To Brie or Not to Brie (21 page)

“Jacky’s husband was rumored to be a nasty man,” Grandmère went on.

“Not rumored. He beat Jacky,” I cut in, unable to keep the truth hidden any longer.

The actors let out a collective gasp.

Rebecca clacked a knife on the cheese counter. “So that’s why she moved here and changed
her name.”

I nodded. I hadn’t brought it up in our conversations about the crime, but with her
astute sleuthing skills, I had just assumed she had figured out that much on her own.

Stratton said, “An abuser deserves to die, right, guys?” He turned to the other actors
for support. To a man, they agreed.

Pépère said, “When did this murder occur?”

Muttered responses told him sometime between midnight and two
A.M.
on Friday night.

“The night we had the wedding tasting at your house,” I said. “You weren’t feeling
well.”

“Who does Chief Urso think is guilty?” Pépère looked to me for the answer.

“Jacky,” I said.

“Ah, but no,” Pépère said. “
C’est impossible.
I saw her pacing at all hours with the baby.”

“Étienne, do not lie,” Grandmère said.

“I do not lie about such things.” He raked his silver hair. “I was up all night. I
had a stomachache. A fever. When you slept,
mon amie,
I crept out of bed. I roamed the backyard to keep cool. The night air, it was so
crisp. I saw Jacky.”

“Really?” I hooted with glee. “That means Jacky has an alibi. I knew it. She didn’t
do it.”

“She walked to and fro,” Pépère continued. “The baby was colicky. We had similar nights
with your mother, Charlotte. Remember, Bernadette?”

“
Oui,
” Grandmère said. “She was quite vocal. But Étienne, why did you not wake me?” She
sounded heartbroken.

He sighed. “You are driving yourself crazy with all that you do. The play, your mayoral
duties, and the race to raise money for the rescued animals. I worry that you do not
get your rest.” He drew her to him.

Grandmère cooed, “
Je t’adore,
” and snuggled closer while poking him gently in the stomach.

As the actors talked among themselves, I turned to Rebecca. “Watch the shop. I’m going
to tell Jacky the good news, and then I’ll track down Urso.” I flew out of the shop
with virtual wings on my loafers.

Zinging with good vibes, I hurried to A Wheel Good Time. During school hours, the
shop wasn’t busy. A pair of women sat at a table dabbing paint on matching bowls.
A mother and toddler nestled beside a counter filled with coffee mugs, teapots, vases,
and more, searching for an item to paint. “Margaritaville” played through speakers.
I zigzagged through the shop as Jimmy Buffett crooned, “Some people claim that there’s
a woman to blame, but I know it’s nobody’s fault.”

In seconds, I found Jacky at the rear of the shop, bent over a turntable, working
a palette knife beneath a clay vase. Her creations never failed to impress me, the
current one broad at the base with grooves tooled around the narrow neck. Her gaze
met mine as I rushed toward her. “Great news,” I cried. “My grandfather can corroborate
your alibi on the night of the murder.”

“But I thought you convinced Urso that I wasn’t…” She paused. “Don’t be naïve, Jacky,”
she whispered to herself
then raised her gaze to meet mine. Sorrow flooded her eyes. “Of course he thought
I was guilty. Everyone does.” With a heartfelt sigh, she lifted the vase, wiped her
palette knife on her apron, and shuffled to a workstation. She set the vase on the
shelf beside other items that were ready to be fired in the kiln. “Tell me what your
grandfather said.”

I explained that Pépère hadn’t felt well, and he had gone outside often through the
night. “He saw you and Cecily pacing. He didn’t come forward until now because Grandmère
kept the news about the murder and everything else from him. But now, thanks to him,
you’re cleared. Completely.”

The colorful hand-glazed clock over the kiln chimed once for the quarter hour. It
resounded like a good omen, and yet Jacky heaved another sigh.

She swiveled away from me, but not before I noticed tears pooling in her eyes. “Time
is so precious,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” I laid a hand on her shoulder.

She patted my hand and nestled onto a stool beside the counter. She touched the seat
of another stool, indicating I should sit. “Did I ever tell you about the day that
I first met Giacomo?”

She hadn’t. I knew only snippets of her past life from things Jordan felt he could
reveal.

“Time stopped,” she said. “I couldn’t breathe. He was so handsome, so charismatic.
Never in my life had a man professed love to me so quickly. Starry-eyed, I didn’t
look beyond the surface. A few short months later, I met his cruel side. He had addictions—to
food, to liquor, to women. He had affairs from the day we got married.”

“I didn’t know.”

“None lasted a long time. He quickly grew tired of the women, so I tolerated the missteps.
But when he began to blame me for his shortcomings…” Jacky toyed with the ring on
her right hand then released it and laid her hand on
the counter. “All of the women looked like me: dark hair, dark eyes, but they were
younger.”

How much younger could they be? Jacky was in her thirties, like me.

“He told me once that, in every affair, he was trying to relive our first moment.
He wanted magic. But I knew better. He was searching for a younger model, end of story.
I was no longer good enough for him. I was too logical, too disciplined, and too old.
He told me more times than I could count that he had made a mistake marrying me. He
wanted someone reckless, someone who could make him feel like a kid again.”

I flashed on Anabelle with her dark hair and dark eyes. Given her past, she might
qualify as reckless. She had been drawn to Giacomo. Did he arrive in town and instantly
fall in lust? Had he wooed her? I didn’t think they had dated, but maybe they had.
Had something gone terribly wrong on a date? Maybe that was why she claimed to have
seen a tall man running from the scene. She killed him and needed to steer Urso away
from thinking she was the murderer. Was hers the dark hair that Urso had found at
the crime scene?

“‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” Jacky whispered.

“Shakespeare,” I said, recognizing the quote. “
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
”

A single tear trickled down Jacky’s cheek. She swiped it away with her fingertip.
“I could have tolerated the affairs, you know. But three years into the marriage,
when Giacomo hit me after an affair gone awry, I knew the beatings would continue.
I had to leave.”

“Do you think he could have made a play for someone in town?”

“Like whom?”

“Anabelle. I remember the day he arrived, I was in All Booked Up, and Anabelle was
swooning over this stranger she had met. He beguiled her. What if she threw herself
at
him, but he tired of her, and, angry at his rejection, she lashed out?”

“She’s so small,” Jacky said. “Could she have hefted the ice cream container?”

“I’ve seen her lift sizable cartons of books.”

“Why would they have met in the freezer at the Igloo? How did they get inside?”

Both were good questions.

“Perhaps they went for a late-night walk,” I said. “Your husband would have wanted
to keep a low profile. Maybe they found the Igloo unlocked, and they sneaked in. They
grew passionate, but then something happened. Giacomo told her that their future was
not to be, and Anabelle attacked.”

Jacky fingered her throat. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Did you know Anabelle’s dating Vinnie now?”

“So soon? He’s barely been here a week. Giacomo’s only been dead…” Jacky scrunched
her mouth as if she had bitten into something sour. “If that’s the case, something’s
off about that girl.”

“Maybe she’s more calculating than we think. Maybe she turned her affections to Vinnie
to make it seem like she was never interested in Giacomo.”

Jacky anchored a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“May I use the telephone?” I said, having run out of Fromagerie Bessette without my
purse or my cell phone. “I’ve got to touch base with Urso and let him know that you’re
cleared.”

She pointed to the cherry red phone on the desk behind the counter. “Please.”

As I strode to the telephone, Jacky placed her elbow on the counter and cradled her
forehead between her thumb and fingertips. She sniffled as I dialed. The precinct
line was busy. I dialed again and received a recording to be patient; someone would
be with me shortly. Patience was not my virtue.

I hung up and said, “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to track Urso down.” I gave Jacky a
squeeze, advised her to be brave, and hurried to the front door.

On my way outside, a woman yelled, “Charlotte, stop!”

Octavia dashed out of Fromagerie Bessette and tore up the sidewalk toward me while
fanning herself with a floral paper fan. Her ankle-length sundress swished as she
jogged.

“What’s up?” I said, wishing I could borrow the fan. The warmth in the air stunned
me. Ohio experienced heat waves in October, but none nearly as hot as this.

“I’m so glad I found you.” Breathing as hard as if she had run a marathon, Octavia
clutched my elbow and urged me to halt. “I’ve been doing a little investigating. Great
news about Jacky, by the way. Rebecca informed me.”

“I’m on my way to tell Chief Urso.”

“Not yet. Not until I’ve told you what I’ve learned. I was worried about Anabelle.
She’s”—Octavia pinched her lips together—“such a babe in the woods.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Anabelle was creeping up my murder suspect
list.

“She needs someone to watch out for her,” Octavia continued. “That Vinnie. He’s up
to no good.”

“What have you found out?” I asked. Octavia was one of the best researchers. She had
connections that went way back to her law school days. I didn’t know how she did it,
but she was able to delve into sealed files and get all sorts of dirt on people.

“Did you know he’s up to his eyeballs in debt?”

“Because he’s a gambler,” I said.

“That might be part of the reason, but the other is—wait for it—he’s been married
four times, and he has eight children to support.”

“Are you sure? Jordan said he’d only been married twice and had a couple of kids.”

“Your boyfriend is out of the loop. Vinnie’s an amoeba.
He multiplies. And here’s another thing. Vinnie and his brother were staying at Violet’s
Victoriana Inn. The night they arrived last week, Violet overheard Vinnie and his
brother arguing about his brother’s last will and testament. She didn’t think anything
of it. Private conversations are private conversations.”

“Why hasn’t she told Urso about the argument?”

“The chief scares her. What can I say?”

I waved a hand. “Did Violet glean any details of this
private
conversation?”

“Vinnie ordered his brother to file for divorce without spousal consent and then he
tried to convince his brother to rewrite his will. He said Jacky shouldn’t be getting
half of anything. She should be cut out of the will entirely.”

“Did Violet hear who was inheriting the other half?”

“She assumed Vinnie meant himself.”

“Vinnie didn’t mention a foundation?”

“I don’t think so.” Octavia tapped her fan to my arm. “For the record, Violet is distraught
that she gave them shelter. She had no idea that Giacomo Capriotti was related to
Jacky. She adores Jacky. After Giacomo wound up dead, Violet asked Vinnie to skedaddle.”

I said, “I’ve got to tell Urso.”

Octavia flipped open her fan and pumped it. “What am I going to do about Anabelle?
She doesn’t want to leave town and tend to her father. That Vinnie has cast a spell
on her.”

I wet my lower lip with the tip of my tongue. “I don’t know, but whatever you do,
don’t let on about what you told me. Vinnie could be dangerous. Maybe Urso will agree
to arrest Vinnie or at the very least restrain him.”

* * *

More than fifty people wearing
Stomping the Grapes
T-shirts formed a line down the front steps of the quaint Victorian that housed the
Providence Precinct and the
Tourist Information Center. Each person carried a purple entry form for the race.

I scooted past them and hurried inside. The race line snaked to the left. I headed
right, toward the precinct clerk, who turned out to be Urso’s mother.

“Hello, Mrs. Urso. Are you today’s temporary assistant?”

She nodded. “It’s hard to find competent help on the spur of the moment.”

“I need to see the chief.”

“He’s busy.”

“I’ve got good news,” I said, starting for the door. “He’ll want to see me.”

She didn’t try to hinder me. She knew me well enough to know I would wheedle past
her anyhow. She pressed an intercom button and said, “Umberto, Charlotte Bessette
is here to see you.” Getting no response, she offered a warning. “Mind you, he’s not
in a good mood. He and the deputies just helped put out a barn fire at Emerald Pastures
Farm. By the way, do you know who was here for lunch yesterday? Edy Delaney. What’s
up with that? That young woman gives me the willies.”