Days of Wine and Roquefort (Cheese Shop Mystery) (18 page)

“Well, I never,” Prudence growled. “Sylvie Bessette, now look what you’ve done.”

“Me?” Sylvie squawked.

“If you don’t get control of that darned dog, I’ll have the dogcatcher after him.”

“Don’t threaten me, you ostrich.”

Prudence sputtered. “What did you call me?”

“Ostrich.” With a finger, Sylvie outlined a picture of the bird while continuing. “With your skinny neck and your beaky mouth and that ridiculous hairdo.”

Two parade decorators stopped hanging a banner up the sidewalk. Behind us, a crowd formed, as well. Across the street, Rebecca popped from The Cheese Shop, wiping her hands on her apron. I gestured for her to stay put.

Prudence snarled at Sylvie. “You’re the ostrich with its head in the sand. I warned you shops were going up for sale. Did you believe me? No, you did not. Well, for your information, I have jumped into the fray. That cake was intended for a celebratory hurrah with my Realtor.”

“Your Realtor?”

“I have put a bid on The Silver Trader.” That was the jewelry store to the east of Prudence’s La Chic Boutique. “And I have also put a bid on The Spotted Giraffe.”

Oh no. If she were to get one or both of those shops, she would be impossible to contain. Would she turn them all into dress shop annexes? Providence thrived on variety. The town didn’t need more women’s boutiques.

“But The Spotted Giraffe is right next to my shop,” Sylvie cried. “How could they not have told me it was for sale? I want to expand.”

“Because they don’t like you.” Prudence cackled. “If these deals go through, I intend to bury you and your shop, and then you and your supercilious attitude can go right to the devil, do you hear me?”

“Fiddle-dee-dee. You don’t scare me, you bully.” Sylvie raised her chin and gave the leash a jerk. “Let’s go, Rocket. We have an appointment with
our
Realtor.”

Though Sylvie’s exit through the blossoming crowd packed a wallop, Prudence’s exit was better. She snatched the box of cake remains from me, said, “Game, match, set,” and after offering a grin worthy of the sorceress Maleficent, marched away. Thanks to her pronouncement, she knew Sylvie would yell at someone and make more enemies. What a witch.

The girls scampered from the diner carrying two bags of goodies. “Dad, where’s Mum going?” Clair said.

“I have no clue.” Matthew ran his hand along the side of his head.

“She’s taking a walk to burn off a little steam,” I said.

“What kind of steam?” Amy asked.

“Is she sick?” Clair said.

I reached for their hands. “Come with us to The Cheese Shop and we’ll explain.”

As we crossed the street, Rebecca dashed to me. “What was that all about?”

“It’s a long story. I—”

“Rebecca!” Ipo Ho, the brawny Hawaiian honeybee farmer who was Rebecca’s fiancé until recently, lumbered toward us. His massive chest heaved with exertion. “We need to talk. I—” He gaped at someone approaching from behind me. “Hi, Chief Urso.”

Urso drew alongside me.

Ipo held up his hand as a gesture of peace. “Why do you look so angry? I’m not accosting Rebecca. Really.”

I studied Urso. He did look mad. Super mad. The muscles in his jaw were twitching.

Ipo hurried to add, “I simply want to talk to her. See, we broke up, and it’s my fault, and—”

“Sorry, Mr. Ho, but your conversation with Miss Zook will have to wait. I”—Urso growled out the word—“get first dibs.”

Without an explanation, Urso gripped Rebecca’s elbow. He said, “Charlotte, you, too,” and ushered us into Fromagerie Bessette.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer. He was frowning so hard that his eyebrows nearly touched in the middle. My insides turned to jelly.

“Let’s talk.” He shepherded us around the cheese counter toward the office. The twins followed at a clip, crying in protest, but Urso didn’t loosen his hold.

Tyanne, who was working the counter, peeked at me. Her forehead was creased with concern.

Putting on a brave face, I said, “Business good?”

“Booming.” Tyanne gestured to all the customers.

“Why don’t you slice up that wheel of Istara P’tit Basque and set it on the tasting counter.”

“Good idea. It’s one of our customers’ favorites. So nutty and firm.”

“Enough chatting, Charlotte. Keep walking.” Urso allowed us to enter the office first, and then he shut the door with a bang. Rags, who must have been asleep on the desk chair before the intrusion, yowled his displeasure. Urso said, “I like you, cat, but you have no part in this, so keep it zipped.”

“Don’t call him
cat
,” I said. “He’s got feelings.”

“Sorry. Rags.”

Mollified, Rags paced in a circle and settled down. He liked Urso . . . usually.

I slipped behind the chair and gripped the upper rim to steady myself. Rebecca wove her hands together and played a nervous game of “Here’s the church.”

“You two”—Urso aimed a finger at me first, then Rebecca—“were snooping at the precinct.”

Rebecca said, “No, we—”

“Don’t deny it. I have the whole event on videotape. I assume you came to tell me something vital . . . or should I say
key
to the investigation.”

Irked by his snarky tone, I rounded the chair and drew within inches of him. “Actually, we weren’t coming to tell you anything. We have questions. Questions we need answered.”

Urso folded his arms across his chest. “Is that really the defense you’re going to take?”

Did he know that Rebecca and I had peeked into the evidence room, or was he hoping for a confession? Well, he wouldn’t get one. “I repeat, we need answers.”

“Like what?”

I inched closer. “I want to go through Noelle’s computer.”

“I already told you that we didn’t find a thing.”

“You’ve searched every file? Every single one? When did you find the time?” Why, oh, why couldn’t I squelch sarcasm sometimes? “My computer has thousands of files. It would take me months. I can only imagine how many Noelle had on hers.”

“Charlotte, be reasonable. We searched files that had been opened in the last week.” Urso dropped his hands to his sides. “I assure you there’s nothing on the computer that leads us to Miss Adams’s killer. So why were you really at the precinct?”

I shifted feet. “Tell me who you suspect.”

“We went through this already.”

“And you revealed nothing.”

Urso blew out a stream of air and swiped his hand down his neck.

“A killer is on the loose, Chief.” Rebecca spanked the desk. “Why don’t you have somebody in custody?”

“Because I need enough facts to convict.”

“Boyd Hellman has a strong motive,” Rebecca said, plowing ahead like a tugboat that refused to believe an iceberg could deter it. “He tracked his ex-girlfriend to Providence. When she rebuffed him, he lashed out the way he did last night at Café au Lait, except, luckily, you were there to stop him.”

“He was drunk,” Urso said. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”

“Maybe he was drunk on the night Noelle died,” Rebecca suggested. “Maybe he doesn’t remember killing her.”

The two of them glowered at each other, and I was glad that neither had the superhero power of radiation.

“U-ey,” I said, “Lois Smith saw someone lurking outside my place the night Noelle was killed. She said the car was a Taurus, but I think she was mistaken. A Taurus looks like a Chevy Malibu, and that’s what Boyd Hellman drives.”

“Those two cars look nothing alike.”

“You’re a car buff, so I’ll concede you would know the difference. But to Lois’s untrained eye they would appear similar. Both are sedans with four doors and no hard edges.”

“Boyd Hellman doesn’t look anything like a woman.” Urso waited for his comment to sink in. “Yes, I’ve spoken to Mrs. Smith, and I’ve questioned Mr. Hellman. At length. He’s unpredictable and edgy, but I’m not convinced he’s the killer. He claims he was walking that night.”

“Noelle went hiking,” I said. “Coincidence?”

“We checked Mr. Hellman’s hotel room for traces of mud to match the mud from Miss Adams’s boots. We didn’t find any.”

“But there wasn’t any mud in the guest room at my house, either. Maybe Boyd was smart enough to clean off his shoes or go barefoot.”

Urso jammed his hands into his pockets. “Mr. Hellman gave me the route he traveled. My team is following up with everyone in town who was taking a stroll.”

Providence had a number of regular walkers in town. Most would be reliable witnesses.

“Why is he acting so reckless, then?” Rebecca asked.

“He lost the love of his life,” Urso replied.

“She wasn’t the love of his life,” I said. “Noelle broke up with him. She moved out.”

“That doesn’t mean he was over her.” Urso’s gaze softened. Given our history, I decided not to utter a word. “F.Y.I., last night, while Mr. Hellman was sobering up, he filled me in on Miss Adams’s past. How much do you know?”

“That she lost her parents at the age of seven. She lived with her grandfather, but then he died. She was raised in a Catholic orphanage. She graduated high school and went to work as a bartender, where she met my cousin. Matthew taught her the art of being a sommelier.”

“According to Boyd Hellman, Noelle’s parents were grifters.”

I gawked at him. “Really?” A grifter was a scam artist of the highest—or lowest—order. Had they involved Noelle in their scams when she was young? Was that why Boyd said Noelle had burned them from her memory? Why hadn’t Matthew told me? Maybe he didn’t know.

“I don’t believe it for a second,” Rebecca said. “Boyd Hellman is sending you on a wild-goose chase.”

“Rebecca.” I held up a hand.

“No, listen to me. I was watching this episode of
The Closer
or maybe it was
Body of Proof
. Anyway, the leading lady was onto the killer, but the killer kept giving her the runaround to keep her from digging too deeply into his past. He sent anonymous notes and planted all sorts of red herrings.”

Urso snuffled.

“Don’t mock me,” Rebecca said. “Killers are wily.”

“Rebecca, please,” I said. “I’m sure Chief Urso has checked the validity of the statement.”

“I have,” he said. “They operated small-time cons. They died when a mark that got fed up shot them.”

I gasped. No wonder Noelle hesitated when I asked about her folks. What kind of childhood had she lived? Losing my parents at the age of three had been sad, but my memories of them were sweet. I remembered reading with them and butterfly good night kisses at the end of the day and dancing with my father while perched on his feet. How had Noelle’s traumatic childhood developed her as a person? Did scam artist talent pass down through genetic DNA? Had she been scamming someone in Providence? Had her deception made someone angry enough to kill her?

I gazed at Urso. “Have you considered that there might be people from her parents’ lives who followed her here?”

“A lot of time has passed since then, but yes, I’ve taken that into account. I’m driving to Cleveland tomorrow to follow up on that angle. In the meantime, I want you and you”—he indicated Rebecca then me—“to promise you’ll keep out of this while I’m gone.” He turned to exit.

“Wait,” I said. “What were you doing with Delilah at Café au Lait last night?”

“Why, Charlotte, are you concerned about my love life?” His mouth quirked up on one side and, for a second, I found myself awkwardly attracted to him. Dang. I was way lonelier than I realized.

I shifted feet, determined to be professional. “Was the date a ruse so you could observe Shelton and Liberty Nelson?”

“Or were you keeping an eye on Ashley Yeats?” Rebecca said.

Chuckling, Urso exited without answering either of us.

• • •

“I’m not promising Chief Urso anything.” Rebecca smacked the wall in the hall as she stomped back to the main shop. “And I’ll tell you something else. I hate the way he laughs. Ho-ho-ho.” She imitated him, heaving her shoulders and overexaggerating his head waggle. “Ooh, but he irks me.”

He vexed me, too, but I wasn’t about to fuel her fire.

Tyanne galloped to me, bubbling with curiosity. “Sugar, what was that about?”

“We’ll talk later.”

“Can I tell you my good news, then?”

I grinned. “Did we have a run on everything in the store? Are we rich beyond my wildest dreams?”

“Almost. Those tags you put in the cheese are a smash. We sold nearly all of the La Tur Goat Cheese.” She recited: “
A cheese the angels created.
How yummy is that?” Beaming, she clutched my shoulders. “But that’s not
my
news. Liberty Nelson just called. Mind you, I didn’t talk on the telephone while anyone was in the store.”

“Don’t worry. You’re a terrific employee. Go on.”

For sure, Tyanne’s news wasn’t about the murder. She was smiling way too hard to say that Liberty had admitted to murder and Urso could wrap up the case.

“Liberty is doubling the amount I can spend on the entire wedding. Isn’t that unbelievable? My fee will cover the mortgage for at least three months. I can’t tell you how much that will help with finances.”

“Great,” I said, though her words made me flash on something Matthew had said about financial troubles brewing at the winery. Liberty’s extravagance would challenge that theory. “Um, is she paying in cash?” Perhaps she intended to charge everything.

Tyanne tilted her head. “Why?”

“Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Should I ask her to pay in cash?”

“No, of course not.” I fetched a pad and pencil and began to make a list. “So, does she want to double the amount of cheese platters? Perhaps some February specialties like Rivers Edge Chèvre. My personal favorite is Heart’s Desire, a seductive goat cheese that’s coated with a zippy paprika. And how about gift baskets of cheese to all of the guests or serving a cheese wedding cake, like we had at Matthew and Meredith’s out-of-towners’ dinner?”

Tyanne tittered. “You are too funny. Always thinking of business.”

How wrong she was. For the last few days, all I had been thinking about was murder. If only Urso would nab somebody, maybe then I could start concentrating on life instead of death.

Tyanne wagged a finger. “By the way, speaking of cakes, I tasted the most glorious cake at Providence Pâtisserie this morning. It’s white and dark chocolate with a mascarpone whipped cream filling. To die for. They call it Passionate Desire. Liberty is in lust with chocolate.”

“Yoo-hoo, Tyanne,” a woman called.

I said, “It looks like Mrs. Bell needs your assistance.”

A woman, shaped like her name, stood beyond a group of mothers and their children—many who were in the Thanksgiving play. “Yoo-hoo,” she repeated, waving like she had won a game show prize. A Cairn Terrier poked its head out of her tote bag.

Tyanne wiped her hands on a clean white towel then pitched the towel into a bin. “She probably wants me to suggest accoutrements. She purchased a pound of that mouthwatering Carr Valley Mobay.”

It was one of my favorites, with ash made from grape vines separating the two kinds of milk.

As Tyanne dashed off to assist Mrs. Bell, Rebecca sidled to me. “I can see that brain of yours ticking away. What’s with the questions about Liberty’s finances?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Matthew strode from the wine annex carrying a bottle of Madrone Mountain Mundo Novo, a divine port-style wine that would go perfectly with the Mobay cheese. “Is everything okay between you and Urso?”