To Brie or Not to Brie (18 page)

“Or his brother’s last will and testament, naming Vinnie his heir, too.” Rebecca paused
for effect. “His
sole
heir.”

I nixed that idea. Would the guy be stupid enough to travel around with something
so incriminating?

“Maybe you’ll find a gun,” Rebecca said.

I gaped at her. What if Giacomo Capriotti had come to the Igloo with the gun Jacky
said he carried? What if Vinnie met him, they argued, and the gun flew free. What
if Vinnie retrieved the gun and hid it in his car? Would that evidence convince Urso
that Vinnie was guilty?

Except Giacomo wasn’t killed with a gun. He was killed with a container of ice cream.

“Hold it.” I ground in my heels by the cash register and opened my arms, palms up,
a weak gesture in the face of the defiant stares of Rebecca and Tyanne. “Why must
I be the one to investigate?”

“Because—” Rebecca paused as a woman in a
Stomping the Grapes
T-shirt entered The Cheese Shop.

In unison, we welcomed her. Like most newcomers, she gave a silent nod and, as if
drawn by a magnet, ambled toward the cheese counter.

I said, “Let me know if you need any help.”

The woman scrutinized the cheese in the case with downright awe. “How about a taste
of that Stravecchio?” she said. “It looks like Parmesan. Is that what it tastes like?”

I moved behind the counter and lifted a wedge of the buttery cheese from the case.
“It’s similar but not as salty.” I set the cheese on the wood counter, removed the
saran,
shaved off a slice, and offered it to her. “It’s nutty and nuanced with rich caramel
flavors.”

The woman slipped the piece into her mouth and cooed. “Mmm, delightful.”

Rebecca sidled up to the woman. “If you like that, you might want to pick up a jar
of Quail Ridge honey to go with it.” She pointed to shelves on the far side of the
shop.

As if Rebecca had cast a magical spell over her, the woman walked, trancelike, toward
the crackers and other accoutrements.

Rebecca hooked a finger at Tyanne, and the two hurried around the register and drew
me into a huddle.

“Go to Vinnie’s car, Charlotte,” Rebecca continued. “We’ll take care of her.” She
indicated the customer. “Peek inside the car.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the one who checks out cars on the street.”

My hand flew to my chest. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do, sugar.” Tyanne tittered. “You’re always making sure they have money
in their meters. Why, I’ve even seen you remove a parking ticket from the windshield
and give it to Chief Urso to handle.”

Okay, so I didn’t like it when our deputies acted like rookies and ticketed everyone
who violated the hourly limit; I wanted tourists to feel they had plenty of time to
browse and shop in Providence. So did Urso. But I didn’t peer through car windows.

“What if I don’t see any IOUs or ledgers inside the car?” I asked.

Rebecca smirked. “Maybe you’ll see a compromising picture. One he’ll bargain for.”

The thought made me cringe. “Why on earth would Vinnie carry something like that around?”

“Men do these things,” Rebecca answered, as if she had
been a woman of the world her entire life and not a mere two-plus years.

“Not men I know,” I argued. “Is this another idea you picked up from a cockamamie
TV show?”

Tyanne cackled.

Rebecca shot her a caustic look. “They are not cockamamie shows. They’re packed with
good tips. I saw this
Law & Order
episode”—she rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger—“or maybe it was on
Castle
, it doesn’t matter. In the show, the detective scrounged around a bad guy’s car and
found an address book.”

“That’s breaking and entering,” Tyanne said.

Rebecca raised a scornful eyebrow. “Boy, are you green. It’s done all the time.”

“It is? You mean…?” Tyanne gaped. She looked to me for confirmation. “Have you?”

I couldn’t deny it. I had. Sure, at the time, I had broken and entered with what I
had perceived as cause, but a lawyer would have had a tough time clearing me based
on my personal opinion.

“Maybe an address book would provide a list of Vinnie’s personal contacts,” Rebecca
went on. “If we figure out who he owes money to, we can—”

“—threaten him with exposure,” Tyanne said, finishing the thought.

It was my turn to gawk. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Honey, in the Bible Belt, they say an eye for an eye.”

Maybe they did, but I knew a lot of Bible Belt people who didn’t resort to outright
vengeance.

“Now mosey on out there”—Rebecca prodded me—“and peek into his car. It’s the blue
Firebird.”

“Go on, sugar.” Tyanne whisked her hand like a broom.

I glanced at the customer, who was peering from one jar of honey to the next while
silently incanting:
Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.

“I told you, we’ll handle her,” Rebecca said. “Go.”

I didn’t resist. I had to admit, I was as curious as they were. What if I did find
something incriminating? If confronted with the evidence, would Vinnie fold like a
bad poker player? Would he leave Providence and allow Jacky and Jordan to live in
peace? I had to try.

Vinnie’s 1970 royal blue Firebird stood near the Country Kitchen diner. The front
of the car was filthy, the grille splattered with bugs. We had a car wash facility
at the edge of town, but he hadn’t made use of it. However, he had squeegeed the windows.
I could see inside. A whole ton of junk sat piled on the passenger seat and the coupe
back seat. More was wedged into every spot in between. Papers, books, newspapers,
wadded-up fast-food bags, a camera, a couple of duffel bags. Had Giacomo Capriotti
driven with Vinnie to Providence in this mess? From all I had heard from Jacky, I
couldn’t believe he had. He was a limousine kind of guy. Maybe he had decided to travel
incognito. If so, where was his stuff? In the trunk? I caught a glint of metal. Not
a gun, but almost as good. It was the hasp of a black leather book, which was poking
from beneath a sheaf of newspapers. Would I find an IOU, a ledger, or last will and
testament tucked inside the book?

The driver’s door was locked; the passenger door wasn’t. People were pretty trusting
in Providence. All I had to do was open the door. Get in, get out. Adrenaline zipping
through me, I stole to the sidewalk and looked left and right. The coast was clear.
As I reached for the door handle, I heard a familiar voice.

“After you, milady,” Urso said.

I snapped to attention and shoved my hands in my pockets. A kid kicking a tin can
down the street couldn’t have looked any more innocent.

Urso, in uniform, emerged from the diner, balancing a to-go tray with two sodas on
the palm of one hand while holding the front door open with the other.

“Milady?” Edy giggled as she swept past him, the skirt
of her all-black bohemian outfit swirling in the breeze. “How quaint. I like this
Shakespeare thing.” Coyly, she batted Urso’s arm and then plucked at her spiky hair
while her eyelids fluttered at warp speed.

My stomach did a flip-flop. Was she his current flame? Not that I was upset. I wasn’t.
I wanted him to date. I hoped he would fall in love and get married and have a family.
But not with Edy. She wasn’t his type and, at least to me, she was possibly a suspect
in Giacomo Capriotti’s murder.

Stop it, Charlotte. What did she have to gain from killing him? She said she didn’t
need money.

I recalled the cash that Giacomo Capriotti was supposedly carrying on his person.
Was it hidden in Vinnie’s Firebird? Had he killed his brother to get the money? With
Urso nearby, I couldn’t find out.

I slapped on a game face and hustled toward them. “Fancy seeing you here,” I said
to Urso, acknowledging Edy with a nod. “Got a hot date?” Inwardly, I groaned. Why
did I sound so lame? Why was I trying so hard?

Edy widened her baby blues. “We’re having a hot
lunch
.”

“At the precinct,” Urso said quickly, his tone a tad defensive. “We’re heating up
those sandwiches like you suggested.”

Edy slipped her hand around Urso’s elbow. “It’s not very romantic, I’ll admit, but
U-ey’s on call.”

I gaped. U-ey? Urso let her call him U-ey?

“Uh-oh.” Edy patted her hip. “Someone’s buzzing me.” She pulled her cell phone from
her jacket pocket and glanced at the readout. “It’s my employer. I have to take this.
Excuse me.” She moved out of earshot.

Urso cocked his head. “What were you doing, Charlotte?”

“When?” I said, sounding guiltier than a fox in a henhouse, to quote Tyanne.

“You were checking out Mr. Capriotti’s car.”

“I wasn’t.”

He narrowed his eyes; his eyebrows merged into one thick line. “I’m not a fool.”

“You never have been.” I stood a little taller, although in his shadow, I felt about
as big as a midge.

“Charlotte, confess. You were snooping.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You think I’m not doing my job.”

I tsked. “Don’t be paranoid.”

“You’ll do anything to keep a friend or loved one out of jail.”

He had me there. I said, “You’re wrong about Jacky.”

“Am I?” He switched the to-go beverages to the other hand. “Give me another suspect.”

“Hugo Hunter,” I blurted.

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to protect Jacky.”

“He’s got an alibi. Try again.”

I shifted feet and jutted a finger, the only weapon in my flimsy arsenal. “Vinnie
Capriotti.”

“We’ve been through this.”

“Have you heard from the estate attorney?”

“Not yet.”

“Or Anabelle,” I said, not sure why her name came up.

“Why Anabelle?” Urso glowered at me like I was a witness perjuring myself on the stand.

“Because she liked Giacomo. A lot. Octavia told me that Anabelle was flirting like
she wanted an engagement ring from Giacomo.”

“Did they date?”

“I don’t think so, but have you ever seen
Fatal Attraction
?” My cheeks flushed with heat.
Bad, Charlotte. Toss another local under the bus, while you’re at it.
On the other hand, why did Anabelle know so much? She was the eyewitness who claimed
to have spied someone running from the scene of the crime. She knew about the phone
call to Giacomo and the wad of money he was carrying. Was that
true or false? She had a sketchy, transient past, moving from town to town.

“U-ey,” Edy returned, shaking her cell phone. “Crisis averted. Are you ready?” She
gave me a sly grin as if daring me to say something.

What was up with that? Was she dating him, hoping to tick me off? I grinned back.
She would not—
would not—
get the better of me. I had no interest in Urso.

“C’mon, I’m starved.” Edy snuggled into Urso and tugged him toward Cherry Orchard
Street. Urso didn’t resist.

As they rounded the corner and disappeared from view, a rush of restless energy welled
within me. I returned to Vinnie’s car and grasped the passenger-door handle. The sooner
I got answers, the faster I could be done with suspecting everybody and her mother.

“What the heck are you doing?” a man barked.

Thinking it was Urso, I whipped around, my cheeks burning with guilty embarrassment.

I was shocked to see Vinnie charging me, his face thick with green goo, shoulders
bare, raggedy jeans drooping over a pair of spa sandals. A terry cloth sarong with
Under Wraps emblazoned in red flapped open over his scrappy torso. He brandished a
fist. Though he looked cartoonish, I backed up. In my panic, I stumbled over a crack
in the sidewalk and banged into a parking meter.
Very slick
.

Vinnie drew near enough for me to smell his minty facial masque. “You were trying
to break into my car, blondie.”

“No. I—”

A car alarm bleated across the street.

“I was coming out of the diner,” I said. “And…and…”

Another alarm started to wail.

“…and I heard a blaring sound, and I thought someone might have damaged your car,
and—”

“Liar.”

“I thought it was your car. I swear. Guess I was wrong.”
I searched for the source of the noise. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Tyanne
and Rebecca standing inches outside the front door of The Cheese Shop, each aiming
key chains with car openers. A wave of relief swept over me. They had been keeping
watch over me. I sidestepped the parking meter with every intention of skirting around
Vinnie’s Firebird and dashing across the street, but before I moved a foot, Vinnie
snagged the hem of my red crewneck sweater and yanked me toward him.

“Uh-uh, you’re not going anywhere. Don’t think I can’t see those two broads over there.
You were searching, and I caught you red-handed.” With me in tow, he cranked open
the door of his car, rummaged through the glove compartment one-handed, and grasped
something. I spied a shiny silver object at the back of the compartment. Was it a
gun? Was he going for it?

“Don’t,” I rasped.

“Don’t what?” He snatched a wallet, slammed the compartment, and swiveled his icicle-worthy
gaze in my direction. “What were you hoping to find?” He wasn’t addressing me. He
was thinking out loud. He returned his gaze to the mess in his car and zeroed in on
the passenger seat. He glanced at me and back at the seat. “Aha.” He fetched the leather
book from beneath the newspaper, then he backed out of the car and stood to his full
height, which was a couple of inches taller than me. Brandishing the items, he said,
“Were you trying to get your hands on this?”