by Avery Aames
“Nothing,” I lied. “A blank.”
He gave me a knowing look. I dodged him and entered the kitchen. The good thing about cooking is it takes all my concentration. It works like a mental breather. I don’t dwell on life’s big questions or the horror of death.
“All right, everyone, aprons back on,” Jordan ordered.
Although he had given the main restaurant a facelift, he hadn’t altered anything in the kitchen. It was a well-designed space with a number of Vulcan ranges and ovens and plenty of prep counters. A kitchen staff member was cleaning up after us.
With Jordan’s guidance, we cooked another hot appetizer as a tribute to Tim, a mini–potato skin stuffed with melted blue cheese. Tasty! Plating appetizers was always a challenge to me. I could create cheese platters without any problem, but making little morsels look scrumptious with just a sprig of parsley or a squiggle of olive oil was an art. Jordan did his best to show me how to wield a squeeze bottle, but my artistic talent fell short. Squirts came out as blobs or driblets. Swell.
We devoured the stuffed potatoes and moved on to the entrée.
In teams, we were assigned first to a prep counter and then to a grilling station. I was chopping parsley for my tomato-vodka-cream sauce when I heard Rebecca, who was working alongside her beloved at one of the Vulcan ranges, hoot with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Devon was coming up with lines from movies”—she couldn’t contain herself; snickers burbled out of her—“but he was tweaking them to sound cheesy.”
“Cheesy?”
“As in using cheese in the references. Duh.” She giggled some more. “And he was making me guess the titles. Get this: ‘I love the smell of Parmesan in the morning.’”
“Apocalypse Now,” Jordan said.
“Correct!” Rebecca winked at Devon. “How about, ‘Puree it again, Sam’?”
“Casablanca,” Tyanne chimed.
“Right!” Rebecca clapped her hands.
“Except there’s no cheese in that line,” I said.
“Don’t be a stickler,” Rebecca chided. “How about this one? ‘May the fondue be with you.’”
“Star Wars,” Delilah shouted.
“Yes!” Rebecca nearly cheered. “Aren’t these fun? How about this? ‘I’ve never kissed a Jarlsberg thief before.’”
“That’s a stretch,” I said.
“You know it?”
“Yes. You swapped Jarlsberg for jewel. It’s from To Catch a Thief. And the line is ‘I’ve never caught a jewel thief before.’” The Hitchcock classic is one of my all-time favorite movies. “Grace Kelly says it to Cary Grant.”
Rebecca smiled. “That man is so yummy.”
“Sugar, you’re not kidding.” Tyanne sighed with a swoon. “Has anyone ever seen a dreamier cat burglar than Cary Grant? And those fireworks that light up the sky when they lock lips? Magical.”
“Your turn, Charlotte,” Rebecca challenged. “Do you have a quote?”
I thought for a moment and nodded. “How about this?” In a low, masculine voice I said, “‘I don’t have to show you no stinkin’ Brie.’”
Rebecca looked perplexed. “I don’t know that one.”
“Really?” I was shocked. I repeated the line, using a Hispanic accent. Still no response. “Are you kidding? You call yourself a film buff, and you don’t know it?”
Urso said, “I believe the line is, ‘We don’t need no stinkin’ badges.’”
“Yeah,” Jordan chimed. “That’s the line.”
“Nope,” I said, “but it is one of the most misquoted lines of film history.” I couldn’t believe I was the only one in the room who knew the correct line. Let’s hear it for the film class I took during college. “C’mon, Rebecca,” I goaded, wiggling my fingers, begging for the answer. “I know you’ve seen the film. Shh. Don’t anybody tell her the title. Two Americans in Mexico, mining for gold.”
“Oh, I remember now.” A grin spread across her face. “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre with Humphrey Bogart.”
“And who said the line?” I challenged.
“It wasn’t Bogart?”
“Nope. It was said to Bogart.”
“Wait, wait, I know this!” Rebecca snapped her fingers. “His name is Alfonso . . . Alfonso . . .”
A fire alarm rang out. Blang!
“Uh-oh,” I shouted and pointed.
Rebecca spun around. Huge orange oily flames were rising from her pan. “Oh, no!” Neither she nor any of us had been paying attention. Oops!
“I’m on it!” Jordan fetched a fire extinguisher and raced back with it aimed. “Watch out!” He doused the fire with a muddle of white goo.
After that, the easy, breezy feeling of the evening vanished.
CHAPTER
17
Later that night, when I was getting ready for bed—Jordan was nestled in and reading a thriller; I was standing in the bathroom scrubbing my face—out of nowhere, the fire incident at the restaurant struck me as funny. I pictured the look of horror and embarrassment on Rebecca’s face. Like me, she hated making mistakes, especially in a crowd of friends. I wondered if she was still pacing her bedroom, scolding herself for being careless. If it weren’t so late, I would call her to put her at ease. A week from now, no one would remember.
“What’re you chuckling about?” Jordan asked.
I poked my head out of the bathroom and told him. “Fortunately, she didn’t burn down the building,” I added.
“Luckily no one got hurt.”
His comment threw me for a loop. A pang of remorse scudded through me. Luckily no one got hurt. Or dead. Like Lara. No matter what people thought of her, she hadn’t deserved to die, and she deserved justice as much as Erin warranted a good defense.
I assessed myself via the mirror above the sink. Thanks to the tension of the past few days, my eyes were not the eyes of a thirty-something. I looked more like a seventy-something going on eighty. I applied a generous amount of skin cream, doused my eyes with a dry-eye solution, and switched off the light.
Slipping under the covers, sorrow swept over me again. I shuddered and snuggled into my husband. “Who do you think—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
He clapped his book closed. “Who do I think what?”
“You know.”
“Killed Lara?”
I nodded. How easily he picked up on my anxiety. My ex-fiancé, long gone from my life, had been so dense in that regard. I gazed up at Jordan and said, “Thank you.”
“For getting you?”
“Yes.”
“If you had your life to live over again . . .”
“I wouldn’t change a thing. I live a dream life with a man I adore.” Other than wishing I could have spent more time with my parents, I truly did have a perfect life. I loved my job, my family, my cat, and the town of Providence.
But then I thought of Lara again, and another wave of regret flooded over me. What kind of life had she led? Who had she loved in her life? Had Urso contacted her sister? Did she really have a sister, or was Erin mistaken?
I swiveled on my side and propped myself on my elbow. “Who could have wanted Lara dead, Jordan?”
He sighed. “Can’t this wait until morning?”
“I won’t be able to sleep and neither will you if I’m tossing and turning.”
He set his book aside, kissed my forehead, and said, “Proceed.”
“Do you know anything about the guests at the brain trust?”
His mouth quirked up on one side. “Does that mean you’ve ruled out the staff at the inn?”
“I know the waitresses Erin brought in from The Country Kitchen. They’ve worked for Delilah and her father for years. Besides, you heard. They left after clearing the meal; none of them stayed overnight. What grudge would they have
had against Lara Berry, anyway?”
“True.” He nodded. “What about others in the brain trust who weren’t staying there?”
“The attendees who were rooming at Lavender and Lace would have had to cross town and risk being seen driving late at night.”
“There are a lot of tourists in town, too,” he said. “Someone outside the brain trust might have sneaked into the inn.”
“Let’s just start with the ones who were there: Kandice, Ryan, Victor, and Shayna.”
“Don’t forget Erin.”
I grumbled my dissension then remembered the theory about the murderer copying Lara’s room key and wagged a finger at Jordan. “By the way, you called Urso about the possibility of a duplicate key to Lara’s room, so don’t go acting like you haven’t been thinking about the murder.”
“Our conversation was supposed to be confidential.”
“I called Urso about the same thing. He looped me in.”
Jordan shrugged. “It was the most logical way to enter or exit her room and have the door remain locked afterward.”
“In the wee hours of the night.”
“Right.”
I kissed his neck. “Which is why whoever killed her had to have been staying at the inn.”
“Except Urso didn’t find a second key,” Jordan stated.
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” I wriggled to a sitting position and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Hungry? I’m starved. I need sugar.”
“Charlotte, not now.”
“We missed making that tantalizing chocolate cheese bombe at your restaurant because of the fire.” I hesitated then snickered while saying, “Bomb . . . fire. Rebecca will never live this one down.” I padded across the floor and shrugged into my plush terry bathrobe. “I still have a few slices of caramel cheesecake that I made last weekend. It’s calling to us.”
Jordan groaned. He was a sucker for cheesecake. “While we eat, I assume you want to bat around theories.”
I threw him a sassy look over my shoulder. “Yep.”
Rags stirred then nestled back into a ball. He wasn’t up for a refrigerator raid.
I trotted down the stairs, breezed into the kitchen, and switched on the lights. While Jordan set the Shaker table with two gold place mats, napkins, and forks, I put on a pot of hot water for tea and pulled the cheesecake from the refrigerator. I cut two hefty portions of the cake and set them on simple white plates. I handed them to Jordan.
“A sliver would have done the trick,” he said.
“Eat what you like.”
“You know I can’t resist.”
I did. Cheesecake was one of my weaknesses, too. I whacked his taut abdomen with the back of my hand. “You’ll exercise double tomorrow.” He never missed a day. “Now, sit.”
Jordan set the plates on the table and returned to the counter to switch on the iPod in its docking station. A Pandora easy-listening channel came on featuring orchestral music. Jordan played music all the time. Though I used to be a silence-is-golden girl, I had come to love the constant sound. The song switched to an upbeat tango, which the musician was performing on a rich string instrument. A cello, I was pretty sure.
“Nice,” I said.
“It’s Yo-Yo Ma.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Huh. I would’ve thought he only played serious kinds of music.”
“Don’t judge a musician by his, um, album cover.” Jordan quirked a smile and slid onto the bench at the table.
The teakettle whistled. I fixed quick mugs of Earl Grey tea—quick because I could never wait the full five minutes for tea to steep; I liked my brews hot-hot—and brought them to the table. I settled onto the bench beside Jordan.
He took a bite of his cheesecake and murmured his appreciation. “Tell me about Shayna. You seem to know her well.”
I took a sip of tea and reiterated what I had told him cursorily at the cocktail party that first night about Shayna’s brief corporate life, her marriage and move to a farm, the early death of her husband, and the beginning of the creamery. “She has two girls, now in their twenties, and neither is interested in their mother or her career.” I relayed how Shayna confided to me during the morning portion of the brain trust that her youngest daughter, a junior lawyer, was madly in love with her boss, one of the partners. Shayna disapproved, of course. I added, “Her daughters give her a lot of grief about her life choices, even about her appearance.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Shayna is a Bohemian. She loves the loose-clothing look. Casual hair. No makeup.” I took a bite of my cheesecake and savored the rich caramel that was not only drizzled on top but incorporated into the crust. I’d gotten the recipe from my grandmother, who was a whiz at sweets. “Shayna wasn’t always that way. When she worked at her corporate job, she was buttoned down and sleek, but now, she embraces all things natural, including the way she makes cheese. Everything is organic. Nothing processed.”
“Is her cheese good? Lara called it bland and boring.”
“She was wrong. The cheese was . . . is . . . good.”
“Why did Lara leave the partnership?” Jordan asked.
“Conflict of personalities is all I can figure out. Shayna said that Lara was rules-oriented.” Was there some other reason Lara had walked out? An image of her lying dead on the bed popped into my head. I swallowed hard and set down my fork.
“Do you think Shayna resented Lara?” Jordan removed his tea bag from the mug, placed it on his cake plate, and took a sip of tea. Steam rose in front of his face.
“How could she not? When Lara left, she took half the proceeds, and the creamery struggled without her promotional efforts, yet, I can’t believe Shayna killed Lara.”
“Just like you can’t believe Erin did.”
Using my fork, I nudged a piece of cake around on my plate.
“Shayna is staying in the room next to Lara’s,” Jordan said. “That gave her the easiest access.”
“True.”
Jordan took another sip of tea. “Let’s look at this from a different angle. Lara was the go-to person when it came to American cheeses. If you wanted to know whether a cheese was quality cheese, you asked Lara. Who will take her place? Who will become that voice? Shayna?”
“No. Never. I would imagine a woman in Vancouver, Washington. She’s well versed and travels nonstop.”
“What about Kandice?”
“She has the know-how, but there are one or two others who would reach acclaim first, which rules out motive for Kandice, I suppose.” I bit back a yawn.
Jordan ran a finger down my arm. “Let’s talk about the others in the morning.”
“No. Tonight, please. I won’t be able to sleep.” I sat taller as I worked through a theory. Victor kowtowed to Lara that first night. The next day, Shayna flirted with Victor at one of the meals. I believed she had done it teasingly, but what if she had been seducing him in earnest? Did she hate Lara for having her pick of men? Would she have killed Lara to eliminate the competition? I said, “Is it possible Lara and Shayna ended the partnership because they were vying for the same man?”
“You are a romantic, my love.”
Jordan was right. The idea was too romantic, too high school. I leaned back in my seat and focused on a previous notion regarding Victor. What if he went to Lara’s room that night to win her back, and she refused him, so he lashed out in anger?
The closed-room aspect of the murder gave me pause. Whoever had killed Lara had locked the door after exiting. Would Victor, who most likely expected easy access to Lara, have thought to copy her key?
“Victor,” I muttered.
Jordan choked back a laugh. “Yes, he’s a jerk.”
“He said he and Lara dated briefly. He said he cut bait and ran.”
&n
bsp; “Ha! A likely story. I know why it ended,” Jordan said. “Lara booted him out. She was way too classy for him.”
Was. I choked back a sob.
Jordan stroked my back. I appreciated the comfort it brought. A new song started playing. A solo instrument. Jordan tapped out the rhythm on the tabletop.
“Nice violin,” I said.
“That’s not a violin, sweetheart. It’s a guitar. ‘Partita for Violin Solo No. 3 in E minor,’ by Andrés Segovia.”
“How would you know that?”
“During college, I used to sit in the library, sling on headphones, and study for exams listening to Segovia. I would’ve given my soul to play guitar like him.”
“You play guitar?”
“I tried. My grandfather gave me a standard Gibson acoustic guitar. He traded his pickup for it. The thing had wonderful bass tones.” Jordan’s eyes misted over; he looked as gaga as a kid who had received the keys to his first car.
“Where’s the guitar now?” It was not in our house.
“Jacky has it. I could barely pluck out a tune. She has deft hands.” Before taking on the farm, his sister had made gorgeous pottery and run a pottery shop in town.
“Hey,” I said. “What if Lara was playing a guitar? Maybe it sounded like a violin.”
“Urso would have mentioned seeing one, don’t you think?” Jordan yawned. “I need to go to bed.”
“Wait.” Another idea struck me. “Victor was the first to point the finger at Erin because she played the violin. Kandice backed him up. What if Victor was trying to cover his own tracks? What if he lied about his alibi? He said he roamed town, came back before midnight, and took a sleeping pill. Can that be verified? How long does Ambien stay in the system?”
“I would imagine a few days. A urine test or even hair test would show its use. But if Victor takes the drug regularly, that won’t prove that he took it that night. Most commonly, the police search for a drug in a person’s system if they suspect the drug facilitated an assault.”
