Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

“Not at all, dear. Besides, Allan is more than capable of taking care of himself. By the time we finish, he will probably know all there is to know about the financial aspects of Raoul’s dancing career. Now, let’s get to it, shall we?” She took Olivia’s left hand and placed it against her upper arm. “Now Livie, you may ask your questions, but pay attention, as well. If I’m to give up the remainder of my dance lesson, at least I can have the satisfaction of teaching you a few steps. Now, start with your right foot and step backward. No, sweetie, your other right. That’s it, but slower. Make it sultry. Next, two quick steps.... Now what else did you want to know about the Critches?”

Distracted and struggling to avoid a collision, Olivia stared down at her feet and watched as they completed a square—more or less, if she didn’t count her false steps. So that’s what Raoul meant by thinking about a square. Olivia relaxed a bit and remembered one of the questions she’d wanted to ask about the intruder in The Vegetable Plate. “Um . . . about the man who broke into Charlene’s store,” she said. “Could he be someone from Charlene’s past? Her ex-husband, maybe?”

When her mother didn’t launch into a convoluted story, Olivia glanced up at her face. Ellie’s knitted eyebrows indicated thought. Olivia lost track of her feet and zigzagged right into her mother’s undulating hip. Ellie didn’t miss a step. With gentle pressure, she guided Olivia into position and hesitated a moment as her daughter stumbled back into rhythm.

“I might be thinking of someone else altogether,” Ellie said, unruffled by the mishap. “But I do think that Charlene’s brief, unfortunate marriage was a while back, at least seven or eight years, because I remember thinking how lucky your father and I were that we’d managed to stay happy despite how young we were when we married. I was only nineteen, and your father was twenty. Of course, we’d already lived together for a year at the commune.”

“Too much information, Mom.”

“Oops, I feel a spin coming on,” Ellie said. Olivia jumped out of the way in time to avoid being whacked as her mother flung her arm out.

“I do love those spins,” Ellie said. “Now where was I? Charles Sr. was the key, I think. You will have noticed that both children were named after their father? Arrogance, pure arrogance. Charles Sr. was a plastic surgeon, wildly successful, made piles of money. That’s why they moved to DC. They bought a mansion, I heard, joined all the right clubs, put their children in private schools. Those poor young dears.”

As the intensity of the music built, Olivia knew she was running out of time, but she decided not to interrupt. Her mother’s stories nearly always yielded helpful information and insights. Eventually.

“They became reflections of their parents’ worth, you see,” Ellie said. “They had to look perfect and excel at everything. I remember hearing that Charles suggested Charlene have plastic surgery when she was still a teenager. And little Charlie, he became quite a problem. I believe he was thrown out of more than one private school.”

Olivia decided to keep Charlie on her suspect list for the time being.

Ellie executed a final twirl out and back as the music ended. “Wasn’t that fun?” Her cheeks had pinked up, but her breathing seemed normal.

“Mom, I really am sorry I used up your lesson. Allan said Raoul will be leaving soon.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I haven’t broken it to Allan yet—he’s feeling a bit overshadowed, you know—but Raoul told me during our dance that he likes Chatterley Heights so much, he has decided to stay indefinitely. Isn’t that lovely? Now, about Charlene’s marriage,” she said. “I don’t know the details, but I remember hearing that she married what they call a ‘bad boy,’ which isn’t surprising when you think about it. I believe she was still in high school in DC when they eloped. Charles hired someone to track them down, or so I heard. I don’t know exactly what happened then, but I assume the marriage was unhappy, since I remember hearing about an annulment. Poor Jason has never forgiven himself.” Ellie flipped her hair over her head and fluffed it with her fingers.

“ Jason? What does Jason have to do with it?”

“Oh, didn’t I say? Jason is the one who introduced Charlene to the boy. After your father died, Jason felt so lost. Oh, I know you missed him, too, but you went off to college, and Jason sort of floated for a couple of years, keeping so much inside. Then I met Allan, and it all got worse. Jason was a senior by then. His grades began to slide, he didn’t want to go to college, and he started skipping school to hang around with a group of dropouts. At the moment, I’m afraid I don’t remember anything about them, including their names. Jason was secretive during that time. I’m sorry, Livie, I wish I knew more details. Only I suspect that the man Charlene married turned out to have a nasty side.”

A sudden piercing noise awakened Olivia from a deep sleep. When the sound repeated twice and went to voice mail, she finally recognized the opening bars of “Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones. Not Olivia’s favorite. It crossed her foggy mind that her mother, who danced to that song, might have reprogrammed the cell phone ring tone. But no, messing with ring tones was Maddie’s specialty. Olivia decided it wasn’t worth opening her eyes.

Before she could drift off again, Olivia heard voices murmuring nearby and felt a weight land on her stomach. The voices turned out to be the television turned on low. The weight on her stomach began to wiggle. She finally opened her eyes when Spunky licked her face.

It had been a long day. Trying to learn the rumba and talk at the same time had taken a surprising amount of energy. Olivia had fallen asleep on her living room sofa, lulled by the cooking channel. While she debated checking her voice mail or going straight to bed, Mick Jagger complained again about the absence of satisfaction in his life. Olivia answered just to make it stop.

“Livie, you have got to see this.”

Olivia made a guttural sound in her throat.

“I’m serious, Livie, you need to wake up and look out your living room window. I know you’re there; the light is on. So drag yourself over to that window and check out what’s going on in the town square.”

“Why?”

Maddie ignored the irritation in Olivia’s voice. “Come on . I’m afraid it will disappear any minute. It’s . . . it’s amazing. Enchanting. Fantastical. Please, go to the window now . Oh, and turn the lights off. And bring your cell.”

Spunky jumped off Olivia’s chest and trotted to the front window, as if Maddie had communicated with him telepathically. By then, Olivia was awake enough for curiosity to overtake crankiness. She slid off the sofa, switched off the light, and joined Spunky at the window.

“Come on, Spunks,” Olivia whispered. “Let’s see what Aunt Maddie has cooked up for us this time. It had better be worth losing sleep over.”

“I heard that.” Maddie’s voice crackled from the forgotten cell phone in Olivia’s hand. “Talk to me.”

Olivia pulled aside the edge of the damask curtain covering her front window, while Spunky jumped on top of the small Queen Anne–style desk centered under the windowsill. “Okay, we’re looking out on the park,” Olivia said into her cell. “What’s so amazing? All I see are sleeping stores, moonlight on the rump of Fred P. Chatterley’s horse, about half of the band shell in lamplight, and—Oh. . . . What on earth . . . ?” Olivia pressed her nose against the glass. She’d caught a glimpse of shimmery movement near the band shell, but now the park looked deserted.