by Avery Aames
“He said I shouldn’t wait until things get worse.” Matthew handed me two bottles of pinot noir from the Santa Rita Hills area in California and two more from local wineries. Thanks to the movie Sideways, Santa Rita had become known for its pinot noirs. I toted the bottles to the café tables and returned. “He said she’s being unreasonable and is not a good candidate to negotiate, so I should use the hammer approach.”
“Hammer approach?”
“Countersue.” He pounded a fist into his palm. “Except that means going to court to prove her unfit, and that might involve bringing the girls into court. I don’t want to do that. I can’t do that.”
“You’d have plenty of ammunition if you did.”
Matthew had kept files on all of Sylvie’s financial mishaps as well as a diary chronicling the girls’ feelings about their mother from the moment she walked out of their lives. He’d never considered that he might have to expose those feelings to the world. He’d done it as a form of therapy.
“We’d all be there for you, too,” I added. Grandmère, Pépère, and I each had stories to tell about Sylvie. I offered a supportive smile. “When is the lecturer from Cincinnati due?”
“No later than six.”
Matthew had arranged for a guest speaker to lead the evening’s wine tasting, a representative who distributed wine in the Midwest. During the cooler months, red wines were preferred. Come May, our white wine stock would shoot out of the shop. I had prepared platters, each with three cheeses: a nutty and firm sheep’s milk cheese from our local Emerald Pastures; a rich Le Moulis cow’s milk cheese from the Pyrenees; and a tangy goat’s cheese called Bermuda Triangle.
Matthew handed me printed note cards.
I read the top one. “‘Sunny, bursting with cherries and cloves.’ Hmmm. The Shelton Nelson pinot, right?” Shelton Nelson, who owned a winery located at the upper west portion of the county, imported a variety of grapes from California and blended them with homegrown pinot noir grapes.
“You’re getting pretty good at this.”
“I’ve got an excellent teacher.” I folded the cards, set them in front of the wine bottles on the café tables, and added a stack of comment cards and sharpened pencils. As patrons entered and paid their nominal tasting fee, they would receive order sheets and complimentary wineglasses etched with The Cheese Shop. “Speaking of teachers, how is Meredith today?”
“She took a sick day from school. She’s at the jail, keeping Quinn company.”
If Freddy was doing the same, now might be a good time to sneak into his room at the B&B. On the other hand, business had remained steady all day. I wasn’t sure Rebecca could handle the overflow without Pépère and Bozz. Both were at the theater helping Grandmère with her production.
Chimes over The Cheese Shop’s front door jingled.
“Back in a sec.” I passed through the annex archway and peered out.
Ipo Ho, our local honeybee farmer, sauntered into the shop. As the door swung shut, he said, “Stay, Buttercup.” A beauty of a Golden Retriever, tongue lolling to one side, set her rump on the sidewalk and faced the display window. She knew what was coming. Every now and then, Ipo treated her to a taste of low-fat cheese.
From behind the cheese counter, Rebecca offered Ipo a quick “Hello” and returned to curling the ribbon for one of her specialty cheese baskets. I knew she liked the former firebaton twirler, so why was she brushing him off?
Ipo hung back. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be checking out the different jars of jam, but I could see him eyeing my assistant from under his thick, dark lashes. After a moment, he wandered nearer the cheese counter, tapping his oversized thigh with his hand, looking like a shy boy whose mom had told him he had to ask a girl to the prom.
I cleared my throat and gestured that Rebecca was going to have to take the lead if she wanted the relationship to move ahead, but she waved me off with a pair of scissors.
So much for my attempt at playing Cupid.
Ipo cleared his throat and said, “Hello, Rebecca ... I ...” In one fell swoop, he dropped to his left knee and fetched a small box from the pocket of his overalls. He popped open the box to reveal a shiny ring made of woven strands of gold. “Rebecca Zook, will you marry me?”
My mouth dropped open.
So did Rebecca’s. She quickly snapped it shut and said, “Get up, Ipo.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ipo said.
“We haven’t even dated.”
“But I love you.”
Rebecca turned three shades of pink—her least favorite color. “Ipo Ho, you galoot, get on your feet, now. You look desperate.”
He struggled to a stand and waggled the box with the ring in it. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You can ask me on a date, and if we still like each other a year from now, we can talk about it.”
“A year?”
“You’re on the rebound.”
“My wife and I divorced more than three years ago.”
“I rest my case.”
Ipo frowned and snapped the ring box shut. The poor guy and his beautiful dog had come to Providence from Hawaii because Ipo fell in love with an Ohioan who’d wanted to start up an organic honeybee farm. Little did Ipo realize that the woman was famous for falling in love with just about anybody in trousers. Luckily, when she left, she didn’t abscond with Buttercup.
“Now, which cheese do you want?” Rebecca cocked her hip and twirled her ponytail around a finger. “Might I suggest the Cowgirl Creamery ST PAT. It’s their spring cheese offering.” She pulled a small, green-smudged round from the display case. “Aren’t they pretty? They’re made with organic Jersey cow’s milk and wrapped with nettle leaves.”
Ipo winced. “Nettle leaves? Don’t those have stinging hairs?”
“Relax. The nettles are frozen to remove the sting before they’re wrapped around the cheese.” She twisted the cheese in her hand. “Don’t you love the color?”
While Ipo made up his mind, the chimes rang again, and Urso lumbered in. As the front door swung shut, I saw Dane sidle up to Buttercup on the sidewalk. He crouched to pet her.
“Afternoon, Charlotte.” Urso removed his hat and fingered the brim. “Got a second?” Using his chin, he gestured for me to come closer.
Anxiety prickled my skin. He hadn’t returned my phone call from yesterday. Had he figured out that I’d trespassed in the Ziegler mansion and decided to give me what-for in person? He didn’t exactly look angry. In fact, he looked like he had to say something that was going to be hard to utter. Hoping a peace offering might soften his reproach, I snagged a chunk of his favorite cheese—Taleggio—wedged it between a pair of flax crackers, and hurried to him.
As I extended the morsel, he dropped to one knee.
Uh-oh. I skidded to a stop. My stomach did a flip-flop. He wasn’t going to propose, too, was he? I wasn’t as plucky as Rebecca. I couldn’t make light of a proposal. We’d have to talk. I’d have to tell Urso how serious I was about Jordan.
“Don’t do it,” I blurted.
“Don’t do what?” He picked something sparkly off the floor and flipped it in his hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A brand-new penny.” He stood up and showed me the Abraham Lincoln side.
I felt like a fool. How could I have assumed—?
“You said, ‘Don’t do it.’ Do you have dibs on every penny in the shop or is it mine?” he teased.
“Yours. Of course.” I waved for him to keep it as my heart rate returned to semi-normal. “Listen, about my phone call,” I started, ready to blab everything, guilt weighing on me like a seventy-five-pound wheel of Parmesan.
He pocketed the penny. “In a sec. Do you—?”
“Charlotte!” Octavia Tibble, part-time Realtor and the savviest librarian in all of Ohio, raced into the shop waving sheets of paper.
Gretel, her apple cheeks
flushed and rain coat billowing, followed at Octavia’s heels. She brandished similar sheets of paper.
“Do you know what Prudence is doing?” Octavia said. “She’s putting up flyers boycotting the price of cheese at Fromagerie Bessette.”
I gaped. “You’re kidding!”
“I’m not.” Octavia brushed her beaded black braids over her shoulders and gave a quick tug to the lapels of her lime green linen suit. “The nerve.”
Prudence had threatened that she’d take action against the shop, but I didn’t think she would stoop so low.
“We’ve been following her around and yanking them down,” Gretel said. “Don’t tell my husband. He wouldn’t approve. You know how he preaches about the blessing of freedom of speech.”
Urso snagged one of the flyers. After scanning it, he said, “I’ll warn her off.”
“Pépère says any publicity is good publicity,” I quipped.
“Not always. Besides, I don’t like Prudence Hart bullying anyone in my town.” Urso eyed the Taleggio cheese and cracker tidbit that I was holding. “Is that for me?”
I handed him the treat.
“Back in a few minutes.” He marched out of the shop, looking for all intents and purposes like a sheriff in an old-time Western. All he needed was a pair of guns and a posse.
As the chimes settled down, I decided now was as good a time as any to go fishing for information. Octavia was an ace researcher and Gretel was one of the best sources of gossip in Providence. “Speaking of Prudence, do you know her brothers?”
“Can’t say as I do,” Gretel said.
“You wouldn’t,” Octavia said. “They live in Oregon. Nice guys. Health nuts.” She eyed me. “Why do you ask, Charlotte?”
“Have you seen them in town lately?”
“No, they’re never coming back.”
“Why not?”
“They hate their sister. They wouldn’t live within five hundred miles of her.” Octavia snorted. “Can’t say as I blame them.”
“I heard they were trying to buy the Ziegler estate from the city,” I said.
“Not a chance.”
Buttercup barked so loudly, we all turned. Edsel had appeared on the sidewalk. Using his fist, he pounded Dane on the back. Dane jerked to a stand, his own fists primed.
“What’s with them?” Gretel asked.
“Got me,” I said, flinching automatically as Dane took a swing.
Edsel sidestepped the punch and glowered at Dane. He beckoned him closer and pointed to his chin, as if daring Dane to knock him for a loop. Was Edsel drunk? He poked Dane in the chest with his index finger. Dane grabbed it and held fast. Edsel didn’t wince. Instead, he offered a malicious grin, and with his other hand, twisted his fingers on his lips like he was locking them with silence. Did they have some kind of a pact? I pondered what Jordan had said in the cellar. The murderer wouldn’t have been able to seal up the hole leading to the dumbwaiter shaft after himself, but a team of conspirators could have done it. Had Edsel and Dane conspired to murder? Had one of them come down the shaft, killed Harker, and retreated to the kitchen while the other patched the wall? No, that didn’t make sense. Why leave the murder weapon and the jewels? I felt as if I was fabricating a scenario out of cobwebs, easily shred to pieces.
“Earth to Charlotte.” Octavia tapped my shoulder.
“Sorry. I was just—”
Out on the sidewalk, Mr. Nakamura dodged Dane and Edsel and burst into the store. “Where’s Matthew?” he said, out of breath and flushed, as if his tie were too tight. Why he wore a tie to run Nuts for Nails was beyond me, but he and his teensy wife were all about decorum.
Matthew appeared in the archway. He wiped his hands on a caramel-colored towel. “What’s up?”
“Matthew, I—” Mr. Nakamura looked from me to Matthew and back to me. “In a minute, Matthew.” He pivoted. “Charlotte, I heard Delilah’s theories about the brick wall.”
“What brick wall?” Octavia said. “What theories?”
“The brick wall in the cellar at the winery,” Mr. Nakamura went on. “They’re saying that the wall was recently erected.”
“Who’s saying?” Gretel asked.
I explained the theory in less than ten seconds. “Why do you care, Mr. Nakamura?”
“I thought you should know that a few months ago, Freddy Vance bought a flat of bricks from me. He said he planned to fix his sister’s well.”
Adrenaline sped through my bloodstream like a bullet train. Meredith had gone silent when I’d pressed her about the brick wall. She must have known that her brother purchased the bricks. When Freddy visited her for the holidays, had he built a well or a wall?
CHAPTER 18
I stood in the center of The Cheese Shop gaping at Mr. Nakamura. Rebecca, Octavia, Gretel, and Matthew gawked at him, as well.
“That’s news that’s fit to print!” Gretel clapped her hands. “Charlotte, we should tell Chief Urso.”
Octavia agreed.
I nodded. We should, but first I needed to take a peek in Meredith’s backyard. If her well had been rebuilt, Freddy was off the hook. If the brick was missing, he wasn’t, and Meredith deserved a heads-up.
“Why don’t you two track down Urso,” I said. “I’ve got so much work to do.”
Chatting excitedly, Gretel and Octavia exited through the front door. Mr. Nakamura headed into the wine annex to consult with Matthew. When the shop quieted, I told Rebecca I had an errand to run and to tend the shop. She was savvy enough to know I was on a mission, and she didn’t look pleased to be left behind.
Meredith lived a few blocks from Fromagerie Bessette. Recently she had given her baby blue Victorian a facelift. It was no Vintage Today makeover, but it was a start—fresh paint, refurbished shutters, and a new fence. The grass in the yard looked spotty, however, and the evergreen bushes were in need of trimming. Meredith couldn’t be blamed. On a teacher’s salary, she didn’t have the funds to do everything at once. Last November, for a birthday present, I gave her a dozen bags of daffodil bulbs. The showy flowers now flanked the front path and danced in the afternoon breeze.
I pressed the doorbell and waited, although I didn’t expect Meredith to be home. According to Matthew, Meredith was at the jail entertaining Quinn. When she didn’t answer, I trotted around the porch that encircled the house.
The backyard was filled with whimsical items—painted gnomes, inspirational stepping-stones, a rock pond, a bird feeder, and an old brick well that had been built in the eighteen hundreds. Only half of the well stood intact. Broken bricks and chunks of old mortar lay in a heap beside it. Its oaken bucket hung from a frayed strand of rope. Beside the mess stood an empty flat that should have held a stack of fresh bricks.
Hoping Meredith could explain, I called her cell phone. She answered on one ring. She told me that after spending the morning with Quinn, she’d decided to take a little “me” time. She was having tea at Lavender and Lace and begged me to join her.
On my way to the B&B, in an effort to do my civic duty as Jordan had suggested, I dialed Urso’s number. The cellular reception cut out. I left what could only be described as a sputtered message. It was sufficient.
Ten minutes later, I found Meredith sitting in the great room—with Freddy. She hadn’t told me he was with her. The sight of him made me twitchy, but I had to proceed. I needed to know the truth. I wanted to believe the missing batch of bricks was an innocent mistake. I really did.
They sat hunched forward in wingback chairs and looked like they were plotting how to break Quinn out of jail. A pot of tea and a pair of Royal Doulton teacups were nestled on a tray in front of them. A fire crackled in the hearth, its smoke imbuing the room with a heavenly hickory scent.
In the adjoining room, Lois kept busy with a feather duster. If asked, she would probably claim she was hunting cobwebs, but I’d bet she was trying to hear Freddy and Meredith’s conversation. Her Shih Tzu Agatha darted around the room behind her, nipping at the dust as it fluttered dow
n. Her husband, the Cube, who was clipping hollies outside, looked as eager as Lois to get the scoop. Head craned, he hovered beside the great room window, which was open wide enough to get an earful.
Freddy rose when I entered and kissed me on the cheek. His lips felt clammy against my unusually warm skin. Nervousness had made me heat up like a campfire. He waited to sit until I settled into a lavender wingback chair.
One look at my face, and Meredith sensed something was off. “What’s wrong?”
Though I felt nervous to talk about the brick wall in front of Freddy, I didn’t think that he would harm me. Not in front of his sister. Not in the light of day. Using guarded words, I explained the situation.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Freddy blurted. “The bricks are gone?” His face blew up like a puffer fish. “Oh, man, I know what you’re thinking.”
“No, she’s not,” Meredith said, but her gaze told me she did. And I was.
“Yes, I bought the bricks,” Freddy said. “At Christmastime.”
That confirmed what Mr. Nakamura had said.
“But I never started the project. I’ve only visited my sister twice since then, and both times there was snow on the ground. Needless to say, I didn’t check the well on this blasted trip.”
I swallowed hard, not keen to ask the next question. “Did you know they were gone, Meredith?”
Reluctantly she nodded. “I figured some kid in the neighborhood filched them over a period of time.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t mention it to Freddy because ...” Her voice thinned to a whisper. “When you called ...” I could tell she wasn’t sure if her brother was a killer, and the idea mortified her.
Not picking up on her worry, Freddy said, “I tried my hand at architecture once. I was horrible at it. I mean really bad. I couldn’t draw a straight line to save my life. Even a ruler and a Craftsman level didn’t help.” He snickered.
“Do you think this is funny, Freddy?” Meredith snapped.
He sank back in his chair and shoved a hand into his jeans pocket. “Of course not.”
“Any idea who might have filched the bricks?” I asked.
