Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) (5 page)

“Maddie, dear,” Ellie said. “How lovely. We were just heading to the Chatterley Café to discuss Greta Oskarson and her cookie cutter collection.”

“Then my timing is, as always, perfect,” Maddie said. “I’m glad I asked Lucas to drop me off here as soon as we arrived. I had another long, long phone chat with Aunt Sadie while we were driving home. My cell phone finally ran out of juice, so I drained Lucas’s, too. I have much to tell, and time is short. Let’s get cracking.”

Chapter Five

The Chatterley Café was emptier than Olivia had ever seen it, probably because the heat had driven so many Chatterley Heights residents to mountains, lakes, or oceans. Ellie requested and was granted a prime booth far away from the kitchen. Normally the servers at the café were perky to the point of insolence, but the young brunette who took their orders for lemonade and cold sandwiches looked as if she needed a nap.

As the waitress dragged herself toward the kitchen to deliver their order, Olivia’s cell phone rang. She glanced at her caller ID and answered at once. “Constance?”

“I heard from Greta Oskarson and told her you’d returned early,” Constance said in her clipped voice. “She wants to meet with you this evening to discuss strategies for selling her cookie cutter collection.”

Olivia groaned. “Constance, it’s hot, I drove straight back from Upstate New York, I’ve had only a few hours sleep. . . . I’d much prefer to meet with Greta tomorrow, and I don’t mean first thing in the morning.”

“Greta is very insistent,” Constance said. “She is a strong-willed woman, used to getting her way. I advise you to suck it up and meet with her this evening.”

A surge of anger gave Olivia renewed energy. “Constance, you of all people ought to understand that a successful businessperson takes control of a negotiation. She does not shrivel up and cave in to unreasonable demands from a prospective client. I can carve out time to meet with Greta tomorrow, late morning or early afternoon. If you prefer, I will tell her myself.” A moment of silence followed Olivia’s ultimatum. Maddie and Ellie grinned at her.

“Whew,” Constance said with a light laugh. “I wouldn’t want to go up against you in a courtroom. You go, girl! I’ll relay your message to Greta, minus the hard edge. It’ll be fine.” Constance hung up her cell without saying good-bye.

Olivia flipped her phone shut and relaxed against the back of the booth.

“Wow, talk about assertive,” Maddie said. “I guess all that money you spent on business school wasn’t entirely wasted.”

“Livie has always had her assertive moments, even as a toddler,” Ellie said quietly. “Although in those days they were called tantrums.”

“No comment.” Olivia lifted her menu to cover her face.

“Uh-oh,” Maddie said.

“Come on, Maddie, don’t take Mom seriously, you know how she—”

“No, I mean ‘uh-oh,’ as in ‘look who is heading right toward us.’ It’s Anita Rambert, and she has that barracuda aura about her.”

Olivia lowered her menu and peered over the top. Sure enough, Anita Rambert’s gaze never left Olivia’s booth as she wove through the crowded restaurant. Anita was always on the prowl for rare and valuable items to offer collectors. Antique cookie cutters were high on her list. Although she sold many vintage cutters of lesser value, any serious collector knew that the truly rare finds would never make it to the sales floor; they were usually snapped up in private sales. For these special antique cutters, Anita conducted bidding wars among select customers.

“She is definitely heading toward our table,” Olivia said, “which means she knows about Greta Oskarson’s cutter collection, and she wants to get her hands on it. I should have anticipated this.”

Maddie slid down in her seat. “How? You only just found out about Greta’s collection. Knowing Anita, she has probably heard rumors about it for years. She is obsessed with antique European cookie cutters. I’m thinking this could get scary.”

“I’ll have to put her off until I’ve had time to assess Greta’s collection, but even then . . . Anita is a tough bargainer.” Olivia didn’t add that Anita’s success and stunning beauty gave her unshakable confidence. She usually got what she wanted.

“And I repeat,” Maddie said, “Anita is scary. I mean, look at that linen outfit she’s wearing. Not a wrinkle in it. She is superhuman.”

“Nonsense, you two,” Ellie said, using what her family called her “mother voice.” “Anita Rambert is a perfectly reasonable adult. Livie, not ten minutes ago you demonstrated your ability to stand up to pressure. I’m quite certain you can handle Anita.” Ellie lowered her voice as Anita entered hearing range. “And if that doesn’t work, you can always throw a tantrum.”

“Really, Mom? No deep breathing to cleanse and center myself?”

“That goes without saying.” Ellie straightened her spine and put on a smile. “Anita, how lovely to see you. Won’t you join us for lunch?” Ellie slid aside and patted the seat. “We haven’t had a chance to chat in such a long time.”

Anita hesitated only a fraction of a second. Olivia suspected she was calculating whether sitting down would enhance or diminish her power advantage. “I really can’t stay long.” Anita leaned against the side of the booth, forcing Olivia to shift sideways and look up at her.

The brunette waitress, looking wearier than ever, appeared at the table holding a menu. “I’ll bring an extra chair,” she said as she offered the menu to Anita.

Anita ignored the menu. “I’m not staying.” She took a step back from the booth.

“Okeydokey,” the waitress said. She shook her head as she walked away. Olivia decided an extra-large tip was in order.

Anita crossed her arms and impaled Olivia with her piercing black eyes. “We need to talk at once about the Oskarson collection,” Anita said. “I have private buyers who are impatient to bid on the more valuable cutters, so it’s important to move quickly.” Anita checked her watch. “I can carve out some time in about an hour. I’ll meet you at The Gingerbread House. You can transfer the collection to my care at once, and I’ll contact my customers as soon as I determine the value of the pieces. Now, I’ll leave you all to your breakfast.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Anita.” Olivia’s voice sounded breathy, so she paused to calm herself. “Greta is out of town today. I haven’t had a chance to meet with her, let alone determine how she wishes the sale of her collection to be handled. She might want to hang on to certain favorite cutters. Once I’ve had time to inspect the entire collection and estimate its value, I will decide the best way to sell it, or parts of it.”

Anita’s dark hair caught the light and glistened as she shook her head impatiently. “I know this business,” she said. “I’ve been conducting long-distance auctions for years, and I’m very good at it. I have the contacts, I know what they want, how much they can be convinced to pay . . . even their weak spots. Nothing personal, Olivia, but you run a little shop where you sell a few insignificant vintage cutters and some cookbooks. Can you honestly say that you are the better choice for selling the Oskarson collection?”

Olivia didn’t look toward Maddie and Ellie, but she felt their tension in the silence around the table. In the distance, Olivia noticed the young waitress watching their table as if she sensed all was not well. Olivia forced herself to hold Anita’s gaze for a few seconds before she said, “Yes, I believe I am the better choice, for one excellent reason.”

Anita did not respond, though she arched her sculpted eyebrows in a clear expression of disbelief.

“I’ve worked with you before, Anita, and yes, you are good at what you do. You’ve brokered many lucrative sales for scores of collectors. And you yourself have become wealthy in the process, haven’t you?” Olivia stated the question as a fact. “You take a healthy cut of the proceeds, more than I suspect your customers realize. Greta Oskarson and Clarisse Chamberlain were once close friends. As you well know, Clarisse was a very dear friend of mine. And she was murdered.”

Anita checked her watch and sighed. “If you’re going to—”

“I’m not finished,” Olivia said. “Greta wants to sell her antique cutters to help fund her retirement. Because of Clarisse, Greta feels she can trust me to help make that happen. I intend to earn that trust. I’ll do my homework, consult experts, whatever it takes to sell her collection for the highest price possible. And I will not be taking a cut of the proceeds. I’ll be doing all this to honor Clarisse.” Olivia hadn’t meant to decline payment, but she wasn’t sorry it popped out.

As Anita’s lips parted slightly, Olivia noticed a dot of bright red lipstick on an otherwise perfect front tooth. It made Anita seem a bit more human . . . a tiny bit.

With a dismissive flip of her hand, Anita said, “Up to you. It’s hard to believe you have a business degree, with such a naive attitude. However, it’s your future foreclosure, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anita turned her back and wove among crowded tables toward the front of the Chatterley Café. The eyes of numerous male customers followed her fluid movements.

“How sad,” Ellie said.

“You gotta hand it to Anita Rambert,” Maddie said. “She knows how to make an exit.”

*   *   *

“I
’m stuffed,” Maddie announced as she pushed aside her empty breakfast plate. “But I don’t regret a single bite. The Chatterley Café makes the best eggs Florentine I’ve ever tasted. I wish I knew their secret.”

“Butter,” Ellie said. “Lots of butter.”

“Now I wish I didn’t know.” Maddie drank the last of her coffee. “On the other hand, I’m proud to report that Lucas and I hiked nearly every day last week, and I have the muscles to prove it . . . and the blisters, too.”

“Not me,” Olivia said. “Spunky and I took walks in the woods, but mostly we sat in the shade while I read out loud. It seems Spunky is a mystery fan. He did get a bit nervous when I read Miranda James to him, though. I think he’s afraid I’m planning to adopt a cat that’s four times bigger than he is.”

The waitress arrived with a carafe of coffee and a fresh pitcher of cream. She left both on the table. “Take your time,” she said. “The lunch rush is finally done.” She sighed and left.

Maddie refilled cups and passed the cream. “Drink up. I have much to recount about Greta Oskarson, as told to me by Aunt Sadie, who knows practically all and never makes stuff up.”

“What would we do without Sadie,” Ellie murmured.

After checking the nearest booths, all of which were empty, Maddie leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Aunt Sadie does know a lot, but even she can’t decide if Greta is a crook or merely a victim of unfortunate circumstances.”

“So
many
unfortunate circumstances,” Ellie said.

“Like what?” Olivia asked. “You’re killing me here.”

“Keep it down, Livie,” Maddie whispered. “Okay, here’s what I’ve found out so far. Ellie, feel free to jump in if I’m getting it wrong.” Maddie fortified herself with a gulp of sweet, milky coffee. “Greta burned through six marriages, starting with a guy named Count de . . . I don’t remember, but it was something French. Anyway, he was fabulously rich, seventy-five years old, and in poor health when they tied the knot.”

“How convenient,” Olivia said.

Maddie snickered. “Not quite convenient enough. Marriage to the lovely Greta dramatically improved the count’s health . . . until the drowning incident, that is.”

“Weren’t the French authorities the least bit suspicious?” Olivia asked. “I find that tough to buy. How many of her subsequent husbands were rich, elderly, and frail?”

Maddie grinned. “All of them.”

“And how long did they survive after marrying Greta?”

“Oh, from about four to sixteen months,” Maddie said. “Greta was questioned following each death, but she was never arrested. Technically speaking, all her husbands were found to have died of natural causes. And who knows, maybe they did. They were all pretty old.”

“And rich,” Olivia added.

“It’s not as if Greta should have felt impatient. She had access to their wealth while they were alive, and Aunt Sadie said Greta never lacked for younger companionship. However, none of those men came under suspicion, either.”

Olivia topped off her coffee. “Greta didn’t ever marry any of those younger men?”

“Nope, not according to Aunt Sadie. She married only rich, older men.” Maddie frowned. “I’m wondering, though . . . Greta’s six husbands were incredibly wealthy, and she inherited their fortunes. Why hasn’t she retired to a villa on the Riviera or somewhere equally swanky? Why come back to little old Chatterley Heights and buy a small house that’s worth less than Aunt Sadie’s? Why sell her cookie cutter collection to help finance her retirement? Where is all that money?”

“All excellent questions,” Olivia said. “From what Constance told me, it seems Greta spent her money freely. She probably needed to replenish her cash flow periodically.”

“Greta did grow up in Chatterley Heights,” Ellie said. “Perhaps she felt more comfortable returning to her humble roots.”

“Humble roots?” Maddie sounded miffed. “Aunt Sadie didn’t tell me about any humble roots. Although my cell did conk out before she had finished revealing all.”

“They are no secret,” Ellie said. “Greta’s father grew up in Sweden, one of eight children in a poor family. He emigrated as a young man to make a better life for himself. He learned carpentry and was quite skilled, as I recall, but he had a bit of a drinking problem. Greta’s mother was the daughter of Swedish immigrants. I didn’t know either of them. I do remember that they both admired the Swedish actress Greta Garbo, which is how our Greta got her name.”

Olivia snickered. “It sounds as if our Greta had some serious acting skills, too. All those rich, old husbands . . . you can’t convince me she married for love. Maybe she had the right idea.”