When the Cookie Crumbles

by Virginia Lowell

  “To find out more, I spoke with two knowledgeable individuals from the cookie-cutter-collecting world.

  “Livie, listen to this,” Maddie said. “The two collectors she interviewed were Anita Rambert and Clarisse Chamberlain. Clarisse insisted the Chatterley collection was a complete myth, that it never really existed.”

  “Clarisse said that? But…” Olivia’s pastry bag was aimed at a gingerbread man’s chin, where she’d planned to put a red beard. Instead, several beads of fire engine red icing dripped on the man’s neck. She decided to change him into a woman with a necklace and short skirt. “That article was published before I moved back to Chatterley Heights,” Olivia said, “but still, Clarisse and I talked endlessly about cookie cutters, and I never heard her deny the Chatterley collection ever existed. She did think it was long gone, maybe even thrown away, piece by piece, over the generations. She said many housewives were more practical than sentimental.”

  “Maybe she wanted to protect her town from hordes of fanatic collectors,” Maddie said. “Anita Rambert hedged a bit, too. When it comes to local antiques, no one knows more than Anita. All she said was the Chatterleys probably acquired some unique cookie cutters during their wealthier periods, but they wouldn’t have thought of them as potentially valuable. If they got bent or broken, Anita agreed that Chatterley wives would have tossed them or perhaps given them to the servants.”

  “Anita is a shrewd antiques dealer,” Olivia said. “She’s always thinking ahead. If anyone ever does find a collection, she’ll want to acquire it quickly and quietly. It’s in her best interest to dampen expectations. I could give Anita a call and ask her, but I’m afraid she’d think I’d learned something that might lead to—”

  Olivia was interrupted by a series of explosions, like spitting gunfire. “What was that? Oh right, fireworks.” A louder boom was followed by an unearthly howl coming from The Gingerbread House sales area. “Oh no, I left Spunky in the store.” Olivia bolted toward the kitchen door. “He’s fine with thunder, but fireworks terrify him, as we discovered last Fourth of July.” As she opened the door, a brindled streak flew into the kitchen. He came to rest in a quivering ball inside the tiny kitchen bathroom. Olivia sat down on the bathroom floor next to Spunky, and he slunk onto her lap. “Poor little guy,” she said. “Tell you what. You stay in here, and the health department need never know.”

  Maddie poked her head into the bathroom. “Pathetic,” she said, “and yet somehow adorable. We’re down to about three dozen naked gingerbread people, so we’re in good shape. I’m going out to the sales floor to watch the rest of the show.”

  A series of firecrackers exploded. Spunky yelped, bolted out of Olivia’s lap, and hid behind the toilet. “I won’t be joining you back there, kiddo. Stay as long as you need to; I’ll tell you when it’s safe.”

  Olivia stood up, brushed the dust off her jeans, and hurried to join Maddie at the store’s front window. They kept the lights out to better appreciate the flashing, sparkling colors in the night sky.

  As a huge “Happy 250th” firework—mauve, naturally—splashed through the darkness, Maddie said, “I’m impressed. The celebration committee came up with some creative fireworks.”

  “Expensive, too,” Olivia said. “It might be another two hundred and fifty years before Chatterley Heights retires the debt for this shindig. That’s something Karen might want to keep quiet about if she does run for Congress.”

  “Good luck to her,” Maddie said. “It’s tough to hide sensational information like a possible affair with Paine Chatterley once the Internet gets hold of it. Anyone who knows Karen could find that cast photo and link her to Paine’s presence in London. I’m thinking of our Binnie Sloan, of course. She wouldn’t care if it’s true, as long as it’s juicy. I almost feel sorry for Karen.”

  “Maddie, look out there on Park Street. Does that look like a squad car parking in front of our store?” As the final barrage of fireworks turned the sky into multicolored daylight, Olivia watched Del get out of the driver’s side and sprint in her direction. Deputy Cody Furlow’s tall, skinny body unfolded from the passenger’s side of the squad car. Cody opened the back door, and his large black Lab leaped out, nearly knocking him over. With a firm hold on the leash, Cody was able to restrain Buddy, and the two of them set off toward the town square park.

  Del crossed The Gingerbread House lawn, heading toward the alley behind the store. Olivia flipped on the sales-floor lights to get his attention. She could no longer see Del until he appeared right at the front window and waved. He pointed toward the alley. Olivia sensed from his grim expression that this wasn’t a friendly call.

  “Something has happened,” Olivia said. She dimmed the sales-floor lights and led Maddie into the kitchen. Spunky ran to them, whimpering for comfort. Maddie cuddled him while Olivia unlocked the alley door for Del.

  “What’s wrong?” Olivia locked and bolted the door behind him.

  “How did you…? Never mind. I wanted to warn you two that we’ve started a manhunt, so keep your doors locked. I’ll give you a call when it’s over.” Del gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to leave.

  “Oh no you don’t, Del Jenkins. Tell me what this is about. I’ll settle for the short version, at least for now, but we need to know who you’re looking for, in case he or she decides to break down The Gingerbread House door.” Olivia planted herself in front of the alley exit. “And no impatient, manly sighing, either. Talk.”

  Del spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Fair enough. Besides, at some point I might need your help again with Hermione Chatterley. We’re looking for Matthew Fabrizio, and he might be armed. At least, that’s what Hermione said, that he threatened her with a gun.”

  “Did Hermione say what type of gun?”

  “All she said before she passed out was that Matthew waved a gun and threatened to shoot her.” Worry pinched the corners of Del’s normally warm brown eyes. “This has been one hell of a weekend, and it’s only half over.”

  “Do you want me to stay the night with Hermione? I might be able to get more details. I’m assuming you’ve arranged for protection for her until you’ve captured Matthew?”

  With a faint shake of his head, Del said, “I wish it were that easy. I’ve sent out a call for reinforcements, and a couple state troopers are on the way to the hospital to protect Hermione.”

  “Hospital?” Maddie squeezed Spunky too tightly, and he yelped.

  “The Chatterley Heights Hospital,” Del said. “She needed immediate care, so it was too risky to take her out of town. Looks like she’s had a serious heart attack. If Matthew Fabrizio’s behavior didn’t trigger it, I don’t know what did.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Olivia felt as if she and Maddie had decorated millions of gingerbread cookies, and still more awaited. When the kitchen phone rang, Olivia glanced up at the clock. It was eleven p.m. “This might be Del,” she said as she lifted the receiver. “Maybe he found Matthew.” It wasn’t Del, though, and the female voice was so agitated it took Olivia some time to recognize Heather Irwin. “Slow down, Heather. Take a deep breath and start over. All I got was something about Matthew?” Olivia met Maddie’s questioning gaze and shrugged as she listened to Heather repeat her message in a calmer tone.

  When Heather paused, Olivia said, “Let me get this straight. You’re saying Matthew is under arrest again, even though the sheriff hasn’t found a gun? No, I’m not assuming Matthew hid the gun, I’m just…Got it: Hermione claimed he had a gun and threatened to kill her, but no gun has been found. And Del refuses to release Matthew because some folks who were out walking said they heard gunfire. Yes, of course, they might have heard fireworks and mistaken them for gunfire, but Heather, was Matthew by any chance…was he sober? He wasn’t. Okay, calm down, I had to ask. I really can’t second-guess Del; I’m sure he had good reasons for…” Olivia couldn’t help herself; she rolled her eyes at Maddie, who snickered. “Heather, I can’t intercede with Del. He’s the sheri
ff, and I won’t tell him how to do his job.”

  Olivia finally managed to extricate herself from the conversation by agreeing with Heather that Hermione might have made the whole thing up. “At least I didn’t promise to convince Del to let Matthew out of jail,” Olivia said to Maddie. “My guess is he was drunk and threatening, which is more than enough reason to keep him off the streets for a time. Now, hand me the bag of green icing, will you? No, I need the darker—”

  The kitchen phone rang again. “No way am I answering that,” Olivia said, aiming the forest green icing at a gingerbread man’s chest. After several more calls, she gave in. “Hello.” The greeting did not sound welcoming.

  “Livie? I woke you up, didn’t I?” It was Rosemarie York’s voice. “I’m so sorry, but I really need to talk to you about Matthew.”

  “I know he’s in jail,” Olivia said, “and I’m assuming he isn’t sober. And the sheriff hasn’t found a gun but apparently believes there was one.”

  “Heather called, didn’t she?” Rosemarie said. “Well, you’re right on all counts, including the drinking. I love that boy so much. I don’t know, maybe I tried too hard to make up to him for his mother’s death and his father’s…never mind that now. Del didn’t believe Matthew’s version of the incident. Yes, Matthew is not the most reliable of sources when he’s been drinking, but I believe him, and I need to tell someone.”

  “And you’re hoping I’ll get Del to listen.”

  “That’s up to you, Livie,” Rosemarie said. “I’ll keep it short, so you can get back to bed. Matthew said that when Hermione opened her front door, she was holding a small-caliber pistol. I don’t know what that means, but anyway, Hermione ordered him off her property and pointed the gun at him. When he didn’t leave fast enough, she fired it twice. Not straight at him, Matthew said, just into the air. He said she looked startled and unsteady afterward. Matthew was in shock, so he took off running. After a while, he stopped running and sat down under a tree to pull himself together. He should have kept going, but it didn’t occur to him that the police might get involved. He wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

  “In other words,” Olivia said, “Matthew had a little too much to drink.”

  “Matthew wasn’t too drunk to understand and remember what happened, if that’s what you’re getting at.” After a moment’s pause, Rosemarie spoke more calmly. “Livie, all I can say is I believe Matthew. I don’t think Del looked for a gun in the mansion, at least not very hard. Hermione probably kept it hidden.”

  “I’m confused,” Olivia said. “When did Hermione have the heart attack? I had the impression she collapsed during the confrontation with Matthew.” As she thought back, Del had been vague about the sequence of events.

  With a moan, Rosemarie said, “This is such a horrible mess. It’s all Hermione’s word against Matthew’s because no one else was there. Matthew said he was gone before Del showed up. The only thing Matthew got from Del is that Hermione made the 911 call herself from inside the house. I guess she really was having a heart attack, only it happened after she closed the front door. Matthew is sure she took the gun back inside with her. Del said he didn’t find a gun, but I don’t know how hard he looked.”

  “Rosemarie, you sound exhausted,” Olivia said. “I’ll talk to Del. He might already have searched the mansion more thoroughly for a gun.”

  “He hasn’t. I talked to him right before I called you. He just doesn’t trust Matthew. Anyway, thanks for listening, Livie. The decision is up to you.” She hung up without waiting for a response.

  “Well?” Excited curiosity shone from Maddie’s eyes. “Are you going to call Del and ask about the gun? Or should we go look for it ourselves?” She put the final violet touches on a gingerbread woman’s high heels before capping her pastry bag.

  “Give me a break,” Olivia said. She waved her hand toward the racks of undecorated gingerbread cookies.

  “We’ll be finished with those in half an hour,” Maddie said.

  “Not a chance. Besides, remember what happened to Binnie Sloan when she made an ‘unauthorized’ visit to Chatterley Mansion?” Olivia commandeered the violet icing bag and gave a gingerbread man a lurid mustache.

  “Oh, Livie, you can be such a poop head.” Maddie grabbed a finished gingerbread boy in striped shorts and bit off his head. A spot of icing on the table seemed to fascinate her as she nibbled her way through the entire cookie. Her silence meant she was thinking, which made Olivia nervous.

  Brushing the cookie crumbs off her hands, Maddie said, “I feel refreshed and reinvigorated. It must be the ginger.”

  “Or possibly the sugar,” Olivia said.

  “Livie, what do you think about the Chatterley cookie-cutter collection?”

  Olivia found the sudden change in topic highly suspicious. “Could you be more specific?”

  Maddie examined the available pastry bags for a new icing color to use on her next gingerbread man. Reaching for tangerine, she asked, “Did a collection ever exist? Has it been swooped up, a few cutters at a time, by various collectors?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Maddie pouted. “You are seriously no fun sometimes. Look, Livie, remember that story I told you from Aunt Sadie about the two cookie cutters that little boy Paine brought to show her years ago, the ones he said his mother hid in the mansion’s coal bin. Aunt Sadie thought they were genuine antiques.”

  “I believe her,” Olivia said. “Aunt Sadie is a good judge of antiques, especially cookie cutters and china. Were they part of a larger collection? That we may never know. From what Paine overheard, his father believed the collection had been hidden in a number of spots around the mansion. I can’t believe that at least some of them wouldn’t have been found by now.”

  “Especially with the renovation,” Maddie said. “Lucas kept a close watch over the process. He was always popping in unannounced to make sure the work was being done right. He’d have known if any cookie cutters turned up. And before your suspicious mind turns against the love of my life, it would never occur to Lucas to use the mansion renovation as a cover for a treasure hunt. That man is guileless, innocence in human form, not a devious bone in his hunky—”

  “I get it,” Olivia said, laughing. “Lucas would save kittens from a burning building.”

  “Without a thought for his finely chiseled features.” Maddie put the final tangerine touches on the gingerbread man in front of her, set him aside, and moved on to the next cookie. “Hand me the magenta and violet, will you?” With quick, smooth movements, Maddie gave a gingerbread girl violet curls and magenta cheeks. “What do you think, Livie? Should she have rose eyes, or would that look diseased? Livie?”

  “Hm?” Olivia had drifted into a pleasurable fantasy, where she was wandering through a Chatterley-free Chatterley Mansion. She was finding secret cubbyholes and hidden doors in every room, all stuffed with antique cookie cutters.

  “I know that dreamy look,” Maddie said. “What clever, fiendish plan are you hatching?”

  “No plan at all,” Olivia said. “I was just wishing we’d thought about searching the mansion ourselves a week ago, before Paine and Hermione showed up. Now we might never get the chance to see if a cookie cutter or two might still be hidden somewhere in the building, especially since it’s now sort of a crime scene.”

  “Cheer up; maybe Hermione will be convicted of murder, in which case the mansion would probably revert to Chatterley Heights. Or was that mean of me?”

  A colorful array of cookies covered the cooling racks on the kitchen table when Olivia stood to stretch and check the kitchen clock. Midnight. Maddie held a capped pastry bag but seemed too lost in thought to aim it toward a cookie. “No time for dreaming,” Olivia said. “We need to finish up soon.”

  “Personally, I can dream and decorate cookies simultaneously,” Maddie said as she reached for an undecorated cookie shaped like a church. “Anyway, we’re nearly finished.”

  “I count at least a dozen bare gingerbread cooki
es still waiting to be dressed,” Olivia said.

  “Piece of gingerbread,” Maddie said. “We’ll be done in ten minutes. After that, we ought to think about how to get into the Chatterley Mansion.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  When Maddie shook her head, red curls snaked out through the edges of her bandanna. “I’ve remembered something that might really help us. When Lucas decided to take on the renovation, the first thing he did was draw a blueprint of the entire mansion, inside and out. Lucas studied architecture, you know.”

  “I didn’t know, but—”

  “Livie, listen to me. We can kill two birds with one…sorry, insensitive metaphor. What I mean is we can satisfy our antique cookie-cutter lust and help Rosemarie and Heather—and maybe Matthew—at the same time because Lucas’s drawing will show us where to look.”

  “But we don’t have Lucas’s—”

  “A minor detail,” Maddie said.

  “But—”

  Maddie grabbed an undecorated gingerbread cookie and stuffed it into Olivia’s mouth. “Enough with the interruptions,” she said. “Lucas made a really thorough diagram of the mansion, which he proudly showed me, and only me, before he locked it in the hardware store safe. I was a bit bored, but given my almost-fiancée status, I tried my best to pay attention. Now I’m glad I did, which should be a lesson to me, if I can remember it. I do, however, remember what was on Lucas’s diagram. The relevant parts, anyway.”