Days of Wine and Roquefort (Cheese Shop Mystery) (11 page)

The lyrics of “Somewhere Out There,” a song from my childhood, came to me, and I sang out loud.
I was no Linda Ronstadt, but Rags licked my chin in appreciation. I scratched his ears in thanks.

Across the yard, beyond the driveway, I spotted Lois on the porch to Lavender and Lace, scurrying from guest to guest while pouring tea and chatting. Life without her wayward husband seemed to agree with her. She smiled more; she stayed up later.

Suddenly, Lois looked to her right. A hunched woman in a pitch-black cloak bustled up the steps. She reminded me of the wicked witch in
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
. With no preamble, Lois beat a path to the woman, grabbed her by the arm, and whisked her inside.

What was up with that?

At first, I thought the woman might be Lois’s sister returning to town, but I rejected the idea because this woman was much taller and leggier. Whoever she was, she was acting very secretive. Had Lois agreed to hide her from view? The notion made me think of Shelton Nelson and Noelle Adams. If they had engaged in an amorous relationship, as my grandfather had intimated, would Lois have known?

Clutching Rags to my chest, I dashed to Lavender and Lace. He protested like I was taking him to the vet for a shot. Poor guy had no sense of night and day sometimes. The glow of streetlamps didn’t help.

“Shh, buddy.” I sprinted up the front steps of the inn, my clomping feet alarming a few of the guests on the patio. “Sorry,” I muttered as I tore into the bed-and-breakfast. “I’m looking for Lois.”

A pair of guests pointed toward the staircase.

Lois’s Shih Tzu stormed me in the foyer and galloped around my ankles, yipping so loudly I thought her teensy head might bobble off.

“It’s me, Agatha. Hush.” I set Rags down. The two sniffed cautiously and then scampered away, Rags’s hunger and his imaginary worry about some vet poking him with a needle diverted. “Lois?” I called, heading upstairs. Just as I reached the landing, I spotted Lois shuttling the cloaked woman into a room.

Lois spied me, whipped the guest room door shut, and mouthed something against the door. I couldn’t make out the words. Then she turned toward me, clutching the knot of her purple shawl into her fist. “Charlotte, what a surprise. I was checking that all the beds have been turned down.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire
.

“Would you like to stay another night, dear?”

“No, Lois, thank you.” Not and have all the tidbits of our conversation go online like Rebecca claimed they had last night. “I have a question.”

“Certainly. Follow me.” Hooking a pinky, she beckoned me downstairs. “What did you wish to ask me?”

As I reached the landing, I peeked over my shoulder. Who was the woman? Why the need for secrecy?

“Join me for tea and a little bite of cheese. I’ve set out tasty platters for the guests to enjoy. All recommendations by your Rebecca. She turned me on to some rather tasty ones. That Twig Farm Goat Tomme is unique looking. The exterior is so hard and gray.”

“Best if served with something like fig jam.”

“That’s what Rebecca said. Such a sweet girl. And she recommended the Weybridge from the Scholten Family Farm. She knows how I love a creamy cow’s milk cheese. Oh, and she sold me a beautiful lazy Susan and showed me how to adorn the cheeses with flowers, nuts, raisins, and dried figs. I purchased some glitzy knives, too. You should hear the guests rave.”

“I’m thrilled to hear it. Now, if you could answer my question.”

Lois lengthened her neck.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’m not going to grill you about your secret houseguest.”

“My what?”

Yeah, right
. “I want to ask about Noelle Adams, the woman who was murdered in my workshop. I wondered—”

“Watch out.” Lois blocked my descent.

At the same instant, Agatha and Rags rounded the corner and tore up the stairs, with Agatha leading the charge.

“Those two,” Lois said. “Boundless energy. Now, what was it you wanted to know about Noelle . . . Miss Adams?”

We proceeded to the foyer and paused in the center.

“I wondered if you ever saw her around town with Shelton Nelson.”

Lois turned and met my gaze. “He hired her, isn’t that so?”

“Yes, but did you see them together, you know . . .” I twirled a hand in the air.

“Dining?”

“Yes, dining and possibly looking like they might be, um . . . amorous? Looking closer than employee and employer should.”

“You want to know if they were involved.” Lois’s mouth drew tight. “Why would you think I would be privy to that information?”

“You know so many people. You have so many guests. I thought you might have heard or seen something pertinent.”

Lois folded her hands in front of her. “Shelton keeps to himself. He doesn’t socialize much, and he doesn’t gallivant around town, don’t you know. Ever since his wife left . . .” She paused. “You knew about that, didn’t you?”

“She left, as in, walked out?”

“Exactly. Like Sylvie did to Matthew. She ran off to the next county when Liberty was six. She has visited once or twice since then, but she has never inserted herself back into Liberty’s life.” Lois clucked her tongue. “It’s such a shame. A mother’s departure marks a child for life. The child feels abandoned and loses self-worth. I hear it on all the talk shows.”

“You watch television?” I had never seen a TV switched on in the B&B.

She offered a sly grin. “When I get the time. That psychological mumbo jumbo is so relevant. Anyway, after the wife left, Shelton took to being a doting parent.”

Perhaps too doting, I mused, if Liberty had killed to ensure that her father remained solo.

“Shelton is a fine man. He lodges family here whenever they come in from out of town. He puts up employees, too.”

“Did Noelle Adams stay here?”

“One time. For a night or two.”

“And . . .” I said, leading the witness.

“And nothing. They did not
socialize
in the way you mean. They had a drink. They talked about wine and business. He left before dinner. She dined alone. Shelton fetched her the next morning for a tour of the vineyard and his private collection.”

Interesting. I could’ve sworn Noelle’s first visit to Shelton’s cellar was with Matthew and me. She had faked it expertly. Maybe she hadn’t wanted Liberty or Harold to know.

“Noelle had a marvelous time and returned flushed and excited, like a girl who had found the treasure of her life. The next day she left town. End of story. Now, his daughter Liberty . . .” Lois toyed with the curls at the nape of her neck. “She’s a whole other kettle of fish.”

I waited.

“She’s getting married, don’t you know.”

Rebecca often reminded me that the art of interrogation required being patient enough that the witness, however reluctant, would willingly offer up the information. I owed it to Noelle to remain calm. I cared deeply that her murder be avenged.

“Your part-timer Tyanne is the wedding planner,” she said.

“So I heard.”

“She’s spoiled,” Lois added.

“Tyanne?”

“No, dear, Liberty Nelson. Shelton has lavished her with gifts. Too much isn’t good for the soul, if you know what I mean, but I can’t blame him. With his wife in absentia, he felt the burden—the
responsibility
—to provide all the love, even if it meant with fistfuls of dollars. Liberty is marrying a nice boy. A religious boy. She has been quite vocal about how she intends to change her ways for him.”

“What do you mean by
change her ways
?” I asked.

“She can be rambunctious. Too much partying. All through her young years . . . Liberty was willful. She dressed a little risqué. She partied hearty, as they say. And she lied to Shelton all the time.”

What teen didn’t? As a freshman, I had lied about going out with girlfriends to the mall but ended up at a big bash. Grandmère had caught me out. I was lucky she had. A friend, driving drunk, had died in a car crash after my grandmother fetched me. Life, even in a small town, wasn’t always idyllic.

A pair of inn guests walked past us, bidding good night to Lois. She wished them a blissful sleep.

As they climbed the stairs, Lois opened a drawer of the foyer table. She pulled out a dust rag and wiped down the tray that her precious china sat upon. She could be quite fastidious. “You know, Charlotte, there is something I forgot to tell you about last night, if you’d like to hear. You were gone this morning before I could mention it. I noticed a Taurus idling on the street across from your house, just after you went out for the evening.”

My breathing quickened. “A Taurus? You’re sure?”

Lois’s shoulders curled in. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s what
he
drives.”
He
,
her errant husband. The one she hoped would return. She shoved the dust rag back in the drawer and closed it with a snap. “At first I thought it was him spying on me, don’t you know, but then I realized it was a green car, not charcoal gray.”

My interest perked up. Boyd Hellman’s Chevy Malibu was metallic green. Working to keep my voice on an even keel, I said, “Are you sure this one was green?”

“It was dark, mind you,” Lois said. “I suppose it could have been blue or red.” A defense attorney would make mincemeat of her on the witness stand. “I didn’t think much of it at the time. As I said, you had already headed out. And then Miss Adams left around the time I was serving dinner. When she departed, so did the car. I don’t know if it returned.”

Had Boyd tailed Noelle? “Did you see the driver?”

“Only from a distance. I believe it was a woman.”

Rats. That ruled out Boyd Hellman. “Could it have been Liberty Nelson?”

Lois covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh my. I wouldn’t know for sure. My eyes aren’t that good, and I wasn’t about to pull out binoculars.”

I smiled. Spying was okay, but blatant spying was taboo?

“I suppose it could have been someone wanting to meet with you,” Lois went on. “A vendor or such, or”—she lowered her voice—“that lover boy of yours sneaking into town.”

No way did Jordan resemble a woman. He had short hair and very masculine features.

“Where has he gone, by the by?”

Only a select few knew about Jordan being enrolled in the WITSEC Program. Lois was not one of my inner circle.

“If you ask me, he’s very secretive,” she went on. “Like he’s a spy or something.”

I laughed. “He’s not a spy.”

“He looks like one. Those movie star good looks, those alert eyes. He reminds me of”—she snapped her fingers—“that actor. The one that plays James Bond.”

There had been so many actors that had portrayed the super spy I didn’t ask which one she meant. “I’ll tell him. He’ll be pleased.”

Rags screeched through the foyer and came to a gasping halt against my ankles. Agatha charged after him, yipping merrily.

“That’s enough playtime.” I bundled Rags into my arms, thanked Lois for her information, and asked her to call if she remembered anything else.

As I strolled home, I felt someone watching me. I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of the cloaked woman—the hood still pulled up—peering through the break in the drapes upstairs at the B&B.

Who was she? Why was she staring at me?

Pulse thrumming, I raced home and bolted every lock in the house, including the windows in the attic, in case the woman had the inclination to break into my house and force a poisoned apple into my hands. I thought about calling Matthew or Urso but decided against it. What would I say? Someone at the B&B stared at me.
Ooh, so scary
. I thought of an old saying my grandmother used to tell me about spiders:
They’re more frightened of you than you are of them
. I never believed her.

In case I needed to defend myself, I fetched the baseball bat Matthew had left in the foyer closet and placed it beside me in bed. A baseball bat could flatten a spider for sure. And I let Rags sleep on top of the covers—a no-no on any other night, but a rule I could break when I was the scaredy cat.

Eyes wide open, I gazed at the darkened ceiling, which grew grayer the longer I stared at it, and I pondered Providence’s future. What could be done to make the town safer? Did other small towns have the same problems? We were not a big city like Cleveland or Chicago. The murders that had occurred in our town hadn’t been accidental drive-by shootings. They were personal.

Feeling lonelier than I could remember in years, I picked up the phone and dialed Jordan’s WITSEC handler. I knew he wouldn’t answer. He would see my name and the call would roll into voicemail. When he had the chance, he would allow Jordan to listen to the message. I left a lengthy one of love and ended with my deepest fear, wondering if Jordan would ever return to Providence. I didn’t tell him about Noelle’s murder. I didn’t want him to worry.

As I set the telephone back in its cradle, I heard footsteps. On the wraparound porch. Below my bedroom window.

I ordered Rags to stay put and, with adrenaline spiraling though me, grabbed the baseball bat, slipped into my tennis shoes, and sprinted downstairs ready to clock the woman in the cloak.