Brisk air followed her inside. A shiver squiggled down my spine. She sashayed behind the counter and clutched my elbow. “That creepy guy is on the loose again.”
“Who do you mean?” I cut a look from Rebecca, who sniffed because I had allowed my attention to be diverted, and back to Delilah, who seemed miffed beyond compare.
“Oscar what’s-his-name,” Delilah said. “You know who I mean. He wears that stupid hat and trench coat all the time. He’s stalking the new gal in town. Starts with a G.”
“Georgia Plachette.”
“That’s it.”
I shook my head. For a former actress, Delilah sure couldn’t remember last names well. Not that she had to. At the diner she called people
“The creep is obsessed with her, I think,” Delilah went on. “We should tell Urso. C’mon.” She guided me toward the exit.
“Uh-uh.” Rebecca scooted around the counter and blocked our path, hands on hips. “We’re checking out Arlo MacMillan.” She leveled me with a glare that sent shivers to my toes. How well my grandmother had trained her.
Delilah huffed.
Caught between two formidable goddesses, I said, “Arlo first.”
Rebecca clapped with smug glee and started for the exit.
CHAPTER
It was my turn to play defensive lineman. I darted to the front door of The Cheese Shop and blocked Rebecca, making full body contact. She bounced off me and staggered backward in the direction of one of The Cheese Shop barrels. I pursued her.
“What’s wrong?” She attempted a defiant pose.
“You’re not going. Not this time.”
“Why not?”
“Because you like your job.”
She frowned. “You’re kidding. You’d fire me?”
I wouldn’t. Not in a million years. But I also wanted to rein her in. I promised to report back as soon as possible. A teenager assigned to kitchen duty couldn’t have looked more miserable.
On our way out of town, Delilah and I drove past the Winter Wonderland faire where ice sculptors were fine- tuning their ice blocks and vendors were making last-minute finishes to their tents. The lights on the tents and pine trees twinkled with magical delight.
“What a night!” With her head all the way out the passenger window, Delilah reminded me of a dog, her curls flapping like floppy ears. “This is what fairy tales are made of.”
The sliver of sun that dared to make an appearance in the afternoon hadn’t dried up the moisture in the air.
“Close the window,” I said. “It’s freezing in here.”
“You think this is cold?” She chuckled. “Try getting around New York in a sleet storm.”
As we headed north, I whizzed past a variety of roadside stores, including garden shops that wouldn’t open their doors until April and a shed maker who also made playhouses. The twins had been begging for a pink and white mini-mansion. Matthew promised that when Meredith and he got married and moved into their own home, he would buy the girls the house. While growing up, I’d had something similar at my grandparents’ house, but it was now painted ten layers of white and held a lawn mower and garden tools. A memory of kissing Chip in the shed swept through my mind. I stepped harder on the gas pedal as our view became mile after mile of farms and rough- hewn fences, each laced with barbed wire to keep livestock penned in. The wood glistened with crystallized particles of ice.
“Thinking about Chip?” Delilah said, a teasing bite to her question.
I glowered at her. How had she guessed?
“What was he doing at the store?” she asked.
“How did you know he was there?”
“He was carrying one of your tote bags.”
I drummed the steering wheel.
“At some point you have to talk about him,” Delilah said. “There’s an elephant in the car. Is he stalking you like Oscar’s stalking Georgia?”
“No. And Oscar’s not stalking Georgia.”
“Oh, yes, he is.”
“He likes her.”
“That doesn’t give him the right to moon about. It doesn’t give Chip the right, either.”
I drummed the steering wheel harder.
“Georgia was at the diner,” Delilah said. “She sat at the counter, drinking a root beer and mumbling to herself. She looked pretty torn up. When I asked her what was wrong, she said she didn’t believe for a second that Oscar witnessed the giggling incident between Rebecca and Ipo. She said it would be just like him to make that up.”
That piqued my attention. Oscar had said that he wanted to get to know Georgia better, meaning he didn’t know her well, but her statement implied a deeper intimacy. What was the truth?
Delilah said, “Tell me, why are we in such a hurry to see Arlo?”
“He’s been acting pretty suspicious.” I related what Lois had told me.
“But Arlo’s always shifty, so why the giddyup now?”
“Someone made a call to Kaitlyn Clydesdale when she was at The Cheese Shop. She was not happy and threatened the caller. She said, ‘
“And you think she was talking to Arlo.”
“It’s as good a guess as any.” I turned on my bright headlights. With no streetlamps, the curves of the road were harder to navigate as dusk turned to dark. “She was buying the property next to his. Maybe she had designs on his place, too. Maybe that made him mad.”
“Angry enough to kill?” Delilah tapped the car door with her fingernails. “You know, Arlo’s great-grandfather was among the original settlers in Providence. He’s lived here his whole life. Preserving one’s heritage might be a strong motive for murder. On the other hand, how would Kaitlyn know that Arlo’s homeland mattered to him?”
“She lived here years ago,” I said.
Delilah thumped her thigh. “Whoa, didn’t know that.”
“She and Arlo were about the same age,” I added. “Do you think he might have been having a relationship with her?”
“Not Arlo.” Delilah frittered her hand. “No way. Have you taken a look at him lately? He’s pasty and has that perpetual sneer. And he’s always wearing that dreadful oversized overcoat. For all we know, he’s a flasher.” She laughed heartily. “My, oh, my, did we have a lot of flashers in New York. I don’t miss running around the lake in Central Park, I’m telling you. You know, Arlo’s an enigma,” she went on, changing the subject easily. “I remember him, years ago, bringing candy into the Country Kitchen and passing it around. He was sweet and not so”—she searched for a word—“odd.”
I swerved around a cattle truck and nearly came nose-to-nose with an Econoline van. Braking, I fell in behind the truck. Delilah gripped the handle over the passenger window.
“Slow down,” she said. “Arlo’s not going anywhere.”
I veered up the road that entered the property between the Burrells’ place and Quail Ridge Honeybee Farm.
“Something went screwy with Arlo once his wife died.” Delilah twisted in her seat to face me. “Do you think that’s what happens when someone doesn’t have a mate to help them through life?” Her voice caught.
I glanced over. “Are you okay?”
