Virginia Lowell - A Cookie Before Dying

“Of course, dear. Aything I can offer.”

“Thanks, Mom. First, have you any idea where Raoul lives? In town somewhere, or does he commute?”

“Raoul? He lives above the studio. Remember I told you about the two sisters who owned the building when it was a dress shop? When they bought the building, they had the upstairs renovated as a two-bedroom apartment, where they lived for more than thirty years. Did you know that they died within a week of each other? It was so—”

“Mom . . .”

“I’m sorry, I guess sometimes I want to escape to happier days.”

“I know, Mom. It’s going to get better, I promise. Meanwhile, you are my best source of information about all things Chatterley Heights. Do you happen to know who owns the dance studio building now?”

“Yes, but why . . . ? Never mind, I’m wasting time. The dance studio is owned by the Chatterley Heights Management and Rental Company. It is called M & R Company for short. Continue.”

If her mother was making such a determined effort to stay on topic, she must be frantic with worry. “Where is this company, and who owns it?”

“It’s west of the town square,” Ellie said, “on Apple Blossom Road. I’m not sure of the exact address.”

“That’s okay. I’m looking it up on my laptop.”

“As for the owner, I believe she’s a former high school classmate of yours. She’s divorced now, and I think she went back to her own name, as you did. Her name is Con—”

“Constance Overton.” Olivia had found the M & R Company website and was staring at the photo of a woman whose existence she had forgotten about. “Oh dear,” she said.

“Is there a problem?”

“I remember Constance. She thought I stole her boyfriend junior year.”

“Now Livie, I’m sure she has forgotten all about . . . Wait, y ou stole another girl’s boyfriend in high school?”

“What, you think I couldn’t attract someone else’s boyfriend? Anyway, she only thought I stole him. He was too timid to tell her he wanted to break up, so he just started asking me out. To be fair, Constance was mighty scary.” Olivia remembered Constance Overton as tall, model slender, a cheerleader, smart, and destined to be homecoming queen. She’d had a commanding personality, in that she commanded those around her to do her bidding. Constance had vowed eternal vengeance on Olivia for crossing her. She wasn’t the type to forget.

“I suspect she has changed, Livie. Life is not always kind,” Ellie said.

Olivia looked at the picture of Constance on the M & R Company website. She was sitting behind an imposing desk, smiling into the camera. She still had lush blond hair and perfect features, and now she owned her own company. It seemed to Olivia that life had continued to shower favors on Constance Overton. “Well, all I can do is try.”

“Does this have anything to do with Jason?” Ellie sounded desperate.

“I’m not sure.” Olivia told her mother about watching Raoul and a lovely woman with a scarred cheek waltz together at the dance studio. “I’m wondering if this woman might have been dancing in the park at the time of the murder. Do you have any idea who she might be? Is Raoul married or involved with someone?”

“Goodness, I have no idea. Such an attractive man, one would assume he is involved, but he never mentions his private life. I’ve never seen him with anyone. I’m fairly sure no one else has, either. At least, I’ve heard no gossip. I’ll ask around.”

“Good idea,” Livie said. “Do you know his teaching schedule? Does he ever leave town . . . to teach elsewhere, maybe?”

“Let me think.”

Olivia could almost see her mother searching her memory. Ellie, normally serene and fluid in her movements, had a habit of playing with her hair when she was upset. When Olivia’s father was dying, Ellie had absently braided and unbraided the lower half of her long tresses. Now Olivia could almost see her trying to braid with one hand.

“The only information I know for sure,” Ellie said, “is Raoul’s teaching schedule. He teaches Monday through Wednesday, plus Saturday, from nine a.m. to eight p.m., including the noon hour because some students work full time. He says it is best not to eat until he has finished dancing. He also teaches on Fridays from nine a.m. to five p. m. He takes Thursdays and Sundays off. Does that help?”

“Why Thursdays?” Olivia asked.

“That’s a mystery. I’ve heard that he leaves town on Thursdays and doesn’t return until evening. I do know that Sunday is his day of worship. He is quite devout. I’ve heard from several friends that he goes to early Mass at St. Francis every morning. Sunday Mass, too. My friend Julia told me he goes to confession right after early Mass every Friday. She was impressed.”

“Perfect,” Olivia said. “Thanks, Mom, this really helps.”

“I’m glad, Livie. Do you think Raoul’s friend might be able to clear Jason?”

“I hope so.” Olivia glanced at Maddie, who was trying to pipe green icing onto a cookie and listen to the phone conversation at the same time. Maddie paused, her eyebrow raised in a question. Olivia gave her a thumbs-up.

“Livie, you’ll be careful, won’t you? I couldn’t bear it if both my children . . .”

Olivia knew her mother’s fingers were torturing her hair. “I’m always careful,” Olivia said. “Do me a favor, Mom. Go to your yoga class.”

“I’ll try.”

As soon as Olivia hung up, Maddie asked, “So what was all that about Raoul’s schedule? Are we going to break into the dance studio? Do you think the ballerina is a live-in girlfriend? Don’t even think of going alone, Olivia Greyson, because much as I love The Gingerbread House, I will not mind the store while you have all the fun. I thrive on excitement. It is the blood of my life.”

“ ‘Blood of my life’ . . . ?”

With an impatient shrug, Maddie said, “ ‘Life’s blood’ is so hackneyed. Answer my questions.”

“I will, later. Right now I’m due to meet Mr. Willard at the police station. We’ll twist both of Jason’s arms until he squeals. It’s for his own good.”

“Jason still refuses to see you.” Sheriff Del stared into his coffee cup with puffy eyes. His shoulders drooped as if he were too exhausted to sit up straight.

Olivia and Mr. Willard exchanged glances. “Del, level with us,” Olivia said. “Have you uncovered enough evidence to convict Jason without his confession?”

Del sighed and stared into his coffee. “Here’s how it is,” he said. “If he hadn’t confessed, your brother would be a person of interest among several persons of interest. We wouldn’t have enough to arrest him, let alone convict. He can’t produce an alibi, but neither can Charlene or Charlie Critch, both of whom have motives. However, we don’t have enough to arrest either of them yet, so Jason is sacrificing himself for no compelling reason.”

“So you’re confirming my brother is being stupid,” Olivia said.

“Blunt,” said Del, “yet accurate. You know how I feel about your penchant for getting involved in police business, but, frankly, I’m getting desperate.”

“If I may,” Mr. Willard said. “Have you any reason to believe that Jason is innocent?”

Del stared up at the ceiling and wiggled his fingers on the arm of his office chair. Finally, he said, “So far, I’ve been able to convince the State’s Attorney to hold off arraigning him for a few more days. The reason is this—and I cannot stress enough that you must keep this to yourselves—Jason can’t seem to identify the murder weapon. He knows the victim was stabbed, but he could have heard or guessed that. He’s vague when it comes to details. Of course, he could be hedging to create doubt in my mind.”