For Cheddar or Worse

by Avery Aames

  I handed Kandice another tasting of the Gouda. While she ate it, I said, “You were working on your schedule that night and fell asleep.”

  “I sure did.” Kandice chortled; it sounded forced. “I woke up with binder lines on my face to prove it. A hot water soak and mini massage helped.” She surveyed the cheese counter and read one of the tags out loud. “Cheese so sassy you might feel you have to slap it. How darling! Who came up with that? Give me a quarter pound of that, please.” She pointed to the Pistol Point Cheddar from Rogue Creamery, a chipotle-infused, orange-marbled cheese that added variety to any platter.

  “Good choice.”

  “And that, too.” She indicated another cheese. Her arms flexed.

  While I wrapped up her order, I said, “You have very strong arms, Kandice. Do you work out?”

  “Yes, I—” She eyed me with suspicion. “You’re prying. Why?”

  “No—”

  “Do you think I killed Lara? I didn’t. I told you, she and I were colleagues. Friends.”

  “No, you distinctly said you weren’t close.”

  “That doesn’t mean we weren’t friendly. We helped each other out. I recommended her; she recommended me. Besides, there’s no way I could have smothered her.”

  “Because of your sore arm?”

  “Because of this.” She hiked up her floral dress to a few inches above her knee and then rapped on her knee. It clacked. “Hear that? My knee and calf are artificial. Phony. Non-human.” She released the dress; it fell back in place.

  “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “I was sixteen. Out riding a sweet mare. We took a jump. She missed and tumbled sideways right on top of me.”

  I grimaced. If not for her demonstration and the apparent bulge from the hinge, I never would’ve known, but that explained why she occasionally limped and was always wearing mid-calf-length dresses and colorful nylons.

  “I couldn’t have gotten enough leverage to kill Lara,” Kandice continued, “no matter how hard I tried. I have no lower body strength.”

  The cellar door slammed. Rebecca emerged from the kitchen carrying a large round of clothbound cheese. “I’m back.”

  “Hey,” Kandice said, “have you ever heard this one?” She cracked a wicked smile. “What’s the best type of story to tell a horse? A tale of whoa. Get it?” She sniggered. “Just so you know, I don’t mind that you know about my leg. It’s history.”

  Rebecca kicked my foot and mouthed: What about her leg?

  I whispered that I would tell her later.

  “But I do mind,” Kandice continued, “that you asked me my alibi. That means you don’t know me very well.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She waved a hand. “Forget it. ‘Let bygones be.’ That’s what Ryan says.” She glanced toward the street. Ryan had moved on. She turned back to me and pulled a wallet from her purse. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve told the police everything I can remember. Like you, I’m naturally curious. I love murder shows on television. I’m a Murder, She Wrote fanatic. I’ve seen every episode dozens of times.”

  “Me, too!” Rebecca cried.

  “Did you ever see the one with the kid who stole the bike?” Kandice asked.

  “Except he didn’t steal the bike,” Rebecca replied.

  “Exactly, but that woman at the precinct sure laid into the kid’s mother. What a witch!”

  Rebecca agreed.

  After Kandice paid for her purchase and exited, Rebecca said, “I like her.”

  “I do, too.”

  But that didn’t guarantee she was innocent.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Midafternoon, I spotted Urso heading into The Country Kitchen diner across the street. Eager to find out if he had made any progress on the case, I asked Rebecca to watch the shop. There was only one customer browsing the wares, a regular who adored Rebecca.

  The diner was hopping. Every booth was filled. I didn’t recognize half the faces and secretly hoped all the newbies in town would venture into Fromagerie Bessette. We valued new business.

  I found Urso at the counter, his hat removed and placed on the stool to his left. Delilah, clad in her red waitress outfit, her dark curly hair swept into a fashionable red-ribbon hairnet, was standing next to him. He must have said something funny. She was laughing so hard her eyes glistened with tears. When she saw me, she gestured to the stool to the right of Urso.

  “Pop a squat,” she said.

  I did; Urso eyed me with distrust.

  “What?” I winked. “A girl can’t get a bite to eat?”

  “I happen to know you eat lunch at noon.”

  “I’m in the mood for an afternoon snack. A lemon meringue muffin.” The diner made terrific muffins, packed with lemon-tart flavor.

  Delilah said, “I’ll be right back.” She pecked Urso on the cheek and bustled to the kitchen.

  Urso rested his chin on his fist. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  I mimicked his smirk and squeezed my eyebrows together toward the center. “Being suspicious doesn’t become you.”

  He folded his arms on the counter. “It’s my job. I repeat: Got a question?”

  I fiddled with my napkin and place setting. “I’m curious. Where are you in the investigation?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “Ryan Harris said he spoke to you.”

  “He did.”

  “And you’re following up?”

  “On what?” Urso wiped moisture off the outside of the glass with his fingertip.

  I recalled what Erin said to me at the inn about people telling me things and trusting me. Not the chief of police, apparently. It wasn’t my place to tell him that Ryan had blabbed about Lara and Victor’s argument, so instead, I decided to address the questions Jordan thought were most important. “Did you find Ambien in Lara’s system?” I asked. “Or in the wine she was drinking?”

  Urso drew in a deep breath and released it with a hefty sigh. “You are relentless.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” He took a sip of water.

  “U-ey, c’mon. It’s me.”

  He set his glass on the counter with a clack and leveled me with a stare. “Miss Berry had a lot to drink. She had over the legal limit of alcohol in her system.”

  “I know. I was there. Did you find anything else? If not Ambien, then some other opiate that might have made her pass out?”

  “Do you want the coroner’s official evaluation?”

  “Yours will do.”

  “She didn’t pass out. She was knocked out.”

  “As in the killer used ether?”

  “Chloroform.” Urso swiveled toward me. “Understand, it is nearly impossible to render a victim unconscious using chloroform alone, but with the amount of alcohol in her system . . .” He let the rest of his explanation hang.

  “How did you figure it out?”

  “I detected the odor right off the bat.”

  I recalled him bending over Lara’s body, his nose close to her face.

  “It’s sweet smelling,” he said, “but I discounted it, figuring the aroma I was picking up had come from something she ate.”

  “Lara didn’t eat dessert. None of us did.”

  “The waitstaff told me the same. After determining the contents of Miss Berry’s stomach, the coroner confirmed my suspicions. He also added that attendants at the brain trust might know how to make chloroform. Many are chemists by nature. It is also fairly easy to purchase.”

  I eyed Urso’s water and craved a sip. “Using chloroform changes things.”

  “How so?”

  “Whoever killed Lara could have overpowered her easily. It means the killer did
n’t have to be someone strong, like Victor or Ryan.” I told him about Kandice and her artificial limb.

  “You’ve been questioning Miss Witt?”

  “No. Not on purpose. She came into the shop and we chatted. She offered information freely.” Well, somewhat freely. “She said there was no way she could have killed Lara. With both feet on the floor, leverage would have been difficult for her to achieve, but if Lara was sedated, Kandice could have scrambled on top of her and—”

  “Anyone could have,” Urso said, “including Erin.”

  I glowered at him. He stared back, his gaze ruthless.

  Delilah arrived and set down two plates. “Here we are.” One plate held a tuna melt for Urso; the other a muffin for me. “Coffee?”

  “Water, please,” I said. Coffee sounded too harsh for my churning, overly curious insides. She hurried off, and I switched the subject. “I saw Deputy O’Shea consulting with an architect at Emerald Pastures. Did they find a hidden entrance into Lara’s room?”

  “No. Whoever killed Miss Berry must have found another way in.”

  “Erin told me the door was locked using the inside bolt. That exonerates her.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t clear anyone.”

  “Are you sure it was murder?”

  “Yes! Charlotte, stay out of it, please.”

  “I can’t. Erin is my friend.”

  “And mine.”

  “She isn’t guilty!”

  “That’s it.” Urso pushed his plate away, rose to a stand, and snatched his hat off the nearby stool.

  “Did you get in touch with Lara’s sister?” I asked, intent on keeping him engaged.

  “She’s coming to town to claim the body as soon as she can. She’s in Europe.” Without a good-bye, he jammed his hat on his head and stomped out of the diner.

  Delilah reappeared with a glass of water and threw me a sour look. “Did you scare off my intended?”

  “I think he’s suffering from indigestion.”

  “Were you butting into the investigation?”

  “I don’t butt.”

  She shot me a knowing look.

  “I asked a few questions, to which he didn’t have the answers. Moving on . . .” I took a bite of my muffin. Super moist. Perfect. “How are the wedding plans going?”

  “Great. U-ey and I agree on everything. The flowers, the chapel, the music, the date. Charlotte”—she pressed a hand to her chest—“I’m so in love, I don’t even recognize myself. If you’d told me a year ago that he and I would be an item, I’d have laughed in your face.”

  “If I recall, you did laugh.”

  She scowled. “So you were right. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic,” I said, and I was, for her and for Urso, but at the moment, I couldn’t erase the last encounter with her beloved from my mind. Erin was innocent. Why couldn’t he see that?

  “I saw Meredith,” Delilah said.

  “She told me. It was sweet of you to help her out with the knitting, but I’ve got to tell you, she hates it and is as bored as all get-out.”

  “I’ll stop by after my shift and rouse her in a game of gin.”

  “Be careful,” I warned. “She might be bored, but she hasn’t lost her edge. You could fork over a lot of quarters.”

  Chuckling, Delilah headed to the kitchen. At the same time, the door to the diner swooshed open, and Clair and Amy ran in. “Aunt Charlotte!” they yelled as they scurried past booths to reach me.

  Their mother, Sylvie, followed them inside. Typically she was a vision—okay, a nightmarish vision whenever she was clad in one of her over-the-top outfits. Today, however, her hair was one color, ice white, and her outfit was tame, a red sheath with bolero jacket.

  I sidled off my stool and opened my arms. The twins flew into my grasp. “School’s out already?” I glimpsed the huge clock at the far end of the restaurant, which read half past three. Time was flying. “How was it?”

  “I love May,” Amy said. “It’s the end of the year—”

  “And the teacher gets tired,” Clair cut in.

  “So she plays guitar.” Amy mimed strumming.

  “We all sing songs,” Clair said. The twins invariably finished each other’s sentences.

  Sylvie peeled the girls off of me. “Sweethearts, don’t choke Charlotte.”

  Actually, I was enjoying the hug fest.

  “By the by, Charlotte,” Sylvie said in her clipped British accent. “I’m looking for your grandmother. I was informed she was here.”

  “I haven’t seen her. You look nice, Sylvie.” I meant it. “What’s the occasion?” Oops. That didn’t come out right.

  “I’m meeting with my lawyer.”

  Uh-oh. Sylvie and lawyers could be a caustic mix. “Why?”

  “This Street Scene nonsense will be the death of my business. I want it to stop.”

  “Sylvie, get real. The event is only continuing for a short while longer. You don’t have to resort to legal action. Besides, your business must have prospered because of the extra foot traffic.”

  “That’s just it. It hasn’t! Sales are down.”

  There could be a reason for that, I mused. Sylvie sold extravagant clothing in her shop, items that might appeal more to people who attended haute couture fashion shows in New York or Paris. If she would change up her selections to please a more typical Providence clientele . . .

  I said, “Perhaps you need to offer a special.”

  “What I need to do is talk to your grandmother with my lawyer present. Girls, let’s go.”

  “We want to stay.” Amy clasped her hands in prayer.

  Clair copied her sister. “Please?”

  I grinned. “I’ll bring them to your shop in fifteen minutes, Sylvie.”

  Sylvie muttered, “Fine, but no sugar.”

  “What?” the twins cried in unison. “Since when?”

  “Since now.” Sylvie was the most quixotic woman I had ever met. Regularly, she bought the girls sweet treats like chocolate or even cotton candy, which is pure, unadulterated sugar.

  “Don’t worry about that, ladies,” a woman with a throaty voice said behind me.

  I spun on my stool and saw Shayna approaching from the rear of the diner. She wore yet another sack-style dress, this one pale blue, and thick-strapped Birkenstock sandals.

  “The diner has a delectable sugar-free item on special,” Shayna continued. “Grilled cheese with peanut butter and bacon.”

  “Perfect.” Sylvie wiggled her fingers. “You can have that, my girlie-girls. Delilah!” she shouted, oblivious that using her outside voice might be irritating other diners. “Two of those cheese and peanut butter thingies.”

  I frowned. As attentive as Sylvie could be, occasionally she forgot to specify that Clair needed her food prepared gluten-free. Luckily the diner kept gluten-free bread in the freezer for Clair, and Delilah was conscientious enough to remind the chef to prepare Clair’s food away from flour-contaminated prep areas.

  Sylvie snapped her fingers. “Amy. Clair. Let’s set you up in that booth over there.”

  As the girls scurried off, Shayna perched on the stool that Urso had vacated. “I remember the wondrous times my girls and I used to have going to diners, back when they were still thrilled that I was their mother.”

  “How’s your youngest doing?” I asked.

  “She isn’t answering my phone calls. She’s not crazy about my advice.” Shayna leaned closer and whispered, “I don’t mean to take you from the twins, but I saw you talking to Chief Urso a minute ago. Is there anything new on Lara’s murder?”

  “Nothing that he’ll tell me.”

  “How I wish this would all be over. Poor Lara. And poor Erin. Lara had no right to lash out at her like she did.”

  “Erin didn’t kill her.”

  “
If you say so. But who else had motive? Mr. France-y Pants Victor? Or Kandice? Ryan Harris barely knew her.”

  I pushed my muffin aside, wiped my hands on a napkin, and spun on the stool to face her. “Shayna, what Lara said that night about the quality of your cheese had to hurt.”

  “Not a bit. I’d grown accustomed to her slings and arrows.”

  “You didn’t hold a grudge?”

  Shayna cocked her head. “If you’re asking whether I killed her because she walked out on our partnership, the answer is no. I wouldn’t have. Not in a million years.”

  “You two argued in the breakfast room. What about?”

  “We didn’t argue. We chatted. It was nothing.” Her cheeks reddened with unspoken emotion. “Look, my farm is thriving. The reviews of my cheeses are good. In spite of Lara’s exit, I’ve succeeded. In time, she would have found her way back to our friendship. I’m sure of it. My money is on Erin, Victor, or Kandice being the killer.”

  “There’s still the problem of how someone got into the room.”

  “That is a puzzle. There are no secret passages in my room. I checked. I wish the police luck figuring that out.” Shayna slid off the stool and patted my arm. “See you.”

  She strode to the exit, regal yet somewhat broken, and I sat there miffed at myself, realizing I should have pressed harder and learned what Lara and she had argued about. I didn’t believe it was nothing.

  I started to go after her, but Amy called out, “Aunt Charlotte!” I gathered my food and joined the twins at the booth. Sylvie had split without saying good-bye to me. How typical.

  Clair said, “Mom said that lady you were talking to is very nice.”

  I smiled. Mom. Just a few months ago, they had called Sylvie Mommy.

  “Mom is helping her out with her wardrobe,” Amy added.

  “Helping her how?” I asked.

  Clair unfolded a napkin and placed it on her lap. “Mom stopped her on the street and pulled her into the shop.”

  I cringed. “She didn’t.”