Lost and Fondue

by Avery Aames

  Quinn pressed her lips together. Tears pooled in her eyes. She flailed at Dane. A ring on her left hand snagged in the knitted loops of her scarf. But Dane didn’t stop.

  “Ah, young love,” Winona cooed. “They’re never happy.”

  “They’re not in love,” I said. “He’s being a bully.” I remembered Quinn saying she was allergic to any kind of cheese but goat’s cheese. She was downright scared. Where was Quinn’s knight in shining armor, Harker? “Freddy, if you’re not going to help out, then I will.”

  Freddy gripped my arm and chuckled. “You can’t help yourself, can you, Charlotte? Even in grade school, you were a mother hen. Don’t worry about Quinn. She can handle—”

  “I said stop it, Cegielski!” Quinn pushed Dane away.

  As he stumbled back, melted cheese splattered on his sweater and the skewer of fondue fell from his hand to the floor.

  Abandoning her scarf, Quinn darted through the French doors toward the rear of the estate. Dane huffed and tramped in the opposite direction toward the foyer.

  The gong of a bell blasted the air.

  “Hey, everybody!” Meredith waltzed into the room carrying a metal rod and a cowbell. She clanged the bell a second time. “Yoo-hoo, let’s gather in the foyer.”

  Like a majorette, she paraded ahead. Guests set their dinner plates aside and fell in line behind her.

  I stood frozen in place, torn about what to do: chase after Quinn or follow the hostess? I chose the latter because Freddy was right. The argument was over, and Quinn was a big girl. She could defend herself.

  When the guests had convened in the foyer, the mariachi music faded out and Meredith stopped her clanging. First, she introduced herself, as well as a few townsfolk who were investing in the college and the donors from Cleveland. Next, she offered a few inspiring words about education. Then, she said, “Providence, let’s show our guests how to have a good time! Everyone, grab a partner and take a scavenger hunt list. You’ve got forty-five minutes to find the items. There are thirty total, but there are thirty-six rooms, and some rooms might have more than one item.”

  The crowd cooed with appreciation.

  “Some things are hiding in plain sight! The first duo back to the dining table with at least seven items wins a wine-and-cheese basket from Fromagerie Bessette.”

  Matthew and I had agreed that, in addition to providing a fabulous meal, a prize basket was a great way for The Cheese Shop to advertise. Meredith gestured to the basket, which she’d set on an entry table. A few of the guests oohed. Rebecca, our basket wizard, had created a beribboned showstopper, fitted with a bottle of sauvignon blanc, a bottle of malbec, and rounds of lavender chèvre from Two Plug Nickels Farm, as well as accoutrements like honey and jam.

  “Ready, set, go!” Meredith held up a fistful of lists on green paper and a handful of matching green bags.

  Freddy grabbed one of each and hurried off with Winona.

  Dane broke from the crowd and approached Harker. “Hey, you got a partner, dork? Quinn ditched me.”

  Harker’s eyes narrowed, probably wondering why Dane had the gall to think he could pair up with Quinn. But he let the dark moment pass and said, “You don’t really expect me to go on this stupid thing, do you?”

  Dane jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “No, guess not.”

  “Say, did you see that fake art they hung in the halls?” Harker said. “Klee and Kandinsky have got to be turning over in their graves.”

  “Those Vegas entertainers?”

  “Very funny. No, you goon. The Expressionists. Does color theory ring a bell?”

  “Color theory? What’s that?”

  Harker whacked Dane on the shoulder, and the two headed down the hall.

  At the same time, Rebecca trotted to my side. “Got a partner?”

  Hoping for a miracle, I searched again for Jordan, but it appeared that he and Jacky had left the event altogether.

  “C’mon.” Rebecca handed me the list of items to find. “Do you think we’ll stumble upon the treasure while we—?”

  “There is no treasure.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s start in the library.”

  Like other guests who’d entered the intimate mahoganylined room, we stopped for a moment to admire the students’ artwork. Quinn’s piece—a façade of the winery on the knoll—was fun, flirty. Meredith had pegged it when she said Quinn had a style similar to Matisse. Pastel sheep pranced about the building. Clouds sparkled with glitter. Edsel’s depiction of the winery, which he’d situated on a grim hill, the skies filled with rain-soaked clouds, was uninspired, but his E. Nash signature had dramatic flair. Dane’s artwork, a black-and-white portrait of himself standing in the foyer of the house, looked immature but promising. Harker’s artwork was the most unique yet, in its essence, forlorn. He had focused on the winery cellar, most likely because he expected to find the rumored treasure there, but the cellar looked like a hollowed-out cave, lined with gray stone and floating in black nothingness.

  Freddy and Winona stood closest to the piece, and I overheard Winona say, “It’s a little disturbing, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for an answer, opting to continue hunting instead. Freddy followed.

  Soon after, Winona shouted, “Found one!” She stood across the room brandishing a painter’s palette.

  Rebecca peeked behind one of the canvases and discovered a paintbrush. “Me, too! Item number six on the list.” She waved it and dumped it into our bag as she bolted from the room. “C’mon, Charlotte. Tick-tock.”

  We scoured the old kitchen, which was empty of other guests. Vintage Today had refurbished the kitchen with spanking-new appliances. All for show, I was pretty sure. I doubted the television program’s budget would cover an update to the ancient wiring and plumbing.

  A few minutes into our search, we discovered a crocheted pot holder hiding in a storage closet beside the dumbwaiter.

  Rebecca said, “Two down, five to go. How about we—?”

  “Quinn, wait,” a young man yelled.

  Quinn charged into the kitchen, scavenger bag swinging on her arm, and skidded to a stop. She looked left and right, like she needed a place to hide. I jerked my thumb at the dumbwaiter. She tried to yank open the handle, but it stuck. I pointed to the kitchen table tucked into a nook. She dashed toward it. Too late.

  Harker ran in and grabbed her by the wrist. He paid no attention to me or Rebecca. We could have been flies on the wall. When had he abandoned Dane and partnered up with Quinn?

  “Let me go!” Quinn twisted to free herself.

  “Listen to me,” he ordered.

  “Young man, let her go,” I said, channeling Meredith and her most authoritative teacher tone.

  Harker did, but he jabbed Quinn with his index finger. “Apologize.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. Cegielski came on to me. So did Nash.”

  Dane and Edsel knew Quinn and Harker were an item. Why were they hitting on Quinn and pushing Harker’s buttons?

  “You’re breaking my heart,” Harker said. He looked like he really meant it.

  Quinn sniffed. “Oh, please. You’re the one who goes around breaking hearts.”

  Harker jolted as if she’d slapped him.

  Taking advantage of his momentary paralysis, Quinn darted out of the kitchen with a quick glance back at me. Was there terror in her eyes?

  Harker sprinted after her. “Quinnie, wait, I’m sorry.”

  The fact that he was the one doing the apologizing made me breathe easier. Young love was like cheese; it needed time to mature in delicate, controlled conditions.

  “We need to find an eight-inch matchstick.” Rebecca pulled out a drawer to search.

  “Let’s try the study. I noticed a fireplace in there.”

  Vintage Today had staged the study to look like something out of Providence’s Historical Museum, with a commanding oak desk, comfy chairs, and Tiffany lamps. As Rebecca searched behind drapes and under stacks of books, I was drawn to the le
ctern standing in the middle of the room. On it lay a document that my grandmother would salivate over, if it was real and not some Vintage Today fake. It was a map of Providence in the eighteen hundreds, with lines delineating the various homesteads. According to the map, Ziegler’s Winery went for miles. The Bozzuto, Urso, and Hart properties abutted the Ziegler estate. And the town of Providence consisted of a few cross streets and the Village Green. In the 1950s, Grandmère and Pépère fled France and moved to Providence. She gave up a dream of being a prima ballerina for a chance at a peaceful life. She found that life in Providence, and she would love to own an historic document that would celebrate the town that had embraced her.

  “Is a map on our list?” I asked.

  “Nope. But I found the matchstick,” Rebecca said. “Now we need a candle. C’mon, let’s go. I want to win.”

  I grinned. “I can make you a cheese-and-wine basket, you know.”

  “Nah, this is all about winning. We need a candle. How about the ballroom on the third floor?” she said. “Maybe there’s a candelabra up there with real candles.” She raced into the hall and jogged up the refurbished staircase.

  As we neared the second floor, we heard a man yell, “Ow!”

  I gripped Rebecca’s elbow. “Hold on a sec.”

  “Stop!” the man yelled.

  Laughter. Male and female.

  “Don’t be such a goon,” Quinn said. I only recognized her voice. I couldn’t see her. I stole to the top stair and peeked around the corner.

  Where was Harker? I didn’t really care. Quinn was rid of him. Good.

  Hunched over and carrying a silver-scrolled candelabra fitted with three flaming candles, Edsel slogged down the hall, dragging one foot behind him. He swung his arm like that ogre in Mel Brooks’s Young Frankenstein movie, and said, “This way, mistress. We’re going to the conservatory.”

  He lisped his Ss, which made Quinn laugh harder. She whacked Edsel playfully on the arm. He recoiled. “Ow. Mistress, why do you punish me so?” They disappeared into one of the bedrooms as other party guests exited.

  Happy that Quinn was enjoying herself again, I tiptoed back to Rebecca, who was standing at the landing halfway down the stairs, gazing through a lead-crossed window.

  I peered over her shoulder.

  “Aren’t the grounds pretty?” she said. “The grandeur.”

  Moonlight shimmered through the clouds and highlighted the aged grapevines that spilled down the hill in all directions. Taking in the view, I wondered if Meredith and her donors intended to revitalize the vineyard. Maybe a division of the school should be devoted to viticulture. That notion vanished when my attention was drawn to something out of place.

  To the left. In the driveway.

  Not Winona, who was out for a smoke, fingers absentmindedly stroking her throat. But Sylvie’s Lexus. It was parked beside Matthew’s Jeep.

  Rebecca followed my gaze. “Hey, isn’t that Sylvie’s rental car. What’s she doing back?”

  “No idea.” But I did my best not to worry. Matthew had proven he could hold his own against her. And I’d seen the girls leave with my grandparents. Sylvie wouldn’t be able to snatch them for another impromptu outing without a fight from my grandmother.

  I prodded Rebecca upward. “Back to the game.”

  As we bypassed the second floor, where most of the other guests seemed intent on scouring the bedrooms, Rebecca said, “Why did Matthew marry Sylvie?”

  “It was love at first sight. He was the sommelier at a high-end restaurant. She was a waitress.”

  “Was she always so horrible?”

  “She was colorful and unpredictable.” Those were the terms Matthew had used when he’d introduced us. “A month later, they were married.”

  “Were they . . .? You know.”

  “No, not pregnant. Just impetuous.”

  “But he’s not at all like that.”

  “Not anymore.” Matthew had learned a costly lesson.

  As we reached the third floor, a man said, “That’s far enough!”

  Though he wasn’t talking to us, my heart leapt to full throttle. I peeked around the corner and spotted Freddy and Harker, who stood in the middle of the marble-floored ballroom, highlighted by slivers of moonlight that pierced the windows.

  Freddy’s gaze was dark, threatening. He stabbed Harker’s chest with his index finger. “Stop jerking my daughter around.”

  “She asked for it. She’s the one gallivanting—”

  “Enough!” Freddy cuffed Harker on the shoulder. “This is not part of our agreement.”

  “Are you reneging?”

  “I never renege. But do not think I won’t make you disappear. Got me?” Freddy stabbed the kid one more time in the chest to make his point, then stormed in our direction. Without making eye contact, he hurtled past us and down the stairs. A cartoonist would have drawn hash marks and exclamation points in the bubble over his head.

  “Whew,” Rebecca said when Freddy was out of sight. “I thought my father was tough.”

  Pépère had delivered a similar showdown to Creep Chef. I’d always wondered whether something he’d said had driven Chip to abandon me for Paris. My life was happier without him, and I had to face it: Charlotte and Chip just didn’t sound good together. Neither did Charlotte and Chippendale, which was his given name. And whenever I added his last name—Cooper—I giggled. We had way too many Cs in our combined names. But still, I wondered.

  Startled that tears had found their way to the rims of my eyes, I said, “Let’s press on.”

  We entered the ballroom, and I could almost imagine the grand balls that had been held there. I envisioned a string quartet playing at the far end. The French doors would have hung open to let in the cool air. Chatter would have revolved around the new harvest and the delicious wine, and gossip would have abounded about Ziegler’s crazy wife. The latter realization doused my musings with icy water.

  Eager to move on, I said, “There’s a candle.”

  A slender white taper was pressed into a silver candlestick that stood on a lion’s-footed buffet. We snagged it, stowed it in our bag, and hurried out of the room.

  Back downstairs, we entered the living room and located a sheet of poetry by Longfellow tucked beneath the old oak desk.

  After that, we ventured into a tiny room accessed beneath the staircase—for storage, I imagined. Vintage Today had done nothing to the room. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in it. The panels on the walls were painted completely white.

  “Bust,” Rebecca said. She turned to leave, but I grasped her elbow.

  “Wait. Remember how Meredith said something could be hiding in plain sight? What if there are hidden doors and compartments? You know, like that dumbwaiter in the kitchen, but painted white to fool us.” Feeling like Nancy Drew, I circled the room, pressing every panel. Nothing opened. I was about ready to give up when right behind the entrance door, I found a pencil. A white pencil. “Aha!”

  Rebecca edged around to see what I’d found.

  “In plain sight,” I said. “Now, let’s head for the cellar. We only need one more—”

  “Can we quit?” Rebecca said, her voice small and tentative. “I mean, we don’t have to win, do we?”

  I glanced at her. She’d gone pale. Her forehead was beaded with perspiration. “Are you okay?”

  “This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies. All the fighting. First Quinn and Harker, then Quinn’s father.”

  Because of her plucky attitude, I tended to forget how innocent my assistant was. Raised Amish, Rebecca had rarely seen anyone argue.

  “On Ghost Whisperer,” Rebecca went on, “a whole town of ghosts lived in the basement of a building. They sent out bad vibes. What if there’s an evil spirit living here, you know, a pirate ghost making all these people argumentative?”

  I shuddered. I wasn’t a TV nut like she was, but I had watched tons of films. I’d seen something like what she described in Ghostbusters. The slime made them do it. Yet
I didn’t believe in hoodoo voodoo, and I certainly didn’t believe pirates had buried treasure at the Ziegler Winery. The only way to prove my point was to keep going.

  “Buck up,” I said. “One more item. We’re bound to find a wine box in the cellar. Item twenty-nine. C’mon, we’re a team.”

  “Couldn’t we scour the tasting rooms?” Rebecca chewed on her lip then, digging deep for an iota of bravery, shrugged her acquiescence. “Okay. Cellar first.”

  We blazed through the halls, passing other guests, looking for the door leading to the cellar. As we rounded a corner, a gust of cold air hit us. The lights went out.

  Partygoers gasped.

  “Ghosts!” Rebecca clutched my arm with a death grip.

  “There’re no ghosts, you ninny. Don’t panic. I’ll fix it.” I rummaged through the scavenger hunt bag and withdrew the wooden match and the candle. I scraped the match on the stone floor. It ignited. I lit the candlewick. The flame danced in front of Rebecca’s face. She breathed easier.

  As other guests followed my lead and lit their candles, the door leading to the cellar swung open.

  Dane bolted through the door, his face as white as parchment paper. “Have you seen Quinn?”

  I said, “She’s with Edsel.”

  “No, she ditched him. She was with me then charged off. She got spooked.”

  Why did I suspect he’d scared her? On purpose. After the scarf incident, what was I supposed to believe?

  Bad Charlotte. Suspecting the worst of people.

  “I’ve got to find her.” Dane raced toward the observatory. “She hates the dark.”

  At the same time, somebody screamed from someplace below us. Female. A bloodcurdling scream.

  Dane skidded to a stop and spun around. “Quinn!”

  Rebecca moaned with fear.

  I said, “Stay here.”

  She clutched a handful of my sweater. “Don’t leave me.”

  With Rebecca clinging to me, we hurried down the creaky stairs. Vintage Today hadn’t done a stitch of refurbishing in the cellar. There were only the candles Meredith had mentioned, stuck into rusted iron sconces. Cobwebs hung from the stone ceilings. The smell of wet mildew filled my nostrils—not the yummy, earthy kind of smell I associated with cheese caves, but rather dank decay.