Days of Wine and Roquefort

by Avery Aames

  “Tyanne?”

  “No, dear, Liberty Nelson. Shelton has lavished her with gifts. Too much isn’t good for the soul, if you know what I mean, but I can’t blame him. With his wife in absentia, he felt the burden—the responsibility—to provide all the love, even if it meant with fistfuls of dollars. Liberty is marrying a nice boy. A religious boy. She has been quite vocal about how she intends to change her ways for him.”

  “What do you mean by change her ways?” I asked.

  “She can be rambunctious. Too much partying. All through her young years . . . Liberty was willful. She dressed a little risqué. She partied hearty, as they say. And she lied to Shelton all the time.”

  What teen didn’t? As a freshman, I had lied about going out with girlfriends to the mall but ended up at a big bash. Grandmère had caught me out. I was lucky she had. A friend, driving drunk, had died in a car crash after my grandmother fetched me. Life, even in a small town, wasn’t always idyllic.

  A pair of inn guests walked past us, bidding good night to Lois. She wished them a blissful sleep.

  As they climbed the stairs, Lois opened a drawer of the foyer table. She pulled out a dust rag and wiped down the tray that her precious china sat upon. She could be quite fastidious. “You know, Charlotte, there is something I forgot to tell you about last night, if you’d like to hear. You were gone this morning before I could mention it. I noticed a Taurus idling on the street across from your house, just after you went out for the evening.”

  My breathing quickened. “A Taurus? You’re sure?”

  Lois’s shoulders curled in. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s what he drives.” He, her errant husband. The one she hoped would return. She shoved the dust rag back in the drawer and closed it with a snap. “At first I thought it was him spying on me, don’t you know, but then I realized it was a green car, not charcoal gray.”

  My interest perked up. Boyd Hellman’s Chevy Malibu was metallic green. Working to keep my voice on an even keel, I said, “Are you sure this one was green?”

  “It was dark, mind you,” Lois said. “I suppose it could have been blue or red.” A defense attorney would make mincemeat of her on the witness stand. “I didn’t think much of it at the time. As I said, you had already headed out. And then Miss Adams left around the time I was serving dinner. When she departed, so did the car. I don’t know if it returned.”

  Had Boyd tailed Noelle? “Did you see the driver?”

  “Only from a distance. I believe it was a woman.”

  Rats. That ruled out Boyd Hellman. “Could it have been Liberty Nelson?”

  Lois covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh my. I wouldn’t know for sure. My eyes aren’t that good, and I wasn’t about to pull out binoculars.”

  I smiled. Spying was okay, but blatant spying was taboo?

  “I suppose it could have been someone wanting to meet with you,” Lois went on. “A vendor or such, or”—she lowered her voice—“that lover boy of yours sneaking into town.”

  No way did Jordan resemble a woman. He had short hair and very masculine features.

  “Where has he gone, by the by?”

  Only a select few knew about Jordan being enrolled in the WITSEC Program. Lois was not one of my inner circle.

  “If you ask me, he’s very secretive,” she went on. “Like he’s a spy or something.”

  I laughed. “He’s not a spy.”

  “He looks like one. Those movie star good looks, those alert eyes. He reminds me of”—she snapped her fingers—“that actor. The one that plays James Bond.”

  There had been so many actors that had portrayed the super spy I didn’t ask which one she meant. “I’ll tell him. He’ll be pleased.”

  Rags screeched through the foyer and came to a gasping halt against my ankles. Agatha charged after him, yipping merrily.

  “That’s enough playtime.” I bundled Rags into my arms, thanked Lois for her information, and asked her to call if she remembered anything else.

  As I strolled home, I felt someone watching me. I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of the cloaked woman—the hood still pulled up—peering through the break in the drapes upstairs at the B&B.

  Who was she? Why was she staring at me?

  Pulse thrumming, I raced home and bolted every lock in the house, including the windows in the attic, in case the woman had the inclination to break into my house and force a poisoned apple into my hands. I thought about calling Matthew or Urso but decided against it. What would I say? Someone at the B&B stared at me. Ooh, so scary. I thought of an old saying my grandmother used to tell me about spiders: They’re more frightened of you than you are of them. I never believed her.

  In case I needed to defend myself, I fetched the baseball bat Matthew had left in the foyer closet and placed it beside me in bed. A baseball bat could flatten a spider for sure. And I let Rags sleep on top of the covers—a no-no on any other night, but a rule I could break when I was the scaredy cat.

  Eyes wide open, I gazed at the darkened ceiling, which grew grayer the longer I stared at it, and I pondered Providence’s future. What could be done to make the town safer? Did other small towns have the same problems? We were not a big city like Cleveland or Chicago. The murders that had occurred in our town hadn’t been accidental drive-by shootings. They were personal.

  Feeling lonelier than I could remember in years, I picked up the phone and dialed Jordan’s WITSEC handler. I knew he wouldn’t answer. He would see my name and the call would roll into voicemail. When he had the chance, he would allow Jordan to listen to the message. I left a lengthy one of love and ended with my deepest fear, wondering if Jordan would ever return to Providence. I didn’t tell him about Noelle’s murder. I didn’t want him to worry.

  As I set the telephone back in its cradle, I heard footsteps. On the wraparound porch. Below my bedroom window.

  I ordered Rags to stay put and, with adrenaline spiraling though me, grabbed the baseball bat, slipped into my tennis shoes, and sprinted downstairs ready to clock the woman in the cloak.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Gripping the baseball bat in my left hand and resting its barrel on my right shoulder, I whipped open the door.

  Rebecca, wearing a hoodie jacket, jeans, and Ugg boots, hopped from foot to foot on the porch, her face tearstained. The glimmer of the porch light made her eyes gleam like a manic cat’s eyes. She raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t swing.”

  “What are you doing here?” I slotted the baseball bat into the umbrella stand. “It’s late.” Worried to my teeth, I wrapped my arms around her. She wasn’t merely my employee. She was the little sister that God forgot to give me. “Come inside.”

  “I had to talk to someone,” she snuffled. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I—”

  “Shh.” Before closing the door, I scanned the street to see if anyone was lurking. I didn’t see a soul. No metallic green Chevy Malibu. No dark sedan of any kind. And no woman in a cloak peering from a neighboring window. “Come with me.” I guided Rebecca into the office, which until that moment I had forgotten was prepped for painting. Blue tape affixed plastic drop cloths to the base moldings. Tarps covered all the furniture that I hadn’t moved to the garage. “Let’s go to the kitchen instead,” I said. “I’ll make tea.”

  Rebecca settled onto a chair at the red oak mission table in the kitchen nook while I put up a pot of water and set tea bags into two cups. As I opened a canister of chocolate chip orange cream cheese cookies, Rags meowed. His tail rose in a question mark.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I had promised you your own dessert before we ran next door.” I fetched a treat from a porcelain cat jar on the counter and tossed it toward Rags’s bed. He batted it around the floor like a toy before finally settling down to devour it.

  “Why did you go to Lavender and Lace?” Rebecca said.

  “It’s a long story. You first.”

  “It’s . . .” She removed her hoodie jacket, looped it o
ver the back of the chair, and tugged down the hem of the sweater she wore beneath. “You know that Ipo and I aren’t engaged anymore. Do you know why?”

  “My grandfather said you wanted to make sure you were suited for each other.”

  “What? Me? No. It wasn’t my choice. It was Ipo’s. His parents have talked him into selling his honeybee farm and moving back to Hawaii.”

  “What?”

  “They say a Hawaiian Ohioan doesn’t make sense.”

  “Hawaiian Ohioan?”

  She frowned. “I know. It’s a mouthful.”

  “What about the course of true love?”

  “His parents never liked me.”

  “Because you’re Amish?”

  “No, because he’s a mama’s boy, and he acts more independent when he’s with me.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Personally, I think that’s a good thing, but what do I know.”

  I poured steaming water into the teacups. The enticing aroma of Earl Grey tea wafted up to my nose. I took the cups, napkins, spoons, and a jar of honey to the table. “Didn’t you tell me that his parents’ marriage was not an approved marriage?”

  “Yes. They eloped.”

  “Can’t you and Ipo do the same?”

  “He already did that, remember? And then his ex-wife dumped him here. His parents were never in favor of him staying. Some women keep men on a tight leash. His mother—” She took a sip of her tea. “Let’s be blunt. She doesn’t want to share him.”

  I thought of Liberty, who had a similar hold on her father. How did her fiancé feel about that? How had Noelle felt about it if, indeed, Noelle and Shelton had been involved? Had Noelle and Liberty fought?

  Rebecca dripped honey into her cup and swirled it with her spoon. “If only there were tea leaves that could divine my future.”

  “You divine your own future,” I said, surprised by the intensity in my tone. “You figure out what you want, and you make it happen.”

  “You know, back home, I never did anything bad. I didn’t branch out. I didn’t take risks, that is, until I left to work in Providence. Maybe I’m supposed to take chances now.” She got to her feet, spread her arms, and twirled. “Maybe I’m supposed to do what Delilah did and see the world. Go to New York and London and Paris. Maybe work on a cruise ship.”

  “Whatever you decide, take it one day at a time.”

  “Is that what you’re doing when it comes to Jordan?”

  “Yes. One long day at a time.” Doing my best not to think about Jordan, I cradled my tea between my palms and drank in the delicious scent. “I’m sorry about you and Ipo.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll survive. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

  “Like that cute deputy?”

  “I’m not making any hasty decisions.” Rebecca settled into her chair and tapped a fingernail on the table. “Tell me about your visit with Lois.”

  I replayed our chat about Shelton and Liberty, her wild years, and Lois’s suspicions about Shelton’s involvement with Noelle. I concluded with the mini-revelation about the car on the street. Rebecca and I agreed the driver had to have been Boyd. If Lois couldn’t tell green from blue or red, she certainly couldn’t have determined whether the driver was female or male.

  Around midnight, not certain that I had anything concrete to share with Urso, I declared it was time for bed. My head ached; my body craved sleep. Considering the funk Rebecca was in, I didn’t want her driving home. I asked her to stay the night. Neither of us wanted to crash in a room by ourselves, so we decided to camp out in my room. Rags found a spot between us on the bed and kneaded like a master baker.

  Rebecca giggled as she pulled the comforter under her chin. “I’ve never had a slumber party.”

  “It’s not a slumber party. It’s a sleepover. The main ingredient is sleep.”

  “Got it.”

  As I was drifting off, it dawned on me that I hadn’t told Rebecca about the mysterious woman in the cloak. I opened my eyes. A sliver of moonlight edged through the break in the drapes. Rebecca looked extremely peaceful. Even so, I whispered, “Are you awake?”

  “Yep.” She laid her hand against her mouth to stifle a yawn.

  “I forgot to tell you something.” I explained.

  “And you thought I was her? I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m here to protect you.” She patted the baseball bat that she had rested beside the nightstand.

  I suppressed a smile. Two women, one bat, and a cat. Who would dare attack?

  “Also”—Rebecca yawned—“Lois won’t be able to keep the woman hidden for long. Secrets are hard to keep hush-hush.”

  • • •

  In the morning, sleet pelted the town. An icy breeze, overly cool for November, swirled through the air and gusted into the shop every time a customer entered. Though I had dressed in a turtleneck and corduroy trousers and was running around the place like a madwoman while restocking and cleaning and serving up orders, I couldn’t shake the chill. A midmorning snack of raisin quiche made with HoneyBee Goat Gouda helped but not entirely. I had to admit that thoughts about Noelle and a deep desire to solve the crime kept me on edge. Was I missing something obvious? She had hidden her journals. Had she hidden a key? If so, where?

  Around ten A.M., Urso ventured in to purchase his lunch. Deputy O’Shea accompanied him. Like Urso, the deputy respectfully removed his hat upon entering and tucked it beneath his arm.

  After a quick “Good morning,” Urso ordered his usual—he was back to favoring a torpedo sandwich made with maple-infused ham and Jarlsberg cheese, topped with a mixture of mayonnaise and maple mustard. While I wrapped his sandwich in our special wrap and slotted it into a gold tote bag, he moved off in the direction of the beverage display.

  Deputy O’Shea didn’t budge. He peered over the counter into the kitchen—trying to catch a glimpse of Rebecca, I presumed.

  I smacked the countertop.

  He startled. “Oh, sorry. I’ll have a—”

  “She’s not here,” I whispered.

  “Who-o-o?” he stammered.

  “Rebecca. I gave her a ten-minute breather.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Sure you were. She’s taking a walk.”

  He gaped. “In this rain?”

  I nodded. “Without an umbrella. We’ve got a few by the door if you want to be a gentleman and take one to her.”

  “Chief, I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an okay from his superior, the deputy snagged an umbrella and hustled out of the shop.

  Urso returned to the counter. “What’s he doing?”

  “Acting like a knight in shining armor.” I beckoned him to the register. “He’s a nice kid, Urso.”

  “All of Tim’s family are good people.” Timothy O’Shea owned the tavern next to the Village Green. He had seven brothers and umpteen nephews—no nieces. Urso tilted his head. “Rebecca doesn’t normally take midmorning breaks. What’s up?”

  “Ex-fiancé woes.” I moved to the register. “Cash, credit, or on account?”

  “The latter.”

  I sent Urso a monthly statement, as I did for many of my regular customers. “How’s the investigation going?”

  “Slowly.”

  “Did you happen to find Noelle’s camera in her car?”

  “We did. Why?”

  “Anything of importance on it?”

  “Nope. Not one picture.”

  That seemed odd. She must have taken it with her on her hike. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have left it in the guest room? “Was the memory card missing?”

  Urso tilted his head. “Why are you so curious?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  He didn’t respond.

  When I had gone in search of Noelle’s journals, I’d put Rebecca’s concerns about Harold Warfield from my mind, but now those concerns came back full force. Harold had longish hair. Perhaps Lois mistook him for a female driver. “There are rumors
that Harold Warfield was having an affair. If Noelle knew and took pictures . . .” I hesitated. I couldn’t see Noelle blackmailing anyone. On the other hand, Urso’s non-answer confirmed that the memory card was missing. “Why else would someone have taken the memory card out of the camera?”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  He frowned. “What would she have expected to gain? Money?”

  “His job.”

  “Why would she want to manage a winery? She was a noted sommelier.”

  “She gave that up to move here. I can’t imagine being a glorified party planner was her endgame. What if she was trying to say Harold’s name when she said the word hell?”

  Urso did everything he could not to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t help himself. He drew in a deep breath and let his shoulders release.

  I hurried to add what I had noticed when I had taken the tour of the winery with Matthew and Noelle. “Harold was extremely standoffish to Noelle. He acted like he didn’t want to touch her. At first I thought he was a germaphobe, but the more I think about it, his aversion seemed more deep-seated. Maybe he found her odious because she had dirt on him. What do you know about him?”

  “Nice wife, no kids, attends church, keeps to himself.”

  “In other words, not much.”

  Urso donned his hat. “Okay, you’ve got my interest. I’ll look into it.”

  A feeling of pride swelled within me. Whether or not Harold was the killer, Urso was taking my ideas seriously. “Also, when you seized Noelle’s things, did you happen to take her briefcase?”

  “We did. There was no key inside, and it didn’t require a key.”

  Dang.

  “By the way,” he continued, “you’ll be glad to know I had a long chat with Boyd Hellman.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “Don’t tell me you think he’s innocent.”

  He didn’t respond, but I could read his body language well enough to know that pressing him to reveal more about Boyd Hellman wouldn’t work. I said, “Do you have other suspects?”

  “Mine to know.”