Clobbered by Camembert (20 page)

“But Lois might—”

I remained steadfast.

“Fine, whatever. She shouldn’t be out anytime soon. She recently brought me the cookies.” He returned, scooped up the dog, and slumped into his chair. The wicker hissed.

“Kaitlyn Clydesdale,” I repeated.

He started to rub the dog with intensity. Agatha yipped and leaped off his lap. She nosed the screen door open and scurried inside.

“Were you her lover?” I said as the door clacked shut.

“Lover? Bah!” Ainsley snarled. “I was her pawn.”

A stream of arctic air swirled around the porch. I shivered and slipped my hands into my coat pockets. “Explain.”

“Lois and I …” He massaged his temples. “With couples our age, things get tired after too many years together. When Kaitlyn showed up, she reminded me of the good times we’d had back in school. She made me feel young and frisky. I couldn’t resist her bigger-than-life charms. After a couple of rolls in the hay, however, I realized she wasn’t that into me. Know what I mean?” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “She had an ulterior motive. I just didn’t get it at first. When I wanted to end the affair, she said she was going to blab to Lois. I pleaded with her to keep our secret. She said it would cost me.”

“She wanted cash?”

“Worse. She’d only keep the secret if I granted her a portion of the raw land I owned north of town.” He jabbed his forefinger at me. “That’s when I caught on.”

“Caught on to what?”

“She’d planned to blackmail me all along.”

There was that word again.
Blackmail
. Who else had Kaitlyn threatened?

“Such a lowly word, isn’t it?” He plucked pills of wool off the wadded-up blanket. “I agreed to give her the land, but she died that night, and, well …” He waved his hand in a circle.

“Pretty convenient timing,” I said.

“Oh, lord, I didn’t kill her!” He shook his head along with his denial, but there was something he wasn’t telling me. His eyes began to blink rapidly.

“You saw her that night.”

“No, not that night.” His gaze flitted upward again. How many lies did the man think he could get away with? He would fail a lie detector test, for sure. “I met with her earlier that day.”

“Where?”

“At Violet’s Victoriana Inn. She was downright vicious,” Ainsley continued. “She said, agreement or no agreement, she was going to tell Lois about us because”—he heaved—“because she thought all women should know when their husbands cheat.”

It sounded to me like Kaitlyn had experienced a bitter breakup.

“I told her if she did, that would constitute an end to our agreement about the land. Kaitlyn laughed, and—”

“Hey, Ainsley!” A neighbor, who was walking his Malamute on a leash, waved from the sidewalk. “How’s business?”

“Good, Fred. Good.” Ainsley shot a sociable hand into the air, but his gaze was flat. When the neighbor passed by, Ainsley continued. “Kaitlyn laughed and said she would give me until morning to tell Lois myself, and then she dashed off to a Do-Gooder meeting. Can you believe that? The hypocrite! She was no Do-Gooder, I’ll tell you.” He slapped his palm on the arm of the chair. “She was going to ruin my life, but she wanted everyone to believe she was a saint. Bah!”

I let his diatribe settle like dust, then said, “It sounds like you could’ve killed her right then and there.”

Ainsley folded his hands together and pointed at me with his index fingers. “I wanted to, but—”

“Hey, Mr. Smith.” A gangly man in his thirties trotted up the path to the inn with a female companion. The woman stomped up the stairs first and removed her knit hat. The man held the screen door open for her. As they entered the inn, he said, “Good weather for Eskimos, huh?” The woman tittered, like the guy was the funniest man in the universe. They let the screen door slam behind them.

Ainsley opened his hands, palms up. “I swear I didn’t kill her.”

“What did you do after meeting with her?”

“I came home, but I couldn’t drum up the courage to tell Lois myself, so I went for a walk with Agatha.”

“For how long?”

He gripped the arms of his chair, looking like a man on the
Titanic
who believed a deck chair would save him. “Two hours, maybe three.”

“Where to?”

“To the property I own, north of town.”

“What did you do when it grew dark? You didn’t go to the game.” I knew I sounded like a coldhearted, cross-examining attorney, but I needed answers.

“I couldn’t. I felt sick to my stomach, so I walked some more, okay?” He shot to his feet and stomped to the screen door. He peered inside, then pivoted and marched to the railing. “I was a Boy Scout, back in the day. I got a number of badges in camping and trailblazing. The stars offer up as much light as any flashlight, if you know how to use them.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Agatha was with me,” he said over his shoulder. “But the pup hasn’t learned to people-speak yet. She’s no Lassie.”

“Didn’t Lois notice that Agatha was missing?”

“Agatha is like a wild child. She’ll chase squirrels and disappear for hours on end. Lois thinks it’s cute. I needed someone to talk to. The dog was as good as anything.”

“Did anyone pass you on the road?”

“No one I knew. I saw an Amish man, but he wouldn’t remember me. They drive with blinders on, don’t you know.” He smacked the railing again.

“What did you do when you came home?”

“Kept as quiet as a clam. Lois was scrubbing pots. The guests were in the dining room, polishing off their dinner.” He hung his head and swung it from side to side. “I couldn’t tell her about the affair.”

“Even though Kaitlyn Clydesdale was going to.”

“I planned to tell her in the morning. I needed the courage.” He raised his hand as if on the witness stand. “I never went near your friend’s cottage, I swear.”

I joined Ainsley at the railing, an idea nipping at the edge of my mind. Cool air snaked around my ankles and sent a shiver up my legs. “You said your property is north of town. Is it near the Burrells’ property?”

“It abuts it.”

I recalled a conversation with Sylvie outside Rebecca’s cottage on the night of the incident. Sylvie had said Kaitlyn had come into Under Wraps and talked about her empire. At the time, I hadn’t given it much thought, too distracted by Sylvie’s claim that Ipo had motive to hurt Kaitlyn. Now, I wondered. The word
empire
was unusual. I said, “Did Kaitlyn ever talk about wanting to build an empire in Providence? It seems she wanted to acquire more than yours and the Burrells’ properties. She was after Arlo’s, as well.”

Ainsley scratched his chin. “She never specifically said the word
empire
to me, but she was power hungry, that’s for sure.” He sighed. “I’m not sorry that she’s dead.”

A woman uttered a teensy sob. I swiveled toward the sound. Lois stood beyond the screen door, her hand over her mouth. Agatha, parked at Lois’s feet, growled between sharp teeth. So much for not being Lassie. The scamp must have tugged her mistress to the door to hear the conversation.

Ainsley darted to the screen door and whipped it open. He reached for his wife. “Lois, darling.”

She swatted him. “Don’t
darling
me.” She slurped back tears. “How could you? With Kaitlyn Clydesdale, of all people?” She peered at me, her eyes shooting missiles. “I told you that woman was trouble, didn’t I?”

“She was blackmailing me,” Ainsley said.

“After you gave in to her wiles.”

“I was weak.” He held his hands out, as if being powerless was a good enough excuse for cheating.

“Then I’ll be strong.” Lois drew tall. “Pack up, mister.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” She gestured, for emphasis.

Ainsley dropped to one knee. “But I love you.” He snatched Lois’s hand in his.

“Too late.” Lois flicked his hand away. Agatha yipped her support. “We’re through.”

“But—”

“Move out.” Lois jabbed a finger. “Go to your mother’s. She thinks you walk on water.”

Ainsley flinched as if she had slapped him, then scrambled to his feet and slinked into the great room. Through the archway, I saw him reach for the prized hockey stick hanging on the wall.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Lois stormed in after him. “Stop right there. You’ll take none of those things, you two-timer.”

“I was just going to set things right.”

“My foot!”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and ogled Lois with hangdog eyes. “Please, darling, don’t kick me out. We can fix this.”

Lois crossed her arms, looking as immovable as one of the ice sculptures at the Winter Wonderland faire.

Ainsley cut me a stony look, obviously blaming me for his current situation, then shuffled down the hallway toward his room behind the kitchen.

When he disappeared, Lois sank onto an ottoman, lifted Agatha onto her lap, and scratched the dog’s ears. “What have I done?” she muttered. “Oh, what have I done?”

She continued murmuring, seemingly unaware that I was standing at the front door, and I had to wonder, by her quick decision to boot out her husband, whether she had already known about his affair with Kaitlyn.

Had that knowledge driven her to do something rash?

CHAPTER

I trudged back to work, no wiser. On the way, I felt horrible for even considering that Lois could be guilty. Though she had been quite brusque with her husband, I didn’t believe, in my heart of hearts, that she could have lashed out at Kaitlyn—or anyone, for that matter—and left her to die.

When I entered Fromagerie Bessette, I found Bozz shadowboxing with his reflection in the glass that fronted the cheese counter. He stopped mid-punch, dropped his hands to his sides, and said, “Hey, Miss B. Sorry about skipping out earlier. I had no idea you needed me.”

“No worries. Where’s my grandfather?”

Bozz slung a thumb over his shoulder. “He just left. If you ask me, he sounded a bit like the Mad Hatter. He was mumbling, ‘I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.’”

“You mean he sounded like the White Rabbit.”

Bozz looked perplexed.

“In
Alice in Wonderland
,” I said. “The White Rabbit is the one who’s late. He wore spectacles.” I drew an outline of an imaginary pair of glasses. “He was doing the queen’s bidding.”

“Whatever. Anyway, Pépère was perspiring.”

Worry cut through me. It was my fault that my grandfather was late bringing food to starving actors. If only he weren’t always on the go. A while back, Matthew and I had wanted to send our grandparents on a vacation, but to date, we hadn’t convinced them to go anywhere. Oh, sure, they took occasional day trips to other Ohio hot spots like the German Village in Columbus or the zoo and botanical garden in Cincinnati, and my grandfather had joined Matthew and me on a tour of American cheese farms, but none of those trips counted as a vacation. Recently I had suggested they take a trip to France, but they had pooh-poohed me. They did not have a love affair with their native land.

I said, “Bozz, can you watch the shop for a while longer? I want to help Pépère distribute his pizzas at the theater. I’m sure you can handle the crowd.”

He scanned the store—which was empty—and winked. “Don’t think that’ll be a problem. Everyone’s at the faire. What time should I close up?”

“Five thirty is fine. Put a sign in the door steering customers to the Le Petit Fromagerie tent, then head on over for the night shift.”

“Gotcha.”

* * *

I needn’t have worried about my grandfather. When I arrived at the Providence Playhouse theater, I found him on stage scuttling around a long buffet table, tending to actresses, many of whom wore work shirts or robes slung over racy, very lacy getups. The
Chicago
costumes weren’t nearly ready this early in the rehearsal process, but Grandmère liked her actors to dress in character at the first opportunity.

Crew people, who always ate first at the Playhouse, sat on the floor in front of a giant neon ROXIE HART sign. Most had polished off their meals. A few of the cast had climbed onto the raised platform located at the rear of the stage, which would hold the five-piece combo during the show.

“Do you need anything?” Pépère asked a pair of actresses who were dressed like sexy prison inmates. “Are there enough beverages? Is everyone happy?”

How could they not be content? The peppery aroma of Pépère’s pizzas filled the air.

He spotted me and waved for me to join him. “
Chérie.
Welcome. How do you like our flashy sign? It has been donated from a touring Broadway company.” He plucked a wedge of pizza from a platter and bit off the tip. Melted cheese and bits of pork sausage dripped between his fingers. He slurped it into his mouth. “Have some.” He encouraged me with his elbow.

I fetched a paper plate and viewed the selections of cheese and salads that Pépère had also provided, but chose the pizza. The aroma was the lure. One bite and I moaned my pleasure. Hints of hickory, cherrywood, and garlic popped in my mouth. “Oh, wow,” I said. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Extra garlic; that is the key.”

We ate the rest of our pizza in silence.

When we finished, he said, “How did your
errand
go?” His eyes twinkled with mock-judgment. “You were snooping, I assume.”

“I don’t snoop.”

He chortled. “It is your nature, as it is your
grandmère’s
. Did I ever tell you about the time she investigated a crime at the Harvest Moon Ranch? She—”

“Etienne.” The stage manager, a spark plug of a woman, hustled down the aisle of the theater toward the stage. “We have a minor lighting problem. Can I borrow you for a second?”

“But of course.”

“Wait.” I tugged on my grandfather’s sleeve. “What did Grandmère do?”

“It matters not. But I remember she said one must possess all the pieces of the puzzle and then adjust one’s thinking when it came to clues.” He tapped his forehead.

“Adjust one’s thinking? What does that mean?”

“I do not know. She quoted Hercule Poirot. ‘It is the brain, the little gray cells on which one must rely. One must seek the truth within—not without.’ She solved the crime that afternoon.”

As Pépère toddled down the stairs and hurried with the stage manager to the lighting booth at the rear of the theater, I wandered back to the buffet while contemplating Hercule Poirot’s advice. Did I possess all the information—all the clues—I needed to solve the puzzle of Kaitlyn’s death? What was I missing?

“It can’t be true!” a svelte actress yelled. She was standing in the wings, conversing with a shorter, perkier actress wearing a red silk teddy.

“It is. Now, keep your voice down.” Miss Perky looked around to see if people were listening in. They weren’t.

Except me, of course. What rumor could have made the svelte actress so upset?

Miss Perky adjusted the length of a garter on her garter belt. “
Chicago
, the musical, is based on the play of the same name. The reporter, Maurine Dallas Watkins, wrote about real-life murderesses. The character of Billy Flynn is based on two actual lawyers.”

“I’ll bet those lawyers didn’t tap-dance,” the svelte actress said.

“Probably not.”

“So why does
our
Billy have to tap-dance?”

I grinned. So that was what had disturbed the svelte one. Big deal.

“Because his whole court case relies on his tapping out the points to the jury,” Miss Perky explained.

I started to move away, but stopped when I heard Miss Perky add, “Barton would have been so much better in the role. You know what the gossip is about Barton, don’t you? He was having an affair with that woman.”

“Where’d you hear that?” the svelte one asked.

“At that clothing store.”

At Under Wraps? If Sylvie had picked up some big scoop, why hadn’t she pranced into The Cheese Shop and lauded it over me?

The svelte actress cut a look over her shoulder at me. Had I talked out loud?

Miss Perky flitted her fingers, as if to say,
Forget about her. She’s no
one.

I sidled away from the gossiping girls, but I couldn’t shake what my grandfather had said about adjusting my thinking. I had always connected Barton to Kaitlyn because of the sticky terms of their real estate contract. What if Barton had been Kaitlyn’s lover? What if she had lured him the same way she had lured Ainsley Smith? But to what end? She already had a real estate contract with Barton. She didn’t need to blackmail him for a piece of property. Was it possible, despite their age difference, that they had been truly in love?

* * *

Around four o’clock, I entered our Winter Wonderland tent, which was bustling with customers. Rebecca and Matthew stood at the counter, handing out slices of our three cheese selections. To my surprise, Tyanne had returned, as well. She held a tray of plastic stemware, each glass filled with about two ounces of wine. Her cheeks were flushed as crimson as her sweater.

I shrugged out of my coat and tweed jacket, folded them, set them with other coats on the lowest shelf of the baker’s rack, and sidled behind the counter.

Matthew eyed his wristwatch and then me. “About time you showed up.”

“I’m not late.” I tweaked the collar of his tan pin-striped shirt, which looked stylish beneath the shop’s chocolate brown apron. “Were you able to help Urso track down Jordan?”

“Yes. They’re on the hunt for the thief.”

“And Grandmère?”

“Is sticking to them like glue.”

I slipped an apron from beneath the counter and put it on over my jewel-necked sweater. “Why is Tyanne here?”

“She said she needed to keep busy. Theo has the kids. I’m teaching her all about wine. Watch this.” Matthew cleared his throat. “Tyanne, tell the folks about the Sin Zin.”

Like a TV display model, Tyanne flourished her hand in front of a plastic glass, and in an announcer-sized voice, said, “Sin Zin. It’s zesty with a hint of vanilla and berries.” Customers flocked to her for a glass.

Matthew beamed like a proud professor. “Isn’t she a natural?”

I nodded. Was there anything Tyanne couldn’t do? Except possibly keep her marriage together—a marriage she had emotionally left years ago, I reminded myself.

Rebecca edged closer to me and whispered, “What happened with Ainsley Smith?”

I explained in two sentences.

Matthew gave me a reproving look. Sotto voce, he said, “Don’t you think you’re taking this investigation thing too far? We have a police force.”

“Of three,” I said.

“Three’s better than two.”

“Are you kidding? We have three people working for us at The Cheese Shop, not to mention Pépère and Bozz on occasion, and we can barely make do. Urso and his crew can’t oversee an entire town. We should have a formidable force by now.”

“That requires”—Matthew rubbed his fingers together—“cash.”

Rebecca said, “Charlotte, I almost forgot, there’s a guy—”

“Ix-nay on the investigation alk-tay,” I said.

Meredith, pretty in an emerald jacket, biscuit-colored silk blouse, and brown slacks, sauntered into the tent and waved.

I sliced my finger across my neck, indicating that we should end the conversation. Meredith would give me what-for if she knew that I was nosing around. After last year’s run-in with a criminal, suffice it to say, she was overly protective of me—hence the self-defense lessons.

Apologizing to the crowd, Meredith scooted around them and headed for us. She cozied up to Matthew and planted a kiss on his cheek, then frowned at me. “Oh, no. Not again. What are you investigating now?”

“I’m not.”

“You are, too.” She jutted a finger. “Your eyes are shiny and hyper-alert. Fess up.”

I sighed. So much for thinking I could keep anything from my pal. “I was telling Matthew that I won’t sit idle while Urso incarcerates Ipo.” I ogled my cousin. “You, yourself, said he wasn’t guilty.”

“I’ve been known to be wrong about people,” Matthew said.

“Hell-o-o-o!” Sylvie, wearing a quasi-antebellum outfit with big flowing skirts and a strapless black bustier top, sashayed into the tent. She looked tartish, at best. The black lace fan she fluttered didn’t help. A few customers pointed and whispered.

Meredith said, “Does she have a clue how ridiculous she looks?”

“I doubt it.” How dare Sylvie have the gall to give me advice about my wardrobe. I reveled in the fact that her shoulders looked covered in goose bumps.

Sylvie waltzed to the counter and posed. “How do you like the new trend? I’m calling it Punk-Southern.”

Meredith bit back a laugh and elbowed me. I nudged her to hush.

Sylvie whacked Matthew playfully with her fan and held out a lace-gloved hand to him. “Let’s go, love. Time to hear our girlie-girls sing.”

“The recital isn’t for two hours, Sylvie, and I’m attending with Meredith.” Matthew grabbed Meredith’s hand. He must have squeezed it too hard because she winced.

“Tosh.” Sylvie pouted. “Whatever happened to parental unity?”

Matthew kept his voice low. “It vanished the day you walked out of our lives.”

Sylvie visibly jolted, and Matthew smirked, which warmed me to my toes. He couldn’t have made that comment a year ago. He had rebounded in the confidence department, thanks to Meredith’s love.

“You’re holding that against me?” Sylvie huffed.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t rove, I didn’t stray. I quite simply took a breather.”

Matthew said, “Sylvie, the way you rewrite history amazes me.” He turned to me and waggled his thumb between us. “You and I … we married Peter Pan and Tinkerbell.”

“Except Chip and I never married,” I reminded him.

“Minor detail.” Matthew pecked Meredith on the cheek and returned to his duties at the counter. “Next.” Customers in line moved forward.

Sylvie huffed at Matthew’s dismissal and started for the door. A few feet short, she turned back. “Oh, Charlotte.” She hurried back to me, the skirt of her ensemble swinging like a bell, and pulled me toward the side of the tent. She cupped a hand around her mouth. “I found out with whom Kaitlyn Clydesdale was having an affair.”

I tilted an ear, ready for her to corroborate the gossip I had heard at the theater.

“Ainsley Smith,” she confided.

“I know.”

“You know?” Sylvie sputtered. “Why did you ask me to do your bidding then? My time is precious.”