Lost and Fondue

by Avery Aames

  “Everything okay in here?” the Cube said, hovering protectively beside her.

  Winona lowered her arm and snarled. “Come on in, folks. Why not invite the whole town? I was just telling Ms. Nosey-Nose and her friends that I did not kill Harker Fontanne.”

  “Your sister committed suicide,” I pressed. “You blamed him.”

  “Jules was emotionally fragile. She was an artist, did you know that?” Winona painted an imaginary canvas in front of her. “Acrylics. Wild, exotic acrylics. Georgia O’Keeffe good. She had a future, but she threw it all away for him. She wanted him to be the star.”

  “You blamed him,” I said.

  “Darned right, I did. He could have encouraged her to keep painting. He didn’t have to break her spirit and her heart.”

  “And you killed him. You threw the jewels on the floor. You built that wall to show how emotionally blocked he was.”

  “Me, build a wall? You’ve got to be kidding.” She flashed her perfectly manicured fingernails at me. “I don’t even garden.”

  “You signed on to be a donor for the college right after the art gathering was announced.”

  “That’s right,” Rebecca said. She had been the one to share that tidbit with me. “You knew Harker would be here.”

  Winona raised her shoulders as she drew in a long breath. She let it out in a gust. “Want to know the truth?”

  “You bet we do,” Rebecca said.

  “Fine. I signed on for this ridiculous trip so that I could punish him.”

  “Punish him?” I said.

  “For being so cavalier.”

  I gaped at her. “You strangled him.”

  “Strangulation is an extreme act of punishment,” Octavia said.

  Lois and the Cube bobbed their heads. A panel of Winona’s peers couldn’t have been more judgmental.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, I did not strangle him.” Winona sighed, as if the act of explaining to a room full of idiots was exhausting. “The best place to hit Harker was in the art. That’s right, the art. He loved his art. He would do anything for his art. I stole it from his portfolio.”

  “You stole it?” Rebecca said.

  “Before he was murdered.” Winona hoisted her suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. On top of her clothing lay a thick brown envelope, about twenty inches by thirty inches—the same size as the leather portfolio we’d seen in Harker’s room. She ripped open the Velcro latch and pulled out the contents—unframed canvases of Harker’s artwork. She placed them on the bedspread. There were eight of them. Each was breathtakingly poignant and signed by Harker Fontanne. Freddy and Rebecca had said that whoever took the artwork had the best motive to kill Harker. The posthumous artwork would sell big on the open market. Harker hadn’t been famous, but with his talent and an aggressive representative, he might have become famous. But Winona, being an heiress, didn’t need the money.

  “You stole the art to hinder his career,” I said. “Having to paint new paintings would be time-consuming.”

  “Oh, please. That would be so mundane. I stole these pieces so he could never touch them.”

  I assessed the artwork again. Quinn said Harker had carried the portfolio everywhere. Why? Four of the pieces were landscapes; the others were portraits of a woman. They weren’t of Quinn.

  I glanced at Winona, suddenly seeing the truth. “Are those portraits of your sister?”

  Winona smiled a canary-in-the-mouth grin.

  “Why didn’t you tell Chief Urso?”

  “For the same reason that’s ticking away in your mind.” Winona wagged a finger. “Don’t deny it. I can see your eyes flickering. A thief could make millions selling the art on the open market once Harker’s genius is realized.” She collected the art and slid them back into the envelope. “I’m not keeping them. I plan to give them to a museum.”

  Rebecca muttered, “I’ll bet.”

  Octavia said, “Yeah, right.”

  I shut out the murmurs of my companions and focused on the other thing that was bothering me. “Why were you arguing with Dane the other day?”

  Winona threw me a sour look. “The kid made a play for me. I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t date anybody younger than me.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “I only met him on this trip.” Winona’s gaze darted down and to the right, and then back to me. A psychology course I took in college taught me about eye signals. She was covering up something.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Winona pursed her lips, as if weighing her options. Finally she said, “Dane knew about Julianne and Harker. He said he pegged me for her sister because we looked so much alike.” Winona shook her head. “It was a line of bull, of course. We looked nothing alike. I’m dark and big. She was fair and slight. We have the same swoop to our hair, the same nose—got both traits from our mom—but that’s it.”

  “Harker must have figured out who you were and told Dane,” I said.

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Did Dane accuse you of killing Harker?”

  “I assured him that I didn’t. I told him I was here to ruin Harker, to humiliate him. He said my secret was safe.” She jutted her chin. “I think he was ingratiating himself to me so I’d cave in and grant him a date.”

  “Did you?”

  “No!” Her diva voice soared to a crescendo. “And don’t get me started about that little creep, Edsel Nash.”

  I recalled Dane arguing with Edsel outside The Cheese Shop and imagined what his teachers must have written repeatedly on his report cards: Doesn’t play well with peers. Edsel probably received the same kind of commentary.

  “What about him?” I said.

  “Never mind.” Winona folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head.

  “Did you know Edsel and Dane had an argument?”

  “It had nothing to do with me.”

  Which meant she knew about it.

  She glanced at the clock again. “If you don’t mind, I have a train to catch.”

  The sound of footsteps running along the hall made me turn. Lois and her husband scuttled sideways as Urso burst into the room, his slicker and hat dripping wet.

  “What the heck is going on?” he barked.

  I gave him a twenty-second account. When I finished, Winona proclaimed her innocence yet again.

  I said, “Tell her you believe her, Chief, as long as she tells us everything about Edsel Nash.”

  Winona gave me the evil eye.

  “You’re the one who brought him up,” I said.

  Winona’s fingers tapped a rhythm on her biceps. “Fine. The kid said he saw me take the portfolio. He was blackmailing me.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Neither Dane nor Edsel was at the inn. Lois hadn’t seen them for hours. Urso said he would find them.

  Before leaving Winona’s room, Urso cautioned Winona not to leave Providence. He threatened to arrest her if she did. On the B&B’s front porch, he also gave a warning to Rebecca, Octavia, and me. “Keep away from the investigation.”

  “C’mon, U-ey,” I said.

  “Don’t ‘U-ey’ me. You approached a murder suspect alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  Rebecca and Octavia raised tentative hands to signal their existence.

  Urso frowned. “Promise me.”

  Playing the properly chastised citizen, I said, “I promise that I will not do anything rash.”

  He grunted his disapproval.

  “I called you, remember?” I said. “I didn’t want Winona to flee. I acted quickly and responsibly. I also had two friends with me, and I knew there were people at the inn. Didn’t you see Lois and her husband? They clung to us like shadows.”

  Urso grabbed my elbow and drew me to the railing. The rain, once again no more than a drizzle, splattered my hair, but I didn’t protest. Urso peered into my face, his gaze concerned, his forehead furrowed. I worried for a moment he might lean forward and kiss me. A flock of
birds in the leafless vines twittered, as if sharing my concern.

  Don’t, don’t, don’t kiss me. A kiss would ruin our friendship. Don’t, please. A swarm of panicky butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach.

  As if intuiting my prayerful advice, Urso stood taller and said, “Your family can’t afford to lose you. Your future family as well as your present, got me?” He kept his gaze on me for a long moment, and then he traipsed down the inn’s steps to his patrol car.

  After I bid my friends good night, I retrieved my umbrella and trotted toward home, wondering about my future. Would it be with Jordan? Why hadn’t he returned my call about Jacky? Was I making a big mistake banking my heart on him? Perhaps that was what Grandmère feared. Perhaps that was why she favored Urso. She felt he was a better longrange choice for me. But did I want stability or passion?

  I whipped out my cell phone, prepared to call Jordan, and noticed a missed call on the readout—from him. I listened to the message.

  Jordan said, “Thanks for the heads-up about my sis. I’ll check it out. On another note, my bags are packed. Are yours?” He laughed, blew a kiss, and ended the call.

  As I stowed my cell phone, I glanced at the sky and imagined the stars behind the clouds. On the biggest, I made the kind of wish heaven reserved for children: Make this man say he loves me.

  When I picked up the twins from Philby’s house, Amy insisted I bring home her unfinished pizza. The aroma of pepperoni wafted up the stairs and snaked its way into the bedroom. My stomach grumbled with desire.

  “By the way, Clair, what did you eat?” I peered through the crack into the twins’ bathroom. The two stood at the sink brushing their teeth.

  “Pasta,” she said, her mouth filled with toothpaste suds.

  Amy said, “Philby’s mom has to eat wheat-free, too, so Philby made Clair some of her mom’s pasta with melted cheese.”

  Let’s hear it for Philby.

  Amy emerged first. Clair followed, switching off the light in the bathroom.

  “Philby’s nice, Aunt Charlotte.” Amy scampered into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Sort of bookish, but nice.”

  “She’s not bookish,” Clair said, taking her time to fold back the covers and smooth them with the palm of her hand. “She’s intelligent. There’s a difference.”

  “Speaking of Mum,” Amy said, changing the subject with ease. “Why didn’t she show up at The Cheese Shop for the tasting?”

  I swallowed hard. “Your mother is going through some difficult times.”

  “Because she wants to marry Daddy again, but she can’t because of Meredith?” Amy said.

  “That’s not quite it.”

  “She’s got money problems, right, Aunt Charlotte?” Clair said.

  “Your mother is dealing with some grown-up issues.” I perched on the edge of Clair’s bed while Rags performed his evening routine of leaping from bed to bed to say good night to the twins. He’d learned quickly that Clair preferred nuzzles to her chest and not her face. When he finished, he returned and curled by my side, his purring rivaling the rumble of a NASCAR engine. While idly plucking cheese from his whiskers—the rascal must have snagged a bite of Amy’s leftover pizza—I added, “Grown-up issues are for grown-ups to discuss, do you understand?”

  I could see in their eyes that they didn’t. They wanted the whole story.

  Clair toyed with a thread poking from the edge of the sheet. “Do you think there’s really a treasure at the winery, Aunt Charlotte?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, there is,” Amy said. “Pirates put it there.”

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked.

  “A couple of people were talking at The Cheese Shop while Daddy was setting up for the wine tasting. They said that Meredith’s college idea had brought treasure hunters to town.”

  I revisited the reasons for Harker’s murder. Had he simply gotten in the way of a treasure hunter? Sylvie said the Internet story about Meredith’s plan to convert the winery into a college was what had piqued her interest to return to Providence. What if she wasn’t the only one? Rebecca said that Winona Westerton had tracked down Freddy to make a donation because she’d been itching to go on the trip. I believed her when she said she was on the trip to avenge her sister, but what if that was only a half-truth? Jordan said rich people were treasure hunters, too.

  And what about Dane or Edsel, or that curious Wolford character? Was it the treasure that had driven them to come on the excursion? Dane wasn’t much of an art student. At the event at the winery, Harker had teased Dane because he didn’t know Kandinsky and Klee were artists. Had Dane finagled his way into the group to get access to the winery? His interest in Quinn seemed genuine, but Winona claimed he wasn’t after Quinn; he was after her. Which version of the story was true?

  And Edsel Nash had me confused. If Winona was to be believed, he was blackmailing her. What if he hadn’t preplanned that? What if he had come on the trip to find the treasure but saw an opportunity for blackmail when he caught Winona stealing the portfolio? Or—and this idea made my insides tense—had he pretended to be a good friend of Harker’s when, in reality, he hated him so much that he came on the trip with the sole intention of killing him? He was interested in Quinn. Had he killed Harker to remove the competition? That first day in The Cheese Shop, he’d said Harker was the one who had talked them all into coming on the trip. Had Edsel made Harker think that? Was he that manipulative?

  “Hey, look who’s still up.” Matthew poked his head into the room. His eyes twinkled with good energy.

  The twins squealed. “Daddy!” Both thrust out their arms for a hug.

  Matthew kissed Clair first, then Amy. He knelt between their beds, reached for their hands, and said, “Prayers.”

  With bowed heads, the twins peeking between partially opened eyes as they always did, the trio recited Matthew’s quickie version of vespers. “Thank you God for my wonderful day. Thank you for all my blessings. I love you. Amen.” Matthew kissed each girl a second time and said, “Lights out.”

  As he headed for the door, he gestured for me to follow him. I scooped up Rags and strolled from the room. In the hallway, Matthew’s mood seemed even cheerier.

  “You must have had a good night,” I said. “Did you sell lots of wine?”

  “After you disappeared, we had double the number of walk-ins, and we tripled our orders from last time.”

  “Great news.”

  “We nearly sold out of the cheeses in the display case. You’ll have to fetch the reserves from Pace Hill Farm.”

  Our business had grown so much in the past few months that we’d started stocking larger quantities of cheeses in Jordan’s caves. He and his staff rotated and washed the wheels regularly to make sure the butterfat and aging process was perfect. Jordan had suggested we build our own subterranean cave in the basement beneath the shop. He’d help design it. Matthew and I were considering it.

  “And no Sylvie sightings,” Matthew added. He gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Life is good.”

  “Yeah.”

  Matthew leaned against the moss green wall and folded his arms. “Say, Meredith filled me in on Sylvie’s confession. Wild, huh? Mumsie and Dad blew through their wad.”

  I still wasn’t sure if Sylvie was telling the truth about that. Was she trying to earn my sympathy to divert my suspicions? If she’d run into Harker in the cellar while searching for the treasure, she could have killed him. Wouldn’t that have required a struggle? Harker hadn’t struggled. Someone strong had sneaked up on him and strangled him.

  “Are you okay?” Matthew asked. “Where’d you run off to tonight?”

  I told him about going to the bed-and-breakfast and learning about Harker’s connection to Winona’s sister.

  “Urso’s right, you know. You’ve got to let him do his job.”

  “But when I find out things, and he’s not available, they need to be acted upon, don’t they? We only have a small police force.”
/>
  “Give the girl a Citizen’s Academy badge,” Matthew teased.

  “No, really. What if Winona had been the killer? What if she had skipped town?”

  “Urso would have tracked her down. C’mon, Cuz, you can’t be expected to run a successful business and save the world, too.” He yawned. “I’m beat. G’night. See you in the morning.”

  “Not so fast.” I gripped his elbow.

  “What?”

  “You’re not telling me something. You don’t look tired in the least. In fact, you look like you’re ready to float away on cloud nine.”

  He grinned. “You are such a detective.”

  I tilted my head. “Out with it.”

  “It’s for me to know.” He chuckled then squeezed my shoulder supportively and sauntered into his room. The door closed with a soft click.

  After a half hour staring into the bathroom mirror, picking apart my looks as well as my curious nature, I crawled into bed. Rags jumped onto the cover and padded in a circle until he found just the right spot beside my hip and plopped down. As I settled into the pillows with a new mystery in my hands, I could feel his rumbling purr through the quilt.

  Before I finished paragraph one of chapter one, I glanced at the telephone on the bedside table. Only twenty-four hours had elapsed since I’d seen Jordan, but it felt like days—no, weeks. I craved to hear his voice, drink in his scent. Once Matthew and Meredith got married—and they would get married someday—I could see myself marrying Jordan. He’d move into my Victorian, or I’d move to his farm. We’d spend lovely evenings by a fire with a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and fruit. We’d chat about our days, our businesses, and our dreams. And we’d talk about having children. I wanted two. Did he want two, as well?

  Anxiety ticked my insides. I slapped the book closed and sat upright. Did he want any? Why didn’t I know the answer to that? Was I falling in love too fast?

  Stop it, Charlotte. You’re scaring yourself into spinsterhood.

  I reopened the book and read the first paragraph for a second time, but I couldn’t get Jordan out of my mind. It was too late to call him without seeming brazen. I decided a cold shower of talking to Urso was in order. I dialed his number and said, “What did you find out?”