couldn’t get away from work until their lunch hours would have at least some chance to participate. With luck, the crowd would clear out by one o’clock or shortly thereafter. Charlene must have heard about Maddie’s vegetable and fruit cookies by now and thought nothing of it.
Bertha waved to Olivia from behind the counter, where a line of customers waited to make purchases. Finally. Olivia had begun to wonder if her contest idea was so successful it had distracted folks from their new collection of hand-embroidered tea towels and their recently acquired vintage Wilton cookie cutter sets. Maddie had brought out the last of the cookies and was working the sales floor, so Olivia waved back to Bertha and headed toward the sales counter to help at the cash register. By the time she got there, the line had expanded to ten customers.
Fifteen minutes later, Olivia and Bertha had reduced the line to two customers. Olivia had a chance to survey the sales floor, which had grown denser with the arrival of the lunch crowd. The front door opened to admit a young couple she’d never seen before and, right behind them, Sam Parnell. She remembered he’d delivered their mail at about nine a.m., as usual. He was dressed in full uniform, complete with the hat that rarely left his head, but he wasn’t carrying his mailbag. Olivia assumed he’d decided to stop by on his lunch hour. Since the very first day The Gingerbread House opened its doors, Olivia could not remember Sam ever giving up his precious lunch hour to drop by. This could mean only one thing: Sam thought there was juicy gossip to be had, or perhaps helped along. Sam’s nickname—Snoopy—was well earned. Olivia’s hope for a confrontation-free event began to fade.
Olivia’s peace of mind took another hit when the front door again opened and in walked Binnie Sloan, the barrel-shaped editor of the Weekly Chatter , followed by her skinny young niece, Nedra. As Olivia knew from personal experience, the Weekly Chatter was not known for its adherence to journalistic standards.
Maybe, Olivia told herself, Binnie and Ned had come to cover the cookie cutter contest. Right. And Sam was there only to snag a cookie or three, despite his diabetes. Olivia noticed he did seem to be examining a half-full tray of decorated cookies with great interest. Finally, he selected one and took a bite. Binnie came up behind him, grabbed two cookies, and bit through both at the same time, as if they were a ham sandwich. Ned took a photo of the tray but did not indulge.
Another flurry of customers distracted Olivia for a time. When she was once again free to glance around, she saw Sam Parnell and Binnie Sloan in conversation, apparently about a sheet of paper that each of them held. Olivia told herself that they were simply comparing notes about the contest, but she didn’t find herself convincing. Her apprehension spiked higher. Turning to Bertha, she asked, “Will you be all right handling the register for a while? I’d like to check with Maddie to see how close we are to announcing a contest winner.”
“The pace seems to be settling down,” Bertha said. “You go right on ahead now.”
Olivia spotted Maddie standing in the opening to the cookbook nook, where she could see and be seen. In the crook of her right arm, she held a mixing bowl into which folks were depositing half-sized sheets of peach-colored paper. Maddie’s attention, however, was focused on the full-sized sheet of white paper in her left hand. As Olivia approached, she noticed red splotches on Maddie’s pale, freckled cheeks.
“Something tells me,” Olivia said when she reached Maddie, “that you aren’t reading the contest results.”
Without comment, Maddie handed the sheet of paper to Olivia, who recognized it at once as a copy of Charlene Critch’s anti-sugar manifesto that she and Maddie had spent Sunday afternoon cleaning off The Gingerbread House lawn.
“So Charlene printed more of these
Bertha waved to Olivia from behind the counter, where a line of customers waited to make purchases. Finally. Olivia had begun to wonder if her contest idea was so successful it had distracted folks from their new collection of hand-embroidered tea towels and their recently acquired vintage Wilton cookie cutter sets. Maddie had brought out the last of the cookies and was working the sales floor, so Olivia waved back to Bertha and headed toward the sales counter to help at the cash register. By the time she got there, the line had expanded to ten customers.
Fifteen minutes later, Olivia and Bertha had reduced the line to two customers. Olivia had a chance to survey the sales floor, which had grown denser with the arrival of the lunch crowd. The front door opened to admit a young couple she’d never seen before and, right behind them, Sam Parnell. She remembered he’d delivered their mail at about nine a.m., as usual. He was dressed in full uniform, complete with the hat that rarely left his head, but he wasn’t carrying his mailbag. Olivia assumed he’d decided to stop by on his lunch hour. Since the very first day The Gingerbread House opened its doors, Olivia could not remember Sam ever giving up his precious lunch hour to drop by. This could mean only one thing: Sam thought there was juicy gossip to be had, or perhaps helped along. Sam’s nickname—Snoopy—was well earned. Olivia’s hope for a confrontation-free event began to fade.
Olivia’s peace of mind took another hit when the front door again opened and in walked Binnie Sloan, the barrel-shaped editor of the Weekly Chatter , followed by her skinny young niece, Nedra. As Olivia knew from personal experience, the Weekly Chatter was not known for its adherence to journalistic standards.
Maybe, Olivia told herself, Binnie and Ned had come to cover the cookie cutter contest. Right. And Sam was there only to snag a cookie or three, despite his diabetes. Olivia noticed he did seem to be examining a half-full tray of decorated cookies with great interest. Finally, he selected one and took a bite. Binnie came up behind him, grabbed two cookies, and bit through both at the same time, as if they were a ham sandwich. Ned took a photo of the tray but did not indulge.
Another flurry of customers distracted Olivia for a time. When she was once again free to glance around, she saw Sam Parnell and Binnie Sloan in conversation, apparently about a sheet of paper that each of them held. Olivia told herself that they were simply comparing notes about the contest, but she didn’t find herself convincing. Her apprehension spiked higher. Turning to Bertha, she asked, “Will you be all right handling the register for a while? I’d like to check with Maddie to see how close we are to announcing a contest winner.”
“The pace seems to be settling down,” Bertha said. “You go right on ahead now.”
Olivia spotted Maddie standing in the opening to the cookbook nook, where she could see and be seen. In the crook of her right arm, she held a mixing bowl into which folks were depositing half-sized sheets of peach-colored paper. Maddie’s attention, however, was focused on the full-sized sheet of white paper in her left hand. As Olivia approached, she noticed red splotches on Maddie’s pale, freckled cheeks.
“Something tells me,” Olivia said when she reached Maddie, “that you aren’t reading the contest results.”
Without comment, Maddie handed the sheet of paper to Olivia, who recognized it at once as a copy of Charlene Critch’s anti-sugar manifesto that she and Maddie had spent Sunday afternoon cleaning off The Gingerbread House lawn.
“So Charlene printed more of these
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