Days of Wine and Roquefort (Cheese Shop Mystery) (21 page)

Jordan rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his neck. “If you want me to be a sounding board, I will be. Let’s start with Boyd Hellman. He’s the impetuous, hot-tempered scorned lover, right?”

“Something like that, but there’s something else at play with him. He knew so much about Noelle’s past. He told Urso about her grifter parents, but he didn’t tell me.”

Jordan said, “That’s because Urso is the official. You’re not. Do you think her parents’ shady past comes into play?”

“Maybe, but really, I can’t see Noelle as a scam artist. She seemed so forthright and honest.”

“Tell me about Shelton Nelson again.”

“He has a pat alibi.”

“That his daughter backs up. Daughters have been known to lie for fathers.”

“You sound as cynical as Rebecca.”

“Humor me.”

“Shelton was either Noelle’s lover or father figure. I’m not sure. Financial issues could be in the mix, none of which I can verify without breaking into the winery.” I told him about the partial conversation that I had caught between Shelton and Liberty.

“You said Noelle was investigating something. Taking pictures.”

“Of a man having an affair.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure about anything. Rebecca’s checking that angle. And then there’s Liberty Nelson.”

“The doting daughter.”

“She’s marrying a staunchly religious man.” I paused. “I’ve got to admit that pairing doesn’t make sense, but other than the uptight getups he wants her to wear, she looks happy.”

“Uptight getups?”

“She usually likes wearing sexy, over-the-top kinds of clothes, like Sylvie, but ever since Noelle’s death, Liberty has been donning Victorian dresses. I’m wondering if the transformation is because she’s feeling guilty.”

“She wants to divert Urso’s suspicions.”

“Yes.”

“And you think she killed Noelle and lied about her father’s alibi to create one for herself.”

I tapped his nose. “You catch on quickly.”

“I’m in trial mode. Continue, counselor.” He pecked me on the cheek. His lips tracked down my neck to the hollow of my throat. I sighed. “You mentioned a journalist.”

“Ashley Yeats,” I said. “A con artist if ever I met one.” I hummed a few bars of
“Ya Got Trouble.” Jordan joined me. Only recently did I discover he had a tremendous singing voice.

“So he’s sort of like Noelle’s parents. Do you think there’s any connection between them?”

I hadn’t considered the possibility.

“Who is looking into him?” Jordan asked.

“Matthew. He’s scouring Yeats’s phone records and travel plans to see if they coincide with Noelle’s. And Tyanne is checking Noelle’s emails.”

“I’m impressed. You’ve become a delegator. It’s a wonder your grandfather and grandmother aren’t snooping on your behalf.” Jordan rolled to his side and drew me into a tight embrace. “I assume you have revisited the crime scene and gone through Noelle’s things again. You’ve reviewed every detail.”

“Too many times to count.”

“I want you to promise you’ll be careful.”

“I will be. I always am.” Excluding, of course, when I was running headlong into a police precinct at Rebecca’s insistence. I didn’t reveal that tidbit to Jordan. “Did I mention there might be another woman in the equation? She’s staying here at the inn.”

“How does she fit in?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know who she is. I have yet to see her face. But I first caught sight of her the day after Noelle died. The timing bugs me. I wonder if she’s someone from Noelle’s past. You know, one of her parents’ friends, or one of the nuns from the orphanage.”

“You see mystery women everywhere.” Jordan was referring to the moment when I first met his sister. I’d thought she was Jordan’s lover, which only proved that the mind, if not kept in check, was like an ignored cheese that could become overripe and stinky.

“On the other hand, I get the feeling Lois knows her. If so, how could she have become acquainted with someone from Noelle’s past?”

“Here’s my two cents,” Jordan said. “Set your mind at ease. In the morning, track down Lois and ask who the woman is. If she won’t tell, I’m sure she has the woman’s signature in a register.”

“Is yours?”

“Tonight, my name is Delilah. Now, no more talking.” Jordan gently pulled my face to his and kissed me.

He left before dawn.

• • •

At the sound of the crowing rooster that lived in a shed behind the bed-and-breakfast, I roused. Alone. Last night felt as if it had been a dream, and yet I awoke rested and at peace. Taking Jordan’s admonition to heart, I dressed quickly and hurried to the kitchen to ambush Lois before she could sneak the cloaked woman from the premises.

“Lois,” I called as I pushed through the swinging door. She wasn’t there, but I swear I’d heard her humming right before I entered. The aroma of hazelnut coffee, tea, and freshly made chocolate-raspberry scones teased my nose and my appetite, but I didn’t slow down. I heard footsteps retreating down the hall.

I raced to the foyer where more than a dozen guests chatted with a tour guide. “Lois?” I called up the stairs leading to guest rooms.

She didn’t answer. None of the guests made eye contact with me.

As I rounded the newel post to head upstairs, I heard Delilah laugh outside. I peered through the screen door. Rain poured down and spilled from the eaves. Despite the chill in the air, Delilah sat nestled in one of the wicker chairs, warmed by a patio heater. She was playing chew toy tug-of-war with Agatha and Rags.

As I emerged from the house, she said, “Hey, sleepyhead.” She tightened the cashmere scarf around her neck and leaped to her feet. “Please tell me you were surprised with your night visitor.”

“Astounded and delighted. Thank you.”

“It was Jordan’s idea. When his sister called me, well, I can’t tell you how hard it was for me to keep my trap shut at the theater last night. So, dish. Did you have fun?”

“More than fun. We connected. In the biblical sense.”

“Heart be still.” She swatted imaginary heat away from her face. “Want some breakfast?” She pointed to a Rosalinde pattern Haviland tea set and a plate of scones accompanied by a pot of mascarpone cheese, which were on the table beside her chair.

Although my stomach did a cha-cha, I said, “Not yet. I’m on the hunt for Lois.”

“I saw her take a tray of food upstairs. Why do you need her?”

“That woman in the cloak.” I told her what Jordan had advised me to do.

Delilah held up a hand to stop me. “Please assure me you did not spend the night with the love of your life theorizing about murder.” She chafed a finger with the other. “If you did, shame, shame.”

“No, I told you. We made mad, passionate love, but we did talk for a bit. He was concerned about me.”

“What’s the head-on rush to find this woman now?”

“Jordan said I should question—” Out of the corner of my eye, through the screen door, I spied movement inside the inn. The woman in the cloak, the hood pulled forward to obscure her face, was running down the stairs. “There she is.”

I bounded to the front entrance. Delilah followed. As I whipped open the screen door, Delilah shrieked.

“You.” Delilah stamped her foot on the B&B porch and drilled her fists into her hips. Sunlight gleamed in at an angle and made her squint as she glowered at the woman in the cloak.

I squinted, too, and realized what I had missed before. The woman peering warily from beneath the hood was none other than Delilah’s mother, Alexis, a free spirit who had moved to California.

“What are you doing here?” Delilah demanded.

“Better question,” I said. “Why were you sneaking around in that hooded cape?”

“Sneaking?” Alexis pushed the hood off her face, fluffed her hair—hair that, other than a streak or two of gray, matched her daughter’s unruly dark curls—and reached for her daughter’s hands. “All right. Yes, I was sneaking. I didn’t want Delilah to see me. We weren’t supposed to meet. Not like this. I meant to call and give fair warning, but . . . Come here, darling. Give your mother a hug.”

Delilah backed up a step. “Uh-uh, no way. The moment we connect you’ll begin to shake, then you’ll throw your head back and your chin will quiver, and you’ll announce you’re
feeling something
.” Alexis did tarot card readings for a living. As girls, behind closed doors, Delilah and I had pretended to be Alexis. Donning wild costumes and howling like banshees, we would grab hold of each other’s hands and predict the future.

Alexis held her arms wider. “Please.”

Delilah didn’t budge. “Why did you come here?”

“I missed you. It’s been nearly five years.” The same week that Delilah left home to try her luck on Broadway, Alexis deserted her husband of twenty-five years and moved to the West Coast. In the ensuing years, Alexis had never returned to Providence. Delilah had visited her mother once or twice in California, but they had never grown close. Delilah blamed her mother for breaking her father’s heart.

“You can’t simply appear and expect everything to be all cozy and nice,” Delilah said.

Alexis dropped her arms to her sides and toyed with the folds of her cape. “That’s what your brother said.”

“You should have listened to him, Mother.” I couldn’t remember a time when Delilah had called her mother
Mom.
I wasn’t sure if that was her choice or her mother’s. “He might be messed up, but he is brilliant.” Delilah’s brother, an agoraphobic computer nerd, had moved to California with his mother. She babied him. Pops never had. He wasn’t a callous father. He had truly believed that forcing his son to play outside was the way for him to overcome his fear; it hadn’t been. “Do you want something? Is that why you came? Are you out of cash?”

“Quite the contrary. Your brother has made a killing in the computer world.” Alexis released the cape and squared her shoulders. She had the same fine bone structure as Delilah, the same fiery eyes. “He saved up enough to invest in a bookstore, which I run with two of my friends. We sell candles and teas and such, too.”

“And you do bogus readings.”

“They’re not bogus.”

“They are phony as the day is long. You bilk people out of hard-earned money.”

“Nonsense. I don’t swindle a soul.” Alexis raised her hands upward like an Egyptian queen. “The earth gods and goddesses speak to me, and I relay their guidance to my clients.”

Were these the kinds of phrases Noelle’s parents had used? I wished I knew what cons they had pulled and whether Noelle had been involved.

Delilah coughed into her hand and muttered, “Bullpuckey,” then eyed me. “I’m heading to work. Coming? I have an umbrella.”

Alexis snagged the sleeve of my sweater. “Charlotte, wait.” She tugged me to her and, before I could break free, gripped my hands. “I have been meaning to speak to you. I had a vision.”

“Mother, please,” Delilah said. “You had a vision? What hoodoo. Did you use a crystal ball?” She curled her fingers around an imaginary circle and moaned, “Oo-o-oh.”

“This had nothing to do with a crystal ball, Delilah, and it’s not hoodoo.”

“Hoodoo,” Delilah hissed.

“I had a real vision. Charlotte”—Alexis gazed at me intently—“you have to believe me. It occurred the night I arrived.”

I inhaled sharply. “The night my friend was murdered.”

Alexis nodded.

“Did you see someone enter my garage?” I said.

“No, darling.” She licked her ruby red lips. “But you came to see Lois that evening, and she spoke to me afterward. While I slept, I had a vision. It was clear and precise.” She looked right and left, then lowered her voice. “Beware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Delilah scoffed. “Puh-leese, Mother. A wolf?”

“Hush.” Alexis squeezed my hands and yanked them downward for effect. “Beware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Charlotte.”

My insides quivered. I knew the biblical phrase from the book of Matthew: “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.” In context, the phrase referred to the church having lost its ability to discern truth from error. So what did Alexis’s vision mean? Was someone going to tell me a lie? Would someone come to me as a friend but turn out to be an enemy?

“Beware,” Alexis repeated.

At this point in our childhood games, Delilah or I would pretend to faint. But Alexis held fast, as if she were one of those giant treelike creatures in
The Lord of the Rings
unwilling to let me escape. Ever.

• • •

Later that morning after meeting with vendors, I puttered around the shop by myself, checking on back orders and diddling with marketing ideas while replaying Alexis’s warning about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. At nine thirty
A.M.
I wondered whether the rainstorm—or a wolf—had caused some traffic mishap that was keeping the rest of the population from the shop. I telephoned Matthew, who supposedly was making deliveries, but the call glitched out. The same happened when I telephoned Rebecca. Where she was, was anyone’s guess. I just hoped she wasn’t prowling around the precinct.

Around ten
A.M.
, right after I took a mini-break and downed a quick breakfast of toasted whole grain waffles topped with homemade ricotta, honey, and orange slices, my first customers arrived—Shelton and Liberty Nelson. While she slotted the pristine white umbrella that matched her raincoat into the stand by the door, Shelton batted water off his jacket. He did the same with his cowboy hat and tucked it beneath his arm.

“You’re certainly hopping with business,” Shelton quipped.

“It’s the weather.”

“Good for ducks.” He pointed a thumb toward the wine annex. “Could I have a word?”

“Me first, Daddy, remember? Miss Bessette.” Liberty shuffled toward me, her white rubber boots making squishing sounds. I dreaded the mopping up that I would need to do to the floor at the end of the day after a hundred customers came and went. “Have you seen Tyanne? She’s not answering her cell phone. As of ten minutes ago, we have twenty more people to invite to the wedding, thanks to my future in-laws.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “That’s easy to fix on all accounts, especially this far ahead.” I offered a smile of reassurance as my mind flitted to my wedding. How many would I invite? Only friends and family? Would Tyanne be able to manage two weddings on the same day? I pushed my selfish thoughts aside and refocused on Liberty. “Now, if you were to add twenty the day of the wedding, you’d have one frazzled wedding planner.”

Liberty hiccupped a laugh; it sounded cute but forced.

“However, with that many extras, you might consider more cheeses for your platters. Might I suggest—”

“Let Miss Zook help with that,” Shelton said. “I need to speak with you, Charlotte.”

“Rebecca is out,” I said. “This won’t take a minute. Liberty, try this.” I shaved off a sliver of Villajos Artisan Manchego. “It’s a raw milk cheese, very exclusive, made in small batches. It deserves to be treated with great respect. Present it on a cheese board with a little quince jam, but only a tad, otherwise the jam can overpower the cheese.”

As Liberty deliberated and a pair of customers entered the shop, shimmying to shed the rainwater from their clothing, Shelton jerked his head toward the wine annex. Did he have a secret to impart? Was he going to confess to murder?

Feeling safe with the arrival of more people, I followed him.

As I neared, he said, “I would like to do something in Noelle’s memory. Perhaps donate to the orphanage where she grew up.”

So much for confessing. The guy was on a goodwill mission.

“But I don’t know which orphanage it was,” he added. “Do you?”

“I haven’t a clue. Perhaps her ex-boyfriend would know.”

“You mean Hellman, the hothead that blew up at Café au Lait? Like he would talk to me. If you ask me, he’s the one that killed her. He doesn’t seem like a good fit for her. Definitely beneath her.”

The door to the shop opened and Urso entered. In much the same fashion as those that had come in moments before, he shook the rainwater from his clothes and hat then moved toward the display case to view sandwiches.

I whispered, “Shelton, Chief Urso might help you get in touch with Boyd Hellman.”

“I don’t think he’d be so inclined.”

Liberty dashed to her father’s side and clung to his elbow. “Daddy, let’s get out of here.”

“What’s the rush?” I said.

“I told you before, Chief Urso suspects my father of killing Noelle.” Liberty ogled me as if I were the stupidest woman on the planet. “Don’t you see how he looks at us? His deputies have repeatedly come to the house and the winery. They’re asking us all sorts of pointed questions like how often Noelle visited and why she would have taken a job in a small town.”

The same questions that Boyd Hellman had asked. Had he encouraged Urso to take a longer look at Shelton Nelson?

“We’ve given answers,” Shelton said, “but they don’t seem to satisfy the chief.”

I was pleased to hear how dogged Urso was acting and wondered if his persistence meant he had more on Shelton or Liberty Nelson than I did . . . which was nothing other than their weak alibis, their curious argument about Noelle and finances, and Liberty’s Camry, which looked so much like a Taurus that it could place Liberty at the scene. Except she had an alibi that corroborated her father’s.

“He even asked about my relationship with Noelle,” Shelton continued, “which was aboveboard, believe me.” He forced a laugh, but his neck had turned a stunning red, making me wonder how he defined
aboveboard
. “She wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with an old codger like me.”

Liberty whacked her father’s arm. “You’re not old.”

“To someone as young and vibrant as Noelle I was. She had all sorts of suitors.”

“Including that maniac Boyd Hellman,” Liberty added. “And I wouldn’t have put it past Harold to make a pass at her.”

“Don’t say something like that, darlin’,” Shelton said. “Harold is a good man and wouldn’t stray from that wife of his. He is devoted.”

“Is he really?” Liberty smirked.

“Charlotte, got a sec? I’m ready to order,” Urso said, looking totally disinterested in Shelton and Liberty.

I joined him at the counter. “Morning, U-ey. I thought you were going to Cleveland.”

“Change of plans. You look rested.”

My cheeks flared with heat. Did he know I’d had a visit from Jordan? “It’s the weather,” I said. “I love rain. It makes the air smell so fresh.” Why was I babbling? For heaven’s sake, a grown woman was allowed to have intimate relations with the man she loved, sans a wedding ring, in this day and age. “Do you want the usual?”

He nodded. “What’s up with Shelton and his daughter? Why are they whispering?”

“Shelton wants to know—”

The door to the shop opened and Boyd Hellman stamped inside. Water matted his red hair and clung to his plaid coat. “Aha! Found you.” He pointed at Shelton.

Not again, I thought. And not here.

“You did it,” Boyd shouted. “You’re not going to get away with it.”

Shelton looked to Urso for support. He and Liberty had no hope of exiting the shop without bypassing Boyd Hellman and knocking over the display of large rounds of Kurtwood Farms’ Francesca’s Cheese.

“Excuse me, Charlotte.” Urso rested his hand on the butt of his gun as he moved toward Shelton and Liberty.