Who Moved My Goat Cheese?

by Lynn Cahoon

  “Focaccia bread. I mixed herbs from my grandmother’s garden into the dough. Your cheese complements the taste. I made a tomato caprese sandwich with it last night for dinner.” She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes for a moment. This place was heaven. No loud noise, no people, and no traffic, unless you counted the goats.

  “I typically eat Wonder bread.” The old man shrugged, “But if you say it went good with the cheese, who am I to question. I’ll give it a go tonight with my stew.”

  “I guess you want to know why I’m here.” She didn’t look at him, using her free hand to scratch Dom’s head.

  “I asked around about you. You’re opening that fancy restaurant. You know you’re going to go broke. No one around here can pay that kind of price for a meal. Especially if you cheat them on the serving size. I swear, new places don’t know how to feed folks.” He unwrapped a cupcake and put the entire thing in his mouth. After a few swallows, he sipped on his coffee. “I guess I can’t stop you if you want to buy my cheese. As long as you treat it kindly. Some of these people haven’t eaten anything but that processed cheese spread you buy in loafs at the store. Even some of my milkers hadn’t ever tried it before they started working for me. Of course, now I can’t keep them out of the stuff.”

  “I was hoping you’d show me around. The barn, the production shed, and maybe even the cheese cave if you think you’ll be selling the aged stuff sooner or later?” She took another long, deep breath. The place was hypnotic. She could feel the stress leaving her.

  “Maybe someday.” His voice choked on the words. “I told your grandmother if I was ever going to share my secret, it would have to be with her. Since she’s gone, I guess it will have to be with her kin. I’ve kept that promise for over twenty years now. We can wait a few more months before I let you go inside.”

  “The cheese cave? Is that what you’re talking about?” Angie didn’t sit up or open her eyes. The more she got him talking, the more she’d find out about him and his relationship to Nona.

  “Secrets are meant to be kept, little girl.” He chuckled as he unwrapped a second cupcake. Angie could hear the cellophane wrapper crunching. She turned and looked at him before he spoke again. “You mark my words, nothing good comes of a leaked secret.”

  A car pulled into the driveway and Reana Whiting waved from the driver’s seat. Angie sat up, wondering why the realtor who sold her the building for the restaurant would be out here on a Sunday morning. “That’s Reana. I wonder what she’s doing out here?”

  “Must be the first of the month, if the gold digger’s here. She comes by once a month or so to give me an update on who wants to buy my land and for how much. I swear, I can see money signs in her eyes as she explains the offers.” He put his wrapper back in the box.

  “I didn’t realize your place was up for sale.” She glanced around at the wide expanse of land. She could see either a group of overpriced condos hugging the cliff area and maybe some larger estate homes dotting the landscape. People would pay big for this view, even if it was a good forty-five minutes from Boise.

  “It’s not. And I’ve told her that over and over.” Old Man Moss winked. “I think the girl’s gone a little sweet on me. She brings me out homemade cookies when she comes.”

  Dom barked at the newcomer and Angie held on to his leash. “I guess we’ll be going then. Maybe I can come back and visit sometime soon?”

  “I hope so. At least I know what you want, not like her or that no good nephew of mine.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to bore you with my family troubles. I know Margaret said you had your own tragedies in your life. And yes, I’ll sell you as much cheese as you want to buy, so just call me and leave a message with your order on my answering machine. We’ll deliver each Saturday to your shop.”

  “I appreciate it. I do still want to do a tour of your place soon. As a farm-to-table chef, I like to know where my product is coming from.” Angie stood and gathered the coffee carafe into her bag. “And I’d really like to see your cheese cave.”

  Old Man Moss shook his head. “You aren’t going into the cave. Not yet. Didn’t you listen when I said it was where the secrets stay? I’ll show you the barn processing plant, that’s the only cheese they’ll let me sell anyway.”

  Angie blew out a breath. She wasn’t going to change his mind. At least she wouldn’t without a bribe that probably included a whole truckload of the individually wrapped cupcakes. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she began.

  “Then don’t bring it up again. I don’t see what the big deal about my cave is. Last month, someone snuck into it and made a mess of things.” He didn’t get up from the wooden chair. “Come by next Sunday and I’ll take you on a tour of the place. We might even hike down to the river if you’re up for the walk.”

  Angie hitched her tote onto her shoulder, unable to keep the smile from curving her lips. “That would be nice. I hope you enjoy the bread.” She stepped away from the chairs and met up with the realtor as she slowly approached, her gait uneven on the dirt driveway in her platform heels. “Hey Reana, didn’t know I’d see you this morning.”

  “Gerald and I are old friends.” Reana leaned down to Dom and cradled his chin. “Nice to see you again too, big boy.”

  Dom’s tail wagged so hard he almost pulled his leash out of Angie’s hand. She tightened her grip and aimed Dom toward the car and away from the expensive suit before he could leave paw prints on Reana’s pants. “I’ve got to get back to town. I have a lot to do before opening.”

  As she started up the car, she watched Reana and Gerald Moss greet each other. There was a tinge of familiarity in the way the two hugged, not quite friends and especially not lovers. But something. “None of our business, right Dom?”

  She backed out of the driveway and turned back on the narrow dirt road that would lead her back to the highway. Precious stood at the edge of the property and watched her go. At least she’d gotten the goat’s blessing. Now, she just needed to sweet talk Ian into letting her source her foods supplies from his bank of farmers. Then she’d be able to finalize the menu, pull off her first family tasting meal for the staff, and actually make opening night, which was less than three weeks away.

  “That’s all,” she said as she adjusted her rearview mirror to make sure the goat wasn’t following. She’d hate to let her good luck charm out and have her become road kill her first week on earth.

  * * * *

  Monday morning, she was deep into making some strawberry jam when a knock came on her kitchen door. Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked out the window over the sink. A large new Ram truck sat in her driveway next to what appeared to be a police cruiser. Her gut twisted. Felicia must have gotten hurt on her trip to the local festival. She hadn’t texted last night and Angie had been giving her some time before she called. A car accident? Or maybe something at the festival? Or someone? She squared her shoulders and went to open the door. As she’d expected, a police officer stood in his uniform next to Ian McNeal. What in the world was he doing here?

  “Miss Turner? I’m Sheriff Allen Brown. I understand you’ve already met Mr. McNeal here?” The sheriff nodded to Ian, but neither man met Angie’s gaze.

  “I have. What’s going on? Did something happen to Felicia? Or the restaurant?” Oh God, maybe the building burned down. Or the guy working in the restaurant had been hurt. Had she paid the insurance on time this month? If she got sued without even opening The County Seat’s doors, she’d never dig out of the legal costs.

  “Can we come in?” The sheriff took off his wide brimmed hand and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat beads off his too wide and too tall forehead. “It’s mighty hot already. I think summer’s going to be a scorcher.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry, come on in.” She pointed to the dining room table where her jars were set up for the jam that bubbled on the stove. She looked around the room and s
aid the obvious. “I’m making jam.”

  “My mama used to make strawberry jam every summer. I loved that stuff.” The sheriff didn’t sit, standing near the door with his hat in his hand. “Look, ma’am, I hate to do this, but I need to ask you some questions.”

  “About?”

  The sheriff looked at Ian who raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I need to know if you met with Old Man, I mean, Gerald Moss yesterday.”

  “Yes. I wanted to set him up as a vendor for the restaurant. He invited me over Sunday morning for an early breakfast to talk about the proposal.” She squinted her eyes at both men. “That can’t be illegal.”

  Ian pulled out one of the chairs from the kitchen table. “Why don’t you sit down, Ms. Turner.”

  “Why should I sit down?” She looked from Ian to the sheriff. “I don’t understand. Visiting him wasn’t against the law. I mean, seriously? Why are you making my life so difficult?”

  “No ma’am, visiting isn’t illegal, but, well, I’m afraid murder is.” The sheriff turned his hat over and over in his broad hands.

  She sank into the chair Ian had pulled out for her, her energy sapped. “Murder?” She repeated the word, knowing she sounded like a magpie. “Who was murdered?”

  The sheriff took a chair and sat next to her. “Gerald Moss. Hikers found his body at the bottom of the canyon just a few hours ago.”

  CHAPTER 4

  By the time the sheriff and Ian had left, Felicia had arrived at the farmhouse. She shut the door after the men and sat next to Angie. “I heard about Mr. Moss in town so when you didn’t answer your phone, I came right out. What happened?”

  Angie stood and went to the stove to check on her jam. She’d forgotten to turn off the stove when the men arrived, so the mixture had kept cooking until she pulled the pan off the heat. If the jam wasn’t burned, it was at least scorched. And definitely ruined. She brushed tears away from her eyes. “I shouldn’t be feeling bad about jam when a man has lost his life.”

  “You make really good jam, but I’m not convinced that’s why you’re upset.” Felicia put her hand on Angie’s shoulder. “It’s okay to feel sad about Old Man Moss. I didn’t meet him, but everyone in town said he was quite a character.”

  Angie turned around to see her friend smiling at her. “He just had such a great life out there. He had the most amazing view from his front porch and the goats were a riot. You should have seen baby Precious. You would have fallen in love.”

  “Then let’s toast to his passing and send him on his journey with good wishes that his path to heaven is error free. I have just the place.” Felicia turned on her phone and opened up her task list. “I want you to come with me to the Southside Winery later today. I’ve decided that we’ll highlight their product as our house wine but I’d like you to check it out first.”

  Angie put the pot in the sink. She’d clean up the mess when she got back. She returned to the table and opened her tablet to her calendar. “Sure. I have to meet up with Ian at his office in thirty minutes, then I’ll swing by and pick you up and we can drive out together. That way you can update me on the hiring you’ve done.”

  They made plans to meet up and Felicia gave Angie a quick hug before she left. “Don’t think too much about Mr. Moss’s death.”

  But that was all she could think about. As Angie got into the SUV to drive into town, she saw Mrs. Potter sitting by her mailbox on a bench her husband had made for her before he’d passed on. Now, the wood was weathered and the bench needed a coat of paint, but structurally, it was still sound. She pulled up next to her and rolled down the window. “I’m heading to town. Do you need anything?”

  “Can’t think of anything, except maybe for Delores to show up soon. This bench is giving me hemorrhoids.” Mrs. Potter squinted into the cab. “Where’s Dom? Don’t tell me you left him home. You won’t have a stick of furniture left when you come back.”

  “He’s locked in the kitchen with his bed. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Just in case, Angie had left out not one but two chewy toys for Dom’s entertainment. “Hey, Old Man Moss died yesterday, did you hear?”

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish. I can’t believe I even sent you out there to talk to him. He never was any good.” She adjusted her walker closer to her. “I guess karma does work in mysterious ways.”

  “Did you two have a fight?” Angie wondered if Old Man Moss had been part of a love triangle with Mr. and Mrs. Potter. The thought made her lips try to turn up, but she pressed them together to keep from chuckling.

  Mrs. Potter stared down the road. “You need to get going because Delores is speeding up the road and her brakes aren’t very good.” Finally, she turned and looked at Angie. “We didn’t have a quarrel. The man killed my sister.”

  * * * *

  Things were getting curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say. Except this wasn’t Wonderland and Angie hadn’t fallen down a rabbit hole. Or maybe she had. She glanced around Ian McNeal’s cramped office and wondered if she was only dreaming. Angie pinched her arm just as Ian returned with a glass of iced tea.

  “I’m afraid this is reality. No use getting all bruised up.” He sat the tea in front of her and then instead of going around the desk, he sat in the other visitor chair next to her. “I’m sorry about this morning. When Allen asked me if I’d seen anyone else talking to Old Man Moss, you popped into my head. He thought me being there might help when he questioned you.”

  Angie stared into Ian’s deep blue eyes. “Why? Because I’m some female who needs taken care of?”

  The jerk of his head was almost imperceptible, but she’d seen her words had the effect of a slap. “We—I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Allen’s just not good with people. His deputy typically handles the interviews and I don’t think they’ve had a murder in River Vista for over twenty years. And that was a bar fight.”

  She was winning friends and influencing people. The way she was going, she might as well put a closed sign on the restaurant and get that chef job in Boise. “You and the Sheriff seem close. Are you friends?”

  “It’s complicated. He’s kind of family.”

  When Ian didn’t continue the story, Angie figured that door had been closed. “I’m still a bit shaken over the news. I didn’t know Mr. Moss well, but he seemed so settled. I was looking forward to getting to know him better as he knew my grandmother.”

  “He could be a bit of a curmudgeon, especially when it came to his cheese. The other farmers thought he was cheating by taking on several government grants to build his barn and set up that darn cheese cave.” Ian glanced at his watch. “Sorry, I hate to move this on, but I’ve got another appointment in Boise early this afternoon. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Angie set the tea aside. “I need your approval to use your farmers’ network for our supply chain. Yes, The County Seat has filed corporation papers, but that’s just about business. My friend and I are the owners and we’re not hiding behind some legal maneuvering. We’re here for the long haul and I expect to make The County Seat one of the premier farm-to-fork restaurants in Idaho before we’re done.”

  “That’s a lofty goal.” He glanced out the window that faced Main Street. “River Vista is kind of a small community for you to be expecting that kind of attention. Maybe you should look for property in Boise or even Sun Valley?”

  “I grew up here.” She pushed back her hair from her face, a habit she’d tried to stop but had failed. “I know we can pull in from the surrounding areas. Besides, I have a few more tricks up my sleeve to bring in more business. Including takeout for busy couples. The only thing I need now is the produce and supplies to make the food. And that’s where you come in.”

  “You don’t understand. I can’t just approve everyone who comes in here with a sob story. I have to protect the integrity of the food.” Ian sighed. “I’m going to be honest with you. We just had an issue
with a guy who said all the right things, but once he set up shop, he conveniently forgot to pay his debts. Then, he moved on to another town where he could pull the same scam. The farmer group lost a lot of money. I just want to make sure you are going to be part of the community, not just a fly by night drifter.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I know a farm-to-fork concept will thrive out here. I studied the demographics before I bought the building and took out the loan. But I need locally sourced produce and protein sources to make it successful. I’m hoping to be 100 percent local, but there may be products I might have to use from at least organic sources. Like olive oil.”

  “You could use local butter. There’s no reason to break your farm-to-table pledge if you are really committed to local sourcing.” Ian glanced at his watch again, standing to end the meeting. “I really have to go. I’m expected at the cheese commission in Meridian at two. We’re discussing a memorial for Gerald.”

  “What about my suppliers?” Angie stood and watched as Ian opened the door, holding it for her.

  “I’ll send out an email to the group. If you insist on trying, I can’t stand in your way. But don’t think that it’s going to be easy. Most of these guys don’t like change. And they really don’t like new ideas. Just talk about honoring their food and they might choose to work with you.” He tossed his head toward the door and Angie followed him out. He locked the small office, turning the in sign to out. “But I can’t make them sell to you. You’re on your own there.”

  “I’m sure I can be convincing.” Angie put on her best smile.

  He stopped in the hallway. “Please, take this the way it’s intended. But don’t smile like that when you’re talking to the guys. You look creepy.” He turned around and headed out to the street.

  “I do not look creepy.” She called after him. She examined her reflection in the glass of the doors, trying out her smile again. Okay, so it looked a little creepy. Her cell rang. “Hello?”