Clobbered by Camembert (29 page)

“No jury is going to believe that. You went to a hockey game. You toured the town. You pursued me with flowers.”

“Dang it, Charlotte.” Chip whipped the hockey stick up and held it like a crossbar in front of himself. “You always thought I hated Providence, but I didn’t. I don’t. It’s my home. My parents might have moved away, but my heart has always been here.”

I gaped at him. Was he for real? “You hightailed it to France.”

“It was the wrong thing to do. I see that now. I want you back.”

What Kool-Aid was he drinking to think I would ever want him?

“I was an imbecile,” he said. “I’ve changed.”

Oh, yeah, he’d changed, all right.

“I’ll never hurt anyone again. I promise. You won’t tell Urso, right?”

Yes, I would turn him in the first chance I got. I didn’t say so out loud, but my eyes must have given me away because Chip’s gaze grew steely. So much for true love.

“Uh-uh. Can’t let you do that.” He popped the stick up and sliced the air.

An icy breeze cut past my face. Nerve endings at the tip of my nose tingled. In a panic, I glanced around the tent again, looking for something that I could use to defend myself. The boxes of wineglasses looked too heavy to lift, and none were open. I wouldn’t be able to break a wineglass to use as a sharp weapon. I needed to take my chances and run.

A thunderclap drowned out the sound of my scream. Bright light flashed through the window as I raced toward the door.

Chip blocked me and flailed the hockey stick.

I dodged a blow, dropped to all fours, and scrambled toward the buffet table that served as the cheese counter.

Chip pursued me. “I’m not going to jail, Charlotte. I won’t.”

Air whooshed above my back.

“I wouldn’t last a day and you know it.” He thrashed again. The stick seared the back of my thigh. I howled in pain.

I scrambled under the table and caught sight of the ice chest, lid open. Icicles jutted from inside—the icicles Tyanne must have confiscated from Thomas and Frenchie when they were having a duel. With the temperature remaining below thirty, the icicles had stayed sharp and firm.
Hallelujah!

I seized one, swiveled on my knees, and jabbed it into Chip’s thigh. He yowled.

Lungs heaving, I stabbed again. Harder, deeper.

Chip released the hockey stick and hopped on one leg. “You … You … How could you?”

The same way you could have,
pal.

I latched on to the hockey stick, clambered from beneath the table, and wielded the stick overhead. “Back away.”

Thunder cracked again, as if echoing my fury.

Chip crossed his arms in front of his face and retreated. His foot caught on the sticky fake grass, and he tumbled to the ground.

At the same time, the tent door flew open.

Urso rushed inside, water dripping off his hat and drawn gun. “What the heck?”

“She attacked me,” Chip said, his voice mousy and put-on. Did he truly think Urso would buy his act?

“Stand down, Charlotte.” Urso waved his free hand and his deputies jogged in behind him.

“He killed Kaitlyn,” I said.

“I know.”

The door squeaked a third time. Jordan, as drenched as Urso and the deputies, entered. In his hands, he held two cell phones. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We heard every word. I called the chief on my assistant’s cell phone so he could listen in.” He grinned. “Nice to see you on the defensive.”

CHAPTER

Later that night, I sat curled into one of the armchairs in my grandparents’ living room with a glass of white wine in my hand. Townsfolk circled the room as well, drinking and laughing, but I didn’t hear a word they said. I was steeped in my own thoughts, which swarmed with doubt. Was it somehow my fault that Kaitlyn had died? If I had given Chip a clearer message when he’d arrived in town, would he have simply gone along with her plan with no thoughts about me … about us? I replayed those last moments with him. If I had agreed to keep things quiet, would he have tried to kill me? Once I had gained control of the hockey stick, he hadn’t made a move for it.

Grandmère bustled into the room, clanging a cowbell. “Dinner is served, everyone.
Mangez!
”

As a herd of guests moved toward the dining room, Amy trotted to my chair. “Aunt Charlotte.” She gripped my hand. “Come see.”

“See what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

As I was rising to my feet, Grandmère said, “Wait,
mon amie.
A word with you first.”

“That’s not fair,” Amy cried.

Grandmère pointed her finger. “Wait in the hall, please.” Amy pouted. Grandmère started to count. “
Un, deux, trois …
”

“Okay, okay. I’ll wait.” Amy slogged out of the room. I could hear her impatient toe riveting the hardwood floor.

Grandmère gathered the skirt of her burgundy toile dress and perched on the arm of my chair. She smoothed the skirt over her knees and fluffed the hem around her leather boots. “We have had no time to speak all week. So many to-dos, so many upheavals,
non
?” She patted my hand. “We must discuss what happened to your parents.”

“It’s okay.” I started to rise.

“No, it is not.” Grandmère clutched my wrist and pulled me back down. Her skin was warm, soothing. “I want to set things right.” She leaned forward and stared into my eyes like a mesmerizing fortune-teller. I couldn’t look away. “What did Kaitlyn tell you about that day?”

“My cat … I’d forgotten about Sherbet,” I whispered.

“Ah, yes, Sherbet. An adorable cat. Such pretty orange fur.”

“Kaitlyn said Sherbet distracted Daddy and made him crash.” I pulled my hand free of hers. “She said you blamed Sherbet. You had the cat put down, didn’t you?”

“Oh,
chérie,
no, it is not as you say.” Grandmère patted her chest with her palm. “It is not the truth.”

“You removed all the pictures of Sherbet from our photo albums.”

“Not because I blamed the cat. I …” She released my hand and ran a finger through my hair, separating the strands one by one, as she had when I was a girl. “You cried all the time. Every time you saw Sherbet, you cried. I believed she was, how do you say, a trigger for your memories. The crash itself and your mother pushing you from the fire. If Sherbet stayed with you, I was afraid you would continue to relive the event and blame yourself.”

“What happened to Sherbet?”

“I gave her to Tallulah Barker.”

And Tallulah never told me? The sly woman.

“Tallulah placed Sherbet in a good home. And when you were ready, she found you Rags.”

I petted my grandmother’s thigh. “Why don’t you like Rags?”

“But I do.”

I shook my head. “You can’t fool me or him. He knows. You scoot out of his way. Your lip curls up at the sight of him.”

Grandmère stopped toying with my hair and folded her hands. “The cat … he stirs up such sad memories for me, too. My son, your father. It is not right for a parent to outlive a child.”

A silence fell between us. Finally, I said, “I want to know more about my parents, Grandmère. Everything. Not just what’s in their memory box. Will you tell me? How they fell in love. What movies they liked. Everything.”

“Of course.” She rose. With her shoulders squared and her short gray hair secured off her face with sparkling combs, she reminded me of a regal dowager from a Jane Austen novel. “We will do it over picnic lunches. Many picnic lunches. Only the two of us.”

“I’d like that.” I stood and pecked her cheek. “By the way, I have one memory from that day. My mother yelled, ‘Horses.’”

“You said the same back then.”

“She must have seen one.”

“Did you?” Grandmère tilted her head.

“How could I? I was too short to see over the seat. But I remember, as if it happened yesterday, hearing a high-pitched whinny.” I pursed my lips, then continued. “Is it possible that Daddy had to brake for a runaway horse and Sherbet leaped from my arms and Daddy swerved into the tree?”

Grandmère smiled. “Entirely possible.”

“Do you think I’m making it all up?”

“Who knows? Sometimes we have to rewrite history. To protect our hearts.” She stroked my cheek, then exited the living room.

I stared after her, not sure if she was referring to my life or hers. What horror had she seen in war-torn France? What events had she stowed at the far reaches of her mind?

Amy scampered in. “My turn, now?”

“You bet.”

She grabbed my hand and ushered me to the dining room, which was crowded with guests. Chatter and the sound of glasses clinking together created a tympanic symphony.

Before I had moved a foot, Rebecca, wearing a formfitting floral dress, sashayed to my side and displayed her engagement ring, a lovely gold setting with baguettes pillared on the sides of a one-carat beauty. She had moved the smaller band of gold hearts to her right hand. Ipo, in a matching floral shirt, trailed her. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Rebecca looked adoringly at Ipo. “It’s Ipo’s grandmother’s. It’s one-of-a-kind from Hawaii.”

As if the ring were a magnet, other women in the room circled around us. Freckles and Delilah said, “It’s lovely.”

“There are all sorts of island blessings that go with it,” Rebecca went on. “Ipo’s trying to teach me Hawaiian.”

A rarely used language in Ohio, I mused, but I wouldn’t put a damper on her soaring spirits.

“
Aloha au iā ’oe
means I love you,” Rebecca said, working hard at pronouncing all the syllables.

I said, “You’re one lucky man, Ipo.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Meredith swished through the kitchen door, carrying a pumpkin ricotta casserole dish that I loved—rich with pecans, eggs, and cloves. She offered a quick, “Very pretty,” at the sight of Rebecca’s ring, then glided to the dining table where Pépère was setting out the last of the potluck dinner, which consisted of chili and stew, lasagna that I’d made using my mother’s recipe, three or four salads and side dishes, and baskets filled with fresh-baked breads and Cheddar corn muffins. Candles in a silver scrolled candelabra in the middle of the dining table blazed with happy abandon.

Amy reappeared and tugged my hand. “Aunt Charlotte, is it my turn yet?”

I had almost forgotten I was being guided to a surprise. “Lead on.”

Matthew, handsome in a gray pin-striped suit and soft gray shirt, stopped me. He popped the cork on a bottle of white wine and held up the label for display. “How about a fresh pour?” He laced his fingers around the stem of my glass. “This gewürztraminer is from the Bozzuto Winery. Delicate, fruity, a perfect aperitif.”

“Daddy, I’m showing her something,” Amy said.

He tugged gently on a lock of her hair. “In a sec, peanut. Adult business first. Remember what I told you.”

She sighed. “Patience is a virtue.”

“That’s right.”

“Guess I’m not virtuous,” she mumbled.

Matthew chuckled. “So, my sweet cousin, how are you feeling?”

“Wrung out.” The skin around the hamstring muscle where Chip had struck me had turned black and blue and ached like my forehead, but I was alive.

“Why don’t you take a couple days off from the shop? Tyanne, Rebecca, and I have it covered.”

“Work will be good for me. Busy hands.”

“It’s your call, but I think you should give yourself time. By the way, where’s Jordan?”

“He’ll be here soon. He said he had an errand to run.”

Matthew pecked my cheek and continued to make the rounds to the other guests. I caught sight of Tyanne, who was leaning against the wall by the kitchen door and looking longingly at Theo, who stood at the far end of the table with his girlfriend. Sensitive to Tyanne’s plight, Grandmère hadn’t wanted Theo to come to the festivities, but the top three ice sculpture finishers were always included. If only he had placed fourth and not third. Tyanne heaved a sigh, and I thought that she, like I, would have to give herself time. She might consider herself plucky, but life was coming at her fast.

“Now?” Amy asked, her voice peppered with annoyance.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

She prodded me to the far side of the room. “Look.” On the oak-finished sideboard stood an aquarium, complete with green bamboo, colorful stones, and a blue castle.

I bent over to get a closer look. The aerator bubbled merrily in the rear corner. Shimmery tetra swam in and around the castle. “It’s fabulous.”

“We haven’t named the fish, yet.”

“I have.” Clair skipped up, her plaid skirt dancing around her thighs.

“I’m not calling them those names,” Amy said. “They’re stupid. Blitzen and Rudolph. Sheesh!”

“One has a red nose,” Clair explained to me.

To my untrained eye, the four tetra looked exactly the same, but I wasn’t one to discourage creative thinking. “Rudolph and Blitzen, it is.”

“But they’re reindeer names,” Amy said.

“There are four fish. You get to name two and Clair gets to name two,” I said judiciously.

“Okay.” She bent forward to whisper in my ear. “I’ll call mine Speedy and Tommy.”

Clair giggled. “Wait until I tell Thomas.” She ran toward the foyer.

Amy raced after her. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, yes, I would.”

“Hello, my babies.” Sylvie flounced into the room balancing a foil-covered tray on one hand like a savvy waitress. She posed for a kiss, but the girls ignored her and skipped through the archway. “Well!”

Grandmère scuttled to my side. “
Mon dieu.
Sylvie wasn’t invited. Why is she here?”

“I’ll handle it.” I marched to Sylvie, who had changed out of her
Flashdance
getup into an outfit appropriate for a sixties’ disco. “Sylvie, I’m sorry, but you weren’t invited.”

“Oh, yes, I was. I got an invitation.” She waved a pretty silver embossed card.

“Good try, but it was only a verbal invitation.”

Caught in an outright lie, she blanched. “But”—she sputtered—“but I brought food. Bangers and mash.” She peeled up a corner of the foil. The heavenly aroma of spicy sausages greeted me.

Pépère trundled to us. “Let her stay.”

“But—”

“Chérie,”
he whispered. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

I knew the saying. A needlepoint my mother had made of the Sun-Tzu quote hung in my bedroom. But Pépère didn’t fool me. He was a sucker for good sausage, and Sylvie knew it.

She smiled triumphantly. “There, you see? I’ve been invited. Verbally.” If she could have stuck out her tongue and gotten away with it, she would have.

“Charlotte.” Delilah scooted to our group, a spoon in one hand and wineglass in the other. “Matthew has an announcement to make.” She tapped the wineglass with the spoon. “Matthew, you’re on!”

Matthew stopped his wine pouring and looped an arm around Meredith’s back. “I’m pleased to announce we’ve set a date.”

“Congratulations,” “About time,” and “When?” filtered through the crowd.

“The first Saturday in October,” Meredith said, her eyes glistening with joy.

Sylvie harrumphed. “I give it a year.”

I glowered at her. “I give it a lifetime.”

“Not everyone is meant to have a life partner,” she said.

“Matthew is. It just wasn’t you.”

“Well, well.” Sylvie gave me a look that bordered on respectful. “The vixen has come out to play.”

I didn’t rise to her jab. “I’m not a vixen, Sylvie. I’m truthful. If you want to spar, why don’t you duke it out with Prudence?” Sylvie’s latest rival chatted on the opposite side of the room with a pack of town council members. “We don’t have any canapés,” I added, “but I’m sure you’ll find some ammunition.”

Sylvie turned pale. Valiantly, she slapped on a phony smile, sashayed to the dining table to set down her potluck contribution, and waltzed toward the foyer. I chuckled, happy that the canapé story would follow her for years.

As Sylvie disappeared into the foyer, Urso sauntered into the room, sans Jacky. Maybe she couldn’t get a sitter. Or maybe I was right and they had broken up. He strolled to Delilah and me. “What’s with Matthew’s ex?”

Delilah raised her wineglass. “The M&Ms have set a wedding date. Our resident twit isn’t happy.”

“M&Ms, ha!” Urso chortled. “That’s good. May I use that?”

“Be my guest.” Delilah winked. “Oh, there’s Luigi.
Ciao.
” She sashayed to him, her colorful skirt swaying seductively. She draped an arm around his neck. He kissed her in a way that might be more suitable in the boudoir.

I averted my eyes and caught Urso staring at me.

His face turned grim. “Charlotte, can I have a word?” He removed his broad-brimmed hat and jerked his chin toward the kitchen door.