For Cheddar or Worse

by Avery Aames

  “Did you see me, Andrew? In the chair? You woke up every hour.” Erin whispered over her shoulder to Urso, “He doesn’t sleep through the night, ever. He wakes up often.”

  Urso twirled a finger, signifying she should continue.

  “Andrew, sweetheart.” Erin licked her lips. I loved how she anchored him by using the word sweetheart when she said his name. “Did you see me?”

  “I saw you.”

  Erin looked exultantly at Urso, but then Andrew moaned and started to bounce on the bed. The springs creaked beneath him.

  Erin said, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “One, two, three, not four.”

  Urso jumped on that. “Not four?”

  “He’s counting,” Erin said.

  “No, he specifically said: Not four.” Urso took a step toward Andrew.

  The young man leaned back. Panic filled his eyes.

  I gripped Urso’s arm to keep him from progressing. “Don’t. He’s afraid.”

  Urso grunted. “Ask him what he meant, Erin.”

  “Andrew, sweetheart, what did you mean, ‘One, two, three, not four’?”

  “Not four.” His lips drew tight.

  “Didn’t you see me at four A.M.?” She gestured to the rocking chair.

  “Not four.”

  Erin’s eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. You didn’t see me because I went to the restroom at four.” She hitched her thumb at the opened door leading to the bathroom. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Not four. Not four. Not four.”

  “Andrew, sweetheart—”

  “Not four.”

  Urso stepped toward Erin. “Where were you at four A.M., Erin? Clearly not here and not in there.” He jutted a finger.

  Erin sucked back a sob. “Charlotte, help me.”

  “Chief, I heard a noise around then. A door opening and closing.” I turned to Erin. “Were you wandering the inn?” I stroked her arm. “Trust U-ey. Tell him. He wants you to be innocent.”

  “I took a walk. Is that acceptable?” She sounded so defensive. Why shouldn’t she? She had been caught in a lie. “I couldn’t sleep. After Lara’s tirade, Andrew was a mess. He fell right to sleep, but he tossed and turned. When he woke up around one, he started to pace. I couldn’t have him pounding the floor and disturbing the guests. I sang to him. I read to him. I counted to a million with him. Around four, he fell asleep again, so I went outside. I needed air.” She flailed an arm. Her eyes glistened with anger mixed with exhaustion. “I was outside for fifteen minutes, U-ey. Fifteen! Count ’em.”

  “Did anyone see you?” he asked.

  “Charlotte just said she heard me. Isn’t that enough?” She caved in on herself. “I didn’t do it.”

  “Chief, you can’t accuse her of murder,” I said. “Not yet. You need to find out when Lara died first. I also heard a door open and close around two.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Erin said.

  “When will the coroner arrive, Chief?” I asked.

  “Soon.”

  “How about if we go back to the group? You can ask general questions. Maybe someone will slip up. Please.” I put a hand on his arm.

  Urso stared at my hand.

  A flush of embarrassment coursed through me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep or infringe on our friendship.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sure you did.” He adjusted his hat. “Okay, Erin. Let’s retire to the dining room.”

  Erin raised her trembling chin and mustered a salute. “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  Everyone reconvened at the dining room table, taking the same seats they had occupied previously, but before Urso could ask a question, the coroner raced into the inn. He was a new guy, buttoned-down with Marine-cut hair and pinched features, and eager to get to the scene of the crime. Urso gave him directions to the third floor.

  “By the way,” the coroner said as he headed upstairs. “A mini-bus just pulled up outside.”

  Kandice moaned. “The others.”

  “What others?” Urso asked.

  “The others who are participating in the brain trust. Their shuttle from Lavender and Lace broke down this morning. Until now, I’d forgotten about them. They—”

  “Turn them away,” Urso ordered.

  Jordan said, “I’ll take care of it, Kandice.” He waited for a nod from Urso then sprinted out of the inn.

  “Chief,” Erin said, her voice soft and plaintive, “could I stay with my brother while you meet with the coroner? He gets so . . . All of this . . .” She twirled a hand. “You understand.”

  Urso agreed. He ordered everyone else to stay put.

  “Before you go, sir.” Ryan raised a polite hand. “I think we’re all hungry. Is it possible—”

  “Yes.” Urso pivoted. “Erin, please get some food brought in before you tend to Andrew.”

  She agreed and exited toward the kitchen.

  Urso departed. In his absence, we all went silent. The grandfather clock ticktocked with even more vengeance, which made me less enamored of the dratted thing. For what seemed like an eon, no one said a word.

  Right as Jordan returned to the table, my stomach growled. He clasped my hand and whispered, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “And worried for Erin.”

  I frowned. “Yes. It doesn’t look good.” Quietly, I shared all I had learned in Andrew’s room.

  Jordan squeezed my hand. “U-ey will do the right thing. You know he will.”

  I nodded. I trusted Urso. “Any problem with the folks you ousted?”

  “That reporter Quigley Pressman wanted to hang around. I told him Chief Urso would have my hide if I let him. I promised him an interview tomorrow. With you.”

  “Me?” I squawked.

  “You’re much better at it than I am.”

  I whacked him fondly on his upper arm. “Chicken.”

  The waitress with the blunt haircut whooshed through the swinging door from the kitchen. She was carrying a tray of tea sandwiches. Her ponytailed twin entered after her. She held a tray filled with highball glasses and two pitchers, one of water and another of iced tea. Both women looked tight-lipped and worried. As the ponytailed one neared me, I whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “Are we under suspicion?” she asked. “We only just arrived at dawn. We couldn’t have . . . We wouldn’t have . . . We had no reason to—”

  I rested my hand on her wrist to calm her. “Don’t worry. Chief Urso knows you well.” U-ey is a daily customer at The Country Kitchen; the twins often waited on him. Not to mention, one of them, I wasn’t sure which, had been his babysitter when she was a teenager. “He’ll ask you a few questions, but you shouldn’t fret. Just try to remember whether you saw anything out of the ordinary when you pulled in.”

  If only they had arrived at four A.M. and had seen Erin roaming the grounds. I sighed. If only wasn’t to be.

  I opted for a cream cheese and strawberry jam tea sandwich, but surprisingly after one bite, my appetite vanished. Swell. The minutes ticked on. Kandice and Victor continually checked their cell phones for messages. Ryan drummed the table, beating out a rhythm that sounded like Beethoven’s Fifth. Shayna was scrolling through a series of email messages. When she caught me staring, she mouthed: My youngest.

  A quarter of an hour later, Urso returned with Erin. She took her position at the head of the table, and Urso asked everyone his or her alibi again. In detail. No one deviated.

  “Did anyone see me walking outside at four A.M.?” Erin asked. “Charlotte says she heard something, but that doesn’t seem to be enough proof for Chief Urso.”

  “I also heard something at two A.M.” I gazed at Kandice, my premier suspect because she was dead set against Erin, not to mention she had in
vited Lara to the brain trust. On the sly. I didn’t expect her to admit to being out and about—if she did, she would be establishing that she had lied about falling asleep with her schedule as a pillow—but I hoped she would show a flicker of guilt: rapid blinking, gritting teeth, something. She didn’t.

  Ryan cleared his throat, but he didn’t offer up anything.

  Erin sucked back a sob.

  “Sir.” Deputy O’Shea emerged in the archway leading to the foyer. He said after searching Miss Emerald’s room and the rest of the premises for a second set of room keys, which he did not find, he went in search of Lara’s purse, which he did find. “This is it, right?” He held up a caramel-colored Prada tote. “It was tucked into her suitcase along with a hoard of files and a carry case of jewelry. Her cell phone is in the purse. As is the key to her room.”

  “Good work.”

  Kandice raised a hand. “Isn’t the placement of the purse suspicious? I mean, stowing her purse in a suitcase. C’mon. Isn’t that odd?”

  “I do that when I travel,” I said. “Out of sight, out of mind. A thief would have to look to find it, and thieves hate spending time.”

  Kandice smirked. “Since when are you an expert?”

  “Don’t attack her, Kandice,” Shayna said. “She’s only trying to help.”

  “Fine.” Kandice slumped in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Is there anything significant on Lara’s cell phone?” Victor asked.

  Urso swung around. “Why would you ask?”

  A fresh outbreak of perspiration glazed Victor’s taut skin. “All I’m saying is what if Lara invited someone to stay with her? Someone not in this room. What if she arranged an affaire d’amour, and her paramour showed up after everyone retired? He brought her a violin, killed her, and split.”

  Ryan guffawed. “The door was locked, you dolt, or didn’t you hear? And her room key was in her purse.”

  “Not to mention”—Shayna bobbed her head, agreeing with Ryan—“Lara wouldn’t do such a thing. Inviting a stranger to her room? Get real.” I was surprised and pleased to hear Shayna defend her former partner. It spoke well to her innocence.

  The conversation continued, many acting testy, others growing morose: How long would this take? Did she need a lawyer? How dare he be held against his will!

  Around noon, when Urso declared the brain trust officially over, there were moans from everyone—whether from despair or relief, I wasn’t sure. Urso allowed all of us, including Erin, to remain free on his or her own recognizance. Once he received the coroner’s report about time of death, he would revisit the matter of alibis. No one was to leave town. Period. He asked for cell phone numbers and returned upstairs.

  Chairs screeched the floor. Victor first, then Shayna. Ryan reached for Erin’s hand. The warmth in his eyes said it all; he was falling for her. Erin peeked over her shoulder toward the foyer, probably wondering whether she should tend to her brother or remain here, drinking in Ryan’s support.

  “Dang, dang, dang it!” Kandice struggled to free the sleeve of her dress, which had snagged on her chair. She tugged hard; something ripped. “Drat!” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I can’t believe it. The brain trust is canceled? It’s going to ruin me.” She scrambled from her seat, flapping her arms like she might take flight. “Who will hire me to put on a conference after this fiasco?”

  “How about me?” Victor said.

  “You’d hire me?”

  “Don’t be absurd. If my clients find out I was here, I’m ruined.”

  “Why?” Kandice asked. “Because you did it?”

  “Did what? Murdered Lara? Don’t be ridiculous.” Victor glowered at her but something flickered in his eyes. Did he kill Lara? I wouldn’t put it past him. He said they had dated a while ago. He claimed he cut bait and ran, but did he? What if he fell in love with her? What if he got jealous because he thought she was, as he said, having an affaire d’amour? I pictured the scenario. He went to her room. She rebuffed him. He became enraged.

  Kandice scoffed. “How could being here affect you, Victor? Online buyers don’t look at the whereabouts of the site owner. They want cheap prices. You provide plenty of those.”

  “Are you saying my product is cheap? Why you . . .” Victor raised a hand. “Take it back.”

  Kandice snarled at him.

  “Victor! Kandice!” Shayna shouted. “Cut it out. Do you hear yourselves?”

  Ryan said, “That’s all they hear. They don’t listen to anyone else. They—”

  “Ryan.” Erin gripped his arm. “Don’t fan the fire.”

  But Ryan couldn’t seem to help himself. He wriggled free. “Victor, I didn’t see you in town last night. Why? Maybe you weren’t really there.”

  “I was.” Victor raised his chin.

  “Did anybody see you?” Ryan challenged. “Anyone at all?”

  Victor smacked his tongue against teeth. “Don’t take me on, young man. I’m warning you.”

  Ryan flexed his arms. “You want a piece of me?”

  Jordan stepped forward, hands raised in conciliation. “C’mon, fellas. Cool it. This isn’t going to get us anyplace.”

  “Lara is dead.” Victor spat out the words. “One of us killed her.”

  “Glad to hear you’ve included yourself in that group, pal,” Ryan said.

  “You know, pal”—Victor peered down his nose at Ryan—“you’re the one who had a set-to with Lara the first night. She accused you of plagiarizing her. And you’re strong enough to have smothered her.”

  “So are you.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have. I loved her.”

  Aha! I knew it.

  Ryan’s nostrils flared; his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Victor, my man. At dinner last night, when you were questioning Lara about her collectibles, she told you to stop or she would tell us something about you. A secret. What was it?”

  Victor poised himself, as if ready for a fight. Good thing he wasn’t holding a rapier in his hand.

  “I’d bet it has something to do with your business,” Ryan went on. “Are you—”

  “She had nothing on me. Nothing!” Victor glanced at the others. “I had no reason to kill Lara Berry. You have to believe me.”

  “Methinks the lad doth protest too much,” Ryan said in a British accent. He leveled Victor with a glare. “The truth will out. It always does.”

  Flash!

  Light flared through the window and bounced off the mirror on the far wall. Someone outside had taken a photograph.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Jordan rushed to the foyer and out the front door. I followed. A man in a yellow plaid jacket darted around the corner of the inn. Quigley Pressman. Of course. Who else would own such a garish piece of clothing? How long had he been hanging outside? What had he heard? An engine sputtered to life, and seconds later Quigley zipped down the driveway in his black smart car.

  “Jordan, what should we do?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “We can’t fight the freedom of the press.”

  “Quigley sure as heck won’t get an interview out of me now.”

  Jordan wrapped an arm around me. “I never thought he would.”

  ***

  Because we lived in town, Jordan and I packed our things to return home. The thought of staying at the inn another night made me edgy. I felt sorry for the out-of-towners, but what could they do? They had nowhere else to stay. The rest of the B&Bs and quaint hotels in town were booked due to the Cheese Festival and Street Scene.

  Before leaving, I assured Erin I would touch base with her tomorrow. I could not accept that she was the killer. Call it gut instinct or a total commitment to a friend, but I simply didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. Erin barely heard me. Andrew was anxiously clacking the tambourine on the floor above while chanting: up, up, up or d
own, down, down loudly enough for all to hear.

  On the drive back to town, I kept cycling the events through my brain. Lara’s was a closed-room murder. There was no way in or out, so how had the killer gotten into and out of Lara’s room undetected? Why had he or she moved the violin back to Erin’s room if, indeed, that was what happened? There was no proof that Lara had been playing Erin’s violin. True, Kandice claimed she heard the strains of a violin, but she couldn’t convince me it was Erin’s instrument, yet no alternative instrument had been found. The other niggling point was why Lara had played the violin in the first place? Near midnight? Had she stolen it and accidentally plucked it while trying to find a place to hide it?

  Jordan and I swung by Matthew’s house to fetch Rags. Amy and Clair, Matthew’s preteen twins, met us at the door. Both were blossoming into lovely young ladies. Amy had grown another inch in the past month, nearly catching up to her older-by-a-few-minutes twin. Her dark hair had grown, too. She was wearing it swept into a ponytail. Clair still had her blonde hair styled in a bob. A blue ribbon held back the bangs that she was growing out. Six months ago, the girls would have tugged us into the kitchen for cookies and milk; now they hugged us for a nanosecond and tore off to watch a television show about a teenage detective.

  “Meredith’s asleep,” Amy yelled over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time. “The animals are with her. Dad is making tea.”

  I was surprised to find Matthew at home on a Saturday. He explained that he had wanted to check in on Meredith. Even though Urso instructed us not to discuss the details of the murder, both Jordan and I felt we should let Matthew in on the drama. He would keep the news to himself.

  While he poured us each a cup of Darjeeling tea, I did most of the talking. Poor Erin, he said a number of times. Meredith would be upset to hear. She had performed in the high school orchestra alongside Erin. Meredith had played the cello.

  An hour later, we headed home. The first thing I did was open windows and let in a fresh breeze, anything to remind me that I was alive and breathing and life was continuing with gusto. Then I retreated to the kitchen. I fed Rags and puttered around for a few hours by cleaning cupboards and counters. I wasn’t expected at the shop.