For Cheddar or Worse (17 page)

“How do you know that?”

“Because I work nights, so during the days I watch TV reruns. I'm hooked on mystery and crime shows.”

“Just like Rebecca. Swell.” Drinking in the strains of the guitar, I said, “The violin . . . if it was a violin . . . What if Lara didn't play it? What if someone else did, like Victor?”

“Why?”

“To implicate Erin. He recognized the value of the violin. Maybe he'd heard about its existence. He plucked it and replaced it, thus linking Erin to the crime.”

“Or the killer accidentally plucked it while removing it from the room.”

“Why remove it?”

Jordan clicked his tongue.

“Don't say it,” I warned. “Erin did not kill Lara.”

Jordan rose and took our plates and mugs to the sink. I followed.

“Kandice was the first person to mention the violin,” Jordan suggested. “Maybe she knew about the instrument and made up the part about hearing it to incriminate Erin.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to me to dry. “You know, another question we should ask is how anyone knew where Erin hid the violin.”

“Kandice!” I blurted.

“I just said Kandice.”

I set the plate I was drying aside and paced the kitchen. “Hear me out.” A scenario like a movie trailer running at double speed cycled through my mind. “Let's say”—I held
up one finger at a time to make my points—“Lara discovered the violin's existence. I'm not sure how. Maybe she saw an Internet image or a newspaper article about the Providence High School orchestra. But she knew about it, and she contacted Kandice to find out more.”

“Were they friends?”

“Don't you remember how Lara fawned over Kandice after the incident at the Street Scene? The interaction suggests there was more to their relationship. On the other hand, they might just have a business relationship. Let's say Lara heard about the Cheese Festival and thought:
Perfect timing
. She hired Kandice to create a brain trust event, and she suggested Kandice negotiate the deal with Erin.”

“You know, I've been wondering why Kandice chose Erin's farm. Pace Hill Farm and many others would have been better choices,” Jordan said, echoing what I had said to Rebecca. “The cheese-making facilities aren't top-notch.”

“Maybe she chose it because Emerald Farms is one of the few that has an inn.”

“Good point.”

I resumed drying dishes. “What if Lara knew about the violin, and she sent Kandice on a mission to locate it? While Kandice stayed overnight at the inn—”

“Did she do that?”

“Erin mentioned that she did. Kandice could have heard Erin playing the violin for her brother. She could have followed Erin to her room. Like a sleuth, she listened while Erin opened the armoire, pulled out the case, et cetera.”

Jordan washed the mugs and handed them to me. “Back up a step. Why did Lara play the darned thing if she was stealing it?”

“You said it before. Maybe she plucked it accidentally.”

Jordan dried his hands on a fresh towel and drew me close. “We're overthinking this.” He caressed my jaw with his knuckles. “Let's sleep on it, and maybe we'll come up with something by morning.”

“Uh-uh.” I poked him in the ribs and twisted free. “I want to keep hashing around theories.”

He chuckled. “You are so predictable. Hey, you know who we haven't mentioned? Ryan Harris.”

“Rebecca and I discussed him.”

“You talked to her about the murder? Charlotte!” Jordan couldn't hide his disapproval. “U-ey told us—”

“Don't bark at me. We told Matthew and Meredith.”

“They—”

I put a finger to his lips. “Remember how your mother warned your father never to go to bed angry?” I pecked his cheek. “Be nice. Soft voice.”

“Leave it to you to remember everything I've ever told you,” he groused.

“You don't have a long history,” I quipped. Being in the witness protection program has a tendency to make a person reluctant to reveal the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I knew bits and pieces of his past. In time, I would learn more.

Jordan muttered something under his breath. I couldn't catch the words; I was pretty sure his muttering was for effect. At least I hoped it was.

I grasped his hand. “C'mon. You know Rebecca. She won't tell a soul.”

Jordan's anger melted away. “Go on.”

“Like I said, she and I talked about Ryan. He's a good man, a family guy. He helps people get their farms back on their feet. I think he's sweet on Erin. I doubt he would have taken the violin from Lara's room and placed it in Erin's armoire, knowing it might incriminate her.”

“You're probably right.”

I rubbed Jordan's arm and whispered, “Kandice. She's the ticket.”

CHAPTER

Monday morning arrived in a flurry. I awoke groggy, but my head was swimming with ideas: about Kandice; about Erin. I wondered if I approached Erin privately, whether she could tell me more about Kandice's first visit. If a memory clicked for her and she could single out Kandice having concocted the whole brain trust idea with malicious intent, we could approach Urso.

But first, I went to the shop and met with my distributor—we had a full week's supply of cheese to unload and store either in the cellar, the kitchen walk-in refrigerator, or the cheese case. Next, I made sure Rebecca had everything well in hand so I could take off for a few hours. And then I decided to check in on Meredith. I'd missed seeing her at the cooking class last night. Because I didn't want to admit that I was worried about her health, I came up with the idea to tell her about Rebecca's fiasco. Laughter always made me feel better; I hoped it would buoy my pal.

Minutes later I arrived at Matthew and Meredith's house. Matthew met me at the door. The skin around his eyes was
dry and tight. He was carrying a breakfast tray set with dry toast, a cup of tea, a jar of honey fitted with a spoon, and a crystal vase filled with pansies. Sweet.

“Hey,” he said. “She'll be thrilled to see you.”

“How's she doing?”

“Feisty.”

“Feisty is good.” I patted his cheek. “Go to work. I'll stay with her for a while. Where are the girls?”

“At school. Their mother took them.” Soon after Clair and Amy were born, their mother, Sylvie, abandoned them and Matthew and fled to England to be with Dear Old Dad and Mum. To everyone's surprise, she returned a few years later and reinserted herself into the girls' lives. Thanks to a financial windfall, Sylvie now owned a boutique and spa in town. Matthew added, “She said she had such a good time with the girls yesterday, she couldn't stay away.”

“That's a good thing, isn't it?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Matthew repositioned items on the tray for a better balance. “With Sylvie, you always have to question her underlying motive. I think she's worried that I'm going to leave my entire inheritance—all ten cents of it—to our new little bugger and cut out her girlie-girls.”

Girlie-girls
was what Sylvie called her daughters. The twins—and Matthew, in particular—hated the term, but what could anyone do? Sylvie didn't take orders. From anyone.

“You won't overlook the girls,” I said. “They mean everything to you.”

“Yes, but do you think Sylvie will believe me?”

I grinned. “She'll want you to sign a vow in blood.”

“Exactly.” He handed me the tray and hitched his head toward the stairway. “Fair warning. Meredith has, per your suggestion, taken up knitting, and it's not going well.”

“No worries. I can handle a grouchy patient.”

“Feisty.”

I nudged him. “Go. Put Pépère to work. He showed up this morning and wants something to do.” Our grandfather had the hardest time being idle. Creating birdhouses or
tending to a rose garden just didn't fill enough of his hours. Occasionally he helped out at the Providence Playhouse, but seeing as he wasn't required for the production at the Street Scene and backstage construction for the theater's June musical hadn't yet begun, he was in need of stimulation. Working at the shop for a few hours would help. He often confided how much he missed being there on a daily basis.

“Swell,” Matthew said. “Hey, does he knit? Maybe he could teach Meredith—”

“Hah! Not happening.”

He bussed me on the cheek and hurried off.

I tiptoed upstairs, balanced the tray on one hand, and knocked on the master bedroom door. “Breakfast,” I announced as I twisted the knob and bumped the door open with my hip.

Rocket, all ninety pounds of him, charged me. I backed up before his big French Briard head could smash into the tray.

“Sit!” I ordered. Rocket did so immediately. Over the past three months, due to weekly visits, I had been able to retrain him. “Stay.”

He obeyed, reluctantly, his tail wagging nonstop.

“Charlotte, what a pleasant surprise!” Meredith was sitting in bed, propped up by a few pillows. A basket of knitting supplies sat near the foot of the bed. On the table against the wall lay a smattering of recipes and a pile of photo albums. Post-it stickums jutted from the album pages.

I winced at the sight of her. Her fair, freckled skin was as pale as I had ever seen it. “You look good,” I lied as I placed the breakfast tray over her legs.

“Bah!” Meredith plucked at her limp hair. “Can you spell bored to tears?”

“Is this a pop quiz, Teach?”

“Very funny.”

Rocket whined. I gestured to a spot beside my feet. He jogged over. I nuzzled his head, and he slumped onto the floor.

Meredith took a piece of toast and nibbled on it.

“Want me to get some jam for that?” I asked.

“Uh-uh. This is hard enough to swallow. I wish someone would put a feeding tube in me and be done with it.” She sipped some tea.

Matthew had recently painted the room a cheery yellow. He had added a floral border to match the comforter on the bed, and yet the room felt dreary. I crossed to the window and opened the drapes. Sunshine, according to my grandmother, always elevated a person's mood.

“I see you're getting some projects started.” I gestured at the knitting. “What are you making?”

“A baby blanket, like you suggested. Freckles told me it would be easy, but do you know how hard it is to make a popcorn stitch? Knitting and purling and then knitting and purling again, all into the same stitch. Delilah stopped by and tutored me, but honestly, I can't get the knack. I've had to pull out dozens of stitches because I forgot to purl or knit. Argh.”

“Breathe.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“What are you now, a yoga coach?” she sniped.

I held up two hands. “Don't shoot the messenger. If you do, who's going to bring you the local gossip?”

“Omigosh. I'm being so selfish. You”—she set her tea down on the tray and reached for my hand—“found another body. And Erin. How is she holding up? Sit!” She patted the bed. “Talk to me!”

I perched beside her and filled her in about finding Lara and how Urso suspected Erin of the murder because of the violin.

“Of course Erin isn't guilty,” Meredith said. “She's the kindest person I know, next to you. She couldn't smother anyone. Remember back in grade school how she was always saving birds or lost kittens? She even saved worms! And who could forget that time in seventh grade when she put together a fund-raiser talent show for the Children's Disability Home? We didn't know about Andrew at the time. In
our minds, he was merely a hyperactive two-year-old, clacking dresser drawer handles with fierce abandon. When I think about it, Erin must have been worried sick that he would be forced to move into that home.”

I recalled the evening of the fund-raiser. I had been dabbling in magic at the time and decided to show my style onstage. None of my tricks went off well. The coin that I was supposed to pull from behind my assistant's ear got stuck in her hair. The rabbit in the hat jumped off the stage, and everyone had to search for it. Meredith twirled a baton with ease. Delilah did an interpretive dance with scarves.

I said, “Didn't Erin play her violin in the talent show?”

“Come to think of it, yes.”

Funny how memories can surface when another person provides the cues.

“You played in the orchestra with her,” I said. “Do you remember when her parents gave her the violin?”

Meredith smiled. “How could I not? It was her fourteenth birthday. She came into the orchestra room and begged Mrs. Decker to let her play a piece by Saint-Saëns. ‘The Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor.' Of course, Mrs. Decker obliged. Erin gently withdrew the violin from the case and off she went. It was amazing. Professional quality. All of our mouths dropped wide open.”

“You said she ‘
gently withdrew
' the violin. Do you think she knew it was valuable?”

“Don't read anything into that. It was new. Special.”

“Did she ever mention to you that it was an Amati?”

“No. It is? Wow. She told me her family purchased it in Italy. They went there a lot to buy antiques.”

“How could they afford to?”

“Some people go skiing. Her folks traveled.” Meredith added a dollop of honey to her tea and stirred. When she clanked the spoon on the rim of her cup, Rocket peeped up at us.

“Go back to sleep,” I ordered. He obeyed.

I mentioned the antique furniture that was set around the
inn as well as the items housed in the cabinets in the dining room. “Erin took great pride in talking about each piece,” I added. “Lara intimated that it was all phony or subpar.”

“No way.”

“She taunted Erin.”

“How awful.”

“Erin told Urso she would never sell any of it, no matter how downtrodden the farm might get. They were her family treasures.”

Meredith nodded. “Yes, she's that way. Devoted to family. To a fault.”

I reflected on Erin's frustration with Lara, cut short because Andrew got upset and she had to handle him. Did Erin approach Lara later in her room to chastise her? Did she discover Lara had stolen the violin and lose control? No, something wasn't adding up. Lara's murder was subtle. She was smothered. The killer tried to make it look like Lara had died from natural causes. Spur-of-the-moment fury would have been messy. Objects would have been thrown or broken. And others in the inn would have heard a fight, right?

Again I wondered whether Lara had been drugged. Victor had snatched Lara's wineglass at the dinner table. Did he slip a crushed Ambien pill into it? It would have been a deft move. I, as an amateur magician, couldn't have pulled it off. An image of Shayna in the dining room that night flitted into my mind. When I entered the room, she was examining the bottle of red wine. It was uncorked. Was it possible she put a sleep aid into the bottle? Lara yanked the bottle out of Shayna's hands. Shayna refused red wine that night. Did anyone else drink some? Possibly not. Lara had suggested everyone opt for white wine with chicken. Should I suggest to Urso that the coroner look for some kind of drug in Lara's system?

“Talk to Erin,” Meredith said. “Get her to trust you. I'm sure she wants the truth to come to light.”

“That's where I'm headed next. I wish you could come with me.”

“I wish I could, too, but”—she reached over the breakfast tray and plucked the knitting needles from her basket—“a woman's work is never done.” She started unraveling stitches. “Never!”

***

A half hour later, I arrived at Emerald Pastures Inn. Erin was overjoyed to see me. She hugged me like I was a long-lost relative. She guided me to the terrace at the back of the inn. We took our places at a table set with bright yellow mats and napkins. A balcony hung overhead. Trellises of flowers rose upward. A bed of irises bordered the staircase leading from the terrace to the cow pastures, which were dotted with beautiful oak trees. Snowball, the scamp, was tussling with a ball of yarn on a patch of grass.

“Heaven,” I whispered. At times I was sorry Jordan had given up his farm. I loved sitting on his porch and taking in the view, but where we lived now was much more convenient for both of us—in town, near work, with an upkeep that didn't require a staff of fifty.

The ponytailed twin from The Country Kitchen entered. Erin was keeping the sisters on through Wednesday, per their contract. The waitress served honey-sweetened iced tea decorated with a stick of pineapple. She reappeared minutes later with two mammoth-sized bacon-lettuce-tomato chopped salads and a basket of popovers.

“Eat,” Erin said.

Before we could dig into our salads, I noticed two men strolling toward us. One was Deputy O'Shea. The other fellow was sandy-haired with a weathered face; he looked as if he had spent all his years in the sun. He wore jeans, a work shirt, and brown leather boots. Neither glanced our direction. Both were studying large sheets of paper.

“Don't mind them,” Erin said. “They're reviewing the inn's architectural plans, searching for other ways into Lara's room. I don't think they believe me about there being no hidden entrances. My family hasn't always owned the property, so I might be wrong, but when Andrew was
younger, he was always seeking out weird hiding places. He was good at it. None of those he discovered were secret passageways. I know because I was always the one who had to track him down.” She sighed as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “At least Chief Urso found the ring of keys where I told them they would be. At the bottom of the well. Right where Andrew dumped them.”

“Did he find any other keys, like a single copy to Lara's room?”

Erin shook her head.