Days of Wine and Roquefort (Cheese Shop Mystery) (12 page)

Gripping the baseball bat in my left hand and resting its barrel on my right shoulder, I whipped open the door.

Rebecca, wearing a hoodie jacket, jeans, and Ugg boots, hopped from foot to foot on the porch, her face tearstained. The glimmer of the porch light made her eyes gleam like a manic cat’s eyes. She raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t swing.”

“What are you doing here?” I slotted the baseball bat into the umbrella stand. “It’s late.” Worried to my teeth, I wrapped my arms around her. She wasn’t merely my employee. She was the little sister that God forgot to give me. “Come inside.”

“I had to talk to someone,” she snuffled. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I—”

“Shh.” Before closing the door, I scanned the street to see if anyone was lurking. I didn’t see a soul. No metallic green Chevy Malibu. No dark sedan of any kind. And no woman in a cloak peering from a neighboring window. “Come with me.” I guided Rebecca into the office, which until that moment I had forgotten was prepped for painting. Blue tape affixed plastic drop cloths to the base moldings. Tarps covered all the furniture that I hadn’t moved to the garage. “Let’s go to the kitchen instead,” I said. “I’ll make tea.”

Rebecca settled onto a chair at the red oak mission table in the kitchen nook while I put up a pot of water and set tea bags into two cups. As I opened a canister of chocolate chip orange cream cheese cookies, Rags meowed. His tail rose in a question mark.

“You’re right,” I said. “I had promised you your own dessert before we ran next door.” I fetched a treat from a porcelain cat jar on the counter and tossed it toward Rags’s bed. He batted it around the floor like a toy before finally settling down to devour it.

“Why did you go to Lavender and Lace?” Rebecca said.

“It’s a long story. You first.”

“It’s . . .” She removed her hoodie jacket, looped it over the back of the chair, and tugged down the hem of the sweater she wore beneath. “You know that Ipo and I aren’t engaged anymore. Do you know why?”

“My grandfather said you wanted to make sure you were suited for each other.”

“What? Me? No. It wasn’t my choice. It was Ipo’s. His parents have talked him into selling his honeybee farm and moving back to Hawaii.”

“What?”

“They say a Hawaiian Ohioan doesn’t make sense.”

“Hawaiian Ohioan?”

She frowned. “I know. It’s a mouthful.”

“What about the course of true love?”

“His parents never liked me.”

“Because you’re Amish?”

“No, because he’s a mama’s boy, and he acts more independent when he’s with me.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Personally, I think that’s a good thing, but what do I know.”

I poured steaming water into the teacups. The enticing aroma of Earl Grey tea wafted up to my nose. I took the cups, napkins, spoons, and a jar of honey to the table. “Didn’t you tell me that his parents’ marriage was not an approved marriage?”

“Yes. They eloped.”

“Can’t you and Ipo do the same?”

“He already did that, remember? And then his ex-wife dumped him here. His parents were never in favor of him staying. Some women keep men on a tight leash. His mother—” She took a sip of her tea. “Let’s be blunt. She doesn’t want to share him.”

I thought of Liberty, who had a similar hold on her father. How did her fiancé feel about that? How had Noelle felt about it if, indeed, Noelle and Shelton had been involved? Had Noelle and Liberty fought?

Rebecca dripped honey into her cup and swirled it with her spoon. “If only there were tea leaves that could divine my future.”

“You divine your own future,” I said, surprised by the intensity in my tone. “You figure out what you want, and you make it happen.”

“You know, back home, I never did anything bad. I didn’t branch out. I didn’t take risks, that is, until I left to work in Providence. Maybe I’m supposed to take chances now.” She got to her feet, spread her arms, and twirled. “Maybe I’m supposed to do what Delilah did and see the world. Go to New York and London and Paris. Maybe work on a cruise ship.”

“Whatever you decide, take it one day at a time.”

“Is that what you’re doing when it comes to Jordan?”

“Yes. One long day at a time.” Doing my best not to think about Jordan, I cradled my tea between my palms and drank in the delicious scent. “I’m sorry about you and Ipo.”

“It’s okay. I’ll survive. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Like that cute deputy?”

“I’m not making any hasty decisions.” Rebecca settled into her chair and tapped a fingernail on the table. “Tell me about your visit with Lois.”

I replayed our chat about Shelton and Liberty, her wild years, and Lois’s suspicions about Shelton’s involvement with Noelle. I concluded with the mini-revelation about the car on the street. Rebecca and I agreed the driver had to have been Boyd. If Lois couldn’t tell green from blue or red, she certainly couldn’t have determined whether the driver was female or male.

Around midnight, not certain that I had anything concrete to share with Urso, I declared it was time for bed. My head ached; my body craved sleep. Considering the funk Rebecca was in, I didn’t want her driving home. I asked her to stay the night. Neither of us wanted to crash in a room by ourselves, so we decided to camp out in my room. Rags found a spot between us on the bed and kneaded like a master baker.

Rebecca giggled as she pulled the comforter under her chin. “I’ve never had a slumber party.”

“It’s not a slumber party. It’s a sleepover. The main ingredient is sleep.”

“Got it.”

As I was drifting off, it dawned on me that I hadn’t told Rebecca about the mysterious woman in the cloak. I opened my eyes. A sliver of moonlight edged through the break in the drapes. Rebecca looked extremely peaceful. Even so, I whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Yep.” She laid her hand against her mouth to stifle a yawn.

“I forgot to tell you something.” I explained.

“And you thought I was her? I’m so sorry.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here to protect you.” She patted the baseball bat that she had rested beside the nightstand.

I suppressed a smile. Two women, one bat, and a cat. Who would dare attack?

“Also”—Rebecca yawned—“Lois won’t be able to keep the woman hidden for long. Secrets are hard to keep hush-hush.”

• • •

In the morning, sleet pelted the town. An icy breeze, overly cool for November, swirled through the air and gusted into the shop every time a customer entered. Though I had dressed in a turtleneck and corduroy trousers and was running around the place like a madwoman while restocking and cleaning and serving up orders, I couldn’t shake the chill. A midmorning snack of raisin quiche made with HoneyBee Goat Gouda helped but not entirely. I had to admit that thoughts about Noelle and a deep desire to solve the crime kept me on edge. Was I missing something obvious? She had hidden her journals. Had she hidden a key? If so, where?

Around ten
A.M.
, Urso ventured in to purchase his lunch. Deputy O’Shea accompanied him. Like Urso, the deputy respectfully removed his hat upon entering and tucked it beneath his arm.

After a quick “Good morning,” Urso ordered his
usual
—he was back to favoring a torpedo sandwich made with maple-infused ham and Jarlsberg cheese, topped with a mixture of mayonnaise and maple mustard. While I wrapped his sandwich in our special wrap and slotted it into a gold tote bag, he moved off in the direction of the beverage display.

Deputy O’Shea didn’t budge. He peered over the counter into the kitchen—trying to catch a glimpse of Rebecca, I presumed.

I smacked the countertop.

He startled. “Oh, sorry. I’ll have a—”

“She’s not here,” I whispered.

“Who-o-o?” he stammered.

“Rebecca. I gave her a ten-minute breather.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Sure you were. She’s taking a walk.”

He gaped. “In this rain?”

I nodded. “Without an umbrella. We’ve got a few by the door if you want to be a gentleman and take one to her.”

“Chief, I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an okay from his superior, the deputy snagged an umbrella and hustled out of the shop.

Urso returned to the counter. “What’s he doing?”

“Acting like a knight in shining armor.” I beckoned him to the register. “He’s a nice kid, Urso.”

“All of Tim’s family are good people.” Timothy O’Shea owned the tavern next to the Village Green. He had seven brothers and umpteen nephews—no nieces. Urso tilted his head. “Rebecca doesn’t normally take midmorning breaks. What’s up?”

“Ex-fiancé woes.” I moved to the register. “Cash, credit, or on account?”

“The latter.”

I sent Urso a monthly statement, as I did for many of my regular customers. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Slowly.”

“Did you happen to find Noelle’s camera in her car?”

“We did. Why?”

“Anything of importance on it?”

“Nope. Not one picture.”

That seemed odd. She must have taken it with her on her hike. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have left it in the guest room? “Was the memory card missing?”

Urso tilted his head. “Why are you so curious?”

“Is that a yes?”

He didn’t respond.

When I had gone in search of Noelle’s journals, I’d put Rebecca’s concerns about Harold Warfield from my mind, but now those concerns came back full force. Harold had longish hair. Perhaps Lois mistook him for a female driver. “There are rumors that Harold Warfield was having an affair. If Noelle knew and took pictures . . .” I hesitated. I couldn’t see Noelle blackmailing anyone. On the other hand, Urso’s non-answer confirmed that the memory card was missing. “Why else would someone have taken the memory card out of the camera?”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.”

He frowned. “What would she have expected to gain? Money?”

“His job.”

“Why would she want to manage a winery? She was a noted sommelier.”

“She gave that up to move here. I can’t imagine being a glorified party planner was her endgame. What if she was trying to say Harold’s name when she said the word
hell
?”

Urso did everything he could not to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t help himself. He drew in a deep breath and let his shoulders release.

I hurried to add what I had noticed when I had taken the tour of the winery with Matthew and Noelle. “Harold was extremely standoffish to Noelle. He acted like he didn’t want to touch her. At first I thought he was a germaphobe, but the more I think about it, his aversion seemed more deep-seated. Maybe he found her odious because she had dirt on him. What do you know about him?”

“Nice wife, no kids, attends church, keeps to himself.”

“In other words, not much.”

Urso donned his hat. “Okay, you’ve got my interest. I’ll look into it.”

A feeling of pride swelled within me. Whether or not Harold was the killer, Urso was taking my ideas seriously. “Also, when you seized Noelle’s things, did you happen to take her briefcase?”

“We did. There was no key inside, and it didn’t require a key.”

Dang.

“By the way,” he continued, “you’ll be glad to know I had a long chat with Boyd Hellman.”

“Care to share?”

“Not at this time.”

“Don’t tell me you think he’s innocent.”

He didn’t respond, but I could read his body language well enough to know that pressing him to reveal more about Boyd Hellman wouldn’t work. I said, “Do you have other suspects?”

“Mine to know.”

“Are you taking a good look at Liberty and Shelton Nelson?”

He tapped the floor with his foot.

Shoot. I needed to know more. I wouldn’t rest until Noelle’s killer was brought to justice. “What about that journalist, Ashley Yeats?” I blurted.

“What about him?”

“He arrived in town the day Noelle did.” I couldn’t put a finger on why the guy bugged me, but he did. “Don’t you find that coincidental? And aren’t you the one who told me you don’t like coincidences?”