by Avery Aames
Tyanne pulled away. “I’m working on it.”
“Your loved one is gone,” Lizzie stated matter-of-factly. “I understand. But, darling, you must reclaim your verve. Tim would be bereft if he knew how you’ve faded. And what would Mama say?”
Tyanne pulled free of her sister. “Mama would say I’m a grown-up, and I don’t need my big sister ordering me about.” She brandished a finger. “In fact, I think I’ll add that to the book of Mama’s sayings I’ve been putting together.” She winked over her shoulder at me, her sense of humor in place. “Mama was one bright cookie.”
“Speaking of books”—Lizzie pointed at the album Tyanne was carrying—“what’s that?”
“Delilah’s choices for the wedding so far.”
“Let me see!” Lizzie snatched the album and started flipping through pages as she guided us to the rear of the salon.
I slung an arm around Tyanne’s back. “I’ve missed you at the shop.” Occasionally she helped out as a part-timer, but she had begged off lately. “Ready to start up again?” Maybe I could entice Tyanne to take on a full day so I could spend more time with Jordan.
“Sugar, it’s wedding season. I doubt I’ll have time, but I’ll try to fit in an hour or two here and there.”
We each took a seat in a spa pedicure station, the kind with footbaths attached and built-in massage rollers in the chair. I tucked my feet into the hot water and let the jets of air knead my feet. Heaven.
Lizzie handed the album back to Tyanne. “Honey, you have outdone yourself. Delilah, I love every bit of it. The red is striking.” She sauntered to Delilah and plucked at Delilah’s curly locks. “Maybe we should put these unruly things in an updo with cascading tendrils, or leave them down and weave red ribbon through them.” Lizzie did all of our hair. She was a wonder. “Are you wearing a veil?”
“I am. A short, flirty one.”
“Then an updo is an absolute must. No ribbon. And we’ll definitely do a vitamin-rich conditioner.” She rubbed Delilah’s hair between her fingers. “Your hair is as dry as sandpaper and coming out in hunks. Stress will do that. But we won’t think about that tonight.” She brushed her hands together. “Y’all have fun. I have other customers to attend to.” She blew each of us a kiss and hurried off.
Jacky said, “Let me see the album.”
“Uh-uh, me first.” I was sitting closest to Tyanne. She passed it over, and I opened to the first page. “Nice.” It was a picture of the chapel in the woods with the stained glass panel windows flanking the altar.
Tyanne said, “The red theme will go well with the stained glass, don’t you think?”
“Umberto loves it,” Delilah said.
“Umberto?” I teased.
She shrugged. “He doesn’t like me to call him U-ey.”
Hmm. Maybe I should use his proper name from this point forward. Would my theories hold more weight if I did?
“We’ll have lots of red roses,” Tyanne said.
“And don’t forget about the red butterflies,” Delilah added.
Tyanne wagged her head. “Sugar, I’ve told you those are really rare in Ohio. We might drum up ten, but we could have tons of black butterflies.”
“As if!” Delilah snorted. “Black butterflies at a wedding? A funeral, maybe. Charlotte had blue ones at her wedding.”
“Fine.” Tyanne grinned. “Red it is, even if I have to import them. Does anybody know if that upsets the ecological balance?”
An employee brought us each a glass of sparkling wine and told us our spa technicians would be with us real soon. Then she set a tray of cheese on a portable table. Just out of reach. Drat. I was hungrier than I realized.
“No Pace Hill Farm Double-cream Gouda?” Jacky said, eyeing the array. “Harrumph.”
I said, “I sold out of your cheese today at the store, if that makes you feel better.”
“Definitely.”
I took a sip of the sparkling wine. Bubbles tickled my nose. “How’s it going at the farm, by the way?”
“Exhausting, even with the splendid crew I inherited. The scope of the operation is mind-boggling, but it’s all fascinating.” Jacky clasped a hank of hair and draped it forward over one shoulder. “Do you know that woman Shayna who’s in town for the brain trust? She gave me some tips.”
“How did you meet?” I asked. “Did she take a tour of the farm?”
“No, I bumped into her outside Café au Lait. What a sweet gal. She’s very knowledgeable. By the way, tell me about that guy, Victor Wolfman.”
“Whoa,” I said. “That’s a big U-turn in the conversation. Why do you want to know about him?”
“I saw him at Café au Lait, too, and out of nowhere, he hit on me. ‘Hey, babe,’” she said, doing a perfect imitation of Victor.
“Steer clear,” I warned.
“Don’t worry. I did. Besides, I have my eye on someone new. I don’t want to spoil that.”
“Who?” Tyanne, Delilah, and I asked in unison.
“Not saying yet.” Jacky grinned. “But he’s local.”
“That handsome art teacher,” Tyanne guessed.
“Uh-uh,” Delilah chirped. “He’s too short and twenty years her senior.”
“The new owner of Café au Lait?” I asked. Jacky visited the shop daily. She was a coffee fiend.
Jacky smirked. “I told you, I’m not saying. All in due time. Back to that Victor guy. He can be quite gabby. You know how people talk when they’re waiting in line. He must have seen me talking to Shayna minutes before, because out of the blue he launched into the history of Shayna and her partner, Lara, and how Lara’s exit from the enterprise bankrupted Shayna.”
“I don’t think it bankrupted Shayna,” I said. “Yes, Lara took half, but, even so, she told me a bit ago that she was doing fine; the farm is thriving.”
“That’s not what Victor said. He claimed Shayna wasn’t out of the red yet.”
Had Shayna lied to me? Going into severe debt could give her a strong motive to want Lara dead: revenge.
Jacky cocked her head. “Here’s what I want to know. Why would Victor tell me, a total stranger, something so intimate?”
Because he wanted to stir the pot so tongues would wag and divert suspicion from himself. His ploy was working.
CHAPTER
24
Climbing into a chilly bed alone that night didn’t feel good. Rags, sensing my unease, pounced onto the bed and snuggled into me, but even his sweet kisses didn’t help. I wanted Jordan—his kisses. I hoped he would be able to fill the position of assistant manager soon. Though I never would have complained about our work schedule conflicts, I was thrilled he had brought it up, and I looked forward to having more time with him. When I finally fell asleep, it was after midnight.
Around two A.M., Jordan slipped under the sheet, and I stirred. I mumbled something.
“Did you say ‘babies’?” he asked me.
“Did I?”
“Yes, my love, you did.”
“I must have been dreaming about them.”
“A good sign.” He kissed me gently on the cheek. “We’ll work on making one soon.”
***
As always, I woke before the sun rose. A feeling of contentment washed over me. I peeked over my shoulder at Jordan—we had slept spoon-style, me tucked into him, all night. “I love you so much,” I whispered and quietly slipped from beneath his arm.
I fed Rags, wrote a love note for Jordan, left it on the table with a homemade cinnamon-ginger-cream-cheese breakfast bar, and hurried to work.
Rebecca arrived an hour after me, exactly as I was removing the pine nut–carrot quiches from the oven. She inhaled and said, “Smells divine. What cheese did you use?”
“Kerrygold Dubliner.” The cheese was a sweet, nutty, aged cow’s milk Cheddar. “I cut a taster slice.” I motioned to
a plate holding a sizeable portion. “You can have a bite.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She slung on an apron and helped herself. “Mmm. Yum.” She ate another morsel. “Any news?”
“About?”
“The murder. Have you spoken to U-ey?”
“Umberto,” I muttered.
“Do I detect a touch of hostility?”
“Delilah says he likes being called Umberto now.”
Rebecca jutted her fork at me. “You’re not peeved about his name. Tell me what happened.”
I hitched a shoulder like a disgruntled teenager. “I never told you, but I saw him at the diner yesterday.”
“I figured.”
“And he walked out on me.”
“Uh-oh.”
“It was my fault.” It was; I had bungled it.
While I organized the quiches on the counter, removed my oven mitts, and strolled to the walk-in refrigerator to fetch some parsley, I filled her in: how I tried to get information about Urso’s chat with Ryan; how I spilled the beans about grilling Kandice; how I questioned Urso about the possible use of opiates. “He did reveal that chloroform was used to knock out Lara.”
“Which means—”
“Anyone, even Erin, could have overpowered Lara.” I described my chat with Shayna and ended by revealing what Victor told Jacky about Shayna.
“Getting revenge for burying someone financially is a powerful motivator, and she told you her argument with Lara was nothing? Poppycock.” Rebecca eyed the quiche. “I’m going to polish this off if you don’t help.”
“Go ahead.” My appetite was nonexistent.
She gobbled up the rest and bussed her plate to the sink. “Did you ask U-ey . . . I mean, Umberto . . . whether he figured out how the killer got in?”
“Yep. He still doesn’t have a clue. No secret passages. No trapdoors. Shayna said she checked her room for something like that, too, and came up empty.”
Rebecca rejoined me at the counter. “Why would she mention that? Was she messing with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was she testing you to see if you could figure out how the killer escaped because she, the killer, knew how? You said Andrew keeps chanting: up, up, up and down, down, down. Maybe he’s trying to say there’s a secret passageway that abuts his room. You told me his room is right below Lara’s.”
“But—”
“Who has the rooms on either side?”
“Erin and Kandice, but—”
“Let’s say—” Rebecca jutted both index fingers at me. “Stay with me on this. Let’s say someone built a phony wall in Kandice’s room. I saw that in a TV show. You could figure it out if you measured the rooms. The room will be narrower than the original.”
“But Rebec—”
“Let me finish.” She used her hands to illustrate. “Shayna somehow discovered the secret passage. Maybe she visited Kandice one night and scoped out the room. Whatever. She sneaked into Kandice’s room that particular night, slipped into the passage, and climbed to Lara’s room. Up, up, up. Maybe the trapdoor in Lara’s room is hidden under—”
“No, it’s impossible.” I held up a finger to quiet her. “I’ve been trying to tell you . . .” I explained how Deputy O’Shea and the architect had looked for a secret passage and had come up empty.
“Rats.” Rebecca smacked her hands together. “At least our illustrious chief of police is on the case.”
A flash of blue swept past the front windows. Blue dress, blue tote. “Shayna,” I whispered.
“What about her?”
“She’s on the sidewalk.”
“You should talk to her.” Rebecca glanced at the clock on the wall. “We don’t open for a bit. Go.” She fanned me with both hands. “Ask her about the argument with Lara and the bankruptcy.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Try again. Say, ‘Hi, Shayna, I know you said the farm was thriving, but how is it doing without you managing it on a daily basis? I know I’d be concerned if I left The Cheese Shop for more than a week.’ Yada yada. Wing it.”
“Wing it,” I echoed.
Rebecca grinned. “C’mon. Do it. Ask her.”
I had to admit I wanted answers. Honest answers.
A crisp morning breeze hit me as I exited the shop. I wrapped my arms around me and sped outside. Shayna had disappeared. Where had she gone? I noticed the door to Sew Inspired Quilt Shoppe hung open. I raced to the shop. Shayna stood inside.
Sew Inspired was a great place to roam. I wasn’t a dedicated knitter, and I hadn’t sewn much since high school, back when I made all my clothing, but seeing and touching the colorful wealth of material, yarn, and thread always stirred my senses.
I slipped inside. My buddy Freckles, dressed in a bright orange frock—orange is her go-to color—waved. I smiled and thumbed that I had come in to chat with Shayna, who had settled into a nook, one of many areas in the store where customers could sit and work on a project. Freckles had fitted some with chairs, others with beanbags. Shayna’s tote rested on a polka-dotted armchair. She was rummaging through it, her mass of curls draping her face.
“Cup of tea, Charlotte?” Freckles said, indicating a tea caddy set with pretty china cups and a glass pot of tea sitting on a warming tray. “I’m going to have some. Brr.”
“No, thanks.” I made a beeline for Shayna. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here. Have you lost something?”
Shayna swept a tress of hair off her face. “My skein of yarn. It’s not lost, just stuck. I need to match it. I’m hoping Freckles has something close. I purchased my supplies up north. Voilà!” She presented a mussed ball of blue mohair. A strand trailed into her tote. She struggled to get the rest of her project out. “C’mon,” she muttered. “Budge. Oof.” The wad, which included knitting needles and the lengthy beginning of what I assumed would become a blanket, popped out.
At the same time, the front door opened and Meredith entered the shop. Slowly.
“What are you doing here?” I called. “You’re supposed to be at home. In bed.” I started toward her.
Meredith held up a hand to keep me at bay. “Relax. Matthew drove me and dropped me off in front. I can walk fifty paces without collapsing. Promise.” She grinned. “I need some inspiration. My knitting is, suffice it to say, a wreck. I want to roam the shop and imagine myself with nimbler fingers. Maybe get a tip or two from Freckles.”
She moved to the tea caddy. Freckles hugged her. They chatted and chuckled about something.
Shayna said, “Why do people do that to pregnant women?”
“Do what?”
“Freckles just patted your friend’s tummy. Most people wouldn’t dare touch a woman’s stomach otherwise.”
“I imagine they do it to feel like they’re in touch with new life.” Automatically I petted my abdomen. Would I ever feel a teensy being growing within me? The possibility sent a quiver of excitement through me.
“You’re blushing, Charlotte.”
“Am I?” Yes, I was. I felt a flush of warmth blossom up my chest to my neck. “Jordan and I talked again about starting a family.”
“How exciting, but as I said before, be emotionally prepared. Kids love you”—Shayna brushed her hand over her knitting project; three rows of uneven popcorn stitches—“and leave you.”
I heard Rebecca’s voice in my head: Ask her. Wing it. “Shayna, I know you said things were thriving for your business, but how is everything really? With you gone for an extended time because of . . .” I faltered.
“Lara’s murder? The investigation?”
I nodded, thankful for her help. “Are your farm and staff doing okay in your absence?”
Shayna assessed me. Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. “What do you really want to know, Charlotte? I don’t mind you grilling me. After all, Chief Urso has asked very
incisive questions. None of us staying at the inn has any privacy at this point.” She dropped her wad of knitting onto the top of her tote and threw me a tolerant look. “Fire away.”
Though I was embarrassed at being caught out, I pressed ahead. “Victor intimated to a friend of mine that your business”—I cleared my throat—“went bankrupt when Lara dissolved the partnership. He suggested that it never recovered and you hold a grudge.”
“Ah, Victor. He’s wrong. Like I told you at the diner, I’m flush. I have investors. I’m in the black. That Victor—” She huffed and pushed her curly locks over her shoulders. “Yes, it’s true, I took a hit after Lara left. I had to refinance. I struggled for a number of years, and yes, before you pursue this thread, I was jealous of her success. How dare she become one of the most renowned voices for cheese in the United States! Sure, she knew a lot of people in the biz when we first met, but she didn’t know squat about how to make cheese. I mentored her. I educated her. We became friends. And then . . .” She sighed. “I didn’t resent her decision to leave. People make choices. Those choices don’t always make others happy. We move on. I did. I’m stronger because of it. Anything else?”
“The argument Lara and you had at lunch on Friday in the breakfast room . . .”
“I told you, it wasn’t an argument. It was a conversation.”
“Not according to some.”
“Who? That waitress with the ponytail?”
I didn’t respond; I had no intention of implicating Erin. “Lara said something was your fault. You apologized. Talk to me, Shayna.”
She plucked at her unfinished project. “It was personal. Leave it at that. What she said . . . Why I apologized . . .” She blew out a long stream of air. “Lara could be frustrating.”
“You were near tears when you walked away.”
“Hey.” Meredith joined us. “I apologize for interrupting, but look what Freckles gave me.” She displayed a knitting how-to booklet. “I’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Don’t count on it,” Shayna joked.
Meredith took a gander at Shayna’s work. “Are you a newbie, too?”
