Virginia Lowell - Cookie Dough or Die

As Olivia finished rearranging the dog cutters on their display table, the store’s door opened, followed by a joyful yap and the clicking of nails on linoleum tile. Spunky’s front paws left the floor as he strained against his leash toward his mistress. Maddie dropped the leash, and Spunky raced toward Olivia, skidding on the tile. Olivia caught him as he leaped toward her arms.

“We couldn’t sleep,” Maddie said. “Spunky has requested a walk. Be back in twenty. I’ll close up, and then I want to finish decorating the cookies for tomorrow’s event.”

“I could help you,” Olivia said.

“Nope, this one’s mine. Only my brain can envision the magnificent possibilities of this project. Bakers and horticulturists will sing of my flower cookies for years to come.”

“I doubt it not,” Olivia said. “Thanks for taking over. I could use a break.” She put Spunky on the floor and gave him a gentle push. “Go to Maddie,” she said. He trotted to Maddie, who gathered him up right as Olivia heard the click of the kitchen door opening behind her. And she remembered—Tammy wanted to model her new dress. Judging from her earlier giddiness, it was a sexy new dress.

Olivia spun around in time to see the kitchen door fling open. Tammy emerged twirling. Admittedly, the dress was amazing, a silky swirl of pale pink and white, with spaghetti straps and a low-cut bodice. Excellent for Tammy’s pale coloring. She had invested in a push-up bra, which did wonders for her slight figure. As she pirouetted toward Olivia, the skirt flared out in a circle, providing a quick view of pale pink panties.

Olivia expressed silent thanks that Tammy had not opted for thong underwear.

This was un-Tammy-like behavior. Maybe she’d cracked under the strain of teaching first-graders. Or perhaps she had drunk her lunch. However, she was as steady on her feet as a ballerina, so she must be sober. She was so deliriously happy that she didn’t remember she was in a place of business, where anyone might walk in at any moment.

Tammy stopped in front of Olivia, her green eyes sparkling. Olivia tried to send a warning look, but Tammy was oblivious.

“Isn’t it glorious?” Tammy gushed. “I can’t wait for Hugh to see me in it.”

Olivia stared at her, speechless. Tammy must have known that Clarisse, Hugh’s mother, was just found dead. But if she was upset about it, no one would be able to tell. Even Maddie seemed to have run short of witty comments. Only Spunky had no trouble expressing his opinion in the form of nonstop yapping, which broke Tammy’s enchantment. Her cheeks, already flushed from exertion, reddened when she realized she had an audience.

“Nice dress,” Maddie said, deadpan. “We’re off,” she said to Olivia. She was out the door so fast that Olivia knew she’d been on the verge of hysterical laughter.

Thanks to Maddie, Olivia had the rest of Friday afternoon and all evening to herself. She poked her head into her bedroom, where Spunky curled in a nest of tangled blankets. “Spunks,” she said. “Ride in the country? You and me, what do you say?”

Spunky’s ears poked up. He leaped off the bed and trotted past Olivia toward the kitchen, where his leash hung. Olivia poured a handful of kibbles into a plastic container, in case they stayed out past Spunky’s dinnertime.

“Hey, take it easy,” Olivia said as Spunky yanked on his leash so hard his little paws scraped against the floor tile. When she released the leash, he shot out of the kitchen. She snatched her jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and followed him.

Olivia retrieved her 1972 Valiant from the small detached garage behind The Gingerbread House. The car had been her father’s before he and her mother married, and he’d never been able to give it up. Her brother had honed his mechanic’s skills on the old green machine. When Olivia moved back to Chatterley Heights, Jason had offered it to her, so she wouldn’t have to pay for a car, in addition to a house and a new business. He kept it in running order. Olivia loved that it reminded her of her father and was also roomy enough to cart around the paraphernalia she and Maddie needed for cookie events. So what if it coughed and sputtered now and then?

She cracked open the passenger-side window so Spunky could sniff the air, but not wide enough for him to squeeze through and hurl himself after a fox. Or worse yet, a skunk.

Olivia felt her mood lighten as she left Chatterley Heights and headed northwest toward the rolling hills of Howard County. After a chilly beginning, the afternoon had turned springlike. Olivia lowered her window and let the wind lift her hair. Interstate 70 would be in the throes of rush hour. With no destination in mind, Olivia chose winding side roads leading in a general westward direction. Eventually, she reached the eastern edge of Patuxent River State Park.

She stopped at a familiar parking area. Spunky leaped on her lap, attempting to use it as a springboard to dive through her open window. Olivia grabbed him with one arm and latched on his leash with the other. “Okay, we’ll have a walk,” she said. “A short one, it’ll be dusk soon.” At the last minute, she remembered to extract a plastic bag from the glove compartment, in case Spunky deposited a memento of his visit.

They walked a trail until Spunky stopped straining forward and began to drag behind. Olivia scooped him up and carried him back to the car, where he curled into a ball and fell asleep. The hike left Olivia in a better mood—not content, but at least more settled, capable of clear thought. She pulled her car back onto the road and began the drive back.

As they approached the outskirts of Chatterley Heights, Olivia realized she had unconsciously chosen a route that led to the Chamberlain house. She reached the entrance to the estate and, without a second thought, drove through the open gate. A long, narrow road, paved with fine gravel, led through woods to the house itself. Olivia had driven it often. For the length of the drive, she recalled that feeling of comfortable anticipation. Then she reached the house. She stopped in a small parking area facing the house and cut the engine. Spunky stirred without waking, and Olivia lifted him onto her lap. She had no idea why she’d come, but it felt right.

Clarisse had loved that house. It was a Georgian farmhouse, built in the 1700s and well into decline when Clarisse and Martin bought it soon after their marriage. Over the years, they had restored the house, taking care to preserve its original form. Olivia had shared numerous meals and conversations with Clarisse, often in front of the fire in her office—the room where Clarisse died.

The only feature the Chamberlains had added was a large front porch for hot summer evenings. A brick walk, leading to the porch steps, wound through a large, lush garden designed to attract birds and butterflies. As Olivia watched, the porch door opened, and a large woman looked out in her direction. Olivia felt a flush of embarrassed guilt, as if she’d been caught peeping—but no, it was Bertha, the Chamberlain housekeeper, and she had always been friendly. Olivia waved as Bertha lumbered down the front steps, letting the screen door slap shut behind her.

“I thought that might be your cranky old car out here,” Bertha said, panting from the effort of walking.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Olivia said. “We were out for a drive and, I don’t know. . . . We found ourselves here.”

“Well, of course you did. It don’t take a mind reader to figure that one out. Come on in. I’ve got some beef stew bubbling; we can eat and talk. And don’t tell me you already ate—you’re both too skinny, you and the pup. Probably live on salads, the two of you. Bring his highness with you. I’ve got a marrow bone he can gnaw on.” Without waiting for a response, Bertha headed back to the house.