by Robbi McCoy
“He just didn’t have time to take anything. We came home unexpectedly early. We thought we’d be home around one. We got here just after midnight.”
The officer curled her upper lip. “How would a burglar know when you were coming home?”
“Uh, good point.”
“Besides, this guy, whatever he was after, wasn’t concerned about the house being empty. Your brother’s boyfriend was here, wasn’t he?”
“Asleep upstairs.”
“So he says.” Officer Whiteley looked noncommittal.
“Just why are you trying to cast suspicion on him?” Wren demanded.
“It was you that said you and your brother came home earlier than planned, wasn’t it? There’s a rule in this business. The most likely explanation is usually the right one. I’ll be on my way now. Good night.”
No sooner had Wren shut the door than she heard raised voices from the living room. She hurried through, arriving just as Raven threw a purple pillow in Kyle’s direction. It missed. Raven squatted on the sofa, his fists knotted up, his face covered with tears. Kyle stood nearby. As Wren entered the room, he looked at her and shrugged.
“Thou liest, villain!” Raven shouted at Kyle.
“What’s going on?” Wren demanded.
“This man has broken my heart,” Raven cried. “Get out! I never want to see you again!”
Kyle looked helpless. “He’s talking nonsense.”
Raven bounced on the couch cushion impatiently. “Get out!”
“Wait a minute,” Wren said. “Is this about the man in the window?”
“What else? Even that policewoman doesn’t believe he was a burglar. You saw the look she gave him.” Raven pointed and glared at Kyle. “He says he knows nothing. He says he was asleep.”
“Is it a crime to be asleep after midnight?” Kyle asked.
“It is when my boyfriend is having a sex-ez-vous.”
Kyle stared. “This is ridiculous. I’m completely innocent.”
“There was a man in this house tonight, a bulky man, who tried to sneak away when I came home. What does that tell you?”
“That a burglar broke into the house,” Kyle said emphatically, “and was scared away by your arrival. Very simple.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Raven asked, then turned to plead his case to Wren. “I’m slaving away at the theater night after night and this, this…deceiver is reveling in the company of bulky men! You cad! Why don’t you just take a pound of flesh while you’re at it.” Raven ripped his shirt open to bare his hairless chest.
“Maybe we should—” Wren started.
Raven bolted off the couch and pointed again at Kyle. “‘What man was he talk’d with you tonight at your window betwixt twelve and one?’”
Wren recognized the line from Much Ado About Nothing. After seeing it three times in two weeks, she had nearly memorized the play. No doubt Kyle was equally familiar with the accusation. False accusation, as it turned out in the play. Raven was apparently not thinking of that.
Kyle stared, unbelieving. “I’ve had enough of this,” he declared, then marched toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Raven demanded.
“I’m going to a hotel.” He slammed the door behind him.
Raven slumped back into the sofa and started sobbing in earnest. Wren came over and sat beside him, cradling him in her arms, feeling chilled from their damp clothing. When he had gained control of himself, he spoke melodramatically. “‘Speak of me as one that loved not wisely but too well.’”
“Maybe you’re being a little theatrical,” she suggested. “It’s hard to imagine he would do that. I mean, if he were going to cheat on you, you’d think he’d do it more cleverly than having a man over here right before you came home.”
Raven spoke calmly. “It was never his brains that attracted me to him.”
Wren clunked his head gently with her fist. “Don’t play that game with me. I know you love him. And he loves you too. You really should try to be less impetuous.”
When Raven left to change into dry clothes, Wren went to the study and examined the window, which was still open to the cool night air. She slid it shut, then looked around the room, trying again to find something amiss, anything at all that would give a clue to the reason behind the break-in. An antique cuckoo clock on the wall, ticking audibly as its wooden pendulum swung back and forth, may have been the most valuable thing in the room, though a run-of-the-mill thug wouldn’t necessarily know that. A run-of-the-mill thug would go for electronics.
She inspected the desk where her laptop resided. Beside it was a plate of aebleskiver. She noticed a light dusting of powdered sugar on the desk. She ran her fingers over home row of her keyboard, feeling a slight stickiness. She distinctly recalled wiping down the keyboard this morning when she was done working. Was it possible, she wondered, that the intruder had been looking for information rather than valuables? She doubted anyone would be able to get past her password, at least not quickly, so it wasn’t likely he had gotten into her computer. She did a rapid check of the desk drawers and papers on the desk to make sure nothing there would connect her with her alter ego—no printed emails, no restaurant notes or half-written reviews. She tried to be careful, but she didn’t stay on guard at all times against the remote possibility of someone breaking into the house.
If he wasn’t a thief and he wasn’t Kyle’s lover, which seemed unlikely, at least to Wren, who was this bulky intruder with a sweet tooth? She felt a shiver run up her spine as she considered the answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In complete glory she reveal’d herself.
—Henry IV, Part I, Act I, Scene 2
Sophie came around the side of the house to a chaotic scene. Her mother was in the front yard bent over Twopenny, wrestling with her. Maribelle, the largest of the goats, reared up on her hind legs, preparing to make a head-butt dive at Olivia’s backside. Completely unaware of the hit that was coming, Olivia had Twopenny’s head clamped in one arm and her other hand wrapped around the wad of paper disappearing between the goat’s rubbery lips.
Sophie shouted and dove toward Maribelle like a linebacker, hitting her from the side and taking her down. Both of them rolled over on the lawn. Maribelle bleated angrily and was back on her feet with a flick of her white tail. Olivia was still tussling with Twopenny.
Sophie hauled herself up. “What’s going on?”
“She’s eating my newspaper!” Olivia whined. “Pry open her mouth.”
While Olivia held Twopenny, Sophie coaxed her mouth open until Olivia could grab the soggy paper. She then stamped up the steps of the porch and collapsed in her rocker.
“It wouldn’t have hurt her,” Sophie said, releasing Twopenny, who complained noisily at the indignity of having her snack stolen. “At least not enough to kill yourself over.”
“It wasn’t her I was worried about.”
“Then what?”
“It’s this.” Olivia waved the paper toward Sophie. “My picture’s in here.”
“Your picture? Why are you in the paper?”
“It’s a big write-up of the farm. It’s that Eno Threlkeld. He said he’d fix it and damned if he didn’t.” She unwadded the paper. “I hope that goat didn’t eat my picture. She’s just jealous because it’s Tallulah, not her, that got her picture in there with me.” Olivia looked up, her face contorting into a sudden look of alarm. “Sophie!” she warned.
But it was too late. Maribelle’s head collided solidly with Sophie’s left butt cheek, sending her flying forward. She stumbled and hit the ground, landing on her stomach, face first in the grass. As she rolled over and spit, Maribelle galloped away toward the goat pen. Like all of the goats, she considered it the safe zone. Bad assumption, Sophie thought, gritting her teeth.
“Are you okay?” her mother asked, suddenly standing beside her.
Sophie got to her feet shakily, then rubbed her butt. “I’ll be okay. I’m not sure that goat will be a
ble to say as much when I’m through with her.”
“Before you kill her, read this.”
Sophie sat on the steps and took the paper from her mother, flattening it out to find a substantial feature article on Tallulah Rose Creamery. There was indeed a photo of Olivia with her arms around Tallulah’s neck, both of them smiling at the camera.
“He says our cheese is divine,” Olivia crooned, sitting beside Sophie. “Divine, that’s what he said.”
Sophie read the article carefully. It was very flattering as it accurately described their small herd of Nubian goats and their kitchen process of making small-batch, French-style chêvre. He mentioned the mother-daughter team of Olivia and Sophie, two “charming, capable women who took their product seriously and had made excellent decisions in their short tenure as cheese crafters.” It described in detail the texture and flavor of their three varieties. He did use the word “divine.” He also said the cheese was “smooth, rich and creamy, a perfect balance of tang and sweetness with a clean, satisfying finish.” The herb cheeses were “subtly flavored and delightfully vibrant.” All in all, he said, “Tallulah Rose Creamery is producing chêvre as fine as anything from Provence.”
When Sophie had finished, she looked at her mother incredulously. Olivia was grinning, her eyes bright with happiness.
“What did I tell you?” she said. “Passable, indeed! Not on your life! Divine, that’s what it is.” Olivia cocked her head upward with an air of smugness. “A perfect balance of tang and sweetness.”
This was better than anything Sophie could have imagined, tremendously superior to a retraction.
“Charming,” Olivia persisted. “That’s what we are. That’s what he said.”
“Yes, so he did.” Sophie stared out across the hills for a moment. “But I’m confused.”
“Why? Don’t you think I’m charming?”
She looked at her mother and laughed. “I’m not confused about that. You’re definitely charming. No, that isn’t it. Where did this photo come from? When was he here? Did he come when I was out? You must have talked to him and given him all this information. You must have seen him because he took your picture.”
Olivia’s grin faded. “I didn’t think about that. No, nobody’s been here.” Olivia squinted, obviously aware that didn’t make sense. “Except that girl,” she said at last. “Wren.”
Sophie nodded, having already come to the same startling conclusion.
Her mother looked suddenly enlightened. “Yes! She’s the one who took that picture. I remember. She asked me to pose with Tallulah. So he must have gotten his information from her. Maybe she’s his assistant.”
Sophie remembered the phony real estate agent story Wren had given her. Then she recalled Wren’s surprisingly detailed knowledge about food that she had downplayed when questioned.
“I think maybe she’s more than just his assistant,” she said thoughtfully.
“Is this making sense to you?” Olivia asked.
“A lot of things are beginning to make sense to me.”
“I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“A girl’s got to have a few secrets, Mom. Haven’t you always said so?”
Sophie sat on the porch watching Twopenny jumping joyfully on pieces of stacked plywood. Niblets arrived to join in the game.
Wren had to know I would figure this out, Sophie thought, that she’d blown her cover by writing this article. She smiled to think Wren had handed her this gift and trusted her with it, revealing her true identity. Although this gesture went some distance toward softening Sophie’s opinion of Wren, it did nothing to take away the brutal reality that Wren was married to a man and was therefore only interested in Sophie as sport.
She remembered back to the day Wren had shown up here at the farm, the day she’d done the research for the article, how coldly Sophie had greeted her, how thoroughly she’d rejected her. Yet she had still written this glowing article, had called Sophie “charming.” That was big of her. She was apparently capable of separating her personal and professional selves. Maybe that was easier to do when they each had their own name. Sophie ran her finger over the byline, “Eno Threlkeld.” That name suddenly conjured up a completely different set of images and feelings for her than it had minutes ago.
“You can put that on our website,” Olivia said, pointing to the newspaper article. “How’s that coming along anyway? Are we online yet?”
“No, but I—” Sophie was about to tell her mother she’d found an artist to design their logo, but remembered that he was Wren’s husband, so no longer an option. “No, but maybe I’ll be more motivated to get it done with an endorsement like this.”
“That paper’s all soggy,” Olivia said. “Why don’t you go to the store to get a couple good copies?”
“Good idea.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll make lunch.”
“You don’t need to. There are a couple pieces of chicken left from last night. Why don’t we just have those?”
“What about Klaus?”
“He isn’t coming in for lunch today.”
Olivia looked puzzled. “He didn’t come in yesterday either. Why not?”
“I don’t think he has much reason to hang around the kitchen now.”
Sophie recalled Klaus’s sadness from the other day when she’d finally told him she was gay. Apparently the idea took him completely by surprise. He was embarrassed too because of his displays of affection toward her, which he now assumed she had found ridiculous. She hadn’t. She’d been touched, even if she couldn’t respond the way he wanted. He could barely look at her now. She shouldn’t have waited so long to tell him, she knew that. Now things were just plain awkward between them.
“Things have changed between me and Klaus,” Sophie said.
“You told him you weren’t interested, didn’t you?” Olivia surmised.
Sophie folded the newspaper into a log. “I had to.”
Olivia nodded solemnly. “That was the right thing to do. He’s a good boy, but he’s not for you, is he? No point leading him on.”
Sophie shook her head.
“Sophie,” her mother said in her maternal voice, “I think we need to have a talk.”
“About?” Sophie asked.
“About your future. What you want to do with the rest of your life. Where you’re headed.”
Sophie was taken aback. “Things are fine the way they are now. I mean, I like living here with you.”
“But you aren’t planning on living like this permanently, are you?” Olivia stared at her purposefully, her blue eyes peering hard.
“I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Maybe you should. I’m very grateful you decided to come home and help me out. You gave up your career and put your life on hold. But I’m okay now. I want you to feel free to make your own way again.”
“You want me to leave?”
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. You can stay as long as you want to or need to. I’m just saying I could be okay on my own now, if you felt like moving on.”
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t. I’m happy here. I don’t want to go back to what I was doing before.”
Olivia pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. Sophie was unable to read her intention.
“What about romance?” Olivia asked. “Don’t you think you’ll want to find someone, eventually?”
Sophie shrugged. “Sure, I suppose. This isn’t about Klaus, is it? There’s no way he—”
“No, no, it isn’t about Klaus. I knew you were never interested in him. But I was wondering if there was anyone you were interested in.”
Sophie thought of Wren, the only person she’d found interesting since she’d left Jan. “No, not particularly.”
“I see.” Olivia rocked forward on the step, then back, gazing at the goats as they continued their game on the stack of plywood. “What if I was gone?”
“Oh, Mom, that
’s not going to happen! You’re so healthy now. Dr. Connor said you’re like a thirty year old. He said you’re going to outlive us all.”
Olivia nodded indulgently. “Yes, but just for the sake of discussion, what if I wasn’t here? Maybe just gone, not necessarily dead? You’re a young woman and you aren’t like me, Sophie. You aren’t the sort to live alone. You’re such a nurturing person. You need someone to nurture. I worry about what you would do if I...was out of the picture.”
“I don’t understand where this is coming from, Mom. Everything’s fine. I’m happy with the way things are. You’re not going anywhere.”
Olivia gazed silently at Sophie, then smiled reassuringly. “I’m glad you’re happy, Sophie. Happy to be living here with your mother. Such a contrast from ten years ago when you couldn’t wait to get away.”
Sophie smiled. “Kids rebel. That’s all over, thank God, and I’m sorry I gave you so much grief.”
Olivia sputtered dismissively. “Water under the bridge.”
Sophie waited to see if her mother wanted to continue this conversation, but she turned her attention back to the goats, clearly done talking. Sophie was still unsure of the point of this discussion. Was Olivia worried Sophie was neglecting her own needs to care for her mother? That seemed the most likely explanation with her assurances that she could manage on her own. Sophie hoped she had persuaded her that wasn’t the case. Sophie had no longings she was neglecting. Other than her desire for Wren, but that had nothing to do with Olivia. Wren’s unavailability wasn’t something her mother could do anything about.
“We should celebrate this,” Sophie said, waving the newspaper. “Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?”
“Naw, not tonight. But maybe when you go to the store for the paper, you can get us something special.”
“Okay. Do you have anything in mind?”
“When she was here the other day, that Wren told me about a salad they have at Sprouts with beets, sugar-glazed walnuts and goat cheese. I’d like to try that, if you could make it.”
