To Brie or Not to Brie (10 page)

Urso kept mute.

Rebecca flicked his arm. “C’mon, Chief, it’s your turn to spill. The truth is going
to get out anyway. If he wasn’t shot, what happened?”

Urso screwed up his mouth then exhaled. “Someone
bashed the victim’s head with a five-gallon container of Brie and blueberry ice cream.”

“Oh, Lord.” I covered my mouth. If I hadn’t given Hugo the recipe for the ice cream…
Don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte. Giacomo Capriotti would still be dead. The killer
would have used some other weapon.

“Why was he in the Igloo?” I said.

“Got me,” Urso replied.

“Did Hugo give a reason?”

“Nope.”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “It sounds like an impulsive murder, Chief. Otherwise,
the killer would have brought a gun.”

“You don’t know that he didn’t, Miss Zook,” Urso said. “Don’t go theorizing.”

Rebecca had a habit. Some would say it was good; others, including our revered chief
of police, would call it bad. Rebecca adored crime shows. She watched as many cop
and detective episodes on television as she could, and when she missed one, she would
watch the rerun or stream it on her computer. This slapdash education convinced her
that she was as good as any professional detective. By the look on Urso’s face, he
would beg to differ.

“Where were the Scoops after the shop closed?” I asked.

“Both were at a study group until two
A.M.
” Urso said. “They woke up after noon and slogged into the shop an hour ago. They
discovered the body together.”

Iris would be thrilled. Her daughter was exonerated.

“At least you know it wasn’t Jordan or Jacky or Hugo,” I said.

“Look”—Urso scratched his chin—“I’m doing my best. I promise you I will solve this
crime, and our town can get back to business as usual. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m
going to A Wheel Good Time.”

“To do what?” I asked.

“I’d like to have a chat with Miss Peterson,” Urso said.

Uh-oh.
He hadn’t referred to Jacky by her first name. Whenever Urso reverted to using formal
names, it spelled trouble.

“Urso, you know her. Very well.”

“She’s strong, Charlotte,” Urso said. “With all the pottery work and lifting the baby,
hoisting a five-gallon container of ice cream would be easy.”

“She didn’t do this. And she has an alibi…Hugo.”

“People fall asleep.”

He had a point. Jordan had slept like a baby while I wrestled all night with images
of a stalker lurking outside Jacky’s house. But Jacky did not kill her husband. I
felt it in my bones. “Chief—”

Urso pushed past me and directed his deputy to keep the lookie-loos off the sidewalk
and away from the ice cream shop, and then he marched down Hope Street toward Jacky’s
pottery shop.

Not willing to let Jacky suffer Urso’s interrogation alone, I followed.

So did Rebecca. “Did you find any forensic evidence, Chief?” she asked as we passed
Mystic Moon Candle Boutique.

I cut a look in her direction.

“Hair fibers?” she went on, ignoring my second silent plea to cease with the questions.
“Footprints? Was there a fight? Was there tissue under his fingernails?”

Urso worked his tongue inside his mouth.

I whispered, “Rebecca, stop.”

She winked. “Sorry, I can’t help myself. Once a TV junkie, always a TV junkie.”

I grabbed her arm in front of Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe and said, “I mean it. Don’t
harangue him.” I appreciated her pluckiness, but unwilling to get on Urso’s bad side,
I ordered her to return to the shop and relieve Grandmère.

She protested, but I insisted. Like a chastened puppy, she lowered her head and scurried
past us.

I drew alongside Urso and said, “U-ey, talk to me.”

Umberto Urso and I had grown up together. Many of us called him by his nickname U-ey,
created because of the two capital
U
s that started his names. He didn’t appreciate when we used it in formal situations,
but now was different, wasn’t it? Just the two of us. No crowds. He growled under
his breath. I pressed on, despite his warning grunt.

“C’mon, it’s me,” I said. “Share. Maybe I can help.”

“Charlotte, we are not
CSI.
What we found is inconclusive.”

“Meaning you found something.”

He raked the nape of his neck with his fingertips. “We found black hair.”

“Hair. That’s something.”

“It’s nothing. Hugo’s hair is dark.”

So was one of the Scoops’—not Iris’s daughter. And Jacky and Jordan both had dark
hair, but they were innocent.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Nothing. Not a darned thing.” After a long moment, he said, “For your information,
I did guess that Jacky was hiding her identity. I never figured out why. How stupid
am I?”

“You’re not,” I said. “They went to great lengths.”

“Is Jordan hiding his identity, too?” He held up a finger. “You don’t need to answer.
Of course he is. Otherwise, Jacky’s husband would have found her sooner.”

I leaped in front of him to make him halt in his tracks. “There’s another guy that
Giacomo Capriotti was traveling with. Anabelle said it was his brother.”

“Anabelle?”

“She met them in All Booked Up. She didn’t catch their names. They came into Fromagerie
Bessette, too. I had no idea who they were. Jacky thought she saw her husband arguing
with his brother on the street the other day, but he looked so different—so much thinner—that
she wasn’t sure if…” I wagged my hand. “That doesn’t matter. What if Giacomo’s brother
killed him?”

“What does the brother look like?”

“He’s tan and thin and he’s got pockmarked skin. You’ve got to track him down. I didn’t
see him in the crowd outside the Igloo, but somebody might have. A killer likes to
come back to the scene of the crime, right? If he was there, someone can point you
in the right direction.”

“Is he tall?”

“Tall enough. Anabelle…” I twirled a finger.

“Got it. She’s short. She doesn’t have perspective.” Urso sidestepped me and continued
west on Hope Street.

“Wait,” I said. “Where are you going?”

“To the pottery shop. I want to hear Jacky’s alibi from her.”

A Wheel Good Time was located next door to Fromagerie Bessette. Urso entered the pottery
store at a fast clip. In the nick of time, I caught the glass door before it smacked
me in the face. So much for gallantry. The scent of freshly baked, hand-glazed pottery
hung in the air. A gaggle of teenage girls sat on stools around a rectangular table
at the front of the shop. Each girl had a round unfinished bowl in front of her. A
tray of paints, brushes, and jars of water to cleanse their tools sat in the middle
of the table.

Jacky hovered beside Cecily’s stroller in the back. She rose as Urso approached, brushed
her hair over her shoulders, and smoothed the front of her paint-splattered smock.
A thin sheen of perspiration clung to her flushed face. Cecily lay in the stroller,
sound asleep, a crocheted blanket tucked about her teensy body.

“Umberto.” Jacky gave a little nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Where were you last night?” he said, all business.

“At home.” She raised a worried eyebrow. “Why?”

“Alone?”

“Hugo was with me until eleven.” She folded her arms across her chest. “He left to
attend to some business.”

“He left?” I blurted, remembering how Hugo had sworn to stay with her and defend her,
if necessary. “He didn’t spend the night?”

“It’s way too early in our relationship for that.”

“Where did he go?” Urso asked.

“Urso,” I cut in. “Hugo lied about his alibi.”

“Charlotte, hold off.” He stared at Jacky. “You don’t know where he went?”

“I’m not his keeper. I assume he went to close his store.”

Urso shifted his weight. Was Hugo now his number one suspect, or was he considering
Jacky, since she didn’t have anyone who could vouch for her whereabouts?

Jacky cleared her throat. “I repeat, why are you asking?”

“You haven’t heard,” Urso said.

“Heard what?”

“Your husband came to town.”

“My husband? How do you know about—?” She cut a quick glance at me then lifted her
chin and scowled at Urso. “You were always curious, Umberto. Yes, I’m married, but
I don’t consider myself married. I didn’t tell you because—”

“He’s dead,” Urso said. “Murdered.”

Jacky sucked in air. She clutched the bib of her smock so fiercely that her knuckles
turned white. “How? When?” No way could she have manufactured her shock. She hadn’t
a clue. Urso had to realize that, but his shoulders remained as taut as steel. Did
he think she was acting? “Was he killed last night? Is that why you’re asking all
these questions? I was home.”

“You knew he was in town,” Urso said.

Jacky shot me another look. “Did you tell him I believed Giacomo was lurking outside
my house?”

I shook my head. “When I found out it was Giacomo
who was killed, I told Urso that you thought you had seen him outside the bookstore.
That’s all.”

In my defense, Urso said, “I had to pry it out of her.”

Jacky’s gaze softened. At least she knew I was able to keep a secret. Up to a point.
Score one for the home team. Slowly I released the breath I was holding.

Urso waited for an answer.

“I wasn’t sure it was really him by the bookstore.” Jacky shuddered. “I thought if
I didn’t say it out loud, then it wouldn’t be true.”

But she had said the words out loud—to Jordan and me.

“I worried that if he found me, he might hurt Cecily. She’s not his daughter. She’s…It’s
a long story.”

Urso slipped his hands into his pockets and immediately looked less stern. Did they
teach that move in cop school? “If you were fearful, why didn’t you come to me?” Did
I detect concern in his voice? TLC was better than reproach any day.

“We broke up,” Jacky said softly. She had cared deeply about Urso. Being the romantic
that I am, I had secretly hoped they would find their way back to each other.

“Let’s review last night,” Urso said. “After Hugo departed, did you go out?”

“No. I would never leave Cecily alone, and I certainly wouldn’t have taken her with
me. The air was too cool.” Cecily murmured. Jacky bent over the stroller and ran a
finger down the girl’s cheek. Cecily settled down, and Jacky rose and folded her arms
across her chest. “She’s got a cold. She was colicky. She’s not sleeping well at night.
She’s—”

The front door flew open. “You!” a man bellowed.

I spun around. Giacomo’s brother stormed inside. The tweenies screeched. A couple
of them slid off their stools and clustered in the corner.

The man’s sinewy arms jutted from his rolled-up sleeves
and his fists were pumping. A bantam rooster at a cockfight couldn’t have looked scrappier.

“That’s him,” I said. “The brother.”

“Vinnie,” Jacky whispered.

As he approached, Vinnie whacked raw pottery off tables. The items crashed to the
ground and broke into pieces.

Urso jerked his hands out of his pockets, hovered his right hand over his pistol,
and positioned himself in front of Jacky. “Sir, stop right there.”

I edged to Urso’s side to form a blockade.

“She killed him,” Vinnie said. “Jessica killed him.”

“I’m no longer Jessica,” Jacky said. “I’ve changed my name.”

“I don’t give a dang what you call yourself, woman. You killed him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You left him.” Vinnie had a screechy voice, like nails on a chalkboard. “It nearly
broke his heart. He came to apologize, and he’s dead. Murdered.”

I said, “I’m sure Chief Urso—”

Vinnie whirled on me. “Who are you?”

I scooched back; my knees clacked together. “A fr-friend,” I sputtered.

“Shut up, blondie.” He glared at Urso. His gaze took in Urso’s uniform and then Urso’s
hand hovering over the gun. “Are you the police?”

“Chief of police,” Urso said, his tone steady, though his fingers flicked with tension.

“Arrest her.” Vinnie shot his forefinger at Jacky. “She’s heir to fifty percent of
my brother’s estate.”

“No, arrest him.” Jacky mirrored the accusatory gesture. “He hated Giacomo. Always
did. What were you arguing with him about the other day? Money?” She flapped her hand.
“Vinnie’s a gambler. He would be in jail or dead if Giacomo didn’t always bail him
out.”

“Liar.”

“Buffoon.”

“Do you inherit the other fifty percent?” Jacky said.

“No.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Vinnie stuffed a hand in his pocket. “My brother has…
had
a foundation.”

“Urso.” I snapped my fingers softly to catch his attention and whispered, “Vinnie
might be the person Anabelle saw running from the scene.”

“Him?” Urso said. “He can’t be more than five-six.”

“Remember, she’s—”

“—short. Got it. Point made.” Urso held up his hands. “Okay, folks, that’s enough.”
He hooked a thumb at the tweenies. “Young ladies, take a walk around the block. Get
some fresh air.”