by Avery Aames
She didn’t. She marched outside. Over her shoulder, she said, “I saw this episode of The Avengers where Emma Peel used an umbrella like a sword. It was so cool.”
* * *
With Rebecca as my quasi-bodyguard, I hurried to the bed-and-breakfast. I trotted inside and nearly bumped into Lois, who was dusting her precious tea sets—Limoges, Dalton, Ucagco, Haviland. Each set was displayed on its own circular, marble-topped antique table. Agatha scampered at Lois’s feet, barking at dust bunnies.
Lois nudged the Shih Tzu away and said in a lackluster voice, “Hello, girls.” She plucked a piece of lint off of her lilac-colored jogging suit.
Rebecca said, “You sure look nice today, Mrs. Smith.”
I cut my sweet assistant an odd look. We weren’t there to bolster Lois’s ego. On the other hand, we were going to drop a bomb on her. A compliment or two might not be a bad idea. She looked sullen and drawn.
Lois regarded Rebecca’s umbrella. “I thought the storm was gone.”
“Another is on its way. Better safe than sorry.” Rebecca did a lunge, as if the umbrella were an épée. Agatha yipped her disapproval and hid behind Lois’s legs.
“Hush, Aggie,” Lois said. “She’s only playing.” The purple Plexiglas timer that hung on a chain around Lois’s neck tweeted. “Excuse me.” She bustled to the kitchen. Agatha trotted after her, glancing over her shoulder at us as to warn us not to follow.
But we did. The pipsqueak didn’t scare me.
“It smells great in here,” Rebecca said.
The sweet aroma of blueberry cinnamon scones hung in the air. The makings for cream-cheese icing sat on the granite counter.
“Where are all your guests?” I asked.
“At the faire, don’t you know. The ice sculpting winner will be announced in about a half hour. It’s all folderol, if you ask me.” Lois pried open the oven door. Without pulling out the rack, she touched the top of a scone with a fingertip, then shook her head. The dough gave way; the treats weren’t ready. She closed the oven door, reset the timer, and sauntered to the foyer. Without a word to us, she resumed dusting.
Her silence gnawed at my resolve. If it turned out her husband was a killer, would it break her heart? Was it already broken?
“Where’s Mr. Smith?” Rebecca asked.
“Gone, gone, gone.” Lois whisked the feather duster in rhythm. “I drove him away. Forever.” A scowl formed the number eleven between her eyebrows. “Charlotte, you saw him run off.”
I remembered how fleet he was. Fast enough to have beaten me to Oscar’s. Fast enough to have disappeared from Oscar’s after attacking me before I could find my footing.
Lois plodded into the great room and dusted picture frames that looked freshly dusted. We followed. I glanced at the wall and my pulse went tick-a-tick. Ainsley’s prized hockey stick, the one with three red stripes, still hung alongside the snowshoes and other decorative winter items. My fingers itched to take it to Urso.
“Oh, my, my, my.” Lois crumpled into one of the Queen Anne chairs and wedged the duster beside her thighs.
I rushed to her side and took her hand. “Are you okay?”
Agatha bolted into Lois’s lap.
“I love him, Charlotte. God help me, but I do.” She massaged the pup’s ears. “I would forgive him if he came back.” Tears pooled in her eyes but they didn’t fall. Not one. “That Kaitlyn Clydesdale. She was no good. She seduced him, don’t you know. Whatever did she see in an old man like him? A moment of sport, that was all. He isn’t to blame.” Her shoulders heaved for a moment. Just a moment. Then she set Agatha on the floor and stood up ramrod straight. No self-pity for her.
Rebecca sidled to me and jerked her chin toward the wall. “There’s the hockey stick,” she whispered. “Ask for it.”
“I can’t.”
“You’ve got to.”
“Lois.” I jammed my lips together. How could I convince her to let me take the hockey stick after what she had said? She wouldn’t believe her husband was capable of an act of violence. He was a pawn. An innocent. Oh, my, was right.
“Chip is back from that sightseeing tour, if that’s why you’re here,” Lois said.
“Ooh, did he go on one of the Amish ones?” Rebecca asked.
“No, he went on a tour of the town.”
“I remember putting together dinners for the English,” Rebecca continued. English was the term Amish ascribed to anyone who didn’t share the Amish faith. “That was probably the most fun I had as a girl, seeing outsiders enter our home.”
“I would imagine,” Lois said. “Well, I must get back to work.” She smacked the duster against her hip. Particles of dust drifted to the floor. Agatha scampered to the vacuum sitting near the entrance to the great room and barked as if willing it to do its magic. “By the by, Charlotte, I told Chip you stopped in this morning, wanting to speak with him.”
Rebecca’s mouth quirked up on the right. “I knew it. You’re holding out on me.”
I waved her off. I had no desire to talk to Chip. Not now. I needed to get hold of that hockey stick.
Lois gestured with her duster. “I moved Chip’s luggage into the sunroom over there.” She shook her head and laughed wistfully. “Why do I persist in calling it the sunroom when the sun doesn’t truly hit it? Ainsley named it that, the fool.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Rebecca whispered and winked at me. “Lois, would you mind fetching Chip for us?”
I gaped. Did she plan to steal the hockey stick when Lois left the room?
“No need,” Lois said. “He’ll be right down. A car is coming to take him to the airport.”
“Rats,” Rebecca mumbled.
I glanced at the sunroom and an idea came to me. Maybe, with Chip’s help, I could convince Lois to hand over the hockey stick. I strolled into the sunroom, which was cheery despite the gray skies outside. Chip’s luggage stood beside the lavender wicker sofa. An umbrella and his zippered suede jacket lay across the tote bag.
The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor made me turn.
Chip, handsome in an ecru fisherman’s knit sweater and jeans, sauntered in. He stopped inches from me, and a sly grin spread across his face. “Well, well, we meet again, babe. Having doubts about me leaving? Want me to stay?” He ran a finger down my arm. “You know I would. I’d like to give us another try.”
“No.” I backed up. I wasn’t having doubts. Not one, though for some stupid reason, a sense of loss coursed through me. He was truly leaving. Again. For good. It was for the best. I knew it; he knew it.
“How about one last kiss for old times’ sake?” He leaned in.
I blocked him with my palm. “Chip, I need to take Ainsley’s hockey stick to Urso.”
“Why?” He grabbed his jacket and put it on.
“I think he used it to kill Kaitlyn Clydesdale.” I told him about the affair.
Chip rakishly raised an eyebrow. “Good old dullard Ainsley and Kaitlyn? I can’t see it.”
I shared the news about Ainsley’s weak alibi of walking the dog, his last plea to Kaitlyn, and Kaitlyn’s blackmail scheme. “You were right. Ainsley didn’t go to the hockey game. I think he followed Kaitlyn to Rebecca’s cottage. He argued with her, lashed out, and resorted to using a hatbox-style cheese container like a hockey puck.” I gave him the play-by-play I had envisioned in my mind.
“Wow.” Chip zipped up his jacket. “It’s hard to imagine. That would take some skill.”
“Lois said Ainsley was an ace shot way back when.”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll help you, but you have to promise me a kiss after I do.” He didn’t wait for me to respond. He strode ahead of me into the great room. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, all charm and swagger. When Lois didn’t respond, he crossed to her and repeated, “Hey, beautiful.”
Lois looked up, her cheeks rosy, but she didn’t stop sweeping her duster across the mirror above the fireplace.
“Cool it for a moment, Lois,” Chip said.
“Can’t.”
“Sure you can. For me.” He spun her around and tugged on her timer necklace to draw her to him. He held his hand out for the duster.
Like a woman under a spell, Lois relinquished it.
“Charlotte would like to take your husband’s hockey stick and get it bronzed,” Chip went on. “It’ll be a real surprise to him when he returns.”
“Do you think he’ll return?” Lois sounded as fragile as one of her china tea sets.
“I’m sure of it. How could he leave someone as special as you?” Chip opened his arms, and Lois moved into them. She laid her head on his chest. “Special people deserve to be loved, right?” He winked at me, making sure that I had gotten his message. Though he had uttered the words to Lois, they were meant for me. He wanted me to reconsider taking him back into my life.
The scent of burning sugar penetrated the air and interrupted the tender moment.
Lois startled and checked her timer. “Oh, no, the scones.” She scurried toward the kitchen.
Chip said, “What about the hockey stick?”
“Take it. What do I care?” Lois said over her shoulder.
“Rebecca, go with her,” I said. “She’s not herself.”
“Will do. I’ll meet you at the precinct.” She darted after Lois.
Thankful I hadn’t removed my gloves, I plucked the hockey stick from the wall and sprinted toward the foyer, pulling my cell phone from my purse as I ran.
“Wait up.” Chip veered into the sunroom, grabbed his umbrella, and trotted after me. “Who are you calling?”
“Urso.”
“You don’t need to do that. I saw him at the diner. He was sitting down to a meal.” He snatched the phone from my hand and dropped it into my coat pocket. “I’ll go with you.”
“But a car is coming to take you to the airport.”
“It’ll wait. I’ve got to see Urso’s face when you tell him that you—not he—solved the case.”
I sighed. Men and their egos.
CHAPTER
I was racing toward town, carrying what I thought was a murder weapon, and I had landed on a suspect with a clear-cut motive, yet my breathing was stilted, my body tense, and the bump on my forehead ached with a vengeance. Why, for heaven’s sake? Not because the sky had grown dark and bloated with clouds, or because the wind had kicked up or an icy rain—the next wave of the predicted inclement weather—was starting to fall. I was born and raised in Ohio. I could deal with weather. No, I was edgy because my ex-fiancé was hustling beside me, grinning like he had won the lottery: me. I didn’t have the time or the energy to boot him away.
“Let’s plow through Winter Wonderland,” Chip said, opening the umbrella and tilting it in my direction to cover my head. How gallant. “It’s a shortcut to the diner.”
At the north entrance to the Village Green, we skirted around a man offering horse-drawn hayrides. Chip, who had lived on a horse ranch for most of his young life, gave the roan a pat on the nose. The roan snuffled a greeting and jutted his head for more.
“Sorry, Chuckles, gotta go. Police business.” Chip gestured for me to pass through the twinkling Winter Wonderland archway first.
As I did, the scent of horse and hay swam up my nostrils and made me wobbly. I remembered the attacker’s hands on my throat at Oscar’s. I could feel them pressing. Why hadn’t Ainsley wrung the life out of me? He was strong. He could have finished the job before I had found the chance to poke his Adam’s apple. Had he held back because he liked me?
“Ciao, Charlotte.” Sylvie, dressed like a teenager in an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, torn jeans, and Uggs, pranced toward me. In her arms, she lugged a cumbersome stack of Under Wraps boxes while balancing a frilly umbrella overhead. “I’m closing up the tent and having a sale at the shop. Why don’t you stop by? You could use some wardrobe advice.”
Not from someone who dressed like a Flashdance extra, I didn’t.
Without waiting for my reply, she trotted past.
Chip nodded appreciatively. “She’s hot.”
“Keep off the grass. She’s crazy.”
“And you’re not?” He chortled. “Don’t worry about me. I’m leaving town, remember? Unless you want me to change my mind.”
“No, I—”
“Wow, will you look at that?” Chip pointed.
Beyond Sylvie’s retreating figure, a knot of people were clustered beneath umbrellas, watching Theo put the final touches on his knight on horseback ice sculpture. Nearby, children fought with icicle swords. The adults in the crowd, led by Theo’s lusty girlfriend, began to chant, cheering Theo to the finish. Theo’s mouth quirked up with appreciation, and then after one last flourish with the ice saw, he stepped away. The crowd went wild.
“Guess he’s the winner,” Chip said.
“Not until the judge says so.” I gestured to a stoic man in a blue suit with a broad red ribbon across his chest. Sleet slipped over the brim of his hat and onto his clipboard. Mouth grim, he jotted notes.
Past the judge, I spied Tyanne hovering beneath the rim of a tent, sheltered from the rain. She stood frozen in her spot, a box of stemware from Le Petit Fromagerie in her arms. A pained expression consumed her face. I made a mental note to keep her busy at The Cheese Shop in the coming weeks so her sorrow over the demise of her marriage wouldn’t drag her into a dark hole.
“Theo carved a good likeness of me, don’t you think?” Chip thrust his chin upward for my assessment.
“You’re far from a knight in shining armor.”
“I try.”
“And fail.” I prodded him, and we zigzagged past the throng.
Seconds later, we neared the La Bella Ristorante concession cart, which looked a little worse for wear, thanks to last night’s fire. However, a new Italian flag waved at the top of the flagpole. Luigi and one of his sous chefs were preparing brandy-laced crepes. Despite the icy rain, a crowd of hopeful gourmets stood beneath a makeshift awning. Barton Burrell, money in hand, waited with his family. His children looked eager to tear into a crepe. Emma appeared pale and even more withdrawn than she had seemed yesterday, if that were possible. Poor thing.
Luigi raised his hand. “Chip, hold on, son. Where are you going in such a hurry? Aren’t you going to say goodbye to a pal? I got wind that you’re leaving town.”
“And I heard about the fire yesterday.” Chip thwacked Luigi on the shoulder. “Way to go.”
“I haven’t been completely myself.”
“Don’t blame it on me. You’re the one who bent your elbow one too many times. Be careful around that flame, or you’ll go”—Chip gestured like a magician—“poof.”
As if on cue, the contents in the crepe pan ignited. Seeing the blaze and feeling the waves of heat made me think danger. Was I wrong to have left Rebecca back at the inn? What if Ainsley returned? What if Lois or Rebecca blurted that Chip and I were taking the hockey stick to Urso? Ainsley might hurt them before coming after me. Granted, Rebecca had an umbrella, but it wasn’t nearly the weapon she believed it to be.
“Chip, let’s go.” I explained my concern. “The sooner we get Urso on board, the sooner we get back to Lavender and Lace.”
“This way, Charlotte. Too many distractions here.” Chip grabbed my elbow and steered me down a familiar aisle, the one leading to Le Petit Fromagerie.
The lane felt cooler than the one we had just left. Though strands of lights outlining the tents were switched on, shops on both sides of the aisle were closed. Owners had packed up. Foot traffic was nonexistent. Other than the ice sculpture judging, the faire was officially over.
Chip said, “Let’s exit by the pub and jog down the sidewalk.”
With him holding on to my arm, I was forced to keep pace. “Speaking of the pub,” I said, dodging icy spots of sleet. “Last night Oscar borrowed your phone. I think he saw something on it. Maybe a photo. He tried to get my attention. Did you take a picture of Ainsley without Ainsley knowing it?”
“Don’t thi
nk so.”
“Did you get the iPhone back from Oscar?”
Chip patted his jacket pocket.
“Let me have a peek.” I wriggled free of his grasp and waved my hand.
“Not now.”
“Yes, now. Maybe you got a picture of Ainsley hiding the round of Emerald Isles goat cheese or”—another idea struck me—“listening to Tim telling Kaitlyn where she might find Ipo.”
“A photo of him listening to a conversation wouldn’t be incriminating. It would be impossible to know what he was hearing.”
“Okay, fine. Let me have your phone anyway.” I groped in his jacket pocket. My fingers hit something that felt like mittens.
Chip plucked my hand out and wheeled on me. “Stop it!”
I threw my hands up in surrender, hockey stick and all. “Sorry if I’m infringing on your space, but Urso’s going to want to know how Ainsley knew where Kaitlyn would be. A picture of him in the pub would say more than a thousand words.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“Oscar saw something on your phone. What if he called Ainsley and dunned him for money to keep quiet, and Ainsley tracked Oscar down at his bungalow?”
“Time out.” Chip flattened his palm. “You told me Ainsley met with Kaitlyn earlier. He knew she was going to a Do-Gooder meeting. She probably gave him the rest of her agenda then.”
“But Kaitlyn didn’t know Ipo was at Rebecca’s until she talked to Tim. Ainsley must have overheard them talking.”
“Unless he waited outside the pub and followed her.”
“But how would he know she was in the pub?”
“Maybe he trailed her from Under Wraps.”
A snap-crackle cut through the air. A string of tiny white lights on the Le Petit Fromagerie tent blew. At the same time, a sizzle of electricity zapped the edges of my mind. I tried to tap the source, but I felt like I was trying to peel the waxy rind off a stubborn cheese. I said, “How did you know Kaitlyn went to Under Wraps?”
“Town gossip.” Chip pivoted and jogged ahead.
Without the umbrella for cover, icy rain pelted me. I shielded my eyes with my hand and stared after my less-than-gallant knight.