For Cheddar or Worse (10 page)

Erin started to blink rapidly. “Wait a sec. How did the killer get in? Charlotte, you told the chief the door was locked, and Jordan, you kicked it in, right?”

Jordan nodded.

Kandice elbowed through the knot of people and aimed a finger at Erin. “You! Erin! You have keys to the rooms. You could have entered and left easily.”

Erin shook her head vehemently. “No!”

“Of course you could have.” Gone was any semblance of Kandice's boisterous, fun-girl personality. Her tone was hard; her gaze, resolute. “Did you kill her, Erin?”

“No!”

I believed her. In my heart of hearts, I knew she didn't have it in her to kill anyone. She was kind and loving. She labored to keep her farm thriving and her brother safe. Besides, she was so petite. There was no way she could have overwhelmed Lara with a pillow. Lara was a head taller and pounds heavier.

“C'mon, Erin, admit it,” Kandice continued. “No one would blame you. You killed Lara.”

“I couldn't have,” Erin cried. “I don't have another set of keys.”

“Baloney. All proprietors do. Don't lie.” Kandice's eyes were pink-rimmed, nearly matching the streaks in her hair. At the moment, she reminded me more of a mouse than a
bird. A cruel mouse. “You and Lara didn't finish on the best of notes last night.”

“Nobody did,” Erin protested. “She argued with everyone.”

Kandice shook her head. “She attacked you, Erin. Your home. Your possessions. She made fun of your brother. Did you use a key to enter her room and—”

“I didn't come in.” Erin's skin turned ash gray; her lips trembled. “I couldn't have because the keys . . . They . . .” She splayed her hands. “My brother lost them.”

“A likely story.”

“Two days ago,” Erin said. “He was stimming.”

I understood the term.
Stimming
is the repetition of physical movements or sounds that help an autistic person block out other stimuli that might upset him. Some autistics might flap their hands; others might rock or snap their fingers. Erin told me once that when Andrew was young he liked clacking door knockers and drawer pulls.

“He was outside near the well,” Erin continued. “He was bouncing the ring of keys in his hand. He likes the jangling sound. Charlotte, you know how he likes that sound. That's why he carries a tambourine.”

I nodded.

“Andrew accidentally lost hold of the keys,” Erin said, “and they fell into the well. With all the preparations for the brain trust, I haven't had time to get copies of the keys made.”

Kandice grunted, not buying Erin's account.

“Other than the housekeeper,” Erin went on, “you each have the only key to your room. She doesn't live on-site. She won't arrive until noon today. She makes up the rooms during the lunch hour.”

I spied Urso running his hand along the walls, and the notion I'd considered a moment ago returned. “Erin,” I said, “are there other ways into the room? Perhaps a concealed entry to an old staircase?”

She shook her head.

“I don't see a chimney,” I went on. “Was there one at any time? Or a dumbwaiter?” Maybe the killer had crawled
through some kind of patched-over space. Beneath the bed? Behind the easy chair?

“The only chimney is in the living room. The third floor units—all of these—” Erin twirled a finger. “I told you, this floor used to be the attic. My parents refurbished it years ago, hoping to make the bed-and-breakfast a real draw for the farm, but we never had enough guests to utilize the rooms until now, which was why I hadn't gotten around to freeing up the windows. Lara's arrival”—a tiny sob escaped Erin's lips—“surprised me, but how could I tell her to stay someplace else? It's all your fault, Kandice.”

“My fault?”

Erin jutted a finger at her accuser. “You kept Lara's arrival a secret from me. From all of us. Why?”

“It wasn't a secret. It slipped my mind.”

I gawped at Kandice. It had
slipped her mind
to tell the owner of the farm that Lara Berry, the most influential person in cheese today, was coming to the brain trust? No, I didn't buy that. Kandice was well prepared. She sent out a flurry of group emails, including attachments with schedules and reminders about what to wear and where to check in. How could she have made such a faux pas? Had she hoped to cause Lara grief? Had she betted on Lara losing her cool upon arrival? Maybe she killed Lara, but why?

“You should have warned me,” Erin persisted. “Why didn't you?”

“I—” Kandice huffed. “You called me and said you had a room available.”

Erin glowered at her. “I wasn't going to tell Lara to leave, and I—” She wrapped her arms around her petite body and drew in an agitated breath. “I was hoping she'd give the farm and our cheeses a good review. A word from Lara Berry is . . .
was . . .
” Her chest heaved; her shoulders sagged with the effort. “A word from her
could have been
gold. After I learned the news from Charlotte, I made up the room especially for Lara. Once she was over her peeve, she told me she liked the décor and the view. She found it restful.”

Urso had moved to the center of the room and was pivoting slowly.

Erin said, “What is he doing?”

“Starting over as if he just walked into the room.”
Rinse and repeat,
I mused. U-ey was nothing if not thorough.

I followed his example and tried to view everything with fresh eyes. Sadly, it all looked the same. Lara dead. The windows painted shut. Erin, at Kandice's insistence, the most likely suspect.

CHAPTER

Urso ordered Deputy O'Shea to wait for the coroner in Lara's room and asked the rest of us to convene in the dining room. In daylight, the room seemed less dramatic than it had last night. The maple table had been cleared, the dishes removed, the wood polished to a fine sheen. A needlepointed linen runner extended the length of the table. A vase of daisies—my favorite flower—sat atop the runner. Seeing them usually made me smile. Not today.

Erin flipped a switch and illuminated the crystal chandelier over the center of the table.

“Everyone, please take a seat.” Urso crossed to a window. He opened it, allowing in a fresh breeze. Birds twittered outside. They sounded so merry. We were anything
but
.

The waitress with the blunt haircut scuttled into the room. “Miss,” she said to Erin, “what's going on?”

Erin told her, and the woman burst into a flurry of questions while acting out how tall Lara was, as if to make sure she understood who had been murdered. Erin asked Urso if the waitress could bring water and coffee for everyone. It
dawned on me that neither Jordan nor I had eaten anything substantial other than a pastry. My stomach growled in protest. I willed it to hush.

The waitress fled the room, and Erin slinked to the far end of the table. She pulled out the chair. The feet dragged and groaned on the hardwood floor.

Victor sat in the chair at the opposite end of the table, the seat Lara had filled last night. Was that an admission of guilt on his part?

Honestly, Charlotte, rein it in!
But who had motive to kill her? Who had the drive, the will, to press a pillow over her mouth until the life was strangled out of her?

Kandice, Ryan, and Shayna nestled into chairs on one side of the table; Jordan and I on the other.

Urso removed a notepad and pen from his pocket and circled the group. He requested and jotted down each person's name while peering into his or her eyes, as if one would blab the truth by the mere strength of his will.

“I'll tell you what happened,” Kandice said, jumping in before Urso could ask. “Erin and Lara argued. Erin lost it and killed her.”

Erin spanked the table. “I did not kill her. Stop saying that.”

Why was Kandice dead set on Erin being the killer? Was she trying to steer the suspicion away from herself? What motive would she have had to kill Lara? She and Lara didn't compete for clients. Lara consulted farms and wrote books; Kandice set up conferences. And yet I couldn't help remembering how Lara had fawned over Kandice after the accident at the Street Scene. What was their history?

“Lara fought with everyone,” Erin said.

“Not me.” Kandice squared her shoulders defiantly.

Shayna coughed. “I beg to differ, Kandice. Lara wasn't happy with her travel arrangements. She stormed in that first night ready to lay in to you.”

Kandice flitted a hand. “She cooled down. She—”

“Lara was drunk last night, Chief Urso,” Erin cut in. “She was saying horrible things.”

“Like she always did,” Kandice said. “You were the only one to take offense.”

Urso leveled his gaze at Erin, who recoiled.

I jumped in. “Erin didn't take offense, Chief.”

“Sure she did,” Kandice said. “Lara was dismissive about the farm and the family heirlooms. That threw Erin into a tizzy.”

Erin spanked the table. “I did not fly into a tizzy.”

I eyed the vases and urns in the cabinets and replayed last night's encounter in my mind. Lara taunted Erin, who sparred valiantly. Kandice added fuel to that fire. On purpose? Then Andrew stirred, and Erin had to subdue him. Did she go to Lara's room later to exact revenge? No. I didn't buy it. The motive was weak.

Kandice said, “Erin yelled at Lara to cut it out. Things spiraled out of control when her brother started making a racket.”

“Andrew?” Urso asked.

Erin nodded. “Lara's outburst upset him.”

“What outburst?” Urso asked.

Ryan recounted the altercation word-for-word.

Kandice cut him off. “Then Erin ran out of the room, steaming mad, and returned with her brother. That's when Lara lit into her a second time.”

Ryan glared at Kandice. “Lara didn't light into Erin. She said nasty things about Andrew. She mocked him.”

“Miss Berry made fun of Andrew?” Urso asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ryan said. “He became anxious.”

Urso hummed as if he understood. He and Erin had participated in many of the same activities in high school: student counsel, volunteer work. He must have met Andrew a number of times.

“Andrew almost jabbed Lara with a drumstick.” Kandice jutted her arm to demonstrate.

“He was just trying to startle her,” Erin argued. “He would never harm anyone. Ever.”

“Erin couldn't take it anymore,” Kandice went on. “She hustled Andrew upstairs, and Lara, a little worse for wear—”

“Drunk,” Shayna said.

“Whatever.” Kandice shrugged. “Lara stormed out. Victor made a comment that Hurricane Lara had made an appearance.” She eyed Victor. “Was that your pet name for her, Vic?”

Urso swung around and peered at Victor, who shrank back.

Kandice said, “You knew her pretty well, Vic. Admit it.” She addressed Urso. “They had a fling.”

How would Kandice have known about Lara's love life? Again I wondered about the relationship between the two of them. Did it matter right now? At least she wasn't targeting Erin anymore. She had zeroed in on the resident lothario. I breathed a little easier.

Urso studied Victor, who, surprisingly, had remained mute until now. “Mr. Wolfman, do you have anything to add?”

Victor drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

Urso strode to him. “Did you have a relationship with Miss Berry?”

Victor tilted his head up. His cheek was ticking with tension. “We dated.”

“For how long?”

“Not long.” He cut a hard look at Kandice.

“Were you in love with her?” Urso asked.

“As much as anybody here.” A snicker escaped his lips; he bit it back. “Sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Lara and I dated for a month, but we didn't sync.” He wove his fingers together to illustrate. Though he was trying to act nonchalant, his skin was slick with perspiration. “We were like oil and water. I cut bait and ran.”

At the cocktail party on Thursday, Victor had acted like a sycophant, doting on Lara's every word. Had he really ended their relationship or had she? What if he—

A clinking sound drew everyone's attention. The ponytailed waitress entered through the doorway carrying a tray of poured beverages. Mouth grim, she moved from guest to guest, responding to each request for either a glass of water
or a cup of coffee. She set a creamer and a bowl of sugar on the table and said, “Anything else?”

When no one responded, Urso told the waitress to hang out in the kitchen. He intended to interrogate the kitchen staff.

“None of us were here last night after dinner, sir,” she said. “We washed the dishes and left.”

Urso replied that he simply wanted to ask a few questions. The waitress wrung her hands as she exited the room. The door swung shut with a painful creak.

The
ticktock
of the grandfather clock in the living room could be heard over the silence.

Urso slowly circled the group. Jordan reached beneath the table and patted my leg. Feeling the warmth of his touch calmed me. I still couldn't believe it. Yet again a person I knew—had
met
—had been murdered, and it was highly possible that someone at the table had done the deed. What was it Agatha Christie said?
Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend
.

“When was the last time anyone saw Miss Berry?” Urso asked.

Ryan and Victor shifted in their chairs. Shayna combed her curls with her fingers. Kandice studied her chipped nails.

“I'll start,” Jordan said. “Charlotte and I went straight to bed. That was the last we saw her. We didn't leave our room until we went on our walk this morning.”

“Anyone else care to answer?” Urso asked.

“I will,” Ryan said. He claimed he was so uptight after the row during dinner that he went to town and walked around. He listened to music, admired the window displays, enjoyed a decaf espresso at Café au Lait, and returned to the inn after midnight.

Kandice confirmed hearing someone climb the stairs around twelve fifteen. She was in her room tweaking tomorrow's presentation. She joked that she was so tired, she fell asleep using her inch-thick schedule as a pillow.

Shayna said she talked to her youngest daughter about
man trouble
and then took to knitting for a few hours; she couldn't fall asleep. When Kandice asked what she was knitting, Shayna cast a dirty look and muttered, “A blanket. Why do you care?”

“Because I wish I'd learned to knit.”

“Oh,” Shayna whispered, red-faced. “Sorry.”

Urso said, “Mr. Wolfman, your turn.”

Victor leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I, like Ryan, went into town. The conflict at dinner had me wound as tightly as a coil.” He eyed Ryan. “A wonder we didn't run into each other.”

“Busy place,” Ryan mumbled.

I glanced between the two men. Was one of them lying?

“By the way, there are some extremely good vocalists,” Victor went on. “A young woman sang ‘
La Vie en Rose
' to near perfection.”

“I heard her,” Ryan said. “She sounded just like Piaf.”

Édith Piaf was a cabaret singer who was once France's national star. “La Vie en Rose” was one of her most famous songs. My grandmother owned all of her albums.

“I also listened to some cheese poetry,” Victor said. “Get this: ‘Gruyère, Camembert, Swiss, or blue, served with wine and in fondue. To thine own cheese-loving self be true.'” He chortled. “Kid you not. That was the best the guy had to offer.”

“How bad could it have been?” Ryan said. “You memorized it.”

“I do that. Memorize. It's a gift.”

“Or a curse.”

“It's Cheese Week, you two,” Shayna said. “Don't make fun.”

“Shayna,” Kandice cut in, “don't you mean let's be serious because Lara died?” The words came out sharp and reproachful.

Ryan set a hand on her shoulder. “We're all upset, Kandice. Keep cool.”

She mouthed:
Thank you
and plucked a napkin from the
stack the waitress had left. She set her coffee cup onto it. The cup and saucer rattled. She peeked at Urso self-consciously. He wasn't watching her. He was focused on Victor.

“Mr. Wolfman, what did you do next?”

“I returned to the inn. Must have been around eleven thirty. The place was still. I went to my room and took an Ambien, which makes me dead to the world.” He gulped. “Sorry about the lousy choice of words.”

“Gallows humor,” Shayna said supportively.

Urso slipped a hand into his pocket, his manner easy and approachable. “Did any of you leave your rooms after you settled in, say, to roam the grounds or sneak a bite from the kitchen?”

A chorus of
no
from everyone.

“Who has the rooms on either side of Miss Berry's room?” Urso asked.

Shayna raised a hand. “I'm in number fourteen.”

Victor said, “Number ten.”

“There's no number thirteen,” I told Urso. “All the rooms have even numbers.”

Erin shrugged. “My parents did it for my brother.”

Kandice twisted her coffee cup on the saucer.

Urso directed his gaze to her. “Yes? Do you have something to add?”

“Around eleven thirty, sir, I heard Lara play a violin. My room is directly below hers.”

“No, it isn't,” Ryan said. “Erin's brother's room is below Lara's. Our rooms are sort of underneath Shayna's room.”

“Did you hear a violin, Mr. Harris?” Urso asked.

“Nope. Didn't hear anything.”

“You hadn't returned,” Kandice reminded him. “It wasn't a lot of noise, Chief Urso. Just a few notes. I don't know if they were bowed or plucked. Did you hear it, Shayna?”

Shayna's forehead bunched together in a troubled V. “I don't recall.”

“Either you did or didn't,” Kandice snapped.

Urso swung around to face Victor. “Did you hear a violin, Mr. Wolfman?”

Victor had just told Urso that he returned to the inn and went directly to sleep. Was Urso testing him?

Victor unfolded his arms and slung one over the back of his chair. “No, sir.”

Urso's gaze swung up to the ceiling and returned to the group. “I didn't notice a violin in Miss Berry's room. Did anyone else?”

“Maybe it's under the bed,” I suggested. “Or in the closet.”

“Maybe Kandice heard a recording,” Jordan suggested.

“Or the radio,” Ryan countered.

“No, it was live,” Kandice said. “It sounded like Lara was testing out the instrument for the first time.”