Days of Wine and Roquefort (Cheese Shop Mystery) (23 page)

Velma’s shoulders rolled forward, and she burst into tears. “Oh, Charlotte, I wasn’t watching your house. I swear. I was”—she hiccupped—“keeping an eye on Lavender and Lace. I thought . . .” She bit her lip. “I thought Harold was having—”

“An affair.”

She smacked the steering wheel. “He’s been acting strangely. Aloof. Out lots of nights during the week.” She shuddered. “He wasn’t there. At the inn. I waited all night.”

“That’s not true. Lois said you left.”

“I drove off to peek at the parking lot behind the inn. His car wasn’t there. So I returned to the street, but I parked on the other side of the inn. Far away from your house. And . . .” She tapped the steering wheel with her thumb, as if deliberating.

“What?”

She stopped the rhythm. “I did see a person head up your driveway. All I remember is he was big and broad and wearing a red jacket.”

She was describing Boyd Hellman. “Are you sure? It was dark.”

“The light from your garage helped.”

“Were you still there when the police arrived?”

She hesitated. “Yes, but I drove away. A car lurking near a murder scene would look suspicious.”

“How did you know it was a murder scene?”

“In retrospect,” she blurted out. “I knew something bad had happened. Why else would the police come? I didn’t hang around.” Was she lying about seeing a man in red? To implicate Boyd and protect her husband?

“Velma . . .”

“I’m done talking. My coat, please.” She held out her hand and jammed her lips together.

I recognized that look; I would get nothing more out of her. Reluctantly, I removed myself as a human wedge. The moment I closed her door, she ground the car into gear and tore out of the parking lot.

When I headed back toward the pub, a figure—a man—emerged from the shadows, hat pitched forward to keep rain off his face. As he drew near, I gasped. It was Shelton Nelson and he was wearing his shearling jacket, the one he had worn the day we toured the winery. Was he the wolf in sheep’s clothing that Alexis had foreseen? Fear zipped through me.

“Charlotte, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting drenched,” I said with all the pluck I could muster. I started to move past him, but he caught my upper arm and spun me to face him.

“I don’t need your sass, young lady. I repeat, what do you think you’re doing? Why are you getting involved?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I was simply chatting with Velma.”

“I’m not referring to your attempt to play marriage counselor. I’m asking why you and that little gal who works for you are checking my daughter’s phone records.”

I tensed. Where did he learn that? Did Liberty overhear Rebecca getting a word in edgewise to Delilah? Did Liberty alert Daddy? Shoot. “I—”

“I heard you sneaked into the precinct, as well. Don’t you think Chief Urso is competent?”

“I—”

“What did you expect to find?”

“I—” A motorboat with a flooded engine could crank into gear faster than I could.

“Yoo-hoo, Charlotte,” Tyanne called from just outside the pub’s door. “Our turkey sliders are ready, and you’re getting soaked.”

As she jogged to me holding an umbrella overhead, Shelton released me. He grumbled something that I couldn’t make out.
Back off?
Barking up a wrong tree?
Behave?
Why was I suddenly hearing impaired? Had he pursued me in the parking lot because he was protecting his daughter? Maybe he knew her alibi was bogus.

Tyanne gripped my hand. “Really, sugar, you’d think a businesswoman as smart as you would have more sense than to stand in the rain. You must be dotty.” She winked at Shelton. “Don’t tell a soul, Mr. Nelson, or her business could suffer, you hear?”

As we returned to the warmth of the pub, I couldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t stop picturing Shelton in his shearling coat. Delilah would say her mother’s vision was hogwash, but was it?

While I had been sparring with Velma and Shelton in the parking lot, Urso must have entered the pub through the front door. He stood at the bar with Deputy O’Shea, grilling Boyd, who was perched on a stool. The moment Urso spotted me, he made a beeline for me.

He caught up with me before I could reach the safety of my pals, and he gripped my shoulders. Heat spiraled off of him. “Where have you been, Charlotte? My deputy said you raced outside.” His gaze radiated concern. “You’re cold and wet.”

“I needed to talk to Velma Warfield. Her husband lied about his alibi. He wasn’t at the library.”

“How do you know?”

“I . . . I just do.” I wrested free. “Also, Velma told me that she saw Boyd Hellman outside my house on the night of the murder. And on my way back inside, seconds ago, Shelton Nelson—” I hesitated. “Hey, I left a message for you. Why didn’t you call me back?”

Urso blew out an exasperated breath. “My cell provider has been giving me trouble. Your message only came through in bits and pieces. Go on about Shelton.”

I told him about Shelton’s threat. “I want you to take a good look at Liberty Nelson. I think she might have lied about her whereabouts on the night of the murder, and Shelton is covering for her.”

Urso ran a hand through his hair. “First, you think Harold is the killer, then Boyd, now Liberty? Look, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want you involved? I don’t want you hurt. This killer grabbed a wine opener and shoved it into Noelle Adams’s throat. He—”

“Or she—”

“Won’t hesitate to kill again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty darned positive. You poke your nose into a nest of hornets, they get feisty and sting.”

“You sound like Tyanne.”

“Don’t make light of my warning. You think you’re invincible. You’re not. Nobody is.”

The concern in his eyes made me back off but not back down. “I can’t promise anything, U-ey. I’m sorry. You hate to see an injustice. I hate it, too. It gnaws at me. It gnaws at you.”

“Then get a badge.”

I sighed. “I won’t do anything crazy.”

“That’s a relative term.”

I patted his arm. “I know.”

Exhausted and in need of a good night’s sleep, I returned to the booth, ate two quick appetizers with my friends while sharing my encounters outside, and then bid them good night.

I had dropped off Rags at home before heading to the pub. When I returned, he greeted me with a rousing yowl. He wasn’t scared. He was communicating that someone friendly was in the house. Silly cat didn’t realize that I had already spied my cousin’s car in the driveway.

“Matthew?”

“In here,” he called.

I strode to the office; Rags followed. Before I reached the doorway, the strong odor of fresh paint hit me like a rousing tonic. My fatigue vanished. I peeked in. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Matthew crawled atop carpet padding while smoothing the padding with his hands to unfurl it. “I’ve painted the walls and resealed the cans.” A stack of paint cans stood in the far corner. All of the furniture that I hadn’t moved to the garage, including the antique file cabinet, a pair of Queen Anne’s chairs, and a floor lamp, were pushed to the side and covered with tarps. My sweet cousin had draped the mahogany bookshelves with tarps, as well. “I promised to help you with this project,” he said, huffing. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Urso put you up to this.”

“Did not.”

“He wants you to watch over me.”

“Haven’t spoken word one to him.”

“Then Jordan or Meredith.”

Matthew frowned. His eyebrows merged. “This was my very own idea. I have a few, you know.”

“I didn’t mean . . .” I grinned. “What can I do to help?”

Rags circled my ankles; his tail batted my trousers.

“Grab the cat and stand to the side to watch my next magic trick.”

I picked up Rags, who chugged his satisfaction. Matthew unrolled the newly dry-cleaned Persian carpet. I couldn’t believe how gorgeous and rich the blue central medallion had turned out. Amazing when dust was removed how a color could shine.

“It’s stunning,” I said.

“Now,” Matthew said as he removed the tarps from the furniture, “let’s put this stuff in place, and then we’ll fetch the desk. It’s okay to disassemble the crime scene, right?”

I nodded.

Ten minutes later, after rearranging what was already in the room, I set Rags into a Queen Anne chair and told him to stay. “Back soon.”

As Matthew and I traipsed across the yard to the garage, I noticed his shoulders were tense and his neck rigid. I assumed he was tamping down the feelings that would boil up once he reentered the crime scene. I had visited the garage a number of times. I wasn’t inured, but I could breathe normally.

When Matthew crossed the threshold of the garage, he halted and his back stiffened.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I will be.” He strode to the secretary’s desk and ran his hand along the edge. “It’s beautiful. You and Noelle . . .” His voice caught. “You did good work.”

“She said her paps—her grandfather—was a master builder.”

“I didn’t know that.” Matthew moved to the far end of the desk and lifted. “I’ll walk backward.” As we carried the desk to the office, he said, “I keep thinking about the night she died, Charlotte. It haunts me. Her death was so brutal. And I can’t help thinking about those missing journal pages. They have to hold the key that she referred to. She was steadfast when it came to making notes. What if a Shelton Nelson Winery wine she tasted was bad? What if she wrote that in her notes?”

“And that would be worth killing over because . . . ”

“Subpar wines might be predictive of the winery’s future. That happened to Beaulieu Vineyards back in the 1990s when they released a batch of wine that tested positive for TCA, which is usually attributed to bad corks. It created a lot of bad press and consumer backlash.”

“You’re suggesting that Shelton removed the journal pages to keep a tainted batch of wine a secret.”

He nodded. “Or Liberty or Harold could have.”

We positioned the desk on the carpet where it had stood before, then fetched the other office furniture and the Tupperware boxes filled with my parents’ love letters. After we set everything in place, I took in the room.

“It looks beautiful, Matthew. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He turned to me, his eyes filled with moisture. “Charlotte, may I see Noelle’s room? Maybe something will jog my memory.”

“Jordan encouraged me to do the same. Review every detail.”

“When did you talk to him?”

I paused. Heat rushed up my neck and cheeks. “Actually I
saw
him. He sneaked into town last night. He left before dawn.”

“The devil he did.”

Jordan’s clandestine visit made me think of Noelle and Shelton. “Matthew, the other day at your house, when you and Pépère were repairing the plumbing, you seemed surprised to hear Pépère say that Noelle and Shelton appeared
intime
.”

Matthew grunted. “For all we know, Pépère misinterpreted the gesture. You know what I mean; either Noelle patted Shelton’s hand or whispered in his ear. Innocent, except to the observer.”

“That’s not why I’m bringing up the subject. It bothered you that you didn’t know about her visit.”

“Yes, of course it did.” He sighed. “But you know how it is. When you go to a town where you know a lot of people, you can’t always see everyone. And, honestly, wouldn’t you agree that people are an enigma? There are all sorts of things we don’t know about someone else’s life. You don’t know everything about Jordan’s. I don’t know everything about Meredith’s. But I intend to learn. That’s an investment of a lifetime.”

He was right. I let the matter go.

We climbed the stairs to the second floor. I swung open the door to the guest room. Matthew edged past me and stood in the middle of the room, pivoting as he scanned the space. I hadn’t found the wherewithal to pack up Noelle’s things yet. I didn’t have a clue where I would send them.

“Where did you find the journals?” Matthew asked.

“The diary was slotted into the cubbies of the desk. The wine journal was tucked between the mattresses.”

“And both were missing pages?”

I nodded. “Urso claims his guys have reviewed them and found nothing. Do you see anything I might have missed?”

Matthew shook his head then pinched his lips together to prevent tears from falling from his eyes. The sight made my heart wrench.

I said, “Let’s get something to eat. How does a smoked trout and Gouda sandwich on pumpernickel with sliced apples sound?”

“Fine. In Noelle’s honor, I’ll open a bottle of the Maison Champy Bourgogne. She loved that wine.”

After our meal, we adjourned to the office for an after-dinner drink. Matthew sat behind the desk; I nestled into one of the armchairs with Rags curled on the floor beside my feet. Over a tiny glass of port, we rehashed what Noelle could have written in her journals.

“So many pages of her personal diary were dedicated to inspirational quotes,” I said. “Telling her not to quit and never give up. That might have been her way of exorcising her past.”

“Her past?”

“If she was a scam artist—”

“A what? No way,” he said with force. “She was as honest as all get-out.”

“Not even as a child? If coerced by her parents?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really don’t know.” I filled him in about Noelle’s parents being grifters.

“Wow.” Matthew rubbed his neck. “I had no clue. Maybe that’s why she was so rules-oriented as an adult. I remember once, when a customer used a counterfeit credit card, Noelle chased the guy for blocks to apprehend him.” He sank into himself, looking even more discouraged than before. The woman he thought he knew had so many secrets. “Talk to me about the journals again. Describe them.”

“On the last page of the wine-related journal, she had jotted the usual notes around the edges, as she was inclined to do. She wrote about the nose and aromas. A word was cut off:
short.
I guess she could have been hinting that the wine was short on flavor. The label was gone, but there was a stick figure drawing of a guy in a noose. Maybe the word
short
was part of a hangman game. A doodle.”

“Or she was suggesting that whoever made an insubstantial wine was going to hang for what he or she did.”

“That’s a hefty penalty, don’t you think?”

Matthew set down his empty snifter and rose from the chair. He paced in front of the desk. “I keep thinking about the mud on her boots. Would she really have gone on a hike to Kindred Creek at night?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too. Boyd said she wasn’t a nature girl.”

Matthew stopped pacing mid-carpet. “What if she went somewhere else? The day we toured the winery, Shelton told us to be careful because the path was slippery. What if Noelle went there?”

“Lois believed Noelle was investigating something. What if, on an earlier visit to town—the visit you didn’t know about—Noelle saw Harold meeting a lover clandestinely in Shelton’s tasting room?”

“Harold has a lover?”

“Boy, I thought you were up to date on all the gossip. Yes, he might. I’m not sure. But what if he does, and on the night Noelle died, she went to the tasting room to take compromising photos of Harold and his paramour?” I took a sip of port. “On the other hand, I remember Noelle saying that going on a hike would be like going on a quest. Taking photos of an affair doesn’t seem to fall into that category. What if she went to find something else, like evidence of the subpar wine you mentioned?”

Matthew snapped his fingers. “The day we toured the place, Shelton was acting strangely. You know, showing off, as if trying to impress Noelle. I had expected some swagger—he’s a peacock of a guy—but his behavior was beyond normal for him.”

“He was flirting with her.”

“No, it was more like he was taunting her. You know, by revealing the secret passage and bragging about his extensive wine collection.”