Lost and Fondue (30 page)

 

When I picked up the twins from Philby’s house, Amy insisted I bring home her unfinished pizza. The aroma of pepperoni wafted up the stairs and snaked its way into the bedroom. My stomach grumbled with desire.

“By the way, Clair, what did you eat?” I peered through the crack into the twins’ bathroom. The two stood at the sink brushing their teeth.

“Pasta,” she said, her mouth filled with toothpaste suds.

Amy said, “Philby’s mom has to eat wheat-free, too, so Philby made Clair some of her mom’s pasta with melted cheese.”

Amy emerged first. Clair followed, switching off the light in the bathroom.

“Philby’s nice, Aunt Charlotte.” Amy scampered into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Sort of bookish, but nice.”

“She’s not bookish,” Clair said, taking her time to fold back the covers and smooth them with the palm of her hand. “She’s intelligent. There’s a difference.”

“Speaking of Mum,” Amy said, changing the subject with ease. “Why didn’t she show up at The Cheese Shop for the tasting?”

I swallowed hard. “Your mother is going through some difficult times.”

“Because she wants to marry Daddy again, but she can’t because of Meredith?” Amy said.

“That’s not quite it.”

“She’s got money problems, right, Aunt Charlotte?” Clair said.

“Your mother is dealing with some grown-up issues.” I perched on the edge of Clair’s bed while Rags performed his evening routine of leaping from bed to bed to say good night to the twins. He’d learned quickly that Clair preferred nuzzles to her chest and not her face. When he finished, he returned and curled by my side, his purring rivaling the rumble of a NASCAR engine. While idly plucking cheese from his whiskers—the rascal must have snagged a bite of Amy’s leftover pizza—I added, “Grown-up issues are for grown-ups to discuss, do you understand?”

I could see in their eyes that they didn’t. They wanted the whole story.

Clair toyed with a thread poking from the edge of the sheet. “Do you think there’s really a treasure at the winery, Aunt Charlotte?”

“No.”

“Yes, there is,” Amy said. “Pirates put it there.”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked.

“A couple of people were talking at The Cheese Shop while Daddy was setting up for the wine tasting. They said that Meredith’s college idea had brought treasure hunters to town.”

I revisited the reasons for Harker’s murder. Had he simply gotten in the way of a treasure hunter? Sylvie said the Internet story about Meredith’s plan to convert the winery into a college was what had piqued her interest to return to Providence. What if she wasn’t the only one? Rebecca said that Winona Westerton had tracked down Freddy to make a donation because she’d been itching to go on the trip. I believed her when she said she was on the trip to avenge her sister, but what if that was only a half-truth? Jordan said rich people were treasure hunters, too.

And what about Dane or Edsel, or that curious Wolford character? Was it the treasure that had driven them to come on the excursion? Dane wasn’t much of an art student. At the event at the winery, Harker had teased Dane because he didn’t know Kandinsky and Klee were artists. Had Dane finagled his way into the group to get access to the winery? His interest in Quinn seemed genuine, but Winona claimed he wasn’t after Quinn; he was after her. Which version of the story was true?

And Edsel Nash had me confused. If Winona was to be believed, he was blackmailing her. What if he hadn’t preplanned that? What if he had come on the trip to find the treasure but saw an opportunity for blackmail when he caught Winona stealing the portfolio? Or—and this idea made my insides tense—had he pretended to be a good friend of Harker’s when, in reality, he hated him so much that he came on the trip with the sole intention of killing him? He was interested in Quinn. Had he killed Harker to remove the competition? That first day in The Cheese Shop, he’d said Harker was the one who had talked them all into coming on the trip. Had Edsel made Harker think that? Was he that manipulative?

“Hey, look who’s still up.” Matthew poked his head into the room. His eyes twinkled with good energy.

The twins squealed. “Daddy!” Both thrust out their arms for a hug.

Matthew kissed Clair first, then Amy. He knelt between their beds, reached for their hands, and said, “Prayers.”

With bowed heads, the twins peeking between partially opened eyes as they always did, the trio recited Matthew’s quickie version of vespers. “Thank you God for my wonderful day. Thank you for all my blessings. I love you. Amen.” Matthew kissed each girl a second time and said, “Lights out.”

As he headed for the door, he gestured for me to follow him. I scooped up Rags and strolled from the room. In the hallway, Matthew’s mood seemed even cheerier.

“You must have had a good night,” I said. “Did you sell lots of wine?”

“After you disappeared, we had double the number of walk-ins, and we tripled our orders from last time.”

“Great news.”

“We nearly sold out of the cheeses in the display case. You’ll have to fetch the reserves from Pace Hill Farm.”

Our business had grown so much in the past few months that we’d started stocking larger quantities of cheeses in Jordan’s caves. He and his staff rotated and washed the wheels regularly to make sure the butterfat and aging process was perfect. Jordan had suggested we build our own subterranean cave in the basement beneath the shop. He’d help design it. Matthew and I were considering it.

“And no Sylvie sightings,” Matthew added. He gave me a thumbs-up.

“Life is good.”

“Yeah.”

Matthew leaned against the moss green wall and folded his arms. “Say, Meredith filled me in on Sylvie’s confession. Wild, huh? Mumsie and Dad blew through their wad.”

I still wasn’t sure if Sylvie was telling the truth about that. Was she trying to earn my sympathy to divert my suspicions? If she’d run into Harker in the cellar while searching for the treasure, she could have killed him. Wouldn’t that have required a struggle? Harker hadn’t struggled. Someone strong had sneaked up on him and strangled him.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked. “Where’d you run off to tonight?”

I told him about going to the bed-and-breakfast and learning about Harker’s connection to Winona’s sister.

“Urso’s right, you know. You’ve got to let him do his job.”

“But when I find out things, and he’s not available, they need to be acted upon, don’t they? We only have a small police force.”

“Give the girl a Citizen’s Academy badge,” Matthew teased.

“No, really. What if Winona had been the killer? What if she had skipped town?”

“Urso would have tracked her down. C’mon, Cuz, you can’t be expected to run a successful business and save the world, too.” He yawned. “I’m beat. G’night. See you in the morning.”

“Not so fast.” I gripped his elbow.

“What?”

“You’re not telling me something. You don’t look tired in the least. In fact, you look like you’re ready to float away on cloud nine.”

He grinned. “You are such a detective.”

I tilted my head. “Out with it.”

“It’s for me to know.” He chuckled then squeezed my shoulder supportively and sauntered into his room. The door closed with a soft click.

After a half hour staring into the bathroom mirror, picking apart my looks as well as my curious nature, I crawled into bed. Rags jumped onto the cover and padded in a circle until he found just the right spot beside my hip and plopped down. As I settled into the pillows with a new mystery in my hands, I could feel his rumbling purr through the quilt.

Before I finished paragraph one of chapter one, I glanced at the telephone on the bedside table. Only twenty-four hours had elapsed since I’d seen Jordan, but it felt like days—no, weeks. I craved to hear his voice, drink in his scent. Once Matthew and Meredith got married—and they would get married someday—I could see myself marrying Jordan. He’d move into my Victorian, or I’d move to his farm. We’d spend lovely evenings by a fire with a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and fruit. We’d chat about our days, our businesses, and our dreams. And we’d talk about having children. I wanted two. Did he want two, as well?

Anxiety ticked my insides. I slapped the book closed and sat upright. Did he want any? Why didn’t I know the answer to that? Was I falling in love too fast?

Stop it, Charlotte
.
You’re scaring yourself into spinsterhood.

I reopened the book and read the first paragraph for a second time, but I couldn’t get Jordan out of my mind. It was too late to call him without seeming brazen. I decided a cold shower of talking to Urso was in order. I dialed his number and said, “What did you find out?”

“Charlotte?” he mumbled.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry. I was eager to hear what you gleaned from Dane and Edsel.”

“This is not your business.”

“I know it’s not, but inquiring minds want to know.” I held my breath. He could hang up on me or talk. I was hoping he’d talk.

Urso let out a long sigh. “Mr. Cegielski—”

“It’s me, U-ey. First names, please.”

“Dane admitted that he made a play for Winona.”

“Did he own up to knowing Julianne?”

“He said he never met her. He only heard about her from Harker. He thought Harker was a jerk, but he didn’t think he deserved to die. He said suicide was something weak people did, and Harker shouldn’t be blamed for Winona’s sister’s weakness.”

“What about Edsel?”

“I couldn’t track him down.”

“Anywhere?”

“That’s what ‘couldn’t track him down’ means, Charlotte.”

“Sorry.” I chewed my lower lip, hating myself whenever I stated the obvious. “So we don’t know if he was blackmailing Winona. That could be a story she made up.”

“Could be.”

“Dane didn’t know anything about it?”

“If he did, he kept mum. I’ve got Deputy Rodham staking out the B&B. When Edsel shows up, we’ll get answers. In the meantime, I’m checking into the guy you saw hanging around Jacky Peterson. Seems other folks near her store have seen him, as well.”

“I don’t think he’s a local.”

“I’ll catch him. Promise.” He yawned. “Get some sleep.”

I began chapter one for a third time but froze on the second paragraph when I heard a scratch-skitter sound. From overhead. Somewhere between the attic and my room. Near the bedroom window.

Rags perked his ears, scrambled to a low crouch, and eyed the ceiling, waiting with impish patience to pounce on the unsuspecting living toy that might appear.

“Down, boy.” I patted the quilt.

He didn’t obey.

“It’s probably a squirrel that’s found its way into one of the vents and is building a spring nest.”

The creature overhead stilled, but I couldn’t, too hyped up after the conversation with Urso, too worried that a murderer was still roaming Providence—a murderer whom neither Urso nor I could identify.

“C’mon, Rags, lie down. The excitement’s over.”

Obviously he didn’t believe me. He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. When and if a plaything appeared, he would be ready.

Seconds later the scratch-skitter started up again. Exasperation forced me out of bed. I had to discover the source or I’d never sleep.

To ward off the chill in the air, I put on a sweatshirt over my Victoria’s Secret nightgown. I grabbed a hanger from the closet and padded to my desk. Dragging the T-back armchair from the desk to the spot that I’d pinpointed for the noise, I climbed up on the cushion and banged the ceiling with the hanger. “You there, stop it!”

The noise paused but quickly started up again. Louder than before. As if a whole family of squirrels had decided to hold a sock hop overhead.

“Great,” I muttered.
Bang, bang, bang!
“Out. Get out! Leave!”

My temper tantrum didn’t work. The creatures leaped about with merry abandon.

“That’s it!” I clambered off the chair and stomped to the window. The rain had ceased for the night. Storm clouds had exited. A sliver of a moon—God’s thumbnail, Grandmère called it—glimmered overhead. I threw the window open and craned my neck to look for the site where the interlopers had invaded my home and spied a tile missing above the dormer window. I would bet dimes to dollars that was the point of entry. Tomorrow I’d insert a smoke bomb to drive out the rodents. I didn’t want to kill them; I just wanted them to think twice about holding a party in my house again.

Ducking back into the room, I nicked my head on the window frame. I swiveled to rub my forehead and grew as still as a dormouse because across the street, on the sidewalk opposite Lavender and Lace, stood a figure in a hooded raincoat. Was it Urso’s deputy, the one he had posted outside the bed-and-breakfast to wait for Edsel’s arrival? He didn’t look nearly as tall or leggy as I remembered, and he didn’t seem to be staring in the direction of the B&B. He looked like he was gazing at my window. A bolt of fear shot through me. Was it the same guy who was stalking Jacky? No, the stranger’s body looked misshapen. Either he had his arms wrapped around himself to ward off the cold or he had a hump. Like Edsel. Did he mean to frighten me because I’d stuck my nose into his affairs one too many times? He claimed to have seen me going into Freddy’s room. Did he know that I’d first sneaked into his and Dane’s room? Was he figuring out a way into my house?

Fear swirled inside of me, gathering speed. I plastered my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming and peered harder. Something glinted near the stranger’s mouth. Seconds later, the stranger threw the
something
to the ground. A cigarette butt maybe? I hadn’t seen Edsel smoke, but Freddy was a smoker. I eyed the B&B. The light was on in Freddy’s room. Someone his size was moving about behind the sheer curtain. Dancing the tango, solo? I took another peek at the stranger. He hadn’t moved.