Days of Wine and Roquefort (Cheese Shop Mystery) (26 page)

“Is she claiming she didn’t hit Matthew?” I said.

“She never mentioned it.”

If she didn’t hit Matthew, who did?

Urso hitched up his belt, squared the holster holding his gun, and left his hand poised above the butt of his weapon. “In the meantime, I don’t want to have any more of your interference, or I will slap you with obstruction. Are we clear?”

Sleep did not come easily. For hours I paced my bedroom asking out loud:
who
,
what
,
where
,
when
, and
why
. I knew the
how
. In between my deliberations, I berated Urso. Why was he so bullheaded? Thunder and lightning helped enhance my tirade. Rags hid beneath a chair.

At eight
A.M.
the storm had passed, but my foul mood hadn’t. I stood in The Cheese Shop kitchen and pounded balls of dough as if each were Urso’s thick skull. We had been friends for a long time. Why couldn’t he see that I had done everything I could to aid his investigation? Why didn’t he appreciate my efforts? Granted, I had said
no
to his marriage proposal way back when, but he didn’t have to treat me like a numbskull.

Rebecca, who loved to assist when baking the morning quiches, said, “Go ahead and beat those suckers into submission, but if you do, know that you’ll have to make a whole new batch because the pastry won’t be flaky.”

My cheeks reddened. I pushed the dough aside and slumped onto a stool. Assembling the bacon, Havarti, and quince quiches would have to wait. Thankfully, I had already cooked the bacon to a crisp and stewed the quinces.

“Don’t worry about Urso,” Rebecca said. “You’ll patch things up. Promise.”

“Yoo-hoo, Charlotte, love.” Sylvie, dressed in a cherry red Chinese sarong—one of her go-to outfits whenever she was feeling under the weather—appeared in the archway. “Have you seen Matthew?”

“He’s in the annex.”

“No, he’s not.”

Matthew had arrived at the shop a half hour after me. As a result of the attack, he had a bump on his head, but his eyes were bright, and he had assured me that after another hour of explaining his complicity in our mission, Meredith didn’t want my head on a platter—although he had confided that she wasn’t likely to chat with me for a day or two.
Swell.
He was putting together the educational wine tasting he had scheduled for the evening, an event where students would receive a check-off list and a glass of wine, and they would go around to snifters filled with a variety of fruits, nuts, and candies to compare which aromas matched the wine.

“Yes, he is, Sylvie. You didn’t look hard enough.”

“Show me. I’m worried about him.” She clutched my elbow and, despite my doughy fingers, dragged me through the shop to the annex. I tried to put on the brakes, but the fight had leaked out of me.

I peered into the annex. It was empty. I called, “Matthew,” but he didn’t answer. The glasses for the event were set on the bar, the snifters prepared. “Matt—”

Behind the wine bar, I spied ankles and shoes. The toes were pointing toward the floor. Had Matthew fainted? Facedown? Panicked, I raced to the bar and peered over.

Perched on his hands and knees, Matthew peeked over his shoulder at me and whispered, “Shh.”

I gaped. The scamp was hiding from his ex? “Get up, coward. If I can see you, so can Sylvie. She’s concerned. She wants to know how you are.”

Grumbling, he scrambled to a stand, edged from behind the bar, and skirted past Sylvie. Without offering a word, he tore down the hall, into the office, and slammed the door.

Sylvie darted after him. “Matthew Bessette, unlock this door. How dare you.”

“I need to rest,” he shouted. “Go away.”

Sylvie stomped her foot. “Open up.”

I heard a howl. From Rags. I didn’t think he needed rescuing. Matthew had probably grabbed him for emotional support. Refusing to be an intermediary, I returned to the shop.

At the same time, Ipo marched in looking like a mighty Hawaiian warrior ready to subdue a raging volcano. “Rebecca,” he bellowed, “I’d like a word with you, please.”

At least, though he was loud, he was polite.

My sassy assistant emerged from the kitchen, her apron dusted in flour. “What are you doing here?”

He pulled alongside the cash register. “I don’t like you flirting with that deputy.”

Rebecca flipped her ponytail with defiance. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you last night. At the pub. I don’t like it. You and I are not finished.”

“Yes, we are. You’re moving back to Hawaii.”

“No, I’m not. I told my parents that I make my own decisions. I choose my life. And it’s here. With you.” Ipo planted his fists against his hips. “Now, are we going on a date Friday or not?”

Rebecca fought a smile with all her might, but her eyes twinkled with humor. “Where would we go?”

“To the movies.”

“Do I get to pick the movie?”

“Yes.”

“Do we get to eat cheddar popcorn?”

“If that’s what you want.” He swiveled on his heel. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty. Aloha.”

When he exited the shop, Rebecca did a fist pump. “The movies. He never wants to go to the movies. Exploring nature has always been his thing. Oh, yay, he’s a changed man.” She danced a jig.

“Not so fast, my little leprechaun,” I said. “He’s changed for the moment and only the moment. Permanent change takes time. And don’t forget that Deputy O’Shea has his eye on you.”

“Oh, gosh. You’re right. Did I tell you that he asked me to dinner on Saturday?” She clapped. “Can you believe it? I’m actually dating more than one man at a time. For real.” When she first moved to town, she had never dated. She hop-skipped around the store but came to a halt as my grandmother scuttled inside. “Bernadette, are you okay?”

Grandmère hurried to the cheese counter. “Hide me, Charlotte.”

“From whom?”

She darted around the cheese counter and ducked behind me. “Prudence is on the warpath.”

I spun to face her. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t tell everyone about Prudence’s meltdown at the theater, did you?”

“No. I would never.” She crossed her heart. “I am a caring person; I have taught you to be the same.”

“Then what is this about?”

“I fear she might have lost her marbles for good this time.”

Prudence Hart charged into the shop, her face as beet red as her suit. “Where is she?” She stomped forward and shot a finger at me—well, really, at my grandmother. “I see you, Bernadette. How dare you use your mayoral powers to slap an injunction on me.”

“What?” Grandmère gasped. “I did no such thing.” Finding her courage, she squared her shoulders and moved around the register. Though she was barely five-feet-two and shrinking by the month, in her black coat, swirly skirt, and boots, she appeared as feisty as a toreador. “Is that what you believe?”

“Who else could have done it?”

“It is a lie. In fact, I stood in favor of your right to invest. Some declared you unstable, but I assured them of your mental acuity.”

“Unstable?”

Sylvie, who apparently had given up on seeing Matthew, waltzed down the hall and stopped by my side. “What’s going on?”

Rebecca whizzed in from the opposite direction and clutched my arm. “Uh-oh. Should I call the police?”

“I have every right to own more than three shops,” Prudence said.

“No, you don’t.” Sylvie sprinted around the cash register and faced Prudence. “This city requires financial transparency.”

Where had she come up with that phrase? Was Ashley Yeats filling her with this lingo?

“If one person owns everything,” Sylvie continued, “it becomes a monopoly. You might pull the wool over buyers’ eyes.” I’d bet her parents had done that multiple times. They weren’t too different from Noelle’s parents.

Prudence snarled. “Oh, hush, Sylvie. You’re just jealous because I have the means and wherewithal to change how business is done around here.”

“You take shortcuts,” Sylvie said, “hurting the customers in the process.”

“I have every right to buy up businesses.”

“Not if you’re cuckoo.”

Oh, heavens, had the twins told their mother about the fiasco? I would have to . . . No, I wouldn’t. Matthew or Meredith would have to talk to them about spreading gossip.

Prudence lasered Sylvie with a glare. “It was you. You brought the injunction.”

“What if I did?” Sylvie smirked. “Bring your records before the city council. Let them vote.”

“Bernadette.” Prudence pleaded with my grandmother. “Help me.”

“No, Bernadette, help me,” Sylvie cried. That was a first.

Each of the women grabbed one of Grandmère’s arms. As they did, a pair of customers entered the shop. Prudence, Grandmère, and Sylvie quieted and watched them as if they were fish in an aquarium.

“Okay,” I said. I’d endured enough. “You three. Out. Grandmère, Prudence, and Sylvie, leave or I’ll make each of you purchase a fair share of today’s special Cambazola to make up for any loss you cause the shop.” I aimed a finger at the exit to make my point. “Settle your differences outside.”

Grandmère broke free and hurried to me. “
Chérie
, I am sorry.”

“I know.” I kissed her and whispered, “Maybe suggest to Prudence, in private, that she get some professional help.”

“
Oui
. A sound idea.”

“And I don’t mean a lawyer.”

When they left and I returned to my spot behind the cheese counter, Rebecca slung an arm around my shoulder. “You threatened them with buying Cambazola? Like that would be punishment?” Cambazola was a delicious combination of a French soft-ripened triple-cream cheese and Italian Gorgonzola. “It’s time for you to take a breather.” She released me and pressed my lower back. “Go find Meredith and have a chat.”

“Oh yeah, like she’ll spare two words for me.”

“Visit Delilah, then, at the diner. A cup of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream would do you wonders.”

When I entered the Country Kitchen, Delilah and the other waitstaff were sashaying down the aisle between the counter and booths singing Elvis’s “A Big Hunk O’ Love.” From a booth at the far end, Delilah’s mother Alexis waved and beckoned me to sit with her. Pops, Delilah’s father, hovered behind the pass-through counter to the kitchen and gawked at me as if I were a traitor. As I made my way along the aisle, I blew him a kiss and patted my heart with the tips of my fingers. I hoped he would understand the gesture—I adored him and would never throw him over for Delilah’s flighty mother.

“Charlotte.” The roomy sleeves of Alexis’s quilted jacket billowed as she patted the banquette indicating I should sit. “Delilah and I are having an early lunch and talking about life’s grand issues.”

I glanced at Delilah who seemed more than happy to be dancing for the patrons and not chatting with her mother. On the other hand, two places were set at the table. One held a bowl of soup, the other a sandwich.

“What are you eating?” Alexis said. “I’m having vegetarian soup smothered in Parmesan. Delilah made it especially for me, knowing my dietary restraints. No meat has touched these lips since I left Ohio.” She tapped her burgundy-tinged mouth. “Delilah is having yet another grilled cheese. I think she said it was rosemary-crusted cheese and scallions.”

“It’s a rosemary Manchego-like cheese, though because of the rosemary it can’t be an official Manchego.”

“Whatever. It’s getting cold. She should sit down. All this dancing and singing. I don’t know why the customers put up with it.”

Any time a patron chose an Elvis song on one of the tabletop jukeboxes, the waitstaff stopped what they were doing and sang.

Alexis’s aversion to the performances had to do with the fact that Delilah had been swept up in the allure of singing and dancing onstage and had moved to New York. Years ago, Alexis claimed her world had ended that day. Talk about putting a guilt trip on a daughter.

“Why don’t you eat the sandwich?” Alexis said. “And, meanwhile, tell me what’s going on in your life. There’s a man, I assume.”

In the nick of time, the music ended and Delilah slid into the booth beside me. “Uh-uh, Mother. No grilling my friends.”

“But you grill . . . grilled cheese.” Pleased with her joke, Alexis cackled and wiggled her colorful hand, each nail painted with a different sign of the zodiac. “Fine, fine. No questions, except I would like to know why you’re upset with Umberto Urso, Charlotte. That’s why you came into the diner, isn’t it, dear? He was harsh with you, and that hurt your feelings.”

My mouth fell open.

Delilah gaped at me. “Lord, tell me she’s wrong.”

“I divine, darling,” Alexis said. “In fact, I
am
divine.” She chuckled again.

I had to admit it was hard not to like Alexis. “I need a cup of hot chocolate, first.”

Delilah fetched a luscious mug of cocoa topped with swirls of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and set it in front of me. She slid back in her seat and said, “Tell me—”

“Us,” Alexis corrected.

Delilah ground her teeth. “Tell us what’s going on. Why is U-ey annoyed with you now?”

“U-ey,” Alexis sniffed. “For heaven’s sake, girls, can’t you stop calling him that? He’s a grown man. His name is Umberto.”

“But he likes U-ey, Mother. Go on, Charlotte.”

I didn’t tell them about Matthew’s and my foray into the winery or U-ey lambasting us. I merely said, “I suggested he take a harder look at all suspects.”

“Like Boyd Hellman,” Delilah said.

“Yes, for one.”

“The man with the red hair who wears the plaid coat?” Alexis asked.

I nodded. “That’s the one. Velma Warfield said she saw him idling outside my house the night Noelle was killed.”

Alexis shook her head. “But she couldn’t have.”

Delilah shot her mother a look. “How would you know? And don’t tell me you saw that in your crystal ball.”

“No, darling. I left my ball at home,” Alexis teased. “But I have been a little concerned about that man. He looks at you in such a way.”

“What way?”

“With googly eyes. He’s very interested in you.”

Delilah groaned. “Mother, you think every man is interested in me.”

“Not every man, but this one is smitten in the worst way, so I’ve been keeping a watch on him ever since I arrived.”

“You’ve what?” Delilah’s voice glided upward.

“Keep your voice down.” Alexis petted her daughter’s hand. “He hasn’t made any overt moves.”

Delilah sputtered. “You think he’s a stalker?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he was hanging outside the diner the night Charlotte’s houseguest was killed. Peeking in through the window.”

I’d seen him doing the same thing the other day. At the time, I thought he was spying on Urso. Pépère mentioned that he had seen Boyd loitering, too.

“Why, last night, Delilah,” Alexis continued, “I tailed him when he followed you to your gym class.”

“Why on earth would you do that, Mother?”

“Because I was curious and concerned. But then he did something strange. While you were working out, he popped into his car and drove north of town to the Shelton Nelson Winery. Why he wanted to go there, of all places, was beyond me. It wasn’t like they were open for wine tastings.”

“So he was the one,” I muttered.

Delilah raised an eyebrow. “The one that what?”

I recounted the entire evening.

“He hit Matthew?” Alexis clucked her tongue. “Poor dear.”

“I can’t believe you, Charlotte Erin Bessette,” Delilah said, sounding as irritated as our chief of police. “You could’ve been killed.”

I didn’t remind her that we had gone on a similar
extracurricular
excursion months ago. She didn’t need the grief from her mother. “What else could I do?” I said. “Matthew was adamant about going. I couldn’t let him run off half-cocked. Putting that aside, let’s return to the topic of Boyd Hellman.” I rested my forearms on the table. “If he had a verifiable alibi for the night of Noelle’s murder, like keeping an eye on you, why did he tell Urso, Matthew, and me that he was walking? That’s so darned vague.”

“Let’s ask him,” Alexis said. “He’s right outside.”

• • •

Leading the way, Alexis sneaked ahead of Delilah and me to the alley behind the diner. Her cape fluttered behind her like wings. At the corner, she halted and pointed. “There he is. Beside your car, Delilah. He’s been there all morning.”

Delilah said, “Why that—”

I hindered her from hurtling at Boyd and scaring the bejeebers out of him. “Let’s be reasonable.”

“He’s a creep.”

“He’s besotted,” Alexis said. “Look at him.”

Boyd was buffing the hood of Delilah’s car with a chamois cloth. He spit on a particular spot and went at it again.

As stealthily as if I were trying to capture a stray cat, I slinked forward. Delilah and Alexis followed. When I drew within a few feet of the car, I said, “Hi, Boyd.”

He jolted and searched right and left for an escape route. The far end of the alley was blocked by a garbage truck. Other than fleeing past us, there was no exit. He backed up a pace.

“You’re doing a nice job on Delilah’s car,” I said. “She’s not angry.”

Under her breath she rasped, “Oh yes, I am.”

“His aura is good,” her mother said. “He’s harmless.”

“Mother, please. You can’t see auras.”

“I can so.”

“Shh, you two.” I crept closer. “Boyd, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“What kind of question?” His voice had an edge but he seemed sober. His eyes were clear.

“Why were you at the Shelton Nelson Winery last night?”

“Who says I was?”

Alexis joined ranks with me. The aroma of lavender accompanied her and brought back all sorts of childhood memories. My mother had worn a lavender-scented fragrance. “I do,” she said.

Boyd squinted. “What’s it to you?”

I cocked my head. “Boyd, you throttled my cousin.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I don’t know who you thought you knocked down with that wine bottle, but it was my cousin Matthew. Don’t worry. He’s fine. He will not press charges. What I want to know is why you were at the winery.”

“I wasn’t—”

Alexis clucked.

“Okay, fine. I was.” Boyd wiped his hands with the chamois. “See, back in Cleveland, Noelle was acting sort of strange.”

“How would you know that?” I said. “You two had broken up.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t keep an eye out.”

“Did you stalk her, too?” Delilah said.

“No, I don’t stalk, I—” Boyd fixed his gaze on her for a long moment. It took a lot of effort for him to refocus on me. “Look, I asked Noelle why she was acting weird, and she said she had big plans. She said a lot was at stake.”

The same words she had said to me. I shuddered.

“But I didn’t buy it,” Boyd said. “I mean, the job she got from Shelton Nelson . . . It was stupid. He was paying her chicken feed.” He stuffed the chamois into his pocket. “I kept wondering why she would shoot down her career that way.”

“Maybe she wanted to con him,” I said.

“Nah, Noelle wouldn’t do that. Ever. She was as honest as the day is long.”

Alexis tweaked my elbow. “He’s telling the truth. I can feel waves of good vibrations from him.”

“Puh-lease.” Delilah knuckled her mother in the shoulder. Alexis countered with a swat to Delilah’s leg.

I said, “Did you tell your suspicions to Chief Urso, Boyd?”

“Sure, but I had nothing to back them up. Face it, I was a suspect in Noelle’s murder. When he interrogated me, he wanted to know if I’d gone hiking at Kindred Creek and asked to see my boots. He went to my place to check them out. There wasn’t any mud on them, but I figured he was asking because Noelle had mud on her shoes, so I got to thinking. Noelle never would have gone down to that creek place.”

“Because she wasn’t a nature girl,” I said.

“That’s right. Want to know why?” He didn’t wait for a response. “When we were in the orphanage, one of the bad girls led Noelle to this brook down the road, then she ran off and left Noelle there.” He muttered a curse beneath his breath. “Night came on fast, and Noelle became disoriented. Around ten
P.M.
, I found her huddled in a ball, covered with scrapes and mud.”

Poor Noelle. What a traumatic life she had lived.

“See, it was the mud that got me thinking,” Boyd continued. “I work in construction.”

Which explained the brawn. I could see him digging ditches or lifting a slug of two-by-fours on his shoulder.

“I know soil,” he said. “So I went back to the precinct, and I asked Chief Urso to show me the boots. He obliged.”

That was more courtesy than Urso would have afforded me.

“I noticed grape leaves in Noelle’s shoes and pointed them out, but the chief dismissed my findings saying Noelle had been to the winery a couple of times. Later on, I thought some more.”

“You’re a real pensive guy,” Delilah said.

“Actually, I am,” he answered. “I’m even better when I’m sober. Anyway, because of what her folks did, Noelle didn’t abide people scamming other people, so she took it upon herself to investigate. You know, she’d really delve into a person’s past. I thought maybe she’d found some dirt on Shelton Nelson.”

Like his troubled financial status, I mused.

“So I drove to the winery. If Nelson had anything to hide, I intended to find it. I saw a door open, so I sneaked in that way.”

“Through the wine cellar.”

“Yeah. But before I could get ten feet, I ran into someone. It was dark. I thought it was Nelson. Panicked, I grabbed the first thing I could”—he mimed grabbing hold of a bottle—“and swung, then I hightailed it out of there.”

“You left Charlotte’s cousin lying there,” Delilah said. “What kind of jerk are you?”

“I was scared.”

“A big guy like you?”

Alexis put one hand on Delilah’s arm and the other on mine and squeezed to make us stay put, then she moved closer to Boyd.