Cookie Dough or Die (11 page)

When Tammy first commanded her to appear, wearing a dress, at a Sunday afternoon gathering, soirée, tea party, whatever, Olivia’s first instinct was to roll her eyes and vow to wear jeans. But that was before she had a plan.

The previous evening, Del had assured her that Clarisse wasn’t murdered. He’d made sense at the time, but the more she thought about, the less convinced she felt. Murder could be made to look like an accident or suicide. And murder as the cause of death made more sense, or at least it did to Olivia. Clarisse had amassed an enviable fortune. Her extraordinary success in business hadn’t been luck. She was capable of what some might call ruthlessness in her decisions to close businesses that didn’t perform to her expectations, and she had acquired failing businesses as cheaply as possible. She was never cruel, only practical and single-minded. Olivia had loved and admired Clarisse without ever wanting to be exactly like her.

Even if Hugh and Edward had airtight alibis, surely there were others who were resentful, who felt they had suffered at Clarisse’s hands. Lucas Ashford, for instance—though she wouldn’t mention that to Maddie without scads of proof. And, not to doubt Del’s police work, but what about Hugh and Edward? How thoroughly had he checked their alibis?

Olivia was willing to bet that Del had considered, then dismissed, the possibility of murder. He loved Chatterley Heights; the last thing he’d want was a sensational murder investigation involving a highly respected family, especially one with businesses that provided jobs for the town’s citizens. Times had been tough recently.

Without clear evidence of foul play, Del would resist digging any deeper. However, he took his job seriously. He might listen if Olivia gave him a reason to do so. She wouldn’t talk about her suspicions to Del until she had something to back them up.

Really, did Maddie have to choose this moment to fall in love and virtually disappear, right when she was needed? Maddie would listen, and no matter what Del thought, Maddie could keep secrets when she wanted to. Well, she’d be with Lucas at Tammy’s event, and Olivia intended to rip her from his arms and wrestle some help out of her.

If Tammy was throwing a shindig, Hugh Chamberlain would also be there, no matter how recent his bereavement. It was that simple. Tammy might seem flighty to some people, but Olivia knew her well. Inside the ruffles and the first-grade-teacher persona, the woman had a spine of tempered steel. Tammy knew what she wanted, and she wanted Hugh. So Hugh would be in attendance. Possibly Edward, too. And Olivia wanted very much to talk to both brothers.

Her plan required the right costume. Put in those terms, Olivia was more than happy to wear a dress.

There might be one snag, though. All three of her dresses were fitted at the waist. For the past eleven months, Olivia had been sampling, testing, and downright gobbling the sugary delicacies she and Maddie created for their store events. Every now and then her jeans felt a bit snug. Luckily, jeans were forgiving, especially if she washed them in cold water and let them air dry. Which was environmentally responsible, and naturally Olivia was a friend to the environment.

On the other hand, for the past few months she had been walking or running her dog several times a day. If there was any justice in the world, that ought to count for something.

Olivia selected her favorite, a teal cocktail dress with a flouncy skirt. A matching scarf wrapped around the waistband. Her mother had made the dress for her when she’d first moved back to Chatterley Heights, in a blatant attempt to encourage her to wear something besides pants.

“Might as well get it over with.” Olivia slipped into the dress. It fit perfectly, even when she breathed. Spunky, who had been watching sleepily from the bed, lifted his head and yipped. Olivia reached over to scratch his ears. “The next time I complain about taking you out for a walk at six a.m., you may remind me of this moment.”

Since she could dress in ten minutes and Tammy’s get-together was two hours off, Olivia changed back into her jeans and made another pot of coffee. She settled at her kitchen table to brainstorm questions. Instantly, she missed Maddie. She reached for the kitchen phone, then decided to call from her cell, so she could pace around.

Fifteen minutes later, Olivia had looked in all the obvious pockets without finding her cell phone. She tried calling her cell number from the kitchen phone. If the phone rang, she couldn’t hear it. Maybe it was out of juice. Spunky, awakened by Olivia’s frustrated search, trotted into the kitchen and circled her feet, making pathetic little yipping sounds as if he were too weak from hunger to bark properly.

As Olivia opened the treat drawer, she remembered. Ryan’s persistent calls the previous night had upset her, which upset Spunky, which led her to bury her cell in a drawer. She tore down the hallway toward her front door, followed by a dog who kept leaping at the hand holding his treat.

There it was, under Saturday’s unread mail, right where she’d stuffed it. Spunky was nipping her ankle to get her attention, so she dropped his treat on the rug as she lifted out her cell phone. Maddie didn’t answer after three rings. Olivia left a brief but insistent message for her to call back before two o’clock, when they were to arrive at Tammy’s house.

Olivia flipped her phone shut and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. She rescued her mail and settled on her sofa to sort through it. Spunky snuggled up next to her. Bills, invoices addressed to The Gingerbread House, junk mail . . . the last envelope puzzled her. The postmark said Baltimore, but there was no return address. Her own name and address were printed in block letters in blue-black ink by an unsteady hand, as if the writer had been in a hurry or perhaps upset.

Blue-black ink. Olivia had watched Clarisse write notes in blue-black ink, usually when they were discussing business ideas. Her handwriting had always been firm and distinct, showing an old-world flourish. Olivia ripped open the envelope and removed one sheet of white linen stationery. Clarisse’s full name and address were printed at the top. The date in the upper-right corner said Thursday, April 23. The last day of Clarisse Chamberlain’s life.

Olivia read the brief note and called Maddie’s cell. Once again, she was sent to voice mail. After Maddie’s recorded message ordered her to “Talk now,” Olivia said, “Madeline Briggs. This is Olivia Greyson. It is Sunday, twelve forty-seven p.m. I need you at the store right away.” She texted the same message.

When Olivia and Maddie, at age eleven, first vowed eternal best-friend-hood, they had designed a set of secret codes. They’d used the system through high school for notes they slipped each other between classes. If they used their full names in a message, it signaled urgency and a need for secrecy. Of course, in high school, an emergency usually meant a broken zipper or boyfriend trouble. Olivia hadn’t thought about those codes for a decade, but she remembered them all. Maddie would get the point.

Taking Clarisse’s letter, Olivia went downstairs, unlocked the store, and locked herself inside. Maddie always carried her own keys. Olivia turned on the lights and settled cross-legged in front of the antiques cabinet to reread Clarisse’s letter:

All will be well.
Clarisse—clearheaded, meticulous, supremely competent, and so very wrong. Dead wrong.

Olivia thought back to Tuesday afternoon. When they’d stopped at the cabinet to look at some vintage cookie cutters, Clarisse had asked for some cookie recipes. What if Clarisse had made such an odd request simply to get the room to herself for a few minutes? She’d known that Olivia normally tidied the store and emptied the antiques cabinet, including the bottom drawer, every day at closing time, while Maddie straightened the kitchen and reconciled the day’s earnings with receipts.

However, Olivia was human. On Monday they’d received a large shipment of wonderful antiques, which had completely filled their safe. So Olivia had decided to risk leaving the cabinet filled and locked until Saturday’s event, when she hoped the extra customers would work down their inventory. After everything that happened, Olivia had simply forgotten to empty the drawer.

A small, ornate key fit both the glass doors and the drawer at the bottom. As Olivia unlocked the doors, she heard rapid scratching at the front door. It wasn’t the sound of Maddie’s key in the lock, unless Lucas had plied her with liquor at lunch. Maddie wasn’t much of a drinker, so a couple of mimosas might affect her aim.

The scratching became more frantic, this time accompanied by a distinct whine. Spunky. The little sneak had learned how to escape as Olivia left her apartment. If she was at all preoccupied, she wouldn’t notice him hiding in a dark corner of the landing.

“If you’re so smart, you can let yourself in.” Olivia’s voice sounded unusually loud and must have carried beyond the door, because Spunky stopped scratching and barked.

“Oh all right,” Olivia called, “don’t pout, I’ll come get you.” She pocketed the cabinet key and headed for the front door. “You’d better not be using the hall carpet as a pee pad,” she said. As she reached toward the knob, the door opened.

Maddie stood in the entryway, holding a squirming Yorkie. “Not to worry,” she said. “I went before I left the house.” She thrust Spunky into Olivia’s arms.

“So, Olivia Greyson, what’s the big emergency?” Maddie, already dressed for Tammy’s get-together, wore an emerald green, curve-hugging sweater dress. A tiny silver earring in the shape of a tulip cookie cutter dangled from each ear. Her springy hair was freshly washed and windblown, a look only she could pull off.

“Did I catch you in the shower?” Olivia asked.

“You sent me an SOS to discuss my bathing habits? Come on, Livie, what’s up? We’ve only got half an hour before we have to be at Tammy’s, and Lucas made it crystal clear that he did not want to arrive unaccompanied by his date.”

“Understood.” Olivia handed her Clarisse’s letter. “Here, read this while I start emptying the drawer.” Kneeling on the floor, she lifted out cookie cutters one by one and secured them inside a padded basket.

“Odd letter,” Maddie said. “You knew Clarisse way better than I did, but this doesn’t sound like her. Too dithery. Are you sure she didn’t have a drinking problem?”

“Quite sure.” Olivia stowed the letter in the basket of antiques. “I suspect the packet she left for me is in this drawer.”

Maddie hitched up her dress and knelt beside Olivia. “I see something.” She removed a red-handled Scottish terrier cutter made of tinplate steel during World War II. “Looks like the corner of an envelope.”

Olivia pushed aside a few remaining cutters and lifted a business-letter-size envelope out of the drawer. It was unsealed and addressed simply to “Olivia Greyson,” in Clarisse’s handwriting. Olivia reached inside and withdrew a folded piece of wide-ruled lined paper, the kind a schoolchild might use. She unfolded the paper and held it so Maddie could see.

“The light in here is terrible,” Maddie said, leaning in closer. “What does it say?”

Squinting, Olivia said, “The pencil mark is faint, as if the writer wasn’t bearing down hard enough. Let’s go over to the register. There’s a flashlight in the drawer.

Maddie checked her watch and groaned. “I have exactly six minutes to rescue Lucas from Tornado Tammy, so let’s step on it.”

“You go on ahead. I can be late. I can fill you in later.”

“Not a chance.” Maddie had the powerful legs of a hyperactive dancer, and she used them to shoot to her feet. By the time Olivia reached the sales counter, Maddie had found the flashlight and turned it on. Its bright light revealed no salutation. The letter itself was short, only a few lines, which read

A phone number followed the signature.

“Wow,” Maddie said.

“Wow, indeed.” Olivia whipped out her cell and dialed the number. A few moments later, she closed her phone.

“Well?”

“This number is no longer in service.”