The Long Quiche Goodbye (25 page)

She appeared, Rags in her arms, and squealed. “Oh, my, what—?”

“Darned old house needs a major tune-up.”

“Do you want a ladder?”

“No use. My feet wouldn’t reach. Besides, I can’t hold on that long. Grab some pillows from the living room. Pile them on the floor beneath me.”

“Will do.” She released Rags, who stood beneath me, mewling like crazy.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m okay. Move away. Go sit.” He weaved a figure eight beneath me. How I wished he was a dog and obeyed commands. “Rags, split, darn it!” I kicked off my shoes. They hit the floor with a thud-thunk. Rags scampered under the foyer table and peered out at me, his eyes glistening with betrayal.

Rebecca returned with two seat cushions and as many throw pillows as she could manage to squeeze beneath her arms. She nudged my shoes out of the way with her toe, then she tossed the pillows on the floor. “Let go. I’ll catch you.” She jutted out her thin arms.

If I wasn’t so panicked, I would have laughed. Little ol’ her catching slightly bigger ol’ me.

I landed on the pillows, heels first, then on my rear end. Rebecca braced my back. Rags leapt into my lap and dug his claws into my thighs. “Ouch!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I booted Rags off of me and struggled to my knees, then my feet. The good news was that everything worked. I’d have some black and blue marks, but nothing was broken. The other good news was that I hadn’t slammed my head on the hardwood and ended up with a concussion. I’d suffered one years ago in a rousing game of softball. The recovery had taken weeks. “Let’s get some ribbon and mark off that section of the staircase. I don’t want the girls or Matthew getting hurt.”

I returned to the laundry room where I kept my sewing supplies and grabbed a spool of grosgrain ribbon and a washcloth. Giving one end of the ribbon to Rebecca, who remained at the base of the stairs, I gingerly climbed the staircase, hugging the wall. When I reached the top, I bravely ventured toward the banister, looped my end of the ribbon around the newel on the second floor balustrade and said, “Okay, Rebecca, tie it off on that newel down there.” Once that chore was done, I sank to my knees to mop up whatever was slippery on the stair thinking the girls, against house rules, must have sneaked some kind of food up to their room. But I was wrong. What I saw made me shudder.

Sawdust.

CHAPTER 27

My stomach did a flip-flop. Either I had really professional termites or somebody had wanted to sabotage me. Because of the marks on the bottom edges of the banister posts, I voted for the latter. That’s what must have scared Rags into hiding. Who had broken into my house? Was it with the intent to kill me? I couldn’t believe an angry Cheese Shop customer would resort to a home invasion. We had comment cards by the register for passive-aggressive people and, to date, hadn’t received one. Did Ed’s killer think I was getting too close to the truth? I shuddered at the thought.

I grabbed Rags and said, “Rebecca, let’s go. Out of the house. Now!”

“But shouldn’t we call Chief Urso?”

“I’ll call him on our way to the theater.” I would not renege on my promise to Grandmère.

“You’re taking the cat?”

“Rags loves theater.”

Trotting down Cherry Orchard, I punched Urso’s telephone number into my cell phone. As usual, he did not answer, but I cut him some slack. It was after business hours. I left a message and told him where I was headed.

Halfway to the theater, thunder rumbled and Rags mewed in my arms. “Yes, buddy, a storm is brewing, but don’t worry. I’ve got you, you big baby.” I nuzzled his head between his ears and he purred loudly. I hoped the skies wouldn’t open up before we arrived at the theater. The town’s farmers would welcome a hearty downpour. Rags, Rebecca, and I, on the other hand, wouldn’t. We had left the house without an umbrella. I could only hope the rain would pass by the time I returned home later tonight. If I returned home. The twins were staying with Grandmère. Perhaps that was what I would do as well. My insides felt a little queasy even thinking about sleeping in my house alone. Matthew was spending a little one-on-one time with Meredith at her place.

“You know,” Rebecca said, huffing beside me, her espadrilles smacking the sidewalk, “I saw something on
Law & Order
. No, that’s wrong, it was in a movie. That old one with Glenn Close.”

“
Fatal Attraction?
”

“No, not that one. Anyway, this woman . . . yes, it was Glenn Close and what’s-his-name . . .” She snapped her fingers. “Bridges. Jeff Bridges.”

“
The Jagged Edge
.” If I didn’t have a good mystery to read and shows on the Food Network Channel didn’t catch my eye, I would seek out a classic movie for entertainment. At last count, I had watched fifty of the American Film Institute’s top one hundred movies.

“Anyway, she figured out what had happened to his wife because of a typewriter, but she couldn’t prove it. She was certain that he knew she had figured it out. So she laid in wait for him. He came into her house that night wearing a mask, and he had this big knife and—”

“Rebecca, stop. I don’t need you to scare me any more than I already am.”

“I just wanted to say that, to prove he was guilty, she had to set him up. Sometimes if there’s not enough evidence—”

“I don’t know what evidence Urso has,” I said. “He hasn’t shared any of that with me.” Why would he? For over a week, he had believed that my sweet grandmother was guilty. Well, she couldn’t be any longer. She wouldn’t have severed my banister.

I cycled through my list of suspects one more time. Other than Kristine, I had three: Swoozie, who wanted Ed’s love; Vivian, who had argued with Ed; and Felicia, who was certainly handy with garden tools. Could she wield a saw? And then I added one more suspect: Luigi. He had known Ed during high school. He admitted that he and Ed had been rivals for years. In high school, they’d played sports and probably vied for the same girls or student government positions or, knowing Luigi, prom king. Both had been building up real estate conglomerates in town. But Ed owned more property. Maybe Luigi resented Ed because of that. Maybe he killed Ed to eliminate the competition. Had Luigi put in an anonymous bid on Vivian’s building like I had for mine? Ed might have found out and refused to do business with him. The night Ed died, Luigi could have gone outside for his cigarette, caught sight of Ed leaving Fromagerie Bessette, and seen his opportunity.

I nearly stopped in my tracks as I realized the ridiculousness of my theory. Luigi couldn’t have gotten hold of one of the olive-wood-handled knives. He hadn’t come to the gala opening. And I knew, for a fact, that the murder weapon had come from my shop.

“We’re here,” Rebecca said, stopping for a moment to catch her breath.

Providence Playhouse was located at the north side of town. It had been built in the late eighteen hundreds and should have been a run-down heap, but with funds raised by my grandmother and her cronies, the playhouse had shored up its aging stage, hung new drapes and stage lights, acquired a state-of-the-art tech board, and restructured its backstage environment, which included fabulous dressing rooms and a full-sized green room. The fundraising campaign for the auditorium, whereby townsfolk could donate a plush loge seat and have a gold plaque with his or her name posted on the seat, had reached its goal of replacing five hundred seats in less than a year. Grandmère had danced around the living room with Pépère to celebrate the campaign’s success.

I pushed open the playhouse’s gilded doors and stepped into the foyer. The inner doors leading to the theater stood open. The strains of “Good Morning, Baltimore”—in tune—sent chills down my spine. Good chills.
Practice, practice, practice,
was Grandmère’s motto, not
practice makes perfect
. Nothing could ever be perfect, she said, and to strive for perfection was setting oneself up for failure. Was that what I was doing? Practicing out my theories and setting myself up for failure? Had I voiced those opinions around someone who now wanted me dead?

“Wow!” Rebecca whistled as she stepped into the darkened auditorium. “The set is beautiful. And the dancers . . .” She let out another whistle.

On stage, six ballerinas pirouetted in front of a silhouette of the Baltimore skyline. Fake stars lit the gray blue sky overhead. Delilah, dressed in a red leotard and skirt, her hair loose and lush hanging down her back, paced the apron in front of the dancers and banged out the rhythm of the music with a pole. “That’s it.
Jeté, chassé,
one-two-three-excellent,” she intoned, as if she was channeling Grandmère. Why she needed my moral support was beyond me.

I strode down the left aisle, eager to let her know that I had arrived, but I was distracted by people talking at the back of the theater on the right. I recognized the voices and a prickle of apprehension shot through me. I set Rags on a seat in the front row and said, “Stay here, fella. Rebecca, you too.”

She sat obediently and stroked Rags’s fur. “Where are you going?”

“Back in a sec.” I made a beeline toward the rear of the theater, stopped at the last row, and put my hands on my hips. “What are you doing here?”

Grandmère beamed up at me.

Pépère didn’t look nearly so happy. He said, “I couldn’t talk her out of coming.”

“I thought you were going home to change,” Grandmère said.

“Long story. Answer me.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Her eyes glistened with child-like joy.

“The ballet will be great,” I conceded.

“No,
chérie
. Isn’t it wonderful that I’m going to be set free? My house arrest is over.”

“Grandmère, it isn’t over until Chief Urso says it’s over and he—”

“—doesn’t say it’s over.” Urso cut across the back row of the theater.

I moaned. Why, oh why, had I told him to meet me here? The light from the projection room illuminated the upper half of his angry face and made the badge on his uniform gleam bright gold.

“What in the heck are you doing, Bernadette?” he barked. She scrambled to her feet. Pépère rose and propped her at the small of her back.

“If townsfolk see you, they’re going to assume I shirked my duty,” Urso continued.

“But Charlotte said—”

“She was wrong,” he snapped, and glowered at me.

I gulped. Earlier, when Grandmère had swooned following her rally speech, I didn’t dare tell her that Kristine had yet another alibi, and that the new one was solid.

“Let’s go.” Urso crooked a finger, urging my grandmother to move into the aisle. He pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket.

“You’re not going to cuff her!” My voice reached a decibel I didn’t know I could hit.

“I’m taking her to jail. She’s a flight risk.”

“U-ey, be reasonable. She’s not running from you. She’s feeble.”

“I’m nothing of the sort,” my grandmother said.

“Please, U-ey—”

“Chief Urso.”

“Chief Urso, sorry,” I said. “Please give her twenty-four hours more at home. At least until the end of voting day.”

“I can’t, Charlotte. I have to—”

“No one is going to think you’re shirking your duty. For heaven’s sake, you never have and you never will. You are Mr. Reliable with a capital R.” I restrained his arm. “Please. Nobody in town believes she killed Ed. And I promise she’ll stay put.” I crossed my heart like a Girl Scout, hoping to appeal to the former Eagle Scout in him. The ploy worked.

He pocketed the handcuffs. “But she has to leave now.”

“I’ve only seen the first act,” Grandmère protested.

“Gee, life’s tough, Bernadette,” Urso said. “Go home, now, or I’ll put you in my cruiser.”

“I’m going, Officer.” She muttered a few salty French words as she scuttled from between the seats.

Urso clinched Pépère’s elbow before he could escape. “I know she’s a handful. Do your best.”

As Pépère escorted Grandmère from the building, Urso turned to me. He tried his best not to let a smile reach his eyes, which made me feel a whole ton better. He wasn’t mad at Grandmère, just flummoxed as to what to do with someone as willful as she was. He said, “What was so important that I had to track you down?”

“Did you meet with Tyanne?”

He nodded. “She changed her claim. She’s a wreck and on sedatives. And I verified Kristine’s alibi with Mr. Nakamura. He said client privilege prohibited him from telling me anything further.” He perched on the arm of the loge chair. “Your turn. What else have you done tonight to impede my investigation?”

“I’m not impeding anything. I’m getting close. I know that because someone sabotaged my house.”

“Sabotaged?”

“Whoever it was cut the posts of my banister. It gave way. I almost—” I started to shiver.

“Let’s go.”

Minutes later, beating out the rain by seconds, I entered my house through the kitchen door, with Rags tucked under my arm. Urso raced in behind me and ordered me to sit at the kitchen table while he took a look-see. He returned, a frown creasing his forehead.

“House is clear.”

“But you saw the flakes of sawdust on the floor.”

He nodded.

I said, “Someone cut the wood deliberately.”

“I’ll repair it for you.” He flipped a chair around and straddled it. “In the meantime, who would do such a thing?”

“Felicia comes to mind,” I said, putting voice to my thoughts. “She’s handy with tools. Maybe she thinks I have a photographic memory and could figure out if something was doctored in the museum ledger that I rifled through. And . . .” I paused for effect. “I think she lied about her alibi.”

“How so?”

“She told me she met with her sister Lois that night, but her sister said she was out of town visiting their aunt. Felicia wasn’t happy when I told her what Lois said.”

“You told her—”

“And then, earlier today, Felicia and Lois dropped by The Cheese Shop, and Felicia made certain that Lois revised her story, to the minute. I think Lois is lying.”

“Okay.” Urso took a pen and a pad of paper from his pocket and jotted notes. “Who else is on your suspect list?”

“That tour guide, Swoozie Swenten. She was Ed’s business partner. I think she was in love with him. Maybe Ed was getting divorced so he could marry her and then reneged. And Vivian Williams was having lease trouble with Ed. I can’t see that as a reason to kill him, especially since her lease deal was closed the day before he died. Killing him wouldn’t have changed anything. And then there’s Luigi Bozzuto, but I can’t figure out how he would have gotten hold of the murder weapon.”

Urso leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “You’ve been busy working those little gray cells.”

“Don’t patronize me. What do you have?”

He jammed his lips together, flipped his notebook shut, and pocketed it.

“Not sharing, huh?”

He chuckled. “Look, I want you to stay with your grandmother tonight. I’ll shore up your banister, and tomorrow we’ll have a better idea of how to proceed, okay?”

I nodded. I was exhausted and ready for a good night’s sleep. Rags and I left with an umbrella in hand.

Grandmère and Pépère fussed over me like I was three years old, and I let them.