To Brie or Not to Brie (30 page)

Sylvie blew a raspberry as she, ever so discreetly, shimmied the dress down her legs.

When Meredith and I returned to The Cheese Shop, I assured her that Sylvie would not
be able to pull a prank on the wedding day. “Grandmère and Tyanne will be watching
her like a hawk,” I said as I passed the center display barrel, automatically straightening
a stand of cracker boxes. “And hawks have mighty talons.”

Meredith grinned. “Matthew’s mother will eagle-eye her, too. She doesn’t have fond
memories of Sylvie, though she does admit that Sylvie is a better mother to the twins
than she was before. The girls seem happy.”

“They are.” I was the one who was unhappy that they were moving, but I would rally.
I would. No more tears at two
A.M.
No more waking up from worrisome dreams. I paused at the archway between the shop
and the wine annex. “I’m back,” I called to Rebecca and Matthew, who were chatting
beside the old oak bar while Matthew jotted notes on a notepad.

Meredith peeked over my shoulder. “How many lists is he keeping?”

“So many, I’ve lost count. I found three in the office earlier.”

Meredith whistled under her breath. “I guess between picking up the folks and getting
my hair styled I’ll have to help him coordinate.”

“A bride’s work is never done,” I gibed. “By the way, the twins are looking forward
to going to Tip to Toe Salon.”

“Even Amy?”

“Yes, even Amy. She wants a cute little French braid.” I pointed to the side of my
head. “You know the kind, where they gather the bangs and weave them into a strand.
She saw a long-distance runner sporting it.”

“Does she want beads woven in?”

“I was thinking glitter.”

Meredith sputtered. “Glitter? No, no, no, not glitter. Never.” She burst into laughter.

“Gee, why not?” I grinned, knowing why not. Back in seventh grade, Meredith and I
had styled each other’s hair for the Sadie Hawkins’ Day Sock Hop. I had wanted to
ask Meredith’s brother to the event, but he was three years older, and it was taboo
for a sophomore in high school to return to junior high for a dance. I settled for
a gangly seventh-grade boy who adored basketball and had two left feet. Luckily Gangly
Guy had been my date. Why? Because Meredith and I thought we needed glue to keep the
glitter in our hair. We applied gobs of the stuff, and it didn’t come out for weeks.
Meredith’s brother would have teased me for years. Gangly Guy kept touching the globules
and saying, “Cool.”

“What’s so funny?” Rebecca returned to the register and taped a note to the change
drawer. In response to my glance, she said, “Matthew wants me to make sure we have
plenty of natural almond soda and nonalcoholic champagne from the Bozzuto Winery.
Some of the folks from his side of the family don’t drink.”

“Done.”

“So what’s so funny?” Rebecca repeated. “Why were you and Meredith laughing?”

“We were talking about bad hair days.”

“Speaking of bad hair days”—Meredith switched her purse to her other shoulder—“what
do you think about the rumor?”

“Which rumor?” Rebecca said.

“About Edy.”

“That’s cruel,” Rebecca said. “Edy’s hair isn’t that bad. In fact, I like it. I’ve
been thinking of cutting off my locks and going spiky. I saw a model in a
Victoria’s Secret
catalogue with the same hairdo. What do you think? Would I look good with short hair?”
She swooped her hair into an updo. Strands fell loose and framed her face.

“She’s not talking about Edy’s hair,” I said. “She’s talking about the bombshell Sylvie
just dropped, yet again, about Edy trying to buy out Prudence. She says she saw her
at the bank applying for a loan.”

“Now, wait a sec.” Rebecca released her hair. “Sylvie intimated yesterday—was it yesterday?—that
Edy already had the funds. She has a backer. Charlotte, you’ve got to find out what’s
the truth and what isn’t.”

“I have to? Why?”

“Because, you know…” Rebecca twirled a hand like that would fill in the end of her
sentence. I shook my head, not getting her directive via ESP. “Because we talked about
Edy…and money…and maybe she bribed Giacomo to get a stake for her new enterprise.”

Meredith gaped. “You believe Edy could have killed Giacomo? Charlotte, go.” She prodded
me toward the door. “No one should get away with murder. Especially Edy. Get the scoop.”

“Since when am I the designated fact finder?” I said, grinding to a halt.

Meredith and Rebecca gave me a united all-knowing look. “Duh,” they chimed.

Solving a couple of crimes was giving me a reputation as an amateur sleuth that I
wasn’t certain I enjoyed. I mean, sure, I liked solving puzzles as much as the next
person, but I wasn’t brave, and I didn’t like people thinking I was a snoop.

“You know Mrs. Fletcher would do it,” Rebecca said, referring to the fictional character
from
Murder, She Wrote
like she was real.

“What will I say?” I asked.

Rebecca cuffed my shoulder. “Wing it!”

* * *

For over a hundred years, one family had owned Providence Provincial Savings. Though
the bank was located in a newly built mall near the grocery store, the family staunchly
maintained its Old World flavor and hometown appeal. The warm browns and ecru décor
and the friendly, intelligent faces of the clerks made me feel confident that my money
was secure.

I paused as I entered and scanned the throng of people waiting in line to carry out
transactions. Edy wasn’t among them. I peered into the nooks occupied by loan officers.
Edy wasn’t sitting in any of them, either. Sylvie had to have been mistaken.

As I turned to go, I spied Iris with her teenage daughter at a teller window. She
was handing her daughter keys and giving her instructions, probably warning her not
to drive off without her.

Curious beyond curious as to whether Sylvie had been stirring the pot regarding Edy,
I approached Iris. Maybe she had seen Edy and knew what was up. “Hello, Iris.”

She spotted me, turned back to her daughter and said, “Get the deposit slip,” then
hurried toward me, her face tinged with excitement. She wore a floral spandex shift
that I had to admit made her look almost attractive. “What a surprise to see you.”

“Is that a new dress?”

She beamed. “It is. Do you like it?”

“I do.”

“It’s a little splurge. You know why? You’ll never guess who just called me. Meredith.
She’s giving me a bonus.”

“That’s great.”

“I have Tyanne to thank. She convinced Meredith to hire me. You know what I think
I’ll do? I’ll insert some of my homegrown orchids in Meredith’s bouquet. Won’t they
be beautiful?” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, sorry, but I have to run. I’ve got
so much to do.”

“Wait.” I didn’t want her to leave before I got a few answers about Edy. But how could
I ask subtly? Noticing the Band-Aid on her wrist, I said, “How are your burns healing?”

“Oh.” She tinged pink. “Fine. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I mean, how hard is
it to grab a pot holder? See you.”

“Wait, Iris, can I ask you a question?”

She glanced at her daughter who was still standing by the teller.

“It’ll just take a sec. Have you been here a while?”

“A half hour. The line was long, but—” She bit her lip. “I’m embarrassed to say it.
I wanted to deposit the money Meredith advanced me. I’ve got to keep my business blooming.”
She patted the
Growing Stronger
slogan on her tote bag. “Why do you ask?”

“Did you see Edy Delaney in the bank?”
So much for being subtle.

Iris puckered her mouth as if, heaven forbid, she admit she saw someone her gal pal
Prudence detested. “Yes, she was here.” She jerked her chin toward one of the loan
officer nooks. “She was in there with the old biddy. You know the one I mean. Ruffled
hair, beaky nose.” She wiggled her fingers to paint me a picture. “If you ask me,
Edy was giving the gal a pretty hard time.”

“Did the loan officer turn her down?”

“That would be my guess.”

I lowered my voice. “There’s talk that Edy wants to buy Prudence’s shop.”

“Oh, Charlotte, didn’t you hear Prudence the other day? She is not selling.”

“Are you sure?”

Iris clucked her tongue. “Prudence talks to me about everything. Now, mind you, that
doesn’t mean Edy Delaney isn’t wishing she could buy Prudence out. Ah, if wishes were
horses…or college tuitions…” She twirled a finger. “And who knows what measures Edy
might take to get what she wants? That woman is reckless. What’s with all that jewelry
piercing her body? Why, I wouldn’t put it past her to have killed Giacomo Capriotti
and stolen the money right off of him to pay for all that second-rate silver she owns.”

“You know about the money Giacomo was carrying?”

“The whole town does.” Iris leaned in. “FYI, as Edy left the loan officer’s cubicle,
I heard her add that she was on her way to Café au Lait. She asked if she could bring
the woman back a latte. What do you bet she’s hoping a bribe will get her the loan?”

* * *

Intrigued by yet another mention of bribery, I hightailed it to Café au Lait Coffee
Shop. The place was decorated in a fanciful manner. Over each lacy antique iron bistro
table hovered a miniature papier-mâché hot air balloon. On every wall, the Francophile
owner had hung a watercolor that he had painted. He was particularly fond of France’s
bridges, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Arc d’Triomphe. A jazz saxophone
rendition of “La Vie en Rose” played through a speaker.

Edy, clad in a black jumper over black tank top, stood out from the rest of the customers,
most of whom were wearing
Stomping the Grapes
T-shirts. She hovered by the
milk and sugar station while pouring creamer into a single cup of coffee—not two.

I cornered her and flashed a sociable smile. “Hi, Edy.”

She arched a wary eyebrow, which made her tooled hoop earrings wiggle.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“We’re not friends, Charlotte. Don’t pretend.” She sidestepped me and headed to an
empty table.

I followed her, mumbling, “So much for niceties,” and perched on one of the café chairs
opposite her.

“Look, if you’re going to hound me, be blunt,” Edy said. “I don’t like beating around
the bush. Got me? Is it about Urso? No, we’re not dating anymore. Happy? He’s all
yours.”

I gawked. “I don’t want him. I’m engaged to Jordan.”

“Right. The cheese farmer. Whoop-de-doo.”

Her tone was intentionally mean, yet tears pressed at the corners of her eyes, and
for some reason, my heart went out to her. Didn’t I believe she was a killer? Was
she snowing me? She was a cheat and a liar. Given the chance, she could probably act
rings around Sandra Bullock.

I steadied myself and sat taller. “You went to the bank for a loan.”

“What do you care?”

“Are you planning to buy out Prudence?”

She scowled. “Oh, yeah, like Prudence would ever sell. She may be under water on her
loans, but she’ll go to her grave to keep that place, the penny-pincher. Do you know
she cut my salary in half, for no reason, and expected me to work the same hours?
That’s why I left. She’s a shrew. And that Iris friend of hers. What a piece of work
she is.”

“Let’s stay on topic.”

“Fine, what’s your point?” She folded her arms.

“What if you had a backer?” I asked, trying to lure her to a confession. “Would you
buy out Prudence then?”

“If I did, she still wouldn’t sell, and I still wouldn’t buy. Too much bad karma.”

So much for that angle. A silence fell between us. I drummed my fingers on the bistro
table, trying to fashion another question that might get results. Did district attorneys
have to work this hard?

“Is something else on your mind, Charlotte, or are you trying to leave an indelible
impression in the wrought iron? Good luck with that.”

I lifted my gaze to meet hers. Tears still pooled in her eyes, but they hadn’t fallen.
Was she faking sadness to manipulate me? I urged myself to be more resolute and said,
“Did you call Giacomo Capriotti and tell him where Jacky was? Did you ask him to pay
you for the information?”

“Oh, man.” Edy let out an exasperated sigh. “I already told you I didn’t call him.
Check my phone records.”

“There was a wad of cash on him. Chief Urso didn’t find it.”

“Whoa. That’s enough.” She smacked the table. Her coffee cup lurched. She steadied
it. “You’re implying that I killed the guy and took his money?”

“I’m not implying—”

“You are, too. I did not call him. I did not take his money. Why would I have cause
to kill him? What motive?”

“You need money for something. You were in the bank looking for a loan.”

She inhaled and blew a harsh breath out her nose. “Why are you always darting around
town playing Nancy Drew?”

Nancy Drew? Is that what people thought of me? Not Wonder Woman, out to lasso the
truth?
I itched to pinch her arm. How high school of me was that?