To Brie or Not to Brie (12 page)

“He doesn’t have an alibi.” Rebecca sashayed back to the cheese counter. “He told
Urso he was with Jacky, but Jacky said he left around eleven. She figured he went
back to the Igloo. What if he killed Giacomo to protect Jacky?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I warned. “Hugo could be blameless. Vinnie may have set
him up.”

“How so?” Rebecca said.

“Maybe he knew that Hugo and Jacky were dating each other, and he killed his brother
in the Igloo specifically to frame Hugo.”

“How would he have gotten inside?” Rebecca said like an experienced interrogator.

“Maybe the door was left open.”

“Flimsy,” she said.

“But possible. There are nights I’ve left the front door of The Cheese Shop unlocked.”
I didn’t add that I knew Rebecca had done the same. I turned to Jordan. “Rebecca is
right, however. We have to come up with a list of possible suspects.”

“Not you,” Jordan said. “Me.”

“But—”

He touched my lips with a fingertip. “Sweetheart, I know you can’t help yourself,
but this time, let me investigate. Jacky’s my sister.”

“And she’s Charlotte’s future sister-in-law,” Rebecca said. “She’s got to help.”

Jordan released my hand. “Let me see what I can find out first. I’ll have a chat with
Urso.” He kissed my cheek, whispered, “I love you,” and headed for the door, a hint
of a swagger returning to his gait.

As he exited, I spotted Anabelle trotting along the sidewalk, hair tucked into another
knit cap, her camel sweater, skirt and boot combination trendy. She carried a stack
of boxes. They tilted in the breeze. If I didn’t hurry, the upper box, its top flaps
open, would tumble to the ground.

“Want some help?” I yelled as I dashed out of the shop and across the street.

Anabelle turned her head, her saucer-shaped eyes wide. “Sure do.” She motioned with
her chin. “My Chevy Malibu is over there. The green one.”

I removed the top box from her stack. Her collectible dolls peeked up at me. “Why
did you park so far from the bookshop?”

“Why do you think?” She waited for traffic to clear on the two-way street before stepping
onto the pavement. “Tourists don’t simply take up the parking spaces on the street.
They use the area behind All Booked Up, as well. They’re ruthless. Our meager police
force won’t do anything about ticketing. The guys are overworked as it is.” She set
her load of boxes on the hood and fished in her oversized tote bag. “Listen to me
having a pity party. Silly, isn’t it? Guess I won’t have much longer to grouse about
Providence traffic. I’ll have Chicago’s unruly tourists to deal with.” Her voice caught.
“I don’t want to leave Providence, Charlotte. I was actually building a life here.
I’m
tired of moving, but what can I do? My dad needs me.” She withdrew a set of keys and
pressed two icons on the key chain. The car doors unlocked, and the trunk popped open.
With a small grunt, she lifted the boxes off the hood of the car. “Say, did you hear
about the murder?”

“Yes, terrible.”

“And to think I was interested in that man.”

I had forgotten. When I had helped Octavia unpack boxes at All Booked Up, Anabelle
had mentioned being attracted to the newcomer.

“How fleeting life’s possibilities are,” Anabelle said.

Her words hit home. I needed to jump on the bandwagon and set a wedding date with
Jordan. The sooner the better.

“The victim’s brother came into the bookshop a little while ago,” Anabelle went on.
“He was distraught. His hands were shaking. His name’s Vinnie, I found out. Vincent,
actually.” She stowed the boxes in her trunk, rearranging and shoving until they fit.
She took the box of dolls from me and set it on the passenger seat. Under her breath,
she said, “There, there, Mommy’s right here,” and I bit back a smile. Octavia had
made fun about Anabelle and her dolls the other day. I wouldn’t follow suit.

Anabelle stood up and slammed the door. “What a contrast Vinnie was to how he was
before. When he came into the shop with his brother, he flirted with me even though
he could tell I liked his brother better.” She returned to the trunk, slapped it shut,
and slotted four quarters into the parking meter. “But this time, he was a mess, poor
guy. He asked me if I knew anything about the investigation.”

I said, “I heard that you saw someone tall running from the scene.”

“It was late. I’m not certain what I saw.”

“Were you wearing high heels?”

“What do you think?” She blushed. “Flats and I have never been friends. My father
says I’ve got a Napoleon complex.”

“What did you tell Vinnie?”

“That people were talking about him and his brother, but they weren’t saying much.
You know how it is. They’re gossiping and starting rumors. I hate rumors.” She made
the statement with such vehemence that I wondered what rumors had been said about
her over the years. Was that why she had moved so often? “He said his brother was
carrying a wad of cash. He wanted to know if the police found the money on him.”

“Did they?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, like the police would release that information. You’ve got Urso’s
ear. I saw you walk off with him at the crime scene. Did he tell you what he discovered?”

I shook my head, though I found it interesting that she had been watching Urso and
me.

She leaned toward me. “Vinnie confided something else, Charlotte. I’m wondering if
I should tell Chief Urso.”

“You should mention anything pertinent to the case.”

“How do I know if it’s pertinent?”

“Tell me, and I’ll let you know,” I said, assuring myself that I was helping with
the case in a way Urso could appreciate. Jordan might have gone to talk to Urso, but
I was gaining clues.

“Vinnie said”—Anabelle glimpsed left and right—“that some woman telephoned his brother
in New Jersey and gave him Jacky’s location.”

I flashed on the moment when I had accused Edy of calling Giacomo Capriotti to tell
him that Jacky lived in Providence. She swore that she hadn’t contacted him. In her
defense, she claimed Prudence had overheard the conversation between Jacky, Jordan,
and me, too. But why, I reasoned, would Prudence have contacted Capriotti? I could
see her ratting out someone like Sylvie, whose business was in competition with hers,
but I couldn’t see Prudence ratting out my future sister-in-law. Jacky was one of
the few people in town that Prudence liked.

No, I thought, returning to my previous theory. Edy was the culprit. She had been
a liar in high school. She was lying now. Leopards didn’t change their spots. She
was the one who had called Giacomo Capriotti.

But how would this information help Jacky’s case?

After closing shop, I headed to the Country Kitchen with the twins, Meredith, Matthew,
and Tyanne for a quick bite.

Delilah caught my arm as I entered the diner. “I heard what happened,” she said sotto
voce. She looked fresh in her red gingham waitress costume, her dark curls secured
by a red bow. Men around the diner ogled her. She paid them no mind; she never did.

I glanced at the members of my group as they squeezed into a cheery red booth. Meredith
sat beside Clair, who nudged Amy toward the window. Matthew slid in before Tyanne,
who left room for me. I said to Delilah, “I can’t talk now.”

“I’ve heard the scuttlebutt,” Delilah said. “You know Jacky didn’t do this.”

I nodded. I did know. I felt it deep in my heart.

“She isn’t capable of committing murder. Do something,” Delilah pleaded. She was a
member of our girls’-night-out events. “I adore Jacky. We all do. Talk to Urso.”

In the hours since Jordan had left The Cheese Shop, I hadn’t heard back from him.
How had his conversation gone with Urso? Had he convinced Urso that Jacky was not
guilty? I curbed the itch to call him. He would fill me in soon.

“Let’s discuss this after I eat,” I said to Delilah, then I slid into the booth and
picked up a menu.

She pulled an order pad from her apron pocket. “Who wants today’s special? It’s a
delectable grilled cheese sandwich made with Doux de Montagne cheese, crisp bacon,
onions, and grapes.”

“Grapes?” I said, intrigued.

“The sweetness of the grapes mixed with the salty bacon is divine,” she said. For
the past two years, Delilah had been testing out all sorts of grilled cheese recipes.
She was campaigning for the National Grilled Cheese Challenge to wind up in Providence.
So far, it hadn’t come to pass.

I eyed the twins, who were battling for control of the knob on the tabletop jukebox.
Whichever song they selected would play throughout the restaurant. On the way into
the place, they had dismissed my playful suggestion of “Chapel of Love,” in honor
of the wedding. I said, “Girls, does grilled cheese sound good?”

“Sure,” they said in unison, not looking up.

“How about the rest of you?” I asked.

None of them answered. We had come to the diner to finalize wedding plans—food, flowers,
timing. Tyanne held open a blue leather album filled with pages of floral possibilities.
Matthew and Meredith seemed riveted.

I set the menu in the holder near the jukebox. “Delilah, can you make Clair’s and
my grilled cheese sandwiches gluten-free?”

“You know I can.” She made a notation on her pad.

“Great.” I twirled a finger, including the table with the gesture. “A round of the
special for all of us and a couple of cones of fries.” The Country Kitchen made the
best fries,
super-thin and crisp, all fried in a separate pot of oil so Clair didn’t have to worry
about cross-contamination from other fried foods that were flour-coated. The fries
came in a paper cone set into a silver wire holder. Very cute and retro. “And a pitcher
of Bozzuto root beer.”

Amy stopped spinning the jukebox knob. “When are the waiters going to sing?” she asked.

“As soon as you select something upbeat,” I replied. The diner was incredibly quiet
for a Saturday night. Someone had selected a dirge of a song from the jukebox list.
Perhaps the pall of a murder had subdued everyone.

“We can’t decide,” Clair said. “It’s between two.”

“Heads or tails?” I pulled a quarter from my purse, caught it, and covered it on the
back of my left hand.

“Heads,” Amy chirped. She always answered first.

I revealed the coin. “Tails it is. Clair, pick.”

“This is for Rocket.” Clair reached over Amy, twisted the knob on the jukebox, double-checked
the number, and pressed a button for Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her the song wasn’t about a dog. “It’ll take a minute
or two to crank up.”

“I’m going to miss Rocket.” Clair’s eyes grew teary.

That caught Meredith’s attention.

“Hey, I know.” Amy spanked the table. “What if we make Rocket a show dog? We could
train him and groom him and spend loads of time with him.”

Meredith swiveled in the booth. “Girls, I was talking to your father earlier today.
We decided Rocket can move in with us.”

“Yay,” Amy cried.

“Then I’ll miss Rags,” Clair said. “And so will Rocket.”

“C’mon, Clair-bear. Don’t be sad.” Meredith stroked Clair’s hair. “You’re only going
to be a few blocks away. You can see Rags every day.”

Like an invasive vine, angst wrapped its way around my heart and squeezed. Would the
girls see Rags often enough
if I moved in with Jordan? It would be hard to set up visits without someone driving
the twins to the farm. Guilt made me blurt: “I’ll get you a new cat.”

“You will?” Amy said.

I glanced at Meredith for a visual okay. She shrugged
What can you do?
and mouthed
Deal
.

“Yes,” I said.

“Can we get a Ragdoll like Rags?” Clair said.

“Can we get two cats?” Amy asked. “I like tabbies, too.”

“One,” Meredith said. “We don’t want Rocket to feel outnumbered.”

“Two, please,” Clair and Amy cried in unison.

“We’ll see,” Meredith said. “Won’t we, Matthew?”

If either of them caved now, they would have a hard time saying no to the twins in
the future. I know; I was one of the worst offenders, having just offered a cat without
checking with either of them first.
Bad Charlotte.
Though Matthew and Meredith adored the girls and wanted their new life with them
to be packed full of adventures and good memories, I silently willed them to hold
firm.

“I’m not sure—” Matthew flinched.

Had Meredith given him a gentle kick under the table? I bit back a laugh.

“We’ll see,” he said, amending his statement.

“Here we are.” Delilah set white paper doilies on the table and placed a beverage
on top of each. “Back in a bit.”

I took a sip of my frothy root beer and turned to Matthew. “Any floral decisions?”
I asked, thrilled to change the subject.

He swiveled the album to face me. The page was filled with pictures of sweet williams,
lilies of the valley, and hyacinth. “What do you think?” His face radiated with hope
and joy.

“I’m noting a white theme.”