The Long Quiche Goodbye (22 page)

“Yes,” we all agreed.

Yale lowered her voice. “Willamina is a handful, I’ll admit.”

“She’s going through such a sorrowful time right now,” Meredith said.

“I’m afraid she knows how to push your twins’ buttons.” Yale gazed at Matthew and me. “I’m hopeful that this will all blow over after tomorrow’s results, aren’t you?”

“I’m not so sure,” Matthew said.

I wasn’t so certain, either. Who knew what Willamina might do if Grandmère were to be elected?

“You know the Taylor child?” Yale went on.

I did. Tyanne often brought her son, Thomas—a shy, gangly boy—into the shop. She encouraged his curious nature. Like Amy, he loved to sniff and touch.

“He tried to break up the fight, as well. I was surprised. He’s not, you know, very spirited in that regard. He’s a bit of a computer nerd, frankly.”

Meredith said, “I think he has a little crush on Amy.”

“Yes, probably so.” Yale glanced at her watch again and huffed. “Anyway, I’ve asked Kristine and Tyanne to join us.”

As if on cue, Kristine barged through the double doors at the end of the hall and stomped toward us, her high heels clickety-clacking as she drew nearer. A few feet from us, she planted her hands on her hips, bonier looking because of the skintight ecru sheath she wore, and screamed, “What in heaven’s name—?”

“Please, keep your voice low, Mrs. Woodhouse,” Principal Yale ordered. “The children are in the music room. I do not want them to hear us conversing.”

“Why did you call me—”

“Willamina was in yet another altercation.”

Kristine glowered at me and back at Yale. “She didn’t start it.”

“As a matter of fact, she did. I believe she takes her cues from you,” Yale said. “Sit, please.”

“Why, I never!”

“Sit!”

Kristine plunked into the chair beside Meredith, and I bit back a smile, impressed by the turn of events. In a matter of seconds, our genteel principal had turned into a lioness defending her pride.

“Listen, carefully,” Yale said, a muscle ticking in her jaw. “I will not have this school turned into a vetting ground for your political aspirations. Do you hear me?”

Kristine nodded.

“Your child is undergoing severe emotional issues. Even her good friends are shying away from her.”

The double doors squeaked open again. Tyanne pushed through, her chin quivering, her hands clutching the strap of her oversized yellow purse. She slinked toward us like a dog who knew she was about to be punished. “What’s happened, ma’am?”

“Please, sit, Mrs. Taylor,” Yale said in a much kinder tone.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tyanne perched on the remaining chair, the one beside Kristine. She straightened her honey-colored linen skirt primly beneath her bottom, fiddled with the flaps of the matching jacket, and set her purse on the floor with a clunk. Then she scooched her chair inches away from Kristine. The feet of the chair squealed in protest.

Kristine went rigid, probably realizing that her friends, like her daughter’s, were separating themselves from her, as well.

The principal began her account.

When she finished, Tyanne fetched a tissue from her purse and blotted the tears that had pooled in the corner of her eyes. “What do y’all need us to do?”

“I’m not doing a darned thing,” Kristine said.

“Kristine, let me—”

“Not a word!” Kristine thrust a finger at Tyanne as she bounded from her chair. “It was not my child’s fault. It was that . . . that . . . willful twin.”

“Her name is Clair.” Matthew leaped to his feet, too, his face red. I could see his hands, which were jammed into his pockets, balling up and releasing beneath the fabric.

“Hush, both of you!” Principal Yale said.

“She’s incorrigible. They both are,” Kristine yelled, heedless of the principal’s warning. “They’re wild children.”

“That’s it.” Unable to rein in my own anger any longer, I jumped to my feet and glowered at Kristine. “Your daughter is the one running all over town unsupervised.”

“She is doing no such thing!”

“Please, all of you, lower your voice,” Principal Yale said. “You do not want the children hearing—”

“I’ve seen her on more than one occasion in the diner, by herself,” I hissed. “When our girls aren’t at school, they are with my grandmother and grandfather or with a sitter.”

“Ha!” Kristine shrieked. “I rest my case.” She jutted her index finger in the air. “Your grandmother cannot be trusted. She’s a murderer.”

“Take it back,” I ordered.

“Now!” Matthew hissed.

A look of triumph crossed Kristine’s face. She leaned toward Matthew, probably hedging her bet that he wouldn’t hit her in front of so many women. “You tell your twins to cease and desist, or I’ll . . .” She swung around and brandished her finger like a sword. “I’ll . . . I’ll—”

“—what? Kill me, too?” he snapped.

CHAPTER 24

Matthew and I, exasperated with the way we had behaved at school, returned to work bristling with manic energy. Luckily, customers were swarming The Cheese Shop and the wine annex and provided neither of us with the time to think about how we could have handled the meeting with Kristine better. I downed a Hershey’s Kiss to take the edge off and offered one to Matthew. He declined. I pocketed another for later, just in case.

Throughout the morning, Rebecca grilled me like a masterful DA, but I didn’t divulge anything about our encounter. Not one word. Grandmère would have been so proud of me.

Around two, when we ran out of Stilton, I said, “Did we advertise some kind of super-saver sale?”

Rebecca laughed. “I think it was the newsletter.”

Thanks to Bozz, the first of our many newsletters had gone out by email yesterday. I had included a recipe for my Stilton-Mascarpone torte, and Matthew had written an entire page about Chilean wines. He had already put in an express order for more malbec to be shipped to the store.

“Perhaps we could suggest substituting Gorgonzola for the recipe?” Rebecca said.

“Good idea.”

As if our newsletter-responsive crowd wasn’t keeping us busy enough, we had to take care of minor emergencies, too. The Mystic Moon Candle Boutique owner needed cheese to impress her future in-laws, Gretel Hildegard absolutely had to have a bottle of the wine that she’d tasted at the barbecue so she could share the liquid ambrosia with the pastor, and La Bella Ristorante had run out of Taleggio. Could we bring over ten pounds, ASAP?

Needing a breath of fresh air, I opted to make the delivery. Luigi was waiting, arms opened wide, outside the restaurant. I handed him one of our gold-toned bags filled with cheese.

“Thank you,” he said. “I was so certain we had enough, but the Taleggio and asparagus appetizer was such a big hit, we had to bring it back.”

“I sure loved it.”

“Who’s that?” He hitched his chin.

I looked in the direction he indicated. Vivian stood outside Europa Antiques and Collectibles, laughing and gripping the muscular arm of what could only be described as an Adonis. Blond hair, tan, and twenty years her junior. He carried a hefty gym bag over one shoulder. “Her personal trainer.”

Luigi’s face pinched with concern.

“Don’t worry. She’s not dating him,” I said. “He comes to the shop twice a week and takes her through a workout.”

“In the store?”

“She spends all her waking hours there. She only breaks free for the occasional yoga class or Cheese Shop visit.” I cocked my head. “Didn’t you talk to her at Felicia’s party?”

“For a second.”

“And did you ask her out?”

“I don’t know if she’s playing hard to get or if she’s not that into me.” He forced a smile, but sadness rimmed his eyes.

I patted his arm. “Take her some flowers. Be bold. She’s a very busy woman. I’ve always felt that Vivian appreciates directness.”

He saluted with two fingers and returned inside his r estaurant.

Feeling like I had done my Cupid duty for the day, I headed back to The Cheese Shop, a grin on my face. Around four thirty, my smile disappeared. Felicia, dressed in a mint green chiffon frock that made her red hair look like it was ablaze, strolled in with her sister. Lois, her arms laden with packages, looked like she had spent the entire day shopping Providence’s wonderful boutiques. I braced myself for another diatribe from Felicia, knowing I deserved it.

I was surprised when all she said was, “Don’t you look lovely, Charlotte.”

“You, too,” I stammered.

Something flickered in her eyes, but it wasn’t hurt or anger. I detected amusement.

“Charlotte,” Lois said. “I simply must have some of those soft-rind cheeses that you told me about. I’ve been telling Felicia that they’re not all that fattening.”

“Not
as
fattening,” I said, stressing the word
as
, and fetched a wheel of Brie. “Try this.” I carved off a thin slice.

Lois popped it into her mouth and hummed her satisfaction.

“Obviously, she loves it, Charlotte,” Felicia said. “Wrap up a pound.”

“A pound?” Lois chirped.

“You can afford it, Sis. Charlotte, why don’t you sell Lois some of those condiments you included in your newsletter?” Felicia eyed me, and I started to understand her glee. She was making her sister spend a lot of money, punishing Lois through her pocketbook for not corroborating her alibi.

Lois was a grown woman. It wasn’t my place to protect her. I suggested the chestnut honey for the Tartuffo, the basil pesto to match an artisanal goat cheese from a Wisconsin farmer, and a variety of jams to go with the Double Cream Gouda from Pace Hill Farms.

After Lois paid for her purchases, Felicia prodded her. “Do it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“One last thing.” Lois’s cheeks turned crimson. “Felicia was right. I was wrong. I visited our aunt a week ago, not the night of the murder. Felicia was with me. And I did see Felicia the night Ed died. It was around nine thirty.” She tittered. “Silly me. I can’t blame it on liquor, can I? Just getting’ old, I guess.”

“Satisfied?” Felicia said to me.

I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t the one she had to convince. Urso was. “Uh, sure, whatever.”

They left, Lois bubbling over with excitement about tasting her new purchases, and I couldn’t help but wonder why Felicia had needed to corroborate where she was on the night Ed was murdered. As the door slid shut and the shop fell silent, Felicia’s name edged back near the top of my suspect list.

Seconds later, Rebecca hurried to my side. “It’s girls’ night out. Do we have time before Grandmère’s rally for a little . . . ?” She mimed a drink. “Matthew said he’ll watch the shop.”

I glanced at the telephone by the register. I’d been hoping Urso would call. I was eager to know what he had gleaned from his encounters with Gretel and with Ed’s divorce attorney. On the other hand, I was edgy, business had slowed to a standstill, and Rebecca looked eager for an hour of gossip.

“Sure,” I said.

“Oh, goodie. Freckles and Delilah are coming, too.”

I gave Bozz, who had stopped in for two hours of tweaking our website, the job of taking Rags home.

As always, the pub was jam-packed. The electric violinists were having a dueling match. The crowd clapped in time to the music.

Rebecca, Freckles, Delilah, and I settled into a booth. I glanced at the appetizer menu. I had forgotten to eat lunch, and with the flurry of afternoon business, hadn’t stopped to snarf a snack. A slice of Morbier didn’t count. My stomach grumbled in protest.

“Look over there.” Rebecca pointed.

“Where?” Freckles said.

“At the end of the bar.” Rebecca wiggled her finger. “Isn’t that Jordan’s sister?”

All of us craned our necks for a look. Jacky Peterson looked incredible in tight jeans and a plaid shirt with a red bandanna slung around her neck. She hovered by the waitress station, her foot tapping in time to the music.

“She’s a waitress here?” I said.

“Started yesterday.” Delilah wagged her hand trying to get Jacky’s attention. “Wish she’d come take our order.”

“You in a hurry or something?” I grinned.

“Sometimes,” Delilah snapped.

“Touchy, touchy,” Freckles said.

“We’re in tech rehearsal,” Delilah explained.

“That’s no reason to attack your pals.” Freckles grabbed the appetizer menu from me. “What’s your favorite dish here, Charlotte?”

“Tim’s mushrooms stuffed with goat cheese and herbs.” I needed a fix of those delicacies at least once a month. “And the potato skins, smothered in Cheddar cheese and chives.” One would think that, working in a cheese shop, I would grow tired of food made with cheese, but I didn’t. I craved it.

“Yum. I’m getting the potato skins.” Freckles slid the menu back to the end of the table. “So the ballet opens next week?” she said to Delilah. “Is it any good?”

Delilah smirked. “Guess you’ll have to come to find out.” “I’ve got a ticket.” Rebecca flailed her hand like an overeager student.

“Me, too,” Freckles said. “Charlotte, when are you going?”

“Opening night.” I always went to Grandmère’s productions the first night, not because she demanded that I attend, but because there was an electricity in the air that I couldn’t explain. I only hoped she would be able to attend this one.

I glanced at my watch. Eight minutes had passed since we sat down. Tim employed three waitresses, none of whom seemed to notice us. I joined Delilah with the hand-waving. Finally Jacky acknowledged us by holding up a finger, indicating she’d be there in a second.

Freckles drummed the table as if it were a set of bongo drums. “So, who’s got the scoop?”

“On what?” I said.

“On Jacky Peterson. She’s here a week and she already has a job at the most popular place in town.” Freckles winked at Delilah. “Next to the Country Kitchen, of course.”

“She’s divorced, but that’s all I know.” I watched Jacky out of the corner of my eye. If she had changed her identity, like Octavia suspected, and was in hiding, getting a job at Tim’s wasn’t the best idea. Inside a week, everybody in town would know her or want to find out more about her. The guys, especially.

“Hush!” Rebecca flapped her hands to quiet us. “She’s coming this way.”

“What’ll it be, ladies?” Jacky set four cardboard coasters with Tim’s logo on them in front of us. “Oh, hi, Charlotte. How nice to see you again.”

“Same here. You sure got a job fast.”

“Jordan is friends with Tim. I was really lucky. What’ll it be?”

We ordered our drinks and appetizers. As she glided away, her hair swinging sensually across her back, I reflected again how happy I was that she was Jordan’s sister and not a significant other.

“Speaking of Jordan . . .” Delilah said.

“What about him?” Rebecca twirled her coaster.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Delilah looked at me slyly and said with a leading tone, “Did I hear right? Did Jordan ask you on a date?”

“Oh, Charlotte, I forgot to tell you.” Rebecca clapped a hand over her mouth, then spoke between split fingers. “He stopped by the shop while you were at the twins’ school.”

With the flurry of the day’s activities, I’d forgotten about Jordan’s and my resolution to fix “this date thing.”

Rebecca lowered her hand. “Will you forgive me?”

“Is he pining for you?” Delilah drew out the word, pi-i-i-ining.

How did I know? He could have stopped by to cancel our date entirely. Eager to keep my concerns about Jordan to myself, I said, “Not like Luigi pines for Vivian.” I told them about seeing Luigi earlier and urging him to take Vivian some flowers.

“You know,” Rebecca said, “for a good looking man, Luigi lacks a little confidence, don’t you think?”

“He’s all bravado,” Freckles teased. “Pretty hair, great smile, but not a lot to offer in here.” She thumped her chest. “He could use a little retooling on his depth quotient, I think.”

“Really?” Delilah said.

I looked at her sideways and was surprised to see that she seemed a little forlorn. Was she interested in Luigi? He was years older. There were plenty of other guys in Providence closer to her age who had shown interest. Luigi’s younger brother, for one. I sighed. There was no accounting for who one fell in love with.

“Look, look,” Rebecca said, jerking her head to the right.

Prudence and Tyanne, still wearing her linen suit and carrying the oversized yellow purse, tramped to a table and sat down. Neither looked happy.

“What’s with the dour faces?” Rebecca said. “Do you think they just got wind of how people intend to vote tomorrow? I mean, customers at the shop today were adamant that your grandmother is the hands-down favorite.”

I wasn’t sure that Tyanne would care at this point, not after Kristine had lambasted her at the school.

“How do you think Kristine’s handling the scuttlebutt?” Freckles said.

“In her usual way.” Delilah framed her eyes with her hands. “With blinders on.”

“You know, I saw this rerun of
Matlock
.” Rebecca pulled on her ear lobe. “Or maybe it was
CSI: New York—
”