things?”
“Take another look,” Maddie said. “Then check out those folks who are just arriving.”
Obeying the last order first, Olivia watched as three women—customers who made regular trips from Clarksville in search of vintage cookie cutters—closed the store door behind them. Instead of plunging eagerly toward the ever-changing cookie cutter display as they usually did, the women paused to skim the papers they held. Their expressions appeared to range from bemused to concerned.
With chilled anticipation, Olivia turned her attention to the latest edition of Charlene’s diatribe against the demon sugar. The opening warning that “Sugar Kills” hadn’t changed, though Charlene had added an additional exclamation point. It was followed, as before, with a list of pseudo facts about how sugar accomplishes its dastardly effects. In this version, the claims were even more outrageous and, Olivia realized, more personal:
• WARNING: Don’t be fooled by a little lime zest. Cookies shaped like fruits and vegetables are still just clumps of sugar, and sugar is a weapon of human destruction.
• Sugar causes obesity, heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and dementia. If you are eating an iced cookie while reading this, you have shortened your life by several months.
• If you are pregnant and consuming sugar at this moment, you are condemning your baby to a life of illness and early death.
• No amount of exercise can undo the damage those cookies are doing to your bodies right this minute.
• Ask yourselves this question: What kind of person provides daily mega-doses of sweet poison to an entire town?
If you are worried about your health and your loved ones, come to The Vegetable Plate this evening at seven o’clock. We will plan how to take back our lives from the destructive effects of sugar in our own town.
“Wow,” Olivia said. “It seems we are a public menace. I’m wondering if we should call the police and have ourselves arrested.”
Maddie glowered. “I don’t find it amusing. Charlene is trying to destroy our business. I think we should sue her. I mean, this is illegal, right? You still have Mr. Willard on retainer, don’t you? So call him and ask if this is legal or not.”
“I don’t really see the need to keep an attorney on retainer, though I could certainly talk to him if it would make you feel better. But Maddie, nobody could possibly take this stuff seriously. It’s completely over-the-top. I’m more concerned about Charlene’s state of mind. She seems . . .”
“Insane? Bonkers? Several cookies short of a mass poisoning?”
Olivia heard a gentle laugh as her mother joined them, also holding the offending paper. “Maddie, dear,” Ellie said, “I must agree with Livie, and not only because she is my daughter. On numerous occasions, I have not agreed with her in the least, such as—”
“Mom, could we focus on the part where you think I’m right?”
“Certainly, Livie.” With a motherly squeeze to Maddie’s shoulders, Ellie said, “I do understand your feelings, Maddie. Those outlandish claims are more than lies; they are a profound insult, not only to your integrity but also to the intelligence of your customers. No, I don’t believe Charlene is clinically insane. I do sense that something is deeply amiss in her life, though, and this is her way of . . . I don’t know, assuming control?”
“Are you taking a class in Jungian analysis, Mom?”
Ellie patted her daughter’s arm. “No, dear, it wouldn’t provide nearly enough exercise for me. All I’m suggesting is that we turn our attention to Charlene’s current situation. For instance, who tore apart her store, and why hasn’t this person picked on other stores in Chatterley Heights? I have to wonder if Charlene is being tortured by a personal enemy, and maybe she feels alone. Perhaps we should talk to her, try to—”
“Uh oh,” Olivia said.
“Now hear me out,” Ellie said.
“No, I mean ‘uh
“Take another look,” Maddie said. “Then check out those folks who are just arriving.”
Obeying the last order first, Olivia watched as three women—customers who made regular trips from Clarksville in search of vintage cookie cutters—closed the store door behind them. Instead of plunging eagerly toward the ever-changing cookie cutter display as they usually did, the women paused to skim the papers they held. Their expressions appeared to range from bemused to concerned.
With chilled anticipation, Olivia turned her attention to the latest edition of Charlene’s diatribe against the demon sugar. The opening warning that “Sugar Kills” hadn’t changed, though Charlene had added an additional exclamation point. It was followed, as before, with a list of pseudo facts about how sugar accomplishes its dastardly effects. In this version, the claims were even more outrageous and, Olivia realized, more personal:
• WARNING: Don’t be fooled by a little lime zest. Cookies shaped like fruits and vegetables are still just clumps of sugar, and sugar is a weapon of human destruction.
• Sugar causes obesity, heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and dementia. If you are eating an iced cookie while reading this, you have shortened your life by several months.
• If you are pregnant and consuming sugar at this moment, you are condemning your baby to a life of illness and early death.
• No amount of exercise can undo the damage those cookies are doing to your bodies right this minute.
• Ask yourselves this question: What kind of person provides daily mega-doses of sweet poison to an entire town?
If you are worried about your health and your loved ones, come to The Vegetable Plate this evening at seven o’clock. We will plan how to take back our lives from the destructive effects of sugar in our own town.
“Wow,” Olivia said. “It seems we are a public menace. I’m wondering if we should call the police and have ourselves arrested.”
Maddie glowered. “I don’t find it amusing. Charlene is trying to destroy our business. I think we should sue her. I mean, this is illegal, right? You still have Mr. Willard on retainer, don’t you? So call him and ask if this is legal or not.”
“I don’t really see the need to keep an attorney on retainer, though I could certainly talk to him if it would make you feel better. But Maddie, nobody could possibly take this stuff seriously. It’s completely over-the-top. I’m more concerned about Charlene’s state of mind. She seems . . .”
“Insane? Bonkers? Several cookies short of a mass poisoning?”
Olivia heard a gentle laugh as her mother joined them, also holding the offending paper. “Maddie, dear,” Ellie said, “I must agree with Livie, and not only because she is my daughter. On numerous occasions, I have not agreed with her in the least, such as—”
“Mom, could we focus on the part where you think I’m right?”
“Certainly, Livie.” With a motherly squeeze to Maddie’s shoulders, Ellie said, “I do understand your feelings, Maddie. Those outlandish claims are more than lies; they are a profound insult, not only to your integrity but also to the intelligence of your customers. No, I don’t believe Charlene is clinically insane. I do sense that something is deeply amiss in her life, though, and this is her way of . . . I don’t know, assuming control?”
“Are you taking a class in Jungian analysis, Mom?”
Ellie patted her daughter’s arm. “No, dear, it wouldn’t provide nearly enough exercise for me. All I’m suggesting is that we turn our attention to Charlene’s current situation. For instance, who tore apart her store, and why hasn’t this person picked on other stores in Chatterley Heights? I have to wonder if Charlene is being tortured by a personal enemy, and maybe she feels alone. Perhaps we should talk to her, try to—”
“Uh oh,” Olivia said.
“Now hear me out,” Ellie said.
“No, I mean ‘uh
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