Cookie Dough or Die by Virginia Lowell Read Free Book Online

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.
    Once inside, Bertha led the way to the large kitchen, where the warm, mellow aroma of beef stew simmering in red wine filled the air. When ordered to do so, Olivia settled at a table built to accommodate a crew of farmhands. The marrow bone consumed Spunky’s attention, while Bertha filled two huge bowls with steaming stew and delivered them to the table. “Eat,” she said, “I’ll be right there.” She returned with a pan of cornbread and a bowl of fresh green beans steamed with butter.
    Finally, she delivered a tall glass of cold milk and put it beside Olivia’s plate. “You need this for your bones.”
    Olivia took an obedient sip from the glass. It was best to do as Bertha ordered. As family housekeeper for thirty-five years, she had helped raise Hugh and Edward. She was also the only human being who’d been able to bully Clarisse.
    They ate in subdued silence for a time. Olivia had so many questions, but she wasn’t ready to change the mood. In the end, it was Bertha who scraped back her chair and said, “It don’t seem right, not making up a tray and bringing it to the study for Ms. Clarisse.”
    “I know,” Olivia said.
    Bertha frowned into her empty bowl. “There was something wrong yesterday. I knew it, I just knew it, but I left it be. I should have said something, made her tell me.”
    Olivia hesitated, then asked, “Had Clarisse been acting differently in any way—I mean, even before yesterday?” She held her breath, hoping Bertha wouldn’t shut down.
    Bertha’s plump face, flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, puckered up as she thought. “It got worse day by day,” she said. “Ever since she got that strange envelope on . . . when