“You know,” Ellie said, “your stepfather might be able to fill you in on Clarisse’s history, at least as it pertains to business. He knew Martin Chamberlain well. They often got together to talk shop, right up until Martin’s death. He and Clarisse worked so closely together. It’s too bad their sons didn’t inherit the cooperation gene. Anyway, Allan might know if Clarisse was having business problems.”
“If she was having serious business problems, surely I’d have gotten some hint about it. Apparently she was in perfect health. If I’m as good at planning as you say, why do I feel so confused?”
Ellie pushed aside her empty plate and settled her elbows on the table. “I can think of several reasons, starting with shock and guilt. Now don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m still your mother; I occasionally have useful insights about my own progeny. You were quite fond of Clarisse. She seemed strong and vigorous, and you didn’t see her death coming. You’re in shock, you can’t understand how this could have happened, and you are upset with yourself because you should have seen the signs. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I’d love to, but I’d be lying.”
“Okay, then. So good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
Olivia signaled the waitress to their table and ordered a double chocolate brownie for dessert. “The biggest one you’ve got.” she said. “With chocolate frosting.”
“Just more coffee for me,” Ellie said. Once the waitress had left, she added, “Livie dear, I didn’t mean to drive you to triple chocolate.” She sounded contrite, though the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Mom, you’re good but not that good. It’s this whole situation. Sometimes I need endorphins, the gooey kind.”
“Understood. After your father died, I ate my way through a chocolate cake every four days.”
By the time her brownie arrived, Olivia had serious misgivings, but they didn’t stop her from digging in. With a second forkful of chocolate almost to her lips, she paused and asked, “Do you know Bertha, the Chamberlain’s housekeeper?”
“Of course, we’re in a knitting group together. Why?”
“She told me the strangest story. She said she’d heard Clarisse say that she wanted one of her sons to marry me. I barely know them.”
“Perhaps I’m biased,” Ellie said, “but I don’t find that strange at all. She was fond of you, respected you, so it’s only natural she would hope to have you as a daughter-in-law.”
“But according to Bertha, she also heard Clarisse say something about feeling she could trust me to handle some unspecified situation, but she could never trust Tammy to do so.”
“Ah,” Ellie said. “That is interesting. It brings to mind . . .” She began to stir her coffee in an absentminded way while her eyes wandered around the restaurant.
“Mother, are you aware that you aren’t speaking actual words?”
“Hmm?” Ellie dropped her spoon and it clattered against the side of her cup. “Oh, sorry, I was connecting several bits of information in my head. Tammy Deacons has been in love with Hugh Chamberlain for years, everyone knows that, but Clarisse was dead set against the union. The odd thing is that she didn’t always feel that way. When Tammy and Hugh first started dating—oh, it must have been about ten years ago, while you were still in college. Anyway, Bertha told me back then that Clarisse was glad Hugh was ready to settle down.”
“I’ve known Tammy since kindergarten,” Olivia said. “She can be a handful at times, but I can’t believe she’d do anything outrageous enough to alienate Clarisse. I know Clarisse wanted grandchildren, and Tammy desperately wants children, dozens of them. She teaches first grade; what could be better training?”
Ellie frowned. “If I’d taught first grade, I might have thought twice about having my own kids.”
“Thanks so much.”
With a good-natured laugh, Ellie said, “I suspect Clarisse’s change of heart had more to do with the Jasmine situation.” She scooted her chair closer to the table and lowered her voice. “It didn’t turn out well.”
“Who the heck is Jasmine?”
“Oh my dear, you have been spending too much time working and not enough engaged in one of the guilty pleasures of small-town living—gossip.” Ellie’s eyes glittered. “You know, there’s often a grain of truth in gossip, if you know how to ferret it out.”
While Olivia nibbled on her brownie, Ellie began. “It started seven or eight years ago. This impossibly beautiful young woman named Jasmine Dubois appeared in town and was hired as a waitress right here at Pete’s Diner. She had jet black hair that hung down her back in those soft natural curls that other women pay good money for.”
“All except you,” Olivia said. She snatched a loose, gray ringlet that had escaped from the fuchsia scrunchy holding back her mother’s hair.
“You’d have curls, too, if only you’d let your hair grow out a bit. And would it kill you to wear a dress once in a—”
“Could we stay on topic, Mom?”
“I’m only saying . . . Oh all right, Jasmine. She was stunning and graceful, and the male population of Chatterley Heights swooned at her feet for about a week, until it became clear that she wasn’t easy and she was smarter than all of them put together. One day I was here having a late lunch—after my Pilates class, I think it was—anyway, a man came in and sat at the counter. Some guy traveling through, I didn’t recognize him, but it was clear right away that he wasn’t entirely sober. Well, he took one look at Jasmine and whistled. Jasmine got this tight look, like her teeth were clenched, but she politely asked for his order.”
“Let me guess,” Olivia said. “He ordered Jasmine.”
“Exactly, and he did not use his indoor voice. Aren’t you going to finish that brownie?” Ellie asked, her hand hovering within plucking distance.
Olivia shoved the plate across the table. “I’m aching to know how Jasmine handled this jerk, so feel free to talk with your mouth full.”
“Triple chocolate must be savored.” Ellie closed her eyes in ecstasy. Olivia was beginning to wonder if the story would ever reconnect with Clarisse and her changed attitude toward Tammy, but she had to admire her mother’s sense of dramatic timing.
Licking a crumb off her index finger, Ellie said, “I had a good view of Jasmine’s face. She looked straight at the guy, slowly arched one black eyebrow—she had these intense eyes, nearly black, and even I felt a chill go down my spine. But the idiot didn’t get it. I couldn’t see his face, but he sat up straighter, like he thought he’d scored. He reached around to his back pants pocket and pulled out a key on a plastic ring, like they still use at the old Nightshade Motel south of town. Why they don’t switch to key cards, I’ll never know, except the owners are so old I’m pretty sure they died years ago and came back as zombies—”
Olivia edged back her sweater sleeve and examined her watch.
“You’re just like your father,” Ellie said. “Anyway, the guy plunked the key on the counter in front of Jasmine. He said, loud enough for the whole diner to hear, ‘I’ll get the whiskey, you bring your tasty self.’ Well. Jasmine leaned toward him a bit, let him see a hint of cleavage while she picked up the key. She took his empty cup over to that big, old urn they use for the coffee. She put down his cup and lifted off the top of the urn, like she was checking to see if it was empty. I can still see the steam swirling into the air as Jasmine held the lid in one hand and dropped that hotel key right into the urn. I saw coffee splash up, so I knew it was full. Then she gave the guy the sweetest smile and said, “Oops.”
“Wow. Did she lose her job?”
“As you can imagine, that wretched man made quite a fuss, which brought out the cook and Pete—Pete was still alive back then. They were both big fellows. Pete had been a prizefighter, you know. The customer sputtered about how he’d done nothing, nothing at all, and Jasmine threw his motel key in the urn for no reason. The cook exchanged a glance with Pete, then turned around and went back to the kitchen. Pete was quiet for a bit. Finally, he said to Jasmine, ‘Guess you’d better make fresh coffee.’ He crossed those muscular arms and stared at the guy.”