To Brie or Not to Brie (20 page)

“No.”

“You say things like
stand down
.”

“It’s an expression.”

“You know jujitsu and karate.”

“Which I learned in the army.”

“Were you Special Forces? Were you a spy?”

His eyes crinkled, and he smiled the smile that melted my heart. “I’m too heavy-footed
to be a spy.”

Ha! He was as fleet and stealthy as a tiger. I had seen him catch a quail bare-handed.

I jutted a finger at his nose. “Tell me about the dog tags I found hidden beneath
the photographs in the claw-foot oak hutch.”

He released me, jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, and heaved a sigh. “I thought
you’d stumbled upon them, but I wasn’t sure. They’re not mine.”

I searched his face. “Why do you keep them then?”

He drew a heavy breath and closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them
again, his gaze landed on me. “They’re my brother’s tags.”

“You have a brother?”

“I
had
a brother…a younger brother.” His eyes grew moist, his cheeks flushed. The emotions
he held back made my breath catch in my chest, but I didn’t say a word lest I disturb
the tenuous moment. “We went to war together. He didn’t come back.”

What could I say? Nothing that would matter. I drew Jordan into my arms and stroked
his back. Before I knew it, he was clutching me as though there were no tomorrow.
He sobbed into my shoulder once. Only once. After a long moment, he pressed away from
me and cupped my fingertips in his.

I said, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you would have wanted to know his name. You would have researched him on
the Internet. You like to do that.”

My cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

“That search would have led back to me. All it takes is one weak link to draw people
to my location.”

“Like Vinnie.”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“But I do. He’s violent.” I blurted everything that Vinnie said to me outside his
car. “He wants money. Hush money.”

Needless to say, Jordan, like Meredith, wasn’t happy that I had taken the risk. “Charlotte,
Charlotte, Charlotte.” He had said the same to me nights before, but then my name
was uttered in the throes of passion. Now, he was talking through clenched teeth.
“I need you to back off. I’ll handle Vinnie.”

Something in those words jolted me to my core. “You can’t—”

“Legally,” he said, cutting me off. “I will handle him legally. I will never operate
outside the law.”

“You’re going to pay him off?”

“I’ll do something. I repeat, legal.” He kissed my eyelids and then my ear. He nibbled
gently as he ran an idle finger up my back and stopped to work a knot out of my neck
muscles.

Every fiber of me tingled with anticipation. But now wasn’t the time or the place
to give in to lust. Besides, a question burned inside my mind. I stopped his hand
from working its magic and held it against my chest. “You have to answer one more
thing. Your last name is Pierce. What’s your real first name?”

“James Jordan Pierce. You can call me Jordan.”

Brimming with energy, I rose the next morning before the cock crowed. In a little
less than an hour, I showered, changed, did a few chores, and fixed breakfast. When
the twins settled at the table for a batch of gluten-free pancakes topped with shredded
Havarti and a dollop of homemade apricot jam, I drizzled maple syrup on their pancakes.
While we ate, we discussed homework and the upcoming
Stomping the Grapes
footrace. As I did dishes, Matthew scooted in, grabbed a granola bar, and whooshed
the girls off to school. Clair would do arts and crafts, and Amy would romp around
the playground until first bell.

At The Cheese Shop, I plunged into my daily routines, making quiches and the day’s
sandwiches. Rebecca appeared an hour after me and immediately started arranging The
cheeses in the display case.

“Incoming.” Matthew tramped into the kitchen with a tripod easel looped over one shoulder
and a box of wineglasses
tucked under his other arm. He headed toward the cellar door and tried to toe it open.

“When did you get here?” I hurried to help. “I didn’t see you arrive.”

“I’m sneaky.”

“Aren’t you a busy beaver?” I slipped the box from his grasp. I wasn’t worried about
product damage as much as I worried about him breaking his neck as he descended the
stairs carrying awkward items. He was acting a little crazed, of late. I chalked it
up to pre-wedding jitters. “What’s the easel for?”

“I’m going to post a chart of all the wines, their attributes, and the regions they
come from,” he said. “A separate chart column will pair the wines with cheeses.” My
cousin was nothing if not thorough.

“Perhaps you should make the rehearsal dinner a little more simple, you know, with
the move, and well, everything.”

He shot me a cockeyed grin. “This coming from the multitasker who woke early to pack
the girls’ bathroom items, walk the dog and cat, make a gourmet breakfast, and then
opened the store and infused it with these fabulous aromas.”

“Why, thank you for the compliment.”

“I mean it, Charlotte. My stomach is grumbling for a taste of the Swiss chard and
nutmeg quiche.”

“I’ll save you a slice.” I opened the cellar door and gestured for him to descend
first. “Rebecca,” I called over my shoulder. “Tyanne is coming in for a quick hour
this morning. Have her spruce up the display barrels. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Okay,” she answered.

I followed Matthew downstairs, drinking in the briny aroma and inhaling the moisture
as I neared the basement floor. No single cave system was right for every cheese
maker or cheese shop owner. Thanks to Jordan’s design, our cellar was the perfect
size to house all the wines and wheels of cheese we wanted to age. We had fitted the
cellar with white brick walls and dozens of wood racks. Wheels of cheeses ordered
from nearly every state in America sat on the shelves; some needed a tad longer to
mature before we could sell them.

“Set the glasses on the buffet table over there.” Matthew gestured toward the alcove,
an eight-foot round niche. We had commissioned a local artist to paint a faux window
with a view of Providence. Below the painting stood a rustic buffet. In the center
of the alcove, Matthew had placed a mosaic table and six chairs. I reflected fondly
on the intimate meal of cheese, salami, and champagne that Jordan and I had shared
the night we finished the cellar’s construction.

“By the way,” Matthew said, his conversational tone turning strained. “Meredith tells
me you’ve been nosing around. You’re trying to find out who killed Giacomo Capriotti.”

I set the box of glasses on the rustic wooden counter. “C’mon. Don’t you start razzing
me like your future bride.”

“Meredith is worried. Heck, I’m worried.”

“You needn’t be.”

“Isn’t Urso doing his job?”

“He thinks Jacky might be guilty of the crime, but she’s not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

As Matthew unfolded the easel and hooked its legs in place, I filled him in on my
aborted search of Vinnie Capriotti’s car, the leather address book that Vinnie had
shaken in my face, and Vinnie’s demand for hush money. Then I shared my feelings about
Hugo’s iffy alibi, Anabelle’s flimsy eyewitness account, and Edy’s possible connection
to the murder via an anonymous call.

“Are those your only suspects?” Matthew asked.

“Edy swears Prudence overheard the conversation about Jacky’s husband, too, but why
would she have called him? What did she have to gain?”

“Maybe she blackmailed him. From what I hear, Prudence is a little low on cash.”

“So is everyone in town.” My thoughts returned to Edy. How much was Freckles paying
her? Enough to keep her outfitted in her expensive bohemian clothes and jewelry?

“
Chérie
,” my grandmother called from the top of the stairs. “Are you below?”

“
Oui
,” I said. “I’m coming up.” I kissed Matthew on the cheek. “Don’t worry about me.
I promise I’ll be careful. And don’t stay in the cellar too long. With all the hours
you’ve spent down here, I’m afraid you’ll become one with the environment.”

He chuckled.

As I rounded the corner from the kitchen into the main shop, I spotted Grandmère waiting
at the cheese counter, her arm looped through Pépère’s. She wore a handmade shirred
midi dress in warm autumn tones and looked absolutely glowing.

“Look who is up and about,” Grandmère said, her tone cheerier than I had heard in
days.

To my delight, my grandfather’s skin looked robust. Whatever sickness he had suffered
had passed. I skirted the register and kissed him,
la bise,
with a quick peck to each cheek. “You look
merveilleux
,” I said. He did. Absolutely marvelous. His eyes sparkled with good humor.

“Charlotte, a little assistance,” Rebecca cried, voice muffled. She stood bent over,
half of her reaching into the cheese case. “Tyanne’s otherwise occupied.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Rebecca extricated herself from the case and motioned at the knot of local actors
huddling around Tyanne near the honey display. From what I could hear, she was instructing
them about the benefits of the gooey goodness. Stratton and his history teacher buddy
seemed the most enraptured.

“Your grandmother has brought the gang for lunch,” Rebecca continued. “And we have
a group of tourists roaming the wine annex, too.”

Grandmère eyed me. “I am serving a picnic on the set. You have enough sandwiches for
all,
non, chérie?
”

I nodded.

“I will help.” Pépère released Grandmère, fetched an apron, and shuffled to the front
of the cheese counter.

“Do not exert yourself, Étienne,” my grandmother said.

“
C’est rien
.” Looking revitalized, he clapped his hands. “
Mes amis
, gather around. Make your choices.” He peered at the sandwiches in the case, each
of which was affixed with a detailed label. “We are offering basil pesto, roast chicken,
and mozzarella on homemade focaccia; Swiss and salami with chutney mustard and grilled
onions on French bread; and my personal favorite, Tomme de Crayeuse, ham, and sweet
pickle relish on an onion roll. What will it be?”

The actors swarmed him, all talking at once.

To escape the din of their chatter, I clutched my grandmother’s elbow and steered
her to the archway between the shop and the wine annex. “Why aren’t you rehearsing
at night?”

“We are, but the play is lacking oomph. I asked the cast if they could rehearse during
the day. Many could. I bribed them with lunch, of course.” She winked. “Let me also
have a sampling of cheeses and salami. For the crew. They are hard at work, sawing
and building.”

“
Mon dieu
,” Pépère’s voice sliced the air.

I spun around. My grandfather’s face was bright red, his eyes pinpoints of angst.
My grandmother and I raced to him.

She gripped his shoulder. “Étienne, sit.”

He shook her off, jammed his fists on his hips, and stared daggers at her. “Why did
you not tell me, Bernadette?”

“Tell you what?”

“Why did you not tell me about
le meurtre
? A man is dead?”

The actors, who must have spilled the beans, were as mute as mimes.

“Jacky’s husband was killed,” I said.

“
Oui, oui.
I know that much. Why would you keep me in the dark,
mon amie
?” Pépère asked. My grandmother reached to caress his cheek. He gripped her wrist.
“Speak.”

“I worried about your heart,” she said.

“My heart is fine.”

“But you are getting—”

“Stop.” He released her and held up both palms. “Do not say it. Do not say
older
. I am not getting older; I am getting wiser. Is this not what Americans say?” His
mouth curled into a smile.

Grandmère released a tense breath and threw her arms around his neck. “The French
say it, too, you old fool.”

“Wise,” he insisted. “I am a
wise
fool.” He peeled her arms away and held both of her hands in his. “Now, from the
beginning. What happened?”

Grandmère filled him in with the sketchy details. That Giacomo Capriotti, Jacky’s
husband, was found bludgeoned to death in the Igloo.

“Jacky was married?” Pépère said. “I had no clue.”

“
Bien sûr.
She had a baby.”

“But not with him,” I said. “It’s complicated.”

“Many women have babies on their own nowadays,” Pépère said. “It has become a custom.”
He ogled me, as if willing me to have one on the spot.

A ripple of giggles fluttered through me. My neck and face flushed with warmth. We
had never had this conversation. He didn’t expect me to respond, did he?

Grandmère grabbed his chin and swiveled it back so his focus remained on her. “Do
not be a goose. Charlotte will become a mother in time.”

Pépère shrugged. I breathed a sigh of relief, off the hook for now.