by Aames, Avery
I noticed stacks of my parents’ love letters among the chaos. The killer had emptied out one of the Tupperware boxes. I moved to fetch them.
“Hold it,” Urso said.
“U-ey.” I explained what the letters were. “I’ve been all around this garage. Evidence of my DNA has to be everywhere. Let me collect those. They’re fragile.” When he didn’t argue, I gathered up the stacks, showed him the Tupperware was empty of anything else, then returned the letters to the box and sealed it. Refocusing on Noelle, I said, “She was still breathing when I got here. I raced to her. She tried to say my name.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“I only had time to tell you the basics. I had the twins to think of.” I replaced the Tupperware box on the shelf. “Noelle also whispered, ‘Hell’s key.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
“Boyd Hellman,” Matthew blurted.
“Hellman?” I said. “That’s his last name?”
Urso said, “Who’s that?”
“Her ex-boyfriend.” Matthew stepped forward, hands balled into fists.
“I met him,” I said, recalling the rage of red. “He showed up at the shop yesterday, furious that Noelle left Cleveland without telling him. She was embarrassed then angry that he had tracked her down. She ordered him to leave her alone. He stormed out of the shop. Later, when I asked her about him, she said she wasn’t worried because she saw him split town in his beat-up Chevy Malibu.”
“Color of the car?” Urso asked.
“Metallic green.”
Matthew’s eyes widened. “U-ey, I saw a car meeting the description parked near the pub about two hours ago. He might still be in town. If Noelle said, ‘Hell’s key,’ maybe she meant that Boyd Hellman killed her.”
“Was the guy abusive?” Urso jammed a hand into his trouser pocket and worked coins through his fingers, a habit he had picked up way back in seventh grade. “Was that why she left him?”
“I don’t know,” Matthew offered.
“They broke up a few months ago,” I said.
“That had to tick him off,” Urso said.
“But would he kill her with something as telltale as a wedding favor?” I asked. “That seems a little, how do you say it, ‘on the nose.’ He asked her to marry him. She turned him down. So he skewers her?”
“Chief Urso.” Deputy O’Shea, our local barkeep’s handsome nephew and new hire to the police department, rapped on the garage side door. “We’re all clear in the guest room upstairs. We’ve confiscated a computer, cell phone, and address book. We can’t tell if anything else might be missing.”
Urso turned to me. “Would you know?”
“Not to the letter. Noelle had a briefcase, a couple of suitcases, notions, a Nikon camera, and gifts she bought at the shops in town.”
“A gift bag is on the floor,” the deputy said. “We fanned through it. Nothing of interest. We’ve dusted for fingerprints, too.”
I sagged. My home was officially a crime scene.
Urso brushed my forearm. “Charlotte, are you okay?”
No, I wasn’t. I was bummed beyond words.
“I’m worried about you staying here,” Urso continued. “It’s a big house. You don’t have an alarm.”
Barely anyone in town did; only our local society diva and some of her pals who were worried about the tourist riffraff—her term, not mine.
“And with Jordan out of town,” Urso added.
I tilted my head. “He doesn’t stay at my house when he’s in town.”
Urso turned crimson. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You weren’t.”
Delilah was right. The synchronicity of Jordan leaving town at the same moment that Matthew and the twins moved out of the house had changed the way I lived life. In a matter of weeks, I had become a homebody. I probably needed to get out and see my friends more. And yet I felt strong and clear of mind, not reclusive, and I had checked five items off my to-do list. This one with Noelle . . .
I pinched myself to remain present. “U-ey, I’m fine. Really. Besides, the killer wasn’t after me.”
“How can you be sure?”
I glanced at Noelle. “Because this was a personal murder, don’t you think? The killer went to Noelle’s room, specifically found that murder weapon, returned to the garage, and plunged it into her throat as if to ensure she wouldn’t talk. He . . . or she . . . wouldn’t dare come back tonight.”
“Unless he wants to find what he didn’t find the first time,” said Matthew, who seemed steelier—steadier. “This place is a mess. He was looking for something.”
The notion sent a shiver through me.
Urso removed his hat and scrubbed his hair. “Noelle . . . Miss . . .”
“Adams,” I said.
“Miss Adams said, ‘Hell’s key.’ You’re sure?”
I nodded.
Matthew said, “I repeat, Noelle was cluing Charlotte in that Boyd Hellman was the killer.”
Urso narrowed his gaze.
“Key means vital,” Matthew continued. “Boyd was essential to something.”
“Or she meant a physical key,” I said. “Like a house key. Did they live together, Matthew?”
“They used to, in an apartment in Cleveland.”
“Maybe she was trying to tell me to focus on the apartment. We should—”
“No,” Urso snapped. “Don’t do anything. This is my investigation.”
Here we go. I held up my hands to appease him. “I know you will cover every angle. I was merely suggesting—”
“Charlotte.” He clutched my upper arm; heat penetrated my sweater. “I don’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I take self-defense classes.”
“Like those work.”
In a flash, I wrenched free of Urso’s grasp simply to prove I could.
He frowned and looked to Matthew for support.
My cousin’s concerned face matched Urso’s. “You should listen to U-ey. I happen to know that Meredith’s self-defense classes aren’t doing her much good. I can take her down in an instant.”
“Jordan taught me a few extra moves.” I threw a karate jab at my cousin’s shoulder. He blocked it and grabbed my wrist with his other hand, restraining me in an instant. Okay, so maybe I needed to learn more moves, but to date, I had protected myself pretty darned well. On the other hand, did I want to test fate?
“Why don’t I stay the night?” Matthew offered.
“No, Meredith and the girls need you.”
“Charlotte,” Urso said, “why don’t you go to your grandparents’ house?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I didn’t mean to sound so exasperated, but both men were acting like I was a child. “I’ll see if Lavender and Lace has an available room. Will that satisfy you both? Rags will be thrilled to have some playtime with Lois’s precocious Shih Tzu.” I didn’t want to put out my grandparents, nor did I want to be fussed over.
As I started to leave the garage, a thought flew into my mind. I slapped my thigh. “U-ey, I just remembered something. When I entered, I smelled a marshy odor. It was probably the mud on Noelle’s shoes, but the mud looks dry right now, so you can’t really pick up the scent.”
Urso crouched beside Noelle and inspected the undersides of her shoes. “Do you know where she might have been?”
“She mentioned taking a hike. Maybe she went to Kindred Creek.”
“At night?”
“I warned her that it was too dark, but she seemed set on the idea. She wanted to explore Providence before she settled into her new job. She’d called it a quest. Maybe Boyd Hellman caught sight of her on her outing and followed her back here.”
Urso shook his head. “But there isn’t a second set of muddy footprints. Is this guy smart enough to have removed his dirty boots?”
• • •
By the time Urso and his deputies left, I felt drained, and to be honest, no matter what kind of bravado I had put on earlier, I did
n’t feel like sleeping alone in my house. Humbled and shivering, I gathered up Rags and headed to Lavender and Lace. With all the comings and goings at my place, I was surprised that a crowd hadn’t collected on the street by the B&B to gossip.
Guests sat on the porch having tea and scones. Lois kept space heaters turned on through the winter.
“Welcome, Charlotte.” Lois passed across the front door threshold. Agatha, her Shih Tzu, scampered alongside. “I’m so glad you called.”
I hadn’t; Urso had, to guarantee that a room was available. Talk about a lack of trust. I said, “I don’t mean to be an inconvenience.”
“Nonsense, we always like company, don’t you know.” Lois knotted the belt of her lavender sweater, tucked a loose hair behind her ear, and then nuzzled Rags’s neck. “There are lots of people in town for Thanksgiving holidays. Why, I have more grandparent guests than I can count. They’re all in to see the play at the theater. However, I have a few rooms empty. I always keep at least one . . .” She paused. Had she meant to add that she kept one room ready for her husband, should he reappear? A whisper of sadness filled her eyes, but she pushed it aside. “Tea?”
“I’d love some.”
I entered the great room and instantly felt calmer. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Many guests had cozied up to the fire. Others played board games or chatted at the various groupings of chairs and sofas. I settled into a corduroy chair—lavender in color, of course; Lois had a passion for purple—and seconds later Lois returned with a Haviland Rose china set and a plate of homemade raisin cinnamon scones with a side of clotted cream. Locally, Lois was famous for her scones. I set Rags on the floor, and he immediately grappled with Agatha. The dog yipped, and the two tore off toward the kitchen. “Play nice,” I called.
“Don’t worry about them,” Lois said. “Two peas in a pod. I swear your cat is a dog.” She nodded toward the scones, beaming with pride. “These are freshly made and piping hot from the oven. I’m planning to make a batch of gluten-free scones for your niece.”
“How sweet of you.”
“I miss seeing the girls running around the yard. All that lovely energy.” After setting my tea to steep, Lois nestled into the chair opposite mine. “Now, tell me what happened. Why were the police at your house? Did you have a break-in?”
“Worse. A murder.”
She shuddered. “To think what this world is coming to.”
I was pleased how confidential Urso and his deputies had kept the investigation so far. In the past, when a murder occurred, within seconds the town knew and journalists showed up to cover the story. A small town grapevine could be a positive or negative thing.
In a hushed tone, I related what had happened in my garage.
Lois shook her head with dismay. “How horrid.”
“Did you happen to see anyone running from the house earlier?” I said. “Man or woman?”
“I didn’t, I’m sorry to say. I’ll ask the other guests if they saw anything and report back. I’ve been busy. I served a full meal. Leg of lamb with mint jelly and all the fixings. We ended with a cheese course, as you advised me, with that scrumptiously smooth Doux de Montagne cheese, almonds, green grapes, and a drizzle of honey. Everyone raved.”
My stomach grumbled in protest. I hadn’t eaten at the theater, and my appetite had been squelched after finding Noelle. Until now. I picked up a scone and bit into it. Melt-in-your-mouth tender.
“Dear girl, you look spent. Put down the scone. I’ll fix you a plate of real supper, and then let’s get you settled in your room. You didn’t bring a suitcase.” She rose. “It matters not. Guests can sleep in the raw, if it suits their fancy.”
A short while later, Lois, carrying a supper tray, beckoned me to follow her.
I gathered up Rags. As we trudged upstairs, the notion that the killer had disappeared mighty fast dawned on me. Was he a guest at the inn? “Lois, do you have a guest named Boyd Hellman registered here?”
“No. Why, dear? Is he the killer?”
“No. I was . . . Never mind.” I clutched Rags closer to my chest, unwilling to reveal all of the facts of the case to Lois. Urso would have my hide.
As Lois used a key to open the door of my room, I reflected again on Noelle’s last words: hell’s key. A key was an island, an inset in an atlas, a list of answers to a test, a code breaker, and so much more. What had she meant? Why couldn’t I have saved her?
CHAPTER
5
I slept fitfully, dreaming or nightmaring—if that was a word—about Noelle fighting off her killer. At dawn, I startled awake. Had Noelle struggled? Why did it matter? How could I find out? I scooped up Rags and slipped out of the B&B vowing to repay Lois for her hospitality with a cheese basket filled with Brie, Camembert, and Fromager d’Affinois. She liked creamy cheeses.
When I reached home, I sprinted down the driveway, set Rags on the grass to explore, and headed to the garage. Crime scene tape crisscrossed the side door, but that didn’t stop me from clicking on the garage door opener and entering. It was my property.
Crisp air swirled around me and the tarp crackled beneath my feet as I tiptoed toward where Noelle had lain. I stopped beside the secretary desk and ran my hand along its smooth bare wood. I begged the desk to tell me about the tragedy, but it revealed no secrets. A raw feeling gripped my insides. Noelle had been selfless. Who had ended her life so young? Why? She had dedicated her last hours on earth to helping me get one step closer to completing my renovations. She hadn’t known me well, nor I her, and yet I felt that we could have become fast friends. I owed her a speedy answer to the question.
Even though I knew Urso and his men had reviewed every inch of the scene, I searched for telltale signs of the killer’s identity. I was no forensic expert, but thanks to Rebecca’s insistence, I had watched plenty of crime shows on TV. I saw no footprints. No fibers. No stray hairs. Last night, other than seeing the boxes of nails and other garage items turned inside out, I hadn’t noticed signs of a struggle. Had Noelle and her killer been discussing something? Had the attack come as a surprise? Her clothes hadn’t been torn. I hadn’t noticed scratches on her face. Had she known her killer? If only she had written a message, something like Hellman was here.
If wishes were horses . . .
I heard a swoosh behind me, then a huge clatter. I swung around, my pulse pounding and relaxed instantly. Rags, the sneaky devil, had followed me in. His vigorous tail had caught the cord of the sander and pulled the thing to the ground. Dust rose up as Rags disentangled himself and bolted toward me, eyes blazing with fear. He sprang into my arms. I scruffed his ears and said, “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s leave this horrible place.”
Before exiting, I tried to commit everything I saw to memory. Perhaps the fresh memory would trigger a past one.
Over the course of the next half hour, I fed Rags, took a shower, donned the most colorful clothes in my wardrobe for an emotional boost, and downed a single cup of coffee. I couldn’t eat. The image of Noelle lying dead curdled my stomach.
When I arrived at The Cheese Shop, I had a craving to do something normal or at least semi-normal or I wouldn’t function. In Culture Magazine, a publication dedicated to all things cheese, I had read about a way to infuse humor into a cheese shop. I would insert flags with eclectic sayings on them into wedges of cheese in the display case—sayings like Don’t be blue; eat blue. Or This is the cheese you’d ditch your boyfriend for.
Grabbing toothpicks, construction paper, and scissors, I set to work.
An hour later, Rebecca entered, her face pinched with concern.
“I heard what happened,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to stir the gossip mill.”
“Then you shouldn’t have stayed the night at Lavender and Lace.” She planted her hands on her narrow hips. “At two A.M., Lois was online chatting up everyone. She’s such a gossip. So, who do you think killed Noelle?”
I held up my han
ds. “No. I don’t want to speculate.” Though, of course, I was rehashing the event in my head.
“If you don’t, who will?”
“Chief Urso is on top of this. Let’s you and I keep our noses out of it.”
“But—”
“No.” I pointed to the Chiriboga Blue, a German cheese made in the French Roquefort tradition, and the Bayley Hazen Blue, which was Jasper Hill’s delectable flagship cheese, crumblier than most blues but developed to hold up under challenging retail conditions. “Set those two at the front of the display case so everyone can read the sayings on the flags.”
Rebecca scanned the tags I had inserted and sniggered. “These are cute. Can I write a few?”
“Sure.”
“By the way, I heard that Noelle said something to you before she died.”
“Who told you—” I peeked into the wine annex. Had Matthew participated in the social networking hullabaloo? Only he, Urso, and I knew what Noelle had said—and possibly the deputies. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Keeping those words secret might have been important to the investigation. “Go to work,” I ordered.
Rebecca saluted while mumbling, “Spoilsport,” under her breath. Real adult.
By ten A.M., customers were laughing and calling to friends on the street to come inside and read the cheese tags. Laughter was the best medicine, my grandfather often reminded me, and hearing my customers’ chuckles helped keep the bad memories from the night before at bay. Laughter also increased sales. By eleven A.M., Fromagerie Bessette had sold out of all blue cheese.
At noon, Matthew sidled up to me. “Hungry? Want to grab some lunch?”
“A quick bite in the office,” I said. “I don’t want to leave Rebecca out here alone. We are busy-busy with Thanksgiving Day gift baskets and weekend parties.”
“Where are Bozz and Tyanne?”
I explained. Bozz, a part-timer, had called to cancel his work shift. He was a first-year college student and was bogged down with midterms. Our other part-timer, Tyanne, was also the town’s premier wedding planner. Currently she was busy prepping Liberty Nelson’s wedding.
