Olivia bit a petal off her cookie and chewed, enjoying the sweet-butter feel of it melting in her mouth. Maddie was truly gifted when it came to anything cookie related.
When Olivia didn’t answer immediately, Maddie’s full lips began to droop. “You hate my idea.”
Olivia swallowed quickly. “Girlfriend, your idea is nothing short of brilliant. Cleaning up after your fits of genius is a small price to pay. However, next time bring your iPod and plug it in your ear.” She slid off her stool, taking the remains of the cookie with her. “And now I am going back to bed. I’ll be down by nine.”
Olivia was about to leave when she heard a knocking sound from the direction of a door that opened into the alley behind the store. She spun around. Maddie, her hand hovering over the bottles of food coloring, stared over her shoulder at Olivia. “Who on earth . . . ?” she whispered.
Another knock, louder this time. Olivia, who was facing the back door, saw the doorknob turn. The door rattled as someone tried to push it open. Olivia reached across the kitchen table toward the knife Maddie had been using to trim cookie edges. She curled her fingers around the handle, pulled it to her.
“Livie? Maddie? You kids okay in there?” It was a man’s voice, authoritative, concerned, and familiar.
“Thank God,” Maddie said. “It’s Del.”
Olivia realized how tense she’d been as her shoulders dropped about a foot. Del was Sheriff Delroy Jenkins. He was only in his late thirties, but he always referred to younger women as kids. Olivia suspected it was his way of keeping some professional distance. Which was fine with her—she’d felt the occasional spark between them, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready for a new relationship. Her divorce was barely a year old.
Maddie unlocked the back door and flung it open. Sheriff Del stood in the dark alley, his hand on the butt of his service revolver. As he stepped closer to the doorway, his eyes darted around the kitchen.
“You scared the life out of us,” Maddie said. She grabbed the shoulder of Del’s uniform and pulled him inside.
The back door was small, and Del was one of the few men in town who didn’t have to duck to go through it. However, he was still taller than Olivia’s five foot seven. Which didn’t matter, she reminded herself, because there was nothing whatsoever between them.
Sheriff Del locked and bolted the door behind him.
“What the heck are you doing out there?” Maddie demanded. “Are you on night shift or something, or is this a cop thing, wandering around alleys at—well, whatever time it is, it’s still dark.”
Del had an easygoing, unflappable manner, but to Olivia he looked shaken.
“You two sure you’re okay in here?” Del asked, his eyes on the knife in Olivia’s hand.
Olivia held the knife up, pointing toward the ceiling. “Everything’s under control,” she said. “The body’s in the basement. Want to help bury it?”
Del relaxed enough to drop his hand from his gun handle. He grinned as his gaze flicked up and down Olivia’s body. “You are looking lovely this morning, Ms. Greyson.”
Olivia plunked the knife onto the table so she wouldn’t throw it at him. Though she wasn’t prone to blushing, she could feel her cheeks heat up. She’d forgotten what she was wearing when she’d been blasted out of bed. It wasn’t pretty.
Olivia’s ex-husband wasn’t an evil guy, but he’d been a bit on the controlling side. Ryan was a surgeon, which eventually became more important to him than being an equal partner in their marriage. Over time, he’d begun laying down rules for Olivia to live by. Ryan despised dogs, said they were smelly and noisy and carried germs. He had also insisted that a surgeon’s wife should always dress well, day and night. If even a neighbor saw Olivia wearing ratty clothes, it might trigger rumors that Ryan was a sloppy surgeon.
As soon as she moved to Chatterley Heights, Olivia set about breaking the rules. She’d adopted Spunky, a rescue Yorkie who liked to steal food off her plate. And she always wore her oldest, most dilapidated sweats to bed. The more holes, the better. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone besides Spunky or Maddie might ever spot her in them. So much for that hint of future romance. Probably for the best.
Del looked too tired to keep up the banter, so Olivia swallowed her scathing retort. “Has something happened?” she asked him. “Is that why you’re out at this hour?”
Del hesitated, frowning. With a shrug, he said, “Everyone will know soon, anyway. I was on my way home from the Chamberlain house when I saw the lights on in here. It got me worrying. Not that there’s anything for you to worry about, it looked like an accident, but I thought I’d check on you, to be on the safe side.”
“Could you be a little less clear?” Olivia asked.
“Sorry,” Del said with a faint smile. “We got a call around two a.m. from the Chamberlain housekeeper—you know Bertha, right? Anyway, Bertha said she’d found Clarisse unconscious. We got there right after the paramedics, but there was nothing anyone could do. She was dead.”
Chapter Two
Olivia managed a whopping hour and thirty-seven minutes of sleep before the alarm woke her. After the events of the previous night, she knew the store would be busier than usual. Even Maddie’s superhuman energy level might not be up to the demands of Chatterley Heights gossip.
After a shower, Olivia dressed in cords and a warm sweater to take Spunky on a quick walk. The morning air felt heavy and wet under slate clouds, so Spunky was more than happy to keep it short. He raced upstairs before Olivia could dry off his paws, leaped back onto her unmade bed, and burrowed his head under a blanket fold.
“Wish I could join you, kiddo,” Olivia said. She left the bedroom door ajar so Spunky could get to food and water.
For the first time since The Gingerbread House opened, Olivia felt no quickening of energy and interest at the thought of going to work. Her slump had less to do with sleep deprivation than with her struggle to grasp the reality of Clarisse Chamberlain’s death. In fact, Olivia had awakened that morning convinced that she’d dreamed the whole episode: the suspected intruder, Maddie’s middle-of-the-night baking frenzy, and Del’s bleak announcement.
She remembered feeling that same confusion when her father died, which told her how tightly woven into her life Clarisse had become. During the last few years of her marriage to Ryan, Olivia’s identity had shifted so subtly from beloved partner to appendage that she hadn’t been aware of it happening. One day they were working side by side to achieve a joint dream, and the next she was a mix of servant and arm candy. Looking back, the divorce was inevitable and necessary, but it had dealt yet another blow to Olivia’s sense of competence.
It was Clarisse Chamberlain who’d yanked her upright, brushed the dirt off her derriere, and prodded her into a turnaround. Clarisse, a successful businesswoman for over forty years, had spotted Olivia’s potential and encouraged her—okay, outright bullied her—into taking a chance on The Gingerbread House. She had become Olivia’s ongoing mentor, most enthusiastic customer, and friend. Clarisse would tell her to go downstairs and attend to business.
Olivia decided not to change out of her cozy cords and sweater; she might end up napping in the kitchen during work breaks. On her way to the staircase, she stopped for a critical look in the bathroom mirror. She looked better than she had at four a.m., but there was room for improvement. A touch of makeup, a hint of blush, and her puffy eyelids were less obvious. Her short auburn hair was behaving for once, falling in loose curls around her face. A few men, Ryan included, had noticed her unusual gray eyes, which could look blue or green depending on the color of her outfit. Arm candy, however, she wasn’t, and she had no wish to be.