negligee and matching peignoir. Her white hair fluffed in loose curls around her plump face.

  Cameras clicked and whirred, while muted voices relayed reports about the dramatic appearance of Chatterley Mansion’s new mistress. With everyone’s attention riveted on her, Hermione reached out with her right hand and opened her mouth as if to welcome her audience. Instead, she leaned against the doorjamb and slid to the ground in an apparent faint.

  The visiting press snatched up their equipment, but they weren’t quick enough. Del shouted an order to Cody to keep everyone back. “Mace them if you have to,” he added, loud enough for all to hear. Del had reached the mansion door before it occurred to anyone, including Binnie Sloan, that Cody wasn’t holding a can of mace.

  The press belatedly surged forward, but not before Karen rushed to Cody’s side and faced the group. In her deep, authoritative voice, she said, “Stay where you are. There’s nothing to see. Mrs. Chatterley is an elderly woman with medical problems. I’m sure you don’t want your readers to think you invaded the privacy of a sick and vulnerable woman. If there’s anything newsworthy to report, Sheriff Jenkins and I will prepare a statement, and you will be the first to hear it.” Karen’s plea gave Del enough time to pull Hermione’s inert body inside the mansion and shut the door behind them.

  Olivia was impressed by Karen’s quick action. Maybe she would make a decent congresswoman, after all. Then she wouldn’t be Chatterley Heights’s mayor anymore, so there was definitely an upside.

  Staff from the DC and Baltimore papers, looking frustrated, began to check their watches and call in for instructions. Reporters from the small-town weeklies chatted with each other. Olivia assumed they’d be more inclined to stick around. Hermione Chatterley represented local celebrity to them, so her public faint qualified as news. Even Chatterley Heights’s own Binnie Sloan seemed content to keep an eye on the mansion rather than sneak closer. Olivia was thankful that Nedra, Binnie’s niece and photographer, was still in Baltimore taking a journalism course. Two Sloans qualified as a herd.

  Olivia felt her cell vibrate in her pocket. She opened it to a text from Del: “Need you here. Use back door. Don’t be seen.” He’s always warning me not to get involved, and now he needs me? Interesting. Olivia texted back that she had brought her key to the mansion and could let herself in the alley door. As she edged away from the group, she saw Cody answer his cell, glance in her direction, and nod once. He parked his tall, lanky frame on a tree stump and announced that he had information about Hermione’s recovery from her faint.

  While Cody held everyone’s attention, Olivia sauntered south, as if she were returning to the store. Once she was out of sight, she circled around the block to the mansion’s back door. She half expected to see Binnie waiting for her, but the alley was empty when she slid her key into the lock. Del entered the kitchen as Olivia locked the door behind her. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Prepare yourself,” Del said. “Hermione is conscious, but she’s hysterical and incoherent. That’s why you’re here, because Hermione trusts you. If you can, get her to calm down and explain what happened.”

  “What happened…?” Olivia’s peripheral vision registered the chaotic state of the kitchen. Someone had removed all the antique pans and cooking utensils from the cupboards, originally set up as museum display areas, and dumped them on the floor. She followed Del into the mansion’s formal dining room, which had suffered the same fate. Silverware lay in heaps on the newly scratched surface of a walnut table inlaid with rosewood. The leaded glass doors of the built-in cabinets all hung open, revealing empty shelves. Olivia cringed at the sight of precious nineteenth-century dishware, some broken or cracked, piled in careless heaps on the dining room rug. The rug itself, hand hooked in the early 1800s, depicted a variety of green leaves and blue flowers that reminded Olivia of cookie-cutter shapes. Now china chards pierced the delicate two-hundred-year-old fabric.

  “Who could have done this?” Olivia remembered her conversation with Hermione about her husband’s state of mind. “Did Paine have some sort of breakdown?”

  “Possibly, but we’ll never hear about it from him. Paine is dead,” Del said, his expression grim. “Watch it.” He reached out to steady Olivia as she nearly stepped on a broken plate.

  “Del, are you saying Paine might have killed himself?”

  “Right now I have no idea. I’ve called the crime scene unit. We’ll know more once they’ve done their work, and the autopsy should help, too. Paine’s death might have been an accident, though the state of this house makes me suspicious.”

  “You mean…murder?”

  Del shrugged. “Could be an accident or suicide, I don’t know. Looks like he drowned in the bathtub.” He took Olivia’s hand and led her around a mound of silverware. “We’d better get upstairs. Do I need to remind you not to mention any of this to anyone?”

  “You just did.” Olivia reclaimed her hand.

  Del shot her a quick look but otherwise didn’t react. “I’ve shut Hermione in her own bedroom. I don’t want her disturbing the scene any more than she already has. If you can get anything helpful out of her, I’d really appreciate it.”

  Olivia decided to forgive him. They’d had more than one talk recently about her role in solving previous crimes. Del was trying to control his protective tendencies, and she’d been making a genuine attempt to stay away from murder scenes. If this was indeed a murder scene, Olivia was here now only because Del had asked her. And he knew it. Olivia indulged in a moment of smugness.

  She followed Del through the house, weaving to avoid random piles on the floor. She wondered what it would be like to move into a museum. Maybe Hermione was simply emptying cupboards and closets to make space for the couple’s belongings once they were delivered. That would explain the disarray. The broken plates and scratched furniture were another matter. Most of them had been owned originally by the Chatterleys, and some dated back to the mid-
nineteenth century. Did Hermione care so little for family antiques? She was British, so maybe a plate had to be older than a mere century and a half for her to consider it interesting or valuable.

  When Del stopped suddenly, Olivia almost slammed into him. He put a finger to his lips and pointed to a closed door. All the other doors they’d passed had been wide open. Olivia heard faint sounds coming from inside the room. Del held up his hand to indicate Olivia should stay where she was. She nodded her assent. Del drew his revolver and turned the doorknob gently.

  Olivia watched Del’s jaw tighten as he eased open the door and looked inside the room. He plunged inside, gun drawn, leaving the door ajar. Olivia flattened against the wall. Over the next few seconds, she heard only grunts and shuffling sounds coming from inside the room. She assumed Del had subdued the intruder, but she couldn’t be sure. She slid along the wall to the edge of the door frame and risked a quick peek inside the room. It was a mistake. Her appearance distracted Del for a split second, enough for the intruder to break free. Acting on sheer impulse, Olivia slammed the door shut. She braced her foot against the frame and held on to the knob with all her strength, expecting powerful arms to pull in the opposite direction. Nothing happened.

  From inside the room, Del’s voice called out, “It’s okay, Livie. I’ve got her.”

  Her? Olivia pushed the door open and looked inside at the intruder’s back as Del snapped on handcuffs. She saw a squarish red-black-beige figure. Binnie Sloan.

  After depositing Binnie in an upstairs bedroom, handcuffed to a four-poster, Del explained that the back parlor, where they’d found Binnie, once opened out on a garden in the northwest corner of the grounds. Binnie had used her key to sneak in and take photos. “Explain to me why everyone seems to have a key to Chatterley Mansion?” Del did not sound happy.