To Brie or Not to Brie (3 page)

“The Harvest Moon Ranch has been sold,” Prudence blurted.

“Oh, no,” I said. That was the site for my pal’s wedding. It was a charming red ranch
north of the city, with a gazebo and barn and acres of lush grounds. Would the sale
cause a postponement?

“Oh, yes,” Prudence went on. “I was going to buy it.”

I didn’t believe her for a second. She was forever blustering about purchasing this
and that. She considered herself a real estate mogul in the making. So far she hadn’t
purchased a thing other than her dress shop, which was situated cattycorner from Fromagerie
Bessette.

“Who bought it?” Rebecca said.

“That divorcée,” Prudence hissed, the word as distasteful as wolfsbane.

I didn’t have a clue who she meant.

“She snatched it out from under me. Why I should—” Prudence gestured as if wringing
someone’s neck but stopped when she spotted Urso, his head tilted, his steely gaze
blazing at her. She blanched. “Oh, Chief, I didn’t see you there.”

How had she missed him? He was almost as large as a grizzly bear.

“I didn’t mean…” Prudence hesitated. “What I should
have said…I’ll have my attorney speak to her attorney and—”

The door to The Cheese Shop swept open. The grape-leaf-shaped chimes jingled.

With murder in her eyes, Prudence bolted toward the woman who entered. “You-u-u-u!”

Tyanne Taylor, one of my part-timers, entered the shop, her cheeks burnished pink.
The rose-colored tank dress she wore hugged her toned body in all the right places.

“You!” Prudence stopped in front of Tyanne and extended a finger like a sword. “You
stole it.”

Tyanne threw back her shoulders and finger-combed her highlighted hair. “I did nothing
of the sort.”

“Right from under my nose,” Prudence persisted. “I was counting on the ranch to carry
me into retirement. Why, I have half a mind to—”

“—to beat the stew out of me?” Tyanne planted a fist on her hip and smirked.

Prudence peered over her shoulder at Urso, who hadn’t budged from his spot near the
register, but he looked primed. She gulped and refocused on Tyanne. “I have half a
mind to tell you a thing or two more, but I don’t have the time. Good day.” She swept
past Tyanne and out of the store.

Rebecca wiggled her pinky at me. “What’s that biblical proverb? ‘Don’t count your
chickens until they’re hatched.’”

I was pretty certain the saying hadn’t come from the Bible but kept mum. No sense
stirring the pot.

“I’m worried about what Prudence might do,” Rebecca added.

“Don’t be. Prudence will find something else to protest.”

“Why is she always so prickly?”

I shrugged. Some said it was because Prudence let the man of her dreams get away.
Others said she was such a miser that she wouldn’t share a dime with another soul.
Perhaps, like an uncared-for cheese, she had developed a hard, distasteful rind.

Urso chortled. “I guess the crisis has been averted. Be seeing you.” He lumbered out
of the shop.

Tyanne hurried toward the counter. “Charlotte, sugar, you’ll never guess what I did,”
she said with a drawl.

I wasn’t dense. After Prudence’s tirade, I was pretty sure I could figure it out.

“I bought the Harvest Moon Ranch. I’m so-o-o-o excited,” she continued. That was an
understatement. She needed gravity boots to anchor her to the ground. “And I’ve taken
a partner.”

My mouth fell open. The latter statement held all sorts of connotations. Recently
Tyanne had finalized her divorce. Had she found a soul mate so quickly?

“A partner?” I repeated.

“Business partner. A
silent
business partner. But don’t worry your pretty head,” Tyanne said. “I’m still going
to work part-time at Fromagerie Bessette. With two of my sisters having moved here,
I’ve got all sorts of seconds, minutes, and hours on my hands.”

Tyanne’s older sisters had left New Orleans and had arrived in Providence about two
months ago. The eldest loved spending time with Tyanne’s children; the one that was
a
year older than Tyanne had taken over the beauty salon and had turned it into a new
hot spot in town.

“I’m going to do destination weddings,” Tyanne went on. “I know, I know.” She put
up her palms to hold us at bay. “The Harvest Moon Ranch was doing weddings before,
but nothing like I imagine. People from all over will come to Providence to get hitched.”

“I’ll bet that was what Prudence had in mind,” Rebecca said.

“Prudence-Schmudence,” Tyanne said. “She has no vision. And don’t let her snow you.
She did not make a bid on the ranch. I heard about it going up for sale and snatched
it up before anyone could offer a counterbid.”

“Where did you get the money?” I asked.

Tyanne giggled and leaned forward to impart her secret. “Sugar, I told you. I have
a silent business partner. Plus, I’ve been saving for a rainy day. My two-timing husband
had no idea. A cookie jar is a magical thing.” She slipped behind the counter and
grabbed both of my arms. “Isn’t this the yummiest idea? I close the deal in two days,
all cash. And guess what? My first event will be Meredith and Matthew’s wedding.”

My best friend was marrying my sweet cousin.

“I’ve already met with Meredith,” Tyanne went on, hands painting the air. “She’s mighty
relieved that she has me as her wedding planner. To tell the truth, she was overwhelmed
having to do it all herself. The previous owners weren’t offering a lick of help.
But I’m on the case. Now”—Tyanne tapped her watch—“I need you for a maid of honor
dress fitting next door. Got a half hour? Meredith is already there.”

With longing, I eyed the Brie sitting on the cheese counter. After the fiasco with
the shallots, I had wanted to make a successful dessert. On the other hand, I couldn’t
wait to see my dress. Ice cream would have to wait.

Rebecca nudged me. “Go on. I’ll defend the fort.”

* * *

Entering the colorful Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe always took me back to childhood memories
of my grandmother and me sewing. In addition to being mayor of our fine city, my grandmother
ran the Providence Playhouse. Often she brought home swatches of fabrics, and we pieced
together costumes for a production. I would never forget the variety of textiles she
gathered: nubby wools, cool cottons, and jerseys in wild, exotic patterns. A color
palette, she advised me, helped convey a mood on stage.

Freckles, Sew Inspired’s owner, felt the same as I did about color. As a tribute to
autumn, she had redecorated in warm rusts and golds. In the display window, she had
spread silk leaves on the floor and draped the mannequins with mustard-colored crinkle
knits. In the shop, handmade brown-toned quilts adorned the walls; each told a story
about the history of Ohio.

“This way.” Tyanne led me beyond the racks of thread, lace, ribbons, and buttons.
“We’re doing the fittings in the back. Oh, did I tell you that Amy and Clair are here,
too?”

Amy and Clair were my nieces—well, not actually my nieces. Their father, Matthew,
was my cousin, but long story short, I called his girls my nieces for simplicity’s
sake, and they liked it. We all had the same last name: Bessette.

“And their mother?” I asked tentatively.

“Lucky us.” Tyanne batted my arm. “She’s busy at her shop. Follow me behind the luscious
curtain.”

Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe wasn’t set up as a boutique. People didn’t normally come
to the store for dress fittings, but Meredith had insisted Freckles—Providence’s expert
with a needle—design the wedding attire. Beyond the velvet curtain at the rear of
the shop stood a stockroom.

Tyanne pulled back the curtain and gestured for me to enter first. Floor-to-ceiling
cubbyholes held more fabrics and more accessories. Freckles, who was button-sized
with
the most adorable grin and a penchant for the color orange, approached me. She held
her arms wide for a hug.

I reciprocated. Though I barely reached five-foot-three, my chin hovered above the
top of her head. “Where are your girls?” I asked.

“Super Dad has them for the day. They’re studying the changing leaves. Doesn’t that
sound fun?” Freckles and her daughters, a homeschooled thirteen-year-old and a surprise
one-year-old, played and studied in the stockroom. “And now for our fun.” She pushed
up the sleeves of her orange V-neck sweater and clapped her hands. “Amy and Clair,
it’s time. Come out, please.”

My preteen nieces popped from behind a pair of rattan dressing screens and ran toward
me. Each did a twirl.

“Wow!” I said.

Freckles had created a pair of frothy cornflower blue dresses draped with toile. Clair
revolved like a ballerina in a jewel box. Amy, closer in height to her sister than
she was a few months ago, whipped around with fervor, her dark chin-length hair fluting
out with abandon.

“Wow!” I repeated.

“Is that all you can say, Aunt Charlotte?” Clair stopped twirling and searched my
face with intensity. She was such a serious soul.

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, no, you look delicious, like spun sugar.”

Clair poked her sister. “I told you our dresses were beautiful.”

I noticed Amy’s mouth was turned down in a frown. “You don’t like the dresses, sweetheart?”
I glanced at Freckles, who waved off any insecurity about hearing an opinion.

“They’re a little girlie.” Amy was our tomboy. Like me, she loved cheese, and like
my grandmother, she adored singing and acting, but recently she had turned to sports.
Running, leaping, and jumping encompassed most of the
hours of her day, probably because her latest crush—Tyanne’s son—was a jock.

“You are both stunning.” I gripped their hands. “You should be very proud. Where’s
Meredith?”

“With Edy. Over there.” Amy pointed toward a third rattan screen.

“Edy Delaney?” I whispered to Freckles. Edy was the alterationist at La Chic Boutique.

“I stole her away from Prudence,” Freckles confided with a guilty giggle. “She said
Prudence cut her salary by twenty percent. Even a single girl’s got to eat. And she’s
got talent.”

Tyanne nudged me. “What’s wrong, sugar? Your nose is all scrunched up. Don’t you like
Edy?”

How could I admit, without spurring rumors, that I hadn’t trusted Edy since high school?
I hated saying anything bad about someone.

“C’mon,” Tyanne said. “’Fess up.”

“She’s—”

“Charlotte.” Meredith stepped from behind the screen and climbed onto a platform in
front of a three-way mirror. “Look at me.”

My heart caught in my chest and all thoughts of Edy’s cheating on the tenth-grade
chemistry test flew out the window because Meredith, my best friend since I could
remember, reminded me of a Disney princess, right down to her tawny blond hair, which
was twisted into elegant curls, and her sun-kissed skin, which glowed with ethereal
hope.

“Wow,” I said.

“There she goes again.” Amy punched Clair, who tittered.

Freckles had designed a satin wedding dress that was breathtakingly dramatic. The
neckline scooped from shoulder to shoulder, exposing a demure hint of décolletage.
The bodice fit Meredith’s slim frame like a glove. The skirt, starting from a dropped
hip line, layered out in tiers upon
tiers of shimmering white to the floor. A pair of glass slippers wouldn’t have been
out of place.

“Edy,” Meredith called. “I think we need to shorten the hem.”

Edy Delaney emerged from the fitting room. Though tall and long-limbed, at first glance
she reminded me of a human pincushion. She was clad in signature black—stretchy T-shirt,
jeans, and boots—and clenched long pearl-studded pins between her teeth. Her short
hair stuck out with spiky defiance, as if she had poked her finger into a light socket.
A black pincushion, clinging to her wrist, completed the ensemble. Without saying
a word of hello, she crouched beside Meredith and gazed at the mirror and back at
the dress, pinning as needed.

Tyanne leaned into me. “Why don’t you like her? I mean, besides her
Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
getup and the fact that she towers over you?”

“You can tell us,” Freckles whispered. “Is it that she cheated back in school?”

I gaped at the pair of them, both eager for gossip, their mouths hanging open, their
eyes alert. Had my princessy pal spilled the beans?

“Meredith didn’t tell me,” Freckles added. “Edy did. I like her. She’s got energy,
and her Goth style? It’s been drawing in scads of new customers. She’s a novelty.”
Freckles giggled, as she often did. “I’m not averse to a boom in business.”

A breeze billowed into the room, kicking up flecks of thread and dust.

“Someone entered the shop. I’ll be right back.” Freckles headed toward the curtain.

Before she reached it, Prudence Hart stomped into the stockroom, followed by her equally
tall and reed-thin pal, Iris Isherwood. Poor Iris. Behind her back, members of the
Providence Garden Society snickered about her lack of style. She had taken to wearing
floral dresses at all times.
No one was sure if she was advertising her name or her flower business.