“Mom, I really have to—”
“No, you don’t. Not yet,” Ellie said. “Trust me. When Allan and I ran into Bertha, she mentioned that Maddie had called her to The Gingerbread House to help with an event. Bertha said Maddie had described the event as ‘unique and challenging.’ Imagining those words coming from Maddie’s mouth gave me a flicker of apprehension. I left half a serving of eggs Benedict on my plate to come rushing over here.”
Olivia herself felt a shiver of foreboding. Her mother might seem vague at times, even to her family, but Ellie possessed an impressive ability to read people and situations. With trepidation, Olivia asked, “Do you suspect Maddie dreamed up this event with someone in mind? A certain someone who worships vegetables? Because I sure do, and I’ve been in the store since five o’clock this morning, trying desperately to think of a way to prevent a disaster. I’ve had one idea that might deflect some attention away from Charlene, but . . .” Olivia slid a candy-striped banana from the cookie pyramid and began to nibble. “I can’t understand it. Maddie has been acting like a completely different person lately.”
Olivia’s peripheral vision caught Bertha walking past the nook entrance, followed by Sam Parnell, their postal carrier. Since the store wasn’t yet open, Bertha must have offered him a cookie. Good. The faster the cookies disappear, the earlier the event will be over, Olivia thought.
“We’ll examine Maddie’s psyche later,” Ellie said. “Right now we’d better concentrate on damage control. This is Chatterley Heights. Charlene is bound to hear that her beliefs are being mocked. It’s no use hiding in here with your cookbooks, munching away at the evidence. Although . . .” She reached for an ear of fuchsia corn covered in yellow sugar sprinkles. “This looks diseased. I’d better do away with it.”
“I saw Maddie making these cookies yesterday,” Olivia said. “I should have known better. If she weren’t my lifelong friend . . .”
“Yes, and lovable despite her sometimes misguided impulses.”
“I know, I know,” Olivia said. “I don’t believe she really means any harm.”
“Maddie gets an idea and runs with it,” Ellie said. “Like the gingerbread man. And rather like that younger brother of yours.” She held a thoughtful index finger to her chin. Olivia noticed the nail was painted the same deep blue as the sash around her waist. “Perhaps we should revisit the question of Maddie’s psyche. You mentioned she hasn’t been herself lately. Do you think something is bothering her? I only ask because Jason tends to wind up like a top when anything goes awry in his world.”
“Now that you mention it, I have noticed it’s been a while since I heard the words ‘Lucas and I’ burst giddily from Maddie’s lips. When I’ve asked about their plans, she sounds distant. Maybe they’ve had a fight.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the problem.” Ellie polished off her corn cookie and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I believe I will give up my yoga class for once. I like Maddie, and I like Charlene, despite her unsettling sensitivities. I think I might be able to help calm the atmosphere.”
“Mother, you are the best.”
“Yes, dear. Now, tell me your plan to deflect your customers’ attention from Maddie’s exuberant creations.”
“Okay, first the simple part. I’ll announce early and often that the fruits and vegetables represent a harvest theme. I mean, it is August, so that should sound perfectly reasonable. However, I’m not taking any chances. I’ve also devised one of our special contests. Come over here, I’ll show you.” Olivia led her mother into the main part of the store. The bright summer sun shone through numerous leaded-glass windowpanes, imposing geometric shapes of shadow and light on the tables loaded with cookie cutter displays, baking gadgets, and plates piled with decorated cookies. Strings of cookie cutters festooned the circumference of the room, looping down from thin wire originally meant for hanging pictures. More cookie cutters, clustered into mobiles, tinkled in the light breeze from the new air conditioner.
The mobiles dipped low enough for customers to touch. Olivia stopped at one of them, a collection of bird shapes. Maddie and Bertha both scurried back and forth from the kitchen, preparing for the event, so Olivia lowered her voice. “We’ve had themed mobiles in the store since we opened,” she said, “but these are different. I created some new themes, and I added one special cookie cutter to each mobile.” She cupped her hand under a cutter in the middle of the mobile. “Like this one. What do you think makes this different from the others?”
“Aren’t you always reminding me to pick up the pace?”
“Work with me, Mom. I need to know if this game will be intriguing and distracting or merely impossible and irritating.”
Ellie touched the cookie cutter, which at her diminutive height required her to lift up on tiptoe. “It’s unusual,” she said. “An antique, isn’t it?” When Olivia nodded, Ellie added, “It is made of tin, I believe, and in lovely condition.” She stepped back and inspected the entire mobile. “Well, it must be the only vintage cutter in the grouping, right? Is that the point of the contest?”
“Give me some credit, Mom. Yes, it’s the only vintage cutter, but there’s one more step. Tell me what the shape is.”
Ellie frowned up at the vintage cookie cutter. “It looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to the shape. I can name all the others, though. Chicken, cardinal, dove, turkey, and so on, but this one looks like a generic bird.”
“In the interests of time,” Olivia said, “I’ll give you a hint. Far back in the last millennium, when you were a youngster, there was an organization to which you belonged. I remember you telling me that you joined at the tender age of—”
“Six.” Ellie clapped her hands and bounced on her toes, as if she had reverted back to that age. “I know the answer now. That sweet cookie cutter is a bluebird, the symbol for little girls who were in training to become Camp Fire Girls. We were called the Blue Birds. Although I don’t believe that’s the name anymore, especially now that boys are allowed to join, which is only fair, of course, but it does change—”
“Do you think this might work?”
“What, dear?”
Olivia suppressed a sigh. “Okay, nutshell plan. I announce a contest to customers. They must identify the only vintage cookie cutter in each mobile and correctly name its shape. The customer who gets the most right wins one of the cutters, whichever he or she chooses.”
Ellie ran her finger along the hemmed edge of the bluebird cutter. “This is such a wonderful cookie cutter, so lovingly preserved. I assume it came from Clarisse’s collection? Are you sure you’d want to give it away? Now Livie, before you interrupt, yes, I’m certain this contest will be intriguing enough to keep many customers from wondering about the reason for so many oddly decorated vegetable cookies.”
“Thanks, Mom. And you’re right, all the vintage cutters come from Clarisse’s collection. I do hate to give up any of them, but I know Clarisse would understand. She loved this town. It would have broken her heart to see Maddie and me feuding with a fellow businesswoman.”
Ellie squeezed Olivia’s crossed arms. “You do realize that Charlene will still hear about this event.” As Ellie shook her head, a long spiral of hair slid over her shoulder. “Poor Charlene. She was always sensitive. Perhaps even oversensitive, though I dislike that term. It’s so judgmental, as if anyone could say how much sensitivity is too much.”
Olivia stared out the window at the view of the town square. It looked so peaceful. She remembered summer days when she would hide from the sun in the band shell, with its stone benches and small dance floor. She’d lived in Baltimore, but she had to return home before she understood that life in a small town wasn’t any simpler than it was in the city. Anger, jealousy, and resentment all flared as frequently in Chatterley Heights as they had in Baltimore. If anything, Olivia was finding it harder to escape here in her little hometown.