“Just ibuprofen. Listen, cookie cutters had meaning for Clarisse. She used them to help her work out problems. I didn’t figure this out until last night—early this morning, really. I was trying to identify the cutters in the photo of her desk—”
“Which I ordered you to delete, as I recall.”
“And I remembered Bertha telling me that Clarisse would talk things out with the portrait of her husband, the one that hangs over her office fireplace. Then it hit me. Sometimes when Clarisse picked out cookie cutters at our store, she’d make an offhand remark, like . . .” Olivia picked up the running gingerbread man cutter. “When I sold her this one only a few weeks ago, she said, ‘Run, run as fast as you can.’ That’s a quote from the old Gingerbread Man fairy tale, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” Olivia picked up the Dancing Snoopy. “She bought this one the last time I saw her. It’s such a joyful cutter, but I thought Clarisse was going to cry when she looked at it. I remember wondering why she bought it if it made her feel so sad.”
Del had stopped interrupting. Olivia glanced up to find him studying the cookie cutters. He picked up the baby carriage. “So you’re thinking these might represent people in her life?”
Olivia nodded. “People, events, I haven’t had time to figure them all out. Maddie and I plan to arrange the cookies in different designs that will look random to anyone who isn’t involved. But we’re hoping to tease a guilty reaction out of those involved in Clarisse’s death.”
“In other words, it’s one big, potentially dangerous experiment? I can’t let you do this, either of you.” Del dropped the baby carriage cutter on the table and stood up. “I forbid you to try this stunt.” He grabbed his jacket and hat and strode toward the alley door.
“It’s our store and our risk,” Olivia said. “We aren’t asking for permission. Or for protection. We’ll hold the memorial as planned, whether or not you take part. It’s up to you.”
Del’s shoulders dropped. “Livie Greyson, you are the most stubborn woman on the planet.” He turned to face her. “You know perfectly well I’ll be here. If something happened to you—or Maddie—I’d never forgive myself.”
“Thanks for the afterthought,” Maddie said.
Del waved the papers Olivia had given him. “I have work to do. Tomorrow we will discuss how to keep you two from getting yourselves killed.” He slapped his hat on his head and opened the alley door. “Meanwhile, Cody will check on the store as often as he can. If you hear anything suspicious outside or inside, don’t explore on your own. Call my cell. I’ll keep it with me. If for some reason I don’t answer, call 911. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Olivia.
“Yes sir,” said Maddie.
“And lock this door behind me.”
As Maddie locked the door, Olivia said, “Okay then, to work. We need to cut and bake the cookies tonight so they will be cool enough to decorate tomorrow after closing. I’ll dig out the additional cutters we’ll need.”
“Hold it,” Maddie said with authority. “You will not be digging or cutting or baking anything, not tonight.”
“Stop fussing.”
“I do not fuss. I command. Go upstairs, and take that noisy creature with you.” Maddie pointed to Spunky, curled in a snoring ball on his blanket. “Then take a warm bath, eat something, and relax with a good book. Having completed those tasks, fall into bed and sleep as long as you can. Frankly, Livie, I’ve never seen you look so awful.”
“Thanks ever so much.” She had to admit she felt exhausted, not to mention sore and stiff. “However, you are right, my friend.”
“I am?”
“I need all my strength to get through the next couple days, and my reserves are depleted. Promise me, though—if you need me for anything, even if you’re having trouble finding those extra cookie cutters, give me a ring.”
“I know the location of everything in this store,” Maddie said. “Do not set your alarm and do sleep all day. Here’s your cuddle toy,” Maddie said. She lifted a sleepy Spunky, blanket and all, and slid the bundle into Olivia’s arms. “Now go away.”
Chapter Twenty-three
For some reason, Olivia’s alarm had switched from a gentle beep-beep to a high-pitched whine. Also, her body was being used as a punching bag. She slogged through the quicksand of sleep until she could identify Spunky as both whiner and assailant. He was expressing his displeasure at being cooped up too long. Given her soreness after her recent accident, Spunky’s five pounds felt like five hundred. She lifted him off and rolled onto her side. “Remind me why I thought adopting a puppy was such a good idea?”
Spunky responded by bouncing off her sore shoulder.
“Would you give me a break?” Olivia reached over him for her cell phone. She had defied Maddie’s order to sleep all day by setting her cell’s alarm for eight a.m. She hadn’t heard it go off, but it must have, given the bright daylight edging her bedroom curtains.
Olivia squinted at the upper-right corner of her cell. “Four o’clock!” She sat up. “Ouch!” Spunky leaped backwards with a nervous yip. Olivia rubbed her eyes and checked the time again. Four o’clock all right, with a little “p.m.” following behind. She’d slept through her alarm and then some.
Instantly she thought of Clarisse and how close she was to learning the truth. The thought cleared Olivia’s head and muted her awareness of pain. In the next thirty-six hours, she intended to find out who had killed her friend.
After a shower, a cold slice of sausage pizza, and a couple extra-strength ibuprofen, Olivia took Spunky downstairs for a quick visit to the side yard. When he’d finished, she tucked him under her arm and entered The Gingerbread House. Over by the antiques cabinet, Maddie was deep in conversation with two women, who were exclaiming over some vintage cutters. Maddie spotted Olivia and winked at her over the customers’ bent heads.
At the sales counter, Olivia’s mother handed a small Gingerbread House bag to another customer, a husky woman who looked familiar. When the woman turned to leave, she recognized Binnie Sloan, editor of The Weekly Chatter . Binnie’s tight mouth expressed displeasure. As soon as she saw Olivia, however, a predatory smile spread across her face. Spunky squirmed in Olivia’s arms, but she held on tight, feeling in need of his protection.
“There you are, Livie, just the person I wanted to see.” Behind Binnie, Ellie waved to get Olivia’s attention and shook her head in silent warning.
“Hey there, fella,” Binnie said, reaching her hand toward Spunky’s head.
Spunky responded with a low growl. Olivia could feel his muscles tighten. She backed up a step to prevent him from biting Binnie’s outstretched fingers.
Binnie dropped her hand. “Not very friendly, is he? Anyway, I dropped in to let you know I’ll be covering your little memorial service tomorrow for the newspaper. Your mom tells me it’s private, which is why it’s so important for me to report on it. Everyone who knew Clarisse Chamberlain needs a chance to grieve her loss.”
It took a chunk of willpower for Olivia to keep her eyes from spinning toward the ceiling. “I’m afraid the memorial will be closed to the press,” she said. “It will be a time for Clarisse’s family and close friends to remember her in private. I’m sure you understand.” She managed a tight smile. Spunky growled in his throat.
Binnie gave Spunky a wary glance. “Have you considered how the rest of Chatterley Heights will react to being excluded from her circle of ‘close friends’? They might feel deeply hurt, don’t you think? Maybe even angry?”
And if they don’t feel hurt or angry, you will urge them to do so. “As an experienced journalist,” Olivia said, “surely you can help the town understand our need for privacy. It will be a quiet, simple get-together, nothing newsworthy. If anything exciting does happen, I’ll be glad to report to you afterwards.” A rash promise, perhaps, but it was never a good idea to alienate the press in a small town.