Clobbered by Camembert

Jacky. I didn’t want Delilah moving away because she was forlorn.

“Charlotte, follow me.” Octavia guided me to the added-on sunroom at the rear of the library. Sun had broken through the clouds outside and, despite the cool weather, warmed the room via solar panels.

Octavia indicated a teensy stool beside a squat table. Readers occupied all the comfy chairs nestled beside the windows. I sat first, feeling a bit like Gulliver in the land of Lilliputians.

“What do you want to ask me?” Octavia said.

I told her about Rebecca’s belief that Barton Burrell might have killed Kaitlyn. “She thinks he’s lying about his alibi. She’s certain there’s something more to his business deal with Kaitlyn. Did you broker the sale?”

“I did.”

“Did he want to cancel the deal?”

“Yes.”

Rebecca was on the right track. I said, “And did he?”

“He couldn’t.” Octavia set her turban on the table and took a considerable amount of time twisting it until the feather was flopping away from her.

“Because Kaitlyn had a clause that favored her, is that right?”

Octavia cocked her thumb and forefinger at me like a gun. “Good guess.”

It wasn’t actually a guess. Our contract with the former owner of our building contained a similar clause.

“The contract was rock solid,” Octavia said. “That CFO of Clydesdale Enterprises made us go over it line by line. Everything was in order. All the inspections were done and completed to Clydesdale Enterprises’ satisfaction. Barton could not back out.”

“Not even if he paid a penalty?”

She shook her head. “The only one who could alter the scenario was Kaitlyn.”

“Why did Barton change his mind about selling? I’m guessing that he needs the money. He’s been doing odd jobs at Lavender and Lace.”

Octavia chewed the inside of her lip, obviously reluctant to answer.

I shifted in my chair. “I get it. You can’t tell me because of Realtor/client privilege.”

“Yes … and no.” Octavia beckoned me to lean forward and whispered, “The Burrells have had a rough go this past year.”

“The cattle farm is suffering.”

“Not only that. Emma …” Octavia rubbed her thighs, obviously needing time to mull over the moral issue of revealing secrets to me. Finally she said, “You know Barton and Emma have been married for ten years.”

I had attended the late summer wedding. They had rented Harvest Moon Ranch for the occasion. Emma had waltzed beneath the arbors looking like a fashion plate in her tiered white gown.

Octavia continued. “They have three sons, but Emma really wants a daughter.”

“Is she pregnant?” Having three children could put a strain on a pocketbook, but having a fourth could break the bank.

“They’ve tried a few times. Each time, Emma … miscarried.”

“Oh, my!” I slapped my hand over my mouth and said through spread fingers, “I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t imagine suffering a miscarriage, let alone multiple ones. Nobody deserved that fate. Especially Emma. She was a goodhearted woman. She campaigned vociferously for organic farm choices and had served as a Cub Scout den mother for all three boys, which took grit. “That gives her all the more reason to sell. She could leave Providence and the sad memories behind her.”

“Except it’s also the reason she wants to stay. This is their home. This is where they both grew up. Emma is convinced she must have her daughter in Providence.” Octavia rested her hands in her lap. “You said they provided Chief Urso with alibis.”

“They told U-ey that they were watching TV.”

“Well, then.”

“Rebecca thinks their alibis ring false.”

“People do watch television, Charlotte.”

“What if Emma thought her only way out of the binding contract was to get rid of Kaitlyn?”

Octavia clicked her burgundy fingernails on the tabletop. “No, I don’t see Emma as a violent woman.”

“What about Barton? A man protecting his family can be fierce. If he knew where to find Ipo’s kala’au rods —”

Octavia coughed.

“You know something. Tell me.”

Octavia sat straighter. “Mind you, I don’t believe the Burrells are guilty for a second.”

“Got that.”

“But Barton and Ipo play cards every Thursday night at Ipo’s house. He might have known where Ipo kept those instruments.”

CHAPTER

In one fell swoop, dusk settled around the town like a theater backdrop. The skies grew dark purple. Polaris, the brightest star in Ursa Major, twinkled with persistence, offering a glimmer of hope to the hopeless. As a girl, I loved to walk at night and wish upon stars and predict my future. Sometimes I talked to my parents and felt sure they were listening up in heaven. On this evening, I did both.

So why, when I reentered Fromagerie Bessette, did my blithe spirit wane? Because Chip and Jordan were both there. Chip stood at the tasting counter, chatting it up with Lois and her husband Ainsley, while Jordan lingered near the jars of honey, glowering at the trio. Jordan inclined his head, signaling he wanted a private chat, but as much as I needed to get a handle on his past, I knew I couldn’t dally. A flurry of customers filled the shop, as well.

Where were Rebecca, Tyanne, and Matthew? They couldn’t all be downstairs checking out the cellar.

I headed for the rack of aprons at the rear of the store. “Grab a number, folks.” I hadn’t wanted to resort to a number system in The Cheese Shop, but I had succumbed a few months ago. The crowds at the holidays had overwhelmed me.

Chip laughed heartily. “Good one, Ainsley!” He punched Ainsley on the arm and laughed again, louder than he needed to. Was he trying to show up Jordan? He was failing miserably. I had never enjoyed Chip’s bluster, and he knew it.

“Hey, babe!” Chip cut me off near the arch to the annex. “Looking beautiful, as always.” He pecked me on the cheek.

For a guy who had just lost his meal ticket, he seemed too primed and pumped. Concern prickled the back of my neck. Did he have something to do with Kaitlyn’s death? No, no, no. Chip was impulsive. He had a temper, but he would never lash out. He would smolder like a heap of ashes and attack with verbal undercuts—a snipe here, a snipe there. It had taken years to rebuild my confidence after he left. I could never explain why I missed him and sobbed myself to sleep, and I had tried explaining—to two different therapists.

I swiped his moist kiss off my skin, snagged an apron, and moved to my position behind the cheese counter. “Who’s got number”—I glanced at the wall behind me—“fifty-seven?”

“Me.” Chip waved a tag in the air.

“You bought cheese earlier,” I said, unable to curtail the miffed tone in my voice.

“And I shared it with the folks at the inn. Let’s see, give me a wedge of that Point Reyes Farmstead blue. That’s one of your favorites, isn’t it? I remember something about it being so good because of the combination of the milk from the Holstein cows and the coastal fog and”—he wagged a finger—“something else.”

“The salty Pacific breeze,” I said.

“That’s it.” As I prepared his order, he sauntered back to Lois and Ainsley. “Hey, babe, we were talking about the game last night.” He elbowed Ainsley. “Tell her.”

Ainsley, a brick of a man, equal in height to Chip and Jordan but squarer, raked his thinning red hair. “It was