Olivia had heard of her, through Maddie, who had made the rounds of antiques malls when they’d first opened The Gingerbread House. Maddie had described Anita Rambert as a barracuda cookie cutter, all sharp angles and hungry eyes. When she smiled, Olivia noticed her incisors were on the pointy side.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Ms. Rambert said. “I’ll take the Chamberlain collection off your hands for a fair price, in cash. I’ll need to see a complete listing of the cutters, of course, and verification of their authenticity.”
“That’s an interesting offer,” Olivia said, “but at this early stage, I’m not yet considering my—”
“You won’t get a better one, I assure you. I know all the players in the cutter world, and not one of them has sufficient cash on hand to buy the Chamberlain collection, at least from what I’ve heard about it.”
Ms. Rambert had impenetrable eyes that matched the sleek blue-black hair she wore tied back at the nape of her neck. She possessed all the ingredients for exotic beauty, but somehow they formed a forbidding presence.
Since she was almost the same height as Ms. Rambert, Olivia looked straight into those eyes and asked, “Where did you hear about the collection?”
Ms. Rambert’s eyebrows lifted in a startled expression. “On the Internet, of course. It’s tough to keep information about a collection secret, unless the collector is a complete hermit. Unlike some art collectors, cookie-cutter collectors love to share. Really, Ms. Greyson, I’d expect you to know that already.”
“Call me Livie,” Olivia said, pasting a smile across her face.
Olivia glanced over Ms. Rambert’s shoulder to see Maddie waving at her. When they made eye contact, Maddie, who was in the middle of unpacking an upscale professional mixer to show two customers, mouthed, “Help,” and pointed toward the register. Six customers, their arms full of potential purchases, fidgeted and peered around the store looking for help. Olivia excused herself from Ms. Rambert and hurried to the sales counter.
Heather Irwin, the new, fresh-out-of-college librarian for the Chatterley Heights Public Library, stood at the front of the line clutching a dozen individual cookie cutters in her small hands. With evident relief, she dumped them on the counter. While Olivia removed tags from the cutters and rang up the charges, Heather leaned forward and said, “It’s so exciting about you inheriting Ms. Chamberlain’s whole antique cookie-cutter collection. I’ve heard it’s amazing. Would you consider letting the library host an exhibit? It would be great publicity for The Gingerbread House, after all, and maybe more people would think about supporting the library.” Heather’s sweet, young voice tightened in frustration when she mentioned support for the library.
“We’ll see,” Olivia said. “I honestly haven’t had time to take it all in.”
“Really? You mean you didn’t know that Ms. Chamberlain was leaving her—?”
A male voice from the end of the ever-lengthening line called out, “Could we save the chat for later? Some of us have work to get back to.” Must be a dealer , Olivia thought. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come for the same reason as Anita Rambert—to make an offer for Clarisse’s collection.
Another pile of cookie cutters clattered onto the sales counter. Olivia noticed an animal theme, specifically fish, bones, cats, dogs, rabbits, and one lone ferret. “I decided to leave the pony until later,” said a round-faced young woman. “We’re hoping to get some land outside of town so we can expand.”
“Gwen,” Olivia said with genuine pleasure. Gwen Tucker and her husband Herbie ran the local no-kill animal shelter, Chatterley’s Paws. They were responsible for leading Olivia to the Yorkie rescue website where she’d found Spunky. “I didn’t know you were interested in cookie cutters.”
“I didn’t, either,” Gwen said. “But then I got this idea for making animal treats and decorated cookies as a way to tempt people to come see the animals. If their kids are with them, so much the better. How many parents could say no to bringing home a cat or a dog after watching their kid feed it a treat?”
“Especially parents who are nibbling on decorated cookies themselves,” Olivia said as she wrapped the cutters in tissue paper and slid them into a bag.
“Exactly! I figure this is the perfect time to try out my idea, now that everybody in town is talking about cookies and cookie cutters. What an incredible stroke of luck that you should inherit Ms. Chamberlain’s collection. If it contains any animal figures, would you mind if Herbie and I took pictures of them to post around the shelter? Cookie cutters are such homey things, aren’t they? We thought the pictures and the cookies and treats would put people right in the mood to complete their families with a pet or two.”
Gwen’s request sent Olivia’s mood on another trip down the slide. Everyone seemed so eager to cash in on Clarisse’s death, and Olivia’s own “stroke of luck” had happened for the same reason. She felt a sudden urge to take a shower, pack up the car, and move with Spunky to an undisclosed location.
Avoiding eye contact, Olivia worked through the line of customers in silence. If anyone started to ask a question, she pretended not to hear. By two o’clock, The Gingerbread House began to empty as cars and vans carted off four or five passengers at a time, hoping to beat the worst of the Baltimore and DC rush hours.
With only a few stragglers left in the store, Olivia gestured to Maddie that she was taking a stack of receipts into the kitchen. Once the door closed behind her, Olivia dropped the receipts in a heap on the table, sank into a chair, and let her forehead drop onto her folded arms.
Clarisse’s death and Olivia’s growing conviction it was murder, Sam’s hints about a grandchild, Sam’s possible poisoning, the inheritance from Clarisse—too much had been happening, much too fast. And now she was smack dab in the middle of the mess and well on her way to joining the suspects list.
Olivia took Spunky on a quick run in the alley behind The Gingerbread House, then sped through the receipts. Not a bad take, and the day hadn’t ended. Having finished business, she began to search the Internet for references to the Chamberlain cookie-cutter collection.
When she heard the kitchen door open and close behind her, Olivia called over her shoulder. “Hey Maddie, come here and see what I’ve found.”
“Livie, we need to talk.” The voice did not belong to Maddie.
“Del!” Guided by instinct, Olivia clicked closed the website she’d found, lowered the computer lid, and twisted around in her seat. “You surprised me. I was expecting . . .”
Del wasn’t his usual low-key self, and Olivia felt her muscles tighten. “What’s up?” She tried to keep her voice light and casual. As Del stepped around the corner of the kitchen table, she noticed he was carrying a rolled-up newspaper. “Spunky has more or less grasped the whole housebreaking thing, if that’s what you’ve brought the paper for.” Okay, that was pathetic. She instructed her mouth to stay shut.
Del unrolled the newspaper and held it out for her to see. “Did you know about this?”
Olivia recognized the front page of the local paper, The Weekly Chatter , which usually came out every Wednesday.
“Where did you get this?” she asked. “It’s only Tuesday.”
“It’s late on Tuesday, and I’m the Sheriff. Binnie always drops off an advance copy.”
“That’s mighty cooperative,” Olivia said, “for a newspaper editor.”
Del shrugged and shifted his gaze toward the cupboards. “Binnie used to babysit me when I was a kid.”
Olivia stifled an urge to laugh, but her amusement dissipated when she read the banner, “Chamberlain Death Suspicious.” She yanked the paper from Del’s hand. A photo accompanying the article showed Olivia dressed in the black pants and gray sweater she’d worn to the will reading. She was standing next to her Valiant, talking with a man whose back was to the camera. The photo caption read, “Olivia Greyson, heir to fortune, consults with her lawyer.”