Cookie Dough or Die (20 page)

Startled and breathless, Olivia said, “I hope I haven’t delayed dinner. I was just . . .” She gestured upward.

“Livie Greyson, I thought we were friends.” Tammy came about as close to hissing as the human voice can manage. Her eyes were narrowed to ice green slivers, and she must have been running her fingers through her hair because her elegant pile of curls was tumbling.

“Tammy, of course we are friends. We’ve been friends so long I don’t even remember how we met. What’s wrong?” Olivia had a good idea what was wrong, but she wanted to hear Tammy’s interpretation.

Tammy unglued an arm from her chest, grabbed Olivia’s, and yanked her into the parlor. She closed the door behind them.

“Shouldn’t we be getting to the dining room?” Olivia asked.

“You’ve already been gone long enough for everyone to notice,” Tammy said. She released Olivia’s arm and glared at her. “How
could
you?”

“How could I what? Tammy, I honestly don’t get why you’re so angry with me. If it’s about Clarisse’s will—”

“Of course it’s about the will. Clarisse must have been going soft in the head to hand over all that money to you. She’d only known you for a year.” Tammy plunked a fist on each hip. “Unless . . . How did you get her to write that bequest?”

“All right, that’s enough.” Olivia’s even temperament did have its limits. “I had no idea Clarisse was leaving me so much as a dime. If I’d had a clue, I would have tried to talk her out of it. I’m sorry if you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”

Olivia expected Tammy to explode, but instead her lower lip began to quiver. Olivia instinctively reached out to her. Tammy noticed the gesture, and tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, Livie, I’m sorry, it isn’t your fault, and it isn’t even about the money. Although the least you could do is let Hugh have the cookie-cutter collection. It belonged to his mother, after all.”

“And to Edward’s,” Olivia added, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Quickly, she continued. “What did you mean? What isn’t my fault?”

Tammy shrugged. “Oh, you know, that Clarisse loved you like a daughter and couldn’t stand me.” She walked to an ornate mirror hanging on the wall over a marble-topped chest of drawers. “She hated me, you know. She told me in no uncertain terms.” Leaning toward the mirror, Tammy took a bobby pin from her hair, reworked a curl, and moved on to the next.

“But why would she dislike you?”

Tammy frowned at a repaired curl. “Because of Jasmine.” She yanked the pin from the offending curl and started it again. “Because Clarisse thought I’d gotten Jasmine to run away and disappear forever. Believe me, if I could have done that, I would have, but Jasmine was tough. I almost liked her.” Jabbing the pin back in place, she added, “If I hadn’t hated her so much for trying to take Hugh away from me. Then she left, simply disappeared into the air, and Clarisse blamed me. Would you believe, she threatened to write Hugh out of her will if he insisted on marrying me? It’s true. She said it to my face.”

Holding a lock of hair twisted around two fingers, Tammy swiveled her head toward Olivia. “Without her precious Jasmine around, Clarisse wanted Hugh to marry you, you know.”

“Hugh, but not Edward?”

“I can’t see why she’d want you to marry Edward. She never seemed to worry much about him. I think it’s because Hugh is the elder son, and Clarisse was old-fashioned enough to care about that kind of thing.”

Olivia doubted that but kept it to herself.

“Anyway,” Tammy said, “Hugh reminded Clarisse of Martin, so she had a soft spot for him.”

That, Olivia could believe.

Tammy finished repairing her hair and nodded her satisfaction to the gilt-edged mirror. “None of that matters now, though. There’s nothing Clarisse can do to keep Hugh and me apart.”

T
he dining room was nearly empty by the time Olivia and Tammy arrived. As it turned out, no one had missed them. Due to a wheezing fit, Bertha had kept the corn chowder on simmer while she searched for her inhaler. Edward was in Clarisse’s office with the door closed, taking a cell phone call from a manager at one of the Chamberlain companies. Mr. Willard and Hugh sat at one corner of the dining room table, an open bottle of Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch between them. Olivia recognized the bottle because her ex-husband had begun drinking it as he became more successful. He always left the bottle on display.

Tammy walked right over to Hugh, slid onto his lap, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Mr. Willard’s welcoming smile faded. He looked so uncomfortable, Olivia felt it her duty to rescue him. Perhaps he would be grateful enough to answer a few questions. She caught his eye and nodded a greeting. Mr. Willard responded at once by slipping out of his chair with as little movement as possible and joining Olivia by the sideboard.

“Young love can be a bit much,” Olivia said, as if she weren’t exactly the same age as Tammy.

Mr. Willard raised his eyebrows and sighed.

“I notice the remainder of those lovely appetizers ended up here,” Olivia said, admiring the sideboard. Several bottles of wine, both red and white, stood open and ready for pouring. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I’d love a glass of wine, but I’d better put something in my stomach first or I can’t guarantee my ability to remain upright.” She selected a tiny egg and watercress sandwich.

Mr. Willard’s trapped-animal stance relaxed. He abandoned his glass of scotch and picked up two olive-cheese balls. Holding one in each hand, he said, “I prefer the classics. As a small child, I used to steal these delicious little darlings right off the guests’ plates when my parents hosted a cocktail party.” One of the darlings disappeared into his mouth.

Olivia was beginning to like Mr. Willard. If and when she needed an attorney, he’d be her first choice.

While Mr. Willard enjoyed his second olive-cheese ball, Olivia glanced over at Hugh and Tammy, still engrossed in one another. Good. Lowering her voice, Olivia asked, “I wonder if you would mind answering a question. It’s about Clarisse’s bequest to me.”

Mr. Willard’s narrow face assumed its legal-professional look, marred somewhat by a crumb of cheese crust at the corner of his mouth. Olivia couldn’t keep her eyes away from it, which prompted him to wipe his mouth with a paper napkin. “I wondered if you might have questions,” he said.

“Clarisse never mentioned her will to me.”

“Clarisse and I were in agreement that the less said about wills, the better. They tend to complicate relationships among the living.”

“Really, Clarisse said that? Then I wonder why . . .” Olivia checked the romantic duo again. Hugh and Tammy were whispering to each other, forehead to forehead.

“What are you wondering?” Mr. Willard asked. “Of course, in my profession there are secrets I must protect, but you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Tammy and I were talking earlier, and she said Clarisse threatened to cut Hugh out of her will if he married her.”

Mr. Willard’s thin eyebrows bunched together. He picked up two more olive-cheese balls and tossed both in his mouth at once. How did the man remain so wraithlike? Maybe he didn’t eat at home. Olivia was sure she’d noticed a wedding ring, but she didn’t want to be obvious. Presumably there was food in the larder.

“Your information disturbs me,” Mr. Willard said finally. His hand hovered over the last smoked salmon canapé but came away empty. “Clarisse possessed enormous self-control, as I’m sure you know.”

Olivia nodded her agreement.

“If she actually delivered such a threat, she must have been under a great deal of stress. I feel comfortable telling you that she spoke recently of writing a new will, but her stated intention was to divide the family businesses between her two sons. She always hoped the boys would work together, melding their differing skills, but Hugh and Edward . . .” Willard sighed and shook his head. “Oil and water, those two. Oil and water.”

 

 

T
he Chamberlain’s formal dining room table had been shortened as much as possible, but it still provided plenty of room for a party of twelve. Since they were only six that evening, Bertha had set the places to cluster everyone toward one end.

Tammy had other plans. “Let’s see now,” she said, one finger to her freshly lipsticked lips, “Bertha, you sit at the kitchen end, of course, so you can serve and clear.”

Olivia lowered her head, lest her eye rolling become obvious. Not only was Bertha a beneficiary and therefore an equal part of the group, but she clearly struggled with her breathing as she brought in a soup tureen. Willard took the tureen from her and delivered it to the table.

Tammy scooped up a place setting. “I’ll sit at the other end,” she said as she laid out the plates and silverware. “Hugh will sit on my right, of course. Mr. Willard, you are here, with Edward and Olivia across from you.” She created a single, lonely space for Willard in the middle of one side. Edward and Olivia’s seats, on the other side, were so far apart, they’d have to fire off paper napkin airplanes to communicate.

The group watched in silence as Tammy examined her arrangement and found it satisfactory. “Now I’m going to freshen up,” she said, “and then we can begin.”

The moment she disappeared from sight, Mr. Willard slid his plate and utensils back to their original position catercorner from Bertha, whose round face lit up. Simultaneously, Olivia and Edward scooped up their place settings and moved them closer to Bertha, across from Mr. Willard.

Four sets of eyes focused on Hugh, who stood at the other end of the table. He offered an expressive shrug and a grin that was both abashed and charming. “She isn’t usually like this, you know,” he said. “I mean, she’s a take-charge woman, no doubt about it, but right now she is . . .” Hugh took a quick look over his shoulder. “It’s been tough on her. She and my mother weren’t the best of chums, and after what’s happened, well . . . She isn’t someone who can fake grief, and it makes her feel uncomfortable. When she’s uncomfortable, she takes charge.” His smile broadened to reveal perfect teeth. “When you think of it, that’s a good way to handle a classroom full of first-graders.”

Hugh’s understanding of Tammy impressed Olivia to the point of speechlessness. She knew for a fact that Tammy didn’t know herself as well as Hugh seemed to, and his description rang true. An ability to read people could be an advantage in the business world, especially for manipulating others.

Certainly Hugh had charmed everyone at the table except his brother. Edward’s expression, as he’d listened to Hugh, could best be described as stony.

Tammy reappeared beside Hugh and took in the table rearrangement. Olivia could almost hear everyone’s breath halt. Hugh slid his arm around Tammy’s waist, kissed her forehead, and said, “Sweetie, this has been a rough evening for all of us, and we wanted to sit closer together, you know, as friends and family. How about it? Shall we join them?”

Tammy gazed up into Hugh’s face and said, “Okay. If it would make everyone more comfortable.”

“Great, let’s do it,” Hugh said. As he and Tammy moved to two chairs across the table from Olivia, Hugh said, “The soup looks delicious, Bertha. You’ve outdone yourself, and that takes some doing.”

Once Bertha had filled everyone’s soup bowl, quiet descended, interrupted only by murmured appreciation or the occasional slurp. Olivia cherished the peaceful moments. She had a feeling they wouldn’t last.

At the end of the soup course, Bertha left to fetch the main course and side dishes. Mr. Willard gathered up the soup bowls and nearly empty tureen and followed her into the kitchen. Olivia watched his back disappear with the uncomfortable sense that she was now on her own in enemy territory.

“Olivia, I feel as though I barely know you.” Olivia’s head snapped around in surprise as she realized it was Edward who had spoken. “Although now it appears you were my mother’s best friend for the past year.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “And do call me Livie. Everyone does.”

“That is quite a large inheritance for someone who doesn’t know if she was a best friend.”

“My brother is inclined toward bluntness,” Hugh said, in his smoothly modulated voice. “He doesn’t actually know he is being rude. What Edward means is that Mother’s bequest to you caught us all by surprise.”

“What I meant was, you had to have known about it. Which makes me wonder how much influence you had over her and whether she was really of sound mind.” Edward fixed her with a stare that felt like a mind probe. Intense—wasn’t that the word she kept hearing when anyone tried to describe Edward?

“Really, Edward, is this necess—”

“Yes, Hugh, it is necessary. How do we know she didn’t take advantage of Mother? Obviously, given how she died, she must have been slipping mentally.”

“Edward!”

“Maybe you figured that out, Livie?”

“That’s enough, Edward.” This time the voice belonged to Tammy. The take-charge Tammy, not the love slave. “Livie is our guest, and I’ve known her practically my whole life. She would never, ever do such a thing.” This was also the Tammy who earlier had accused Olivia of practically the same crime. Okay, Tammy had only questioned Clarisse’s mental faculties, not Olivia’s intentions. But it had felt the same.