Up to No Gouda

by Katherine Hayton

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re working in a cheese shop,” Charlie said with a smile, still unsure if Noah was pulling her leg. “We’ve got a Limburger that could burn the hairs from your nostrils and you’re complaining about a bit of fermented cabbage?”

  “It’s in the cold safe, so it’s not like the shop smells of it. Besides,” Noah paused for a long time, struggling with the words, “it’s not the smell of the cabbage I’m worried about. It’s to do with how she digests it.”

  Charlie held up a hand to stop him from explaining any further. Talk of bodily functions often made her feel ill and picturing Noah’s prim and proper mother in the role didn’t help matters any. “You realise the last time your group came here, they argued so loudly, customers were frightened away?”

  “Only a few browsers who couldn’t make up their minds,” Noah said, leaping to the defensive. “And we’ll be so late, there won’t be many coming in.”

  She studied him for a long moment, making him squirm. Serve him right for his earlier comments about Ben. “Fine,” Charlie said when she judged Noah had suffered enough. “But tell them to keep the noise down, this time. We mightn’t have much by way of clientele in the late afternoon but that doesn’t mean I want your group scaring them with shouted arguments about how much a ship would weigh on an off-world docking station.”

  “Scouts honour,” Noah said, raising a two-finger salute to his forehead. “These aren’t the writers you’re looking for will be grateful to have anywhere to meet. We missed our last session.”

  Charlie shook her head, bemused. She didn’t know why a group of writers became so loud and argumentative. Weren’t they meant to be quiet introverts, skulking around in attics until they forgot to eat, and died?

  Noah beamed as he sent the text. She judged from the way his face dropped, the response he’d received wasn’t as enthusiastic as he’d hoped.

  “What is it?” she asked, putting two of the daily special on the panini grill and pouring out a long black and a mochaccino for their latest patrons. “Don’t you need the space, after all?”

  “No, it’s not that.” Noah stuck the phone in his back pocket and set up a half dozen sandwiches, ready for the grill. They’d need them prepared for the rush coming their way. Morning tea was a fine tradition and people held to it, even in a tourist town.

  Once the shop was empty again, Noah shuffled closer to her. “I might’ve promised my author crew another few chapters that I haven’t got around to writing. Would you mind if I scribbled out a few words during the downtime?”

  “I don’t pay you to write,” Charlie said, feeling mean as his expression drooped. “But fine.” She waggled a finger in his face. “Only during genuine breaks though. If you’re writing while I’m back here struggling, it won’t turn out well.”

  “Don’t you worry,” he beamed, escaping to root a notepad out of his bag. “I’ll only keep half a mind on it, at best.”

  If she’d been one of Noah’s readers, the compromise wouldn’t have sounded great to Charlie, but science fiction had never been one of her loves.

  A few minutes later, a woman dressed in a business suit walked into the shop, clutching a clipboard. The difference between her outfit and the other patrons was jarring, but that wasn’t the only reason the smile slid off Charlie’s face.

  Misty Fortmason might be an efficient and capable businesswoman, but she was also the assistant to Charlie’s ex-husband, Nick Stainer.

  Although the two of them only worked a few stores apart, Charlie tried hard to never think of Nick. His pawn shop, King Pawn, was as tacky as everything else about him.

  Still, it wasn’t Misty’s fault there weren’t many job opportunities available in a town this small.

  “What can I do for you, Misty?”

  With a lull in their other customers, Noah sloped off to start scribbling, leaving Charlie alone at the counter. Probably just as well, she thought, forcibly unclenching her hands.

  “I’m here to let you know King Pawn is having a massive gold buy and sell event, and you’re welcome to attend.” Misty unclipped a flyer from her board. “Here’s your invitation. If you could post one of these in your window to inform your customers, it’d be great.”

  “Sure, it would be.” Charlie shifted her weight to her left foot. The small of her back sometimes niggled at her when she stood in the same position for too long, Pilates or no Pilates. “Although I don’t think my customers are much in the market for gold.”

  “As I’ve learned over the years, you never can tell what someone’s into until you ask.” Misty smiled again, dimples appearing, and Charlie wondered if she did anything to deepen them.

  She sighed and dropped her gaze to the flyer. Three hours only. Extravaganza. “Wine and cheese will be served?” Charlie frowned at Misty.

  This time it was the other woman who sighed. “Nick said I had to tell you he’s brought a variety from the supermarket. All on special.”

  The words were softened by the miserable expression that crossed her normally cheerful face. A pity—if Misty had sneered at her like Nick used to, Charlie would have been more than happy to make her eat the flyer. Right then and there.

  “Well, you can go back and tell him you told me.” Charlie slid the invitation across the counter. “And also inform him I’ll politely decline the request for free advertising. If Nick wants to tell my customers about his gold event, he can strap on a sandwich board and stand outside.”

  Misty rolled her eyes. “I bet he would too if he thought it’d work.” She picked up the flyer and clipped it back to her board. “Sorry about this. I’m just following orders.”

  Charlie bit down hard on a retort. Typical. Most of the time, she was lost for a reply when it counted. Now, with the perfect Nazi quip dancing on her lips, she had to be a grownup and decline.

  As her mother was fond of telling her, the first to mention Nazis in a conversation loses.

  “I don’t know why she stays working for him,” Noah growled as Misty left the shop. “She’s far too good for that dump.”

  “Now, now. We’re not allowed to cast aspersions on the pawnshop just because it’s owned by an imbecile.” Charlie wiped the countertop with so much force, it was pure luck the glass cabinet didn’t crack. “But you’re right. If Nick didn’t have her doing the bookkeeping and organising all his deliveries, he’d be in trouble.”

  The rest of the day passed smoothly and soon the troublesome invitation was pushed to the back of Charlie’s mind. Her mood returned to its normal state after a relaxing lunch with Amanda. When Bocconcini stubbornly refused to comply with the directive to walk, Charlie dissolved into giggles at the sight of her nonplussed friend.

  “Whatever you do, don’t tug him forward,” she warned. “Otherwise, he’ll dig in his heels.”

  “I thought that’s what he was doing already.” Amanda shook her head. “Okay, I give up. How do I get him to move?”

  “Come on,” Charlie said, moving ahead on the path and patting her thighs. “Come to Mumma!”

  Bocconcini investigated a piece of chewing gum long ago melded to the footpath.

  “The dog’s got a mind of his own, I’ll give him that,” Amanda said, giving up with a pout. “I thought dogs liked to go on walks.”

  As soon as she loosened her grip on the leash, the pug catapulted himself forward, sprinting to the edge of the park and disappearing up the street.

  “Well, catch him,” Charlie said, gesturing after the small dog. “Don’t just stand there!”

  Amanda took off at a run, panting and puffing when she returned to the park. “That’s how you do it,” Charlie said, ruffling the fur around Bocconcini’s neck. “Aren’t you a good dog?”

  Bocconcini agreed with that sentiment and obediently trotted alongside Charlie as she and Amanda returned to their respective businesses.

  “He’s still the best-looking pug around,” Amanda grumbled as she unlocked the staircase door. Her exercise stud
io perched above a hairdressers’, ripe with OAPs and gossip. “But you need to work on your attitude, buddy.”

  The interaction left Charlie smiling until the end of the day. Even the writer’s group breaking their promise and shouting insults at each other while customers stared on, horrified, couldn’t break her mood. She tossed them out, including Noah, then turned the sign to closed.

  “Hey, Ben,” Charlie called out as the man gave a tentative knock on the door. No matter how many times she’d told him it was fine to just walk in, he always insisted on announcing his presence. “Perfect timing.” She slid two sandwiches off the grill and onto a paper napkin. “Bon appetite.”

  She’d settled into a seat beside him when Bocconcini raced out the door. It took Charlie a second, then she ran after him. The traffic in Hanmer Springs might amble, but it could still harm her little dog.

  “Come back,” she called out in desperation. The pug stubbornly refused to listen, intent on hunting something in the middle of the road. The same attitude that had amused her when it confounded Amanda’s attempts to walk him, now struck terror into her heart.

  As tyres screeched, Charlie held a hand up to ward off the tonnage of cars piling towards her. Panic making her fearless, she dashed into the street.

  Only when Bocconcini was safe in her arms on the footpath did Charlie recognise what the dog had been chasing. A peanut butter biscuit.

  “I hope you think that’s worth risking your life for,” she scolded him, fear and relief conspiring to make her voice shake. “How about next time, you just beg at the counter like you usually do?”

  As she walked back to the shop, Charley glanced back over her shoulder. How had a biscuit from the cheese shop cabinet turned up in the middle of the street?

  “A better question is how you left the front door ajar,” she muttered, opening it with her shoulder. “Since you thought you’d locked it up tightly.”

  The probable reason for her earlier distraction—Ben—had finished up and left during the excitement outside. Double-checking her actions this time, Charlie locked the front door properly, then grabbed her bag and put Bocconcini on a leash before doing the same at the rear.

  She tested the handle again after putting the keys away, just in case.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking a nice bath and a good book might be the best way to end the day.”

  Bocconcini stared at her with sorrowful puppy-dog eyes. From his expression, she guessed both of her evening treats were unwelcome.

  “Nevertheless, she persisted,” Charlie whispered, giving the pug a quick kiss in case he thought she was still angry. She walked along the street a block and cut through a back alley to reach her house.

  With Bocconcini playing in the back yard, Charlie put a microwave meal in the oven, then set about fulfilling her ambitions for a relaxing night.

  When a knock sounded on her door, Charlie groaned and fumbled for the alarm clock. She stared in disbelief at the numbers on the dial. Five-forty-nine. Only eleven minutes to go until the alarm would beep to wake her up. It felt like she’d just fallen asleep a second ago.

  The pounding on her door came again, and she yelled out, “I’m coming. Hold your horses.” If it was the town kids getting their jollies by waking her when she could have had another ten minutes of blissful unconsciousness, they’d have a rude shock.

  She was in no mood.

  A tug to check her pyjama bottoms hadn’t slipped down to an inappropriate level during the night was the closest Charlie came to getting dressed. She opened the door and glared out onto the front porch.

  A policeman glared back at her. “Charlotte Hewitt?”

  Charlie wished she’d stopped long enough to grab a robe. It would be comforting to pull one tighter around her waist right now. “That’s me. Can I help you?”

  “My name is Detective Wolverton. You own the cheesemongers down the street, is that correct?”

  Charlie nodded dumbly, not trusting her voice to speak.

  “We’ve discovered a dead body hidden behind the dumpster outside your premises, this morning. I don’t suppose you have anything you’d like to tell me about that?”

  Chapter Three

  Charlie joined the detective on the front step. At the last moment, she remembered to reach in before the door closed and flick the deadbolt catch off.

  Wouldn’t that be a great start to the day? To lock herself out in her pyjamas.

  “The man was holding a cup with your shop logo on it,” the detective explained, giving her a quick eye sweep up and down. “Since he’s also outside your premises, you’ll understand I need to ask you some questions.” He paused and glanced toward her shop. “It’ll be easier if we walk to the crime scene.”

  After changing into loose jeans and a sweatshirt, Charlie accompanied the detective through the alley. As she turned the corner and saw white-suited technicians cordoning off the crime scene, all the spit in her mouth dried up.

  She saw the shoes first. The body had fallen parallel to the shop wall with the feet pointing in her direction. The soles were scuffed so badly in parts, the man’s socks showed through.

  Charlie knew his identity from that alone.

  “It’s Ben Butler,” she said in a voice that creaked worse than a door hinge left unoiled for a decade. Charlie cleared her throat and tried again. “I saw him last night. He often stopped by the shop for a quick grilled cheese after closing.”

  She tugged at the skin of her throat, wanting to turn away from the scene but unable to get her head to obey the instruction.

  “What time did you last see him?” Detective Wolverton had a notebook open, pen ready to write everything she said.

  “Last n-night.” She tried to clear her throat again, but it was too parched to make a difference. “I made him two of our daily special just after five o’clock.”

  “And when did he leave?”

  Charlie blinked and rediscovered the ability to move. She stepped to the side, placing Detective Wolverton between her and the body.

  “Not long afterwards. My dog ran out the door and I chased him—we wouldn’t have been outside for longer than ten minutes, probably less. When I went back inside, Ben had finished and gone.”

  “So, your last sighting was at approximately five-fifteen?”

  “I-I guess so.”

  “And did you hear anything outside, last night?”

  Charlie tipped her head back, staring blankly at the first patches of light emerging over the horizon. “No. I heard nothing unusual. Maybe the street cleaning machine?”

  The detective’s pen paused above the pad. “You heard it, or you didn’t?”

  “I don’t know.” Charlie tugged at her earlobe, frowning at her feet. “It might’ve been another night. I can’t remember hearing anything weird.”

  “You live alone?”

  As Charlie stared into Detective Wolverton’s hazel eyes, she wondered if he was propositioning her. “Yes. I’m divorced.”

  “Any flatmates?”

  She shook her head, cheeks flushing as she understood he was trying to determine if she had an alibi witness, not inveigling his way into her home. “There’s just me and my dog.”

  “Did you know Ben Butler well?”

  Charlie opened her mouth to say yes, then hesitated. Did she know him well? “I saw him most days, outside the shop, and he often dropped by for a sandwich. We talked but just about random stuff. Ben liked astronomy and philosophy.”

  She stared at her hands—the skin was soft from being plunged into setting cheese to break up the curds with her fingers. Although most of her cheesemaking had moved to a larger scale, using metal instruments for cutting curds, Charlie still created batches of fresh cheese at home for her own consumption. Not every day, but at least once a week.

  “I know Ben was into drugs when he was younger. Hallucinogens. He told me once he’d wanted to expand his mind and ended up breaking most of it apart instead.”

  Ben had ne
ver told her directly, but Charlie guessed he’d once had a bright future. A few wrong turns and he ended up being teased by loud-mouthed youths on the street. “We never talked about family or anything like that. He had a room down at the Mission but sometimes slept rough, camping out in the forest, during the summer.”

  “Is there anything relevant to this incident you can tell me?”

  Charlie blinked hard, catching sight of Ben’s worn shoes again as the detective moved farther aside. “Nothing I can think of.”

  “Right.” The detective snapped his notebook shut and tucked it into his inside pocket. “Well, that’s all for the time being. We might have further questions for you later today.”

  “I’ll be in the shop.” Charlie indicated, then felt her stomach clench as she realised her finger pointed straight at a dead man.

  Not just a dead man. Ben Butler. A man whose company she’d always enjoyed, even if she didn’t count him as a close friend.

  “You won’t be able to use the rear door until we’re finished out here,” the detective warned her. “How many people do you employ?”

  “J-just one.” Charlie rubbed the side of her wrist against her forehead. All the information was swimming in her brain like she’d been woken in the middle of a bad dream. “Can I ask—?” she stopped short, not wanting to finish the sentence.

  “What is it?” the detective said after a moment of silence. He glanced back at the dead body, his shoes signposting where he wanted to move.

  “How did he die?” Charlie’s voice betrayed her so badly with the question, she was surprised the detective heard enough to answer.

  “We can’t confirm officially until after the autopsy.”

  She nodded and turned to go, face ashen.

  “But from the evidence we’ve collected so far, it appears pretty certain he was stabbed.”

  Charlie’s mouth dropped open and her tongue felt numb.