Olivia studied Hugh and Edward as long as she dared, which amounted to about fifteen seconds each. Neither betrayed any particular emotion. Edward stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. Hugh bent toward Tammy as she whispered something in his ear. He nodded but said nothing in return. They looked resigned and bored. All in all, that was about what Olivia would expect from two brothers with little in common who have been shackled together for life by their deceased mother.
“Clarisse made a number of bequests to charities, which include several animal rescue organizations, national groups committed to caring for the poor, the Chatterley Heights Food Shelf, and Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine for research relating to heart disease.”
How like Clarisse, Olivia thought. She was successful, healthy, and tougher than granite, but she knew others had not been as lucky.
“We are almost finished,” Mr. Willard said, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.” Faint tittering greeted his sudden shift to informality. He picked up the third and final sheet of paper on his borrowed desk.
“Clarisse made two bequests to individuals outside her family. First, to Bertha Binkman, income for life, to be adjusted for inflation, and a home for life, as well, should she wish to stay here. At any time after her sixtieth birthday, or earlier in the case of illness, Bertha may retire with full benefits, including retirement income, long-term care insurance, and other supplemental health care coverage, as needed. At retirement, she may choose to stay in the house or have the use, for life, of the guest cottage.”
Bertha burst into noisy tears. Edward checked his watch, pushed to his feet, and began to wander. He selected a magazine from a stack on the table near the parlor doorway and leaned against the wall to leaf through it. Hugh and Tammy had their heads together, deep in whispered conversation.
As Bertha’s sobs subsided, Mr. Willard once again cleared his throat. He looked at Olivia and said, “Now we come to the codicil. It is short and simple. Clarisse wanted me to read it aloud.”
Mr. Willard paused, but no one besides Olivia paid any attention. Only Bertha had a good excuse, since her outburst had brought on a wheezing attack. Mr. Willard gave up and spoke directly to Olivia.
“Clarisse had the greatest liking and respect for you, as I’m sure you know,” he said. “Here is what she wrote: ‘With deep admiration and with gratitude for our many hours of conversation, I bequeath to Olivia Greyson the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, to use as she sees fit. I hope she will invest some of it in her business, which has given me many hours of pleasure. In addition, I leave her my entire cookie-cutter collection, which at the time of this writing is valued at approximately thirty thousand dollars.’”
A magazine hit the parquet floor with a slap, breaking the utter silence that followed Mr. Willard’s reading of the codicil. Olivia couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone, so she picked up her sherry glass and stared at the amber liquid. Then she emptied it down her throat.
Chapter Fourteen
“Clarisse left you how much?” Maddie’s voice came through distorted, due to the fact that she was yelling into her cell phone.
“You heard me,” Olivia whispered. She was calling from the upstairs bathroom at the Chamberlain house, after excusing herself to Bertha as the group began to wander toward the dining room.
“Clarisse left me upwards of one hundred and eighty thousand, if you count her entire cookie-cutter collection. Maddie, are you sure no one can hear you? You’re completely alone?” She feared Lucas might be lurking nearby, absorbing her information. Not that Lucas was the type to blab; however, as far as Olivia was concerned, he was still in the running for suspect number five. Or maybe number six, if she counted herself. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars plus an incredible cookie-cutter collection might be considered worth killing for.
“Wow,” Maddie said. “So does everyone hate you now?”
“I’m sure they are plotting my demise as we speak.” Olivia turned on the overhead fan and flushed the toilet.
“What’s all that noise?” Maddie asked.
“Never mind, I don’t have much time. Where are you?”
“Dinner with Lucas was short but sweet, so now I’m back at The Gingerbread House, inventorying the kitchen supplies. Why?”
“Because I want you to do something for me,” Olivia said. “We’ll be back at work tomorrow morning, so we need to use this evening well. You’re better at Internet searches than I am. I want you to use my laptop to find out anything you can about Hugh and Edward, as well as the Chamberlain businesses. Get financial information, if you can. See if there’s anything about Tammy, too.”
“I’ll start with Tammy,” Maddie said.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Olivia hurried downstairs, hoping the group wasn’t already seated in the dining room. She hopped off the bottom step to find Tammy, arms crossed tightly across her chest, leaning against the parlor doorjamb.
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.”