“Anything interesting today?” Olivia had heard all the rumors about Sam. According to local gossip, he wasn’t nicknamed “Snoopy” for nothing.
“Looks like a whole lot of bills,” Sam said.
“Good to know. Thanks for bringing them in.” She busied herself sorting through a stack of new receipts.
“Shame about Ms. Chamberlain.” Sam’s nasal whine reached across the room.
Olivia glanced up at him, which he took as an invitation. He flipped through her mail as he crossed the store. “I guess there’s only so much stress a woman can take,” he said as he handed the envelopes to Olivia.
“Stress?” she asked, then kicked herself. She knew how much Sam loved looking as if he knew more than everyone else, and she’d handed him an opportunity.
“A woman her age, I mean, with all those businesses going at once. And two grown sons wanting to take charge. I heard she was thinking of changing her will. Must have been tough on her. I mean, Hugh and Edward, hard to tell if either one will ever settle down and have kids to carry on the family name.”
Olivia sorted through her mail without comment. She’d learned that whenever Sam was angling for information, he would string together several vague suggestions, hoping to see his listener react to one of them.
Sam cleared his throat. “One thing I know for sure,” he said. “Having grandchildren, that was real important to Ms. Chamberlain. Real important.”
It was probably another guess, but Sam’s statement surprised Olivia. She remembered Clarisse mentioning the topic of grandchildren, but she hadn’t given it any thought. Olivia said nothing, but she couldn’t help meeting Sam’s watery blue eyes. True or not, his comment was something to think about. Sam gave her a nod and sauntered toward the door, whistling.
Olivia rarely had time for lunch out, and even when she did, she avoided the Chatterley Café. At lunchtime, even on a weekday, customers sat on windowsills and crowded the doorway, waiting for a table.
Olivia slid onto the stool Del had saved for her at the counter. “You look awful,” she said.
“It’s good to see you, too, Livie.” Del gave her a muted smile that only accentuated the puffiness around his eyes. His sandy hair, normally straight, was bunched and creased as if he’d wedged on his uniform hat right out of the shower.
Olivia scanned the café. It was a few minutes past one o’clock, but every table was occupied. No one appeared to be signing a credit card slip or donning a coat. “I was hoping for a lower decibel level,” she said, leaning toward Del’s ear.
The waitress sloshed two cups of coffee in front of Del, who slid one toward Olivia. “My treat,” he said. “You can buy lunch.”
“Thanks,” Olivia said. “This makes an even half dozen cups since I got up this morning. I can feel my stomach lining dissolve.”
Del nodded toward a table along the front window. “I think those two are about to leave,” he said.
Olivia glanced at the couple, who appeared to be deep in conversation. “How do you know?”
“Because, Livie, I’ve been a cop for nearly fifteen years. I’ve learned how to read these kinds of situations.”
Grinning, Olivia said, “This has something to do with donuts, doesn’t it?”
“Oh ye of little faith.” Del pointed to the same table, where the couple had stood up and were shrugging into their coats. Del grabbed his coffee cup and reached the table in seconds. Both customers greeted him with smiles and motioned him to take their table. Del waved to Olivia to join him.
“Okay, how did you do that?” Olivia demanded as she opened a menu.
Looking pleased with himself, Del said, “I happen to know that those two eat here every day, and they tip heavily so the waitstaff will save this table for them. They keep a running tab, which they clear every two weeks on payday. Both of them work at the post office. If they clock in past one fifteen, their pay is docked.”
“Impressive,” Olivia said. “And I see you’ve even arranged for entertainment.” She pointed out the window toward the sidewalk. A black Lab the size of a pony loped past, scattering passersby.
“The cavalry won’t be far behind,” Del said, shaking his head.
Within seconds, a tall young man with a frantic expression sprinted past the window. It was Deputy Cody Furlow, trying to dodge the folks his dog, Buddy, had nearly mowed down.
“Is Spunky still trying to run away, too?” Del asked.
“Not as often. I think he’s feeling safer now.”
“That’s one plucky little guy,” Del said. “Escaping from a puppy mill, living on the streets of Baltimore for weeks. It would make a terrific movie.”
“Yeah, he’s a great little con artist. It’s part of his charm.”
Once they’d ordered, Del rested his chin on his laced fingers and regarded Olivia with a concerned expression. “You wanted to talk about Clarisse?”
Olivia sipped her coffee, searching for the right words to describe Clarisse’s behavior a few days earlier. It was the last time she’d ever see Clarisse, but she couldn’t have known that, so she hadn’t paid rapt attention to their conversation. Though it had struck her as off-kilter, she wasn’t sure she could explain how or why. Del didn’t prod her, for which she was grateful.
When their orders arrived, Del dug into his turkey club as Olivia said, “Clarisse Chamberlain was the sharpest, most determined woman I’ve ever met, and I admired her for that, even though sometimes I didn’t agree with her. She always seemed to know what she wanted.”
Del nodded encouragement while he chewed.
“But the last time I talked to her, she was like a different person.”
“When was this exactly?” Del crunched the tip of a dill pickle.
“Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday is usually a slow retail day, so I was glad to see her and hoping for a chat. Her business insights were always so helpful to me. I offered her a cup of coffee, only she didn’t seem to hear me.”
“Livie, you know how distracted people can get, no matter how sharp they are. Hugh and Edward are both in their thirties, so Clarisse must have been nearing sixty. At her age, lots of folks are thinking about retiring to the golf course. Maybe she was tired, or maybe she wanted time to use all those cookie cutters instead of just collecting them.”
“I wonder if you will feel that way when you are sixty,” Olivia said. “Besides, Clarisse had no interest in cooking. She certainly wasn’t longing to become a housewife.”
“I didn’t mean . . . Okay, help me understand. You said Clarisse wasn’t acting like herself Tuesday afternoon. What did she say or do to leave you with that impression? Tell me everything you can remember.”
Olivia munched on her salad, casting her mind back to that afternoon. Clarisse was wearing her long, wool winter coat, even though spring had touched the air that day. Olivia had glanced at Clarisse’s face and sensed right away that something was wrong.
“Her lipstick was smudged,” Olivia said, “badly smudged.” Before Del could respond, she added, “And don’t suggest she’d been eating an apple or making out. I never saw Clarisse without perfect makeup, even when I’d drop off a delivery at her home without calling ahead.”
“Point taken,” Del said. “What else struck you? Better yet, describe the whole scene to me, including any details that stuck with you. People tend to remember details that have meaning for them, even if they don’t realize their significance at the time.”
Fortified by food, Olivia placed herself back in time and described what she saw. “I noticed that Clarisse’s face was sort of pinched, scrunched up—”
“Frowning? Angry?” Del leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“Not angry. More like she was thinking about a problem, something that worried her. When she saw me, she smiled. Not a big smile, and she didn’t greet me by name, like she usually does. Did, I mean. It’s so hard to believe—”