Cookie Dough or Die

Chapter Eighteen

Olivia made it home, after picking up a few groceries and two pizzas, with five minutes to spare. Her front doorbell rang precisely at six thirty. She ran down the stairs in her stocking feet, carrying a yapping Spunky.

“You sound out of breath,” Stacey said as she walked into the foyer. “I’m not early, am I? I hate it when guests are early. My ex used to be early for dates. I’d make him drive around the block and come back later.”

“I’m out of shape, that’s all,” Olivia said.

Stacey’s sandy hair fell forward as she knelt to massage Spunky’s ears. “What a sweet noisy little critter you are,” she said. Spunky wriggled his head in ecstasy. “I love dogs,” Stacey said. “Cats, too. So much easier to live with than men.” She gave the puppy a final pat on the head and said, “To be continued once my strength is restored by pizza.”

“And red wine,” Olivia said as she led the way upstairs.

“An excellent combination.”

Once upstairs, Stacey gave the pizzas a quick warmup in the oven and set the table. Olivia poured wine and unpacked her groceries, which included a hunk of parmesan cheese, bagged salad, and some fresh Caesar dressing from the Chatterley Café. She chopped a few olives for the salad and scavenged for some cocktail tomatoes that hadn’t yet shriveled up.

By the time they sat down to eat, their wineglasses required refilling. Stacey selected a slice from the veggie and cheese pizza, while Olivia went straight for the three-meat with extra mozzarella.

“This might be why I’m out of shape,” Olivia said.

“Naw, you’re just too busy, like me.”

“Or too lazy.”

After savoring her first bite, Stacey said, “Bribe accepted. What do you want to know?”

Olivia sipped her wine and gathered her thoughts. “Keep this conversation to yourself, okay?”

“Of course.”

Olivia selected a second slice of pizza, one with less meat and more olives. “I think Clarisse Chamberlain was murdered,” she said.

“I wondered about that myself. I knew Clarisse. She was way too sharp to accidentally poison herself.”

“I just wish I could prove it,” Olivia said. “I think Del believes that Clarisse was murdered, too, only he doesn’t want me involved.”

“But you can’t help yourself.” Stacey reached for a pizza slice with the meat and the fewest olives.

“You saw Binnie’s article about my so-called inheritance from Clarisse? She made me look like a murder suspect. The entire piece is a fabrication, but I still have to protect my reputation.” Olivia picked a sliver of kalamata off her pizza slice, popped it in her mouth, and washed it down with a sip of wine.

“That article was hysterical.” Stacey rested her chin on her laced fingers, all attention. “So,” she said, “two questions. How can I help? And would you reach the wine bottle for me?”

Olivia laughed, which felt good. As she filled Stacey’s glass, she said, “I’m trying to track down alibis for the most likely suspects—Edward and Hugh Chamberlain, Tammy Deacons, Bertha the housekeeper, and maybe Lucas Ashford.”

“Lucas? Really? I guess you never know with the quiet ones. And he has been stressed these past few years, what with his dad dying and his mom so sick, doctor bills, you name it. Everyone has a breaking point.”

“How well do you know Lucas?” Olivia asked.

“He volunteers at school. Fixes the furnace on a regular basis, donates parts, even changes those fluorescent bulbs no one else can reach. Nice guy. Maybe too nice. He does too much free work for someone with financial pressures.”

Stacey speared a tomato from her salad. “Although his financial situation certainly has improved,” she said right before the tomato disappeared into her mouth.

“It has? How?”

Stacey held up her fork for a time-out while she finished chewing. “Okay, this is secondhand,” she said, “but one of our fourth-grade teachers is married to a shop teacher at the high school, who is good friends with Lucas. I think they fix things together. Anyway, the story I got is that since Clarisse’s death, her sons have restructured the terms of the loan she made to Lucas. The way I heard it, they’ve cut his interest rate by half and forgiven the interest he owes on payments he missed while his dad was dying.”

“Really.” If true, it would explain the sudden lightening of Lucas’s mood after Clarisse’s death. “I wonder why Hugh and Edward would do such a thing?”

“You mean such an uncharacteristically kind act toward a fellow human being? Haven’t a clue. What’s for dessert?”

“Hm?” Olivia’s mind was broiling with possible reasons for Hugh and Edward’s largesse. Maybe they conspired to murder their mother, and somehow Lucas found out about it and blackmailed them. Or Lucas conspired with them to kill Clarisse, maybe even did the deed himself, and the loan restructuring was payment. Lucas didn’t seem capable of such behavior, but how well did anyone really know—

“Earth to Livie,” Stacey said. “Dessert? The tasty stuff that follows dinner?”

“Dessert. Right. Decorated cookies, of course.” Olivia scraped back her chair and began to clear the table.

“Oh goodie, that’s what I was hoping for.” Stacey flipped closed the lids on the pizza boxes and stuffed them in the refrigerator. “Where are they?”

“On top of the fridge.” Olivia finished filling her Mr. Coffee and pressed the on button.

Stacey lifted down a covered cake pan and slid off the lid. “Heaven,” she said. “Forget the serving plate.” She placed the pan in the middle of the table and settled in her chair. Her hand hovering over the cookies, she said, “So I imagine you want to ask about Tammy Deacons, too?”

Olivia delivered coffee cups, cream, and sugar to the table and joined Stacey. “I certainly do.”

“Then you have bribed the right person.”

“I’m hoping to pin down Tammy’s whereabouts on April 23, day and night. You might not know about that whole time period, but—”

“I know all,” Stacey said. “Except how you can make such delectable cookies and not be able to boil an egg.” She selected a second cookie, shaped like a baby carriage and decorated with pink and white icing. “However, we’ll save that for another evening. Tammy. On Thursday and Friday, the twenty-third and twenty-fourth, classes were cancelled for a teachers’ conference. Tammy was supposed to be there, but she called in sick. Left a message on the office machine. She should have left some information about her classes, but she didn’t. I called and called her home number. No answer. The vice principal asked me to go to her house and see if I could get her class information from her. Which I did. No one answered the door. The house was closed up tight and her car was gone.”

Stacey bit off a baby carriage wheel and closed her eyes as she chewed. Olivia understood. After a sip of sweet, milky coffee, Stacey said, “Playing hooky is one thing. Leaving town while claiming sick time is another.”

“Are you sure she left town?” Olivia’s resolve cracked, and she selected a cookie shaped like a cat with an arched back and electric purple fur.

“Where would she go in Chatterley Heights without being seen? I called all my sources. What can I say, I got curious, and well, you know that she’s not my favorite person in the world. A few people saw her at Lady Chatterley’s, trying on dresses, so I figured she must have been planning some illicit getaway with Hugh. Anyway, by Friday it was too late to use her class information, so I didn’t check her house again.”

Olivia nodded, remembering Tammy’s dramatic appearance at The Gingerbread House on Friday morning. She must have spent the night with Hugh, then returned to Chatterley Heights, while Hugh went back to his conference. So Tammy and Hugh could alibi each other for Thursday night, or they might both have been involved in Clarisse’s death.

“However,” Stacey continued, “I didn’t mention it to the vice principal, but on Thursday afternoon I also called the Chamberlain house. Bertha answered, no Tammy. Bertha gave me the phone number of the hotel Hugh and Edward were staying at in Baltimore. I called. No Tammy. Also no Hugh. The concierge told me Hugh and his fiancée had ordered a rental car and wouldn’t be back until the next day. Edward was there but on some panel or other.”

“How on earth did you get the concierge to tell you all this?”

“Charm.” Stacey had managed to finish off the baby carriage and was nibbling on the ear of a red and purple striped bunny. “Also, guile. I told the concierge I was the Chamberlain housekeeper and Clarisse had asked me to get some information from Hugh as soon as possible and his cell was turned off.”

“You’re good,” Olivia said. She pushed the pan of cookies closer to Stacey. “Did you find out where they went?”

“The concierge didn’t know. I figured they were sneaking a night together, given that Hugh called Tammy his financée. Now I realize there was another possibility.”

“Indeed,” Olivia said. “Can we keep this our little secret for now?”

“My lips will unseal only to take in food. Specifically, your cookies.” Stacey checked her watch. “My daughter is supposed to be home in half an hour. I want to be there to make sure it happens.”

“I’ll give you the whole pan of cookies plus the leftover pizza for one more piece of information.”

“You are a goddess.” Stacey gathered the cookie-laden pan to her bosom. “What do you want to know?”

“Who would know a lot about Hugh and Edward?”

“Like what?”

Olivia leaned back in her chair and stared at a stain on the kitchen ceiling. A plan had been forming in her mind. It might not work, could even make the situation worse. On the other hand, with so little evidence available, her idea might flush out a murderer.

“I need to find out more about their private lives, their pasts,” Olivia said. “I want to talk to someone who can help me understand who Hugh and Edward are when they aren’t being businessmen.”

“Ah,” Stacey said, “you want the real scoop. Well, two names occur to me off the top of my head, and one belongs to someone on your suspects list. Bertha, the Chamberlain housekeeper. She helped raise those boys, and there’s nothing like raising a kid to tell you his strengths and weaknesses.”

Stacey stood up and stretched. “I’m truly sorry to have to give you the second name.” She slid the lid on the cake pan and snatched it up, as if she were afraid Olivia would take back the cookies when she heard the name.

“The guy you should talk to is the perfect informant. Unfortunately, he’s also my ex-husband, Wade. He grew up near enough to Hugh and Edward that they were playmates, and he double-dated with Hugh sometimes.”

“Can I trust anything Wade might tell me?” Olivia piled the pizza boxes on top of the cake pan in Stacey’s arms.

“Probably not,” Stacey said. She checked the kitchen clock and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you the story, but I’ll have to make it quick.” While Olivia retrieved her coat, Stacey said, “The three boys did their underage drinking together. During that period, they went joy riding one night and smashed into a tree. Hugh and Edward claimed Wade was driving, which he denies to this day. Strings were pulled; there wasn’t an investigation. Wade took the fall, and the brothers Chamberlain came off as innocent victims.”

“Wade is still angry?”

“An understatement. However, I can assure you he has an alibi for Thursday and into Saturday. He had the kids. Thursday evening, they went to a monster truck show, instead of doing their homework. Where did I go wrong?”