I did. Because I wasn’t completely sold on the idea that Arlo was innocent of attacking Kaitlyn Clydesdale, I added, “You’ve got to make sure he doesn’t bolt until he’s signed a statement.”
“I do not need you telling me how to do my job,” Urso said.
“I know. It’s just—”
“Charlotte, what am I going to do with you?”
“Ipo is not guilty.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’m checking out all angles.”
“Did you know that Kaitlyn Clydesdale had a lover?” I blurted, remembering an item I had forgotten to include in my previous rundown.
Urso worked his tongue inside his cheek, a telltale sign that meant he hadn’t known. I squelched the urge to cheer. One-upmanship was not my style, but I didn’t want him to bully me out of following my instincts.
“You could have gotten hurt,” he conceded.
“Could have, but didn’t.” I nudged Delilah. “We’ll leave now.”
Urso raised a finger. “In the future, if you impede my investigation—”
“I won’t.” At least, I hoped I wouldn’t. As I reached the door, I pivoted. “Oh, by the way, Delilah thinks Oscar Carson might be stalking Georgia Plachette.”
* * *
I said good night to Delilah, but before heading off to Le Petit Fromagerie to double-check that everything was ready for our grand opening tomorrow, I returned to The Cheese Shop to bring Rebecca up to date. I told her about our raid on Arlo’s home, about Arlo’s propensity for, shall we say, filching things he didn’t need, and about our tete-a-tete with Urso.
Rebecca paced behind the cheese counter like a caged tigress. “It sounds to me like Arlo is guilty. Do you know why he isn’t behind bars?” She didn’t give me a beat to respond. “I’ll tell you why. Because the chief is biased against Ipo.”
I gaped. “Umberto Urso is the least biased person I know.”
“He’s going to lock Ipo up and throw away the key. You watch.”
“No, he’s not. I won’t let him.”
She halted and jutted a finger at me. “Cross your heart.”
I obeyed. Far be it from me to annoy a tigress. “Hope to die,” I added, although I prayed I didn’t need to go that far.
Rebecca wrapped her arms around her chest. “Oh, Charlotte, what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to close up shop and take one day at a time. Got me?” I pecked her on the cheek, then dashed off to the faire.
By eight P.M., though I was exhausted from multiple shifts and my side job of trespassing, I felt Le Petit Fromagerie was ready to open tomorrow evening, thanks to Tyanne’s expert help. What a smart hire she was turning out to be.
“Let’s call it a night,” I said.
Tyanne agreed. As she fetched her purse from beneath the antique buffet table, the door flew open and Amy bolted into the tent.
“Hi, Aunt Charlotte. Hey, Mrs. Taylor. How’s it going?”
“Fine, thanks.” Tyanne set her purse on the table and started rifling through it.
“Hello, Mrs. Taylor.” Clair traipsed in behind her sister. Her blonde hair crackled with electricity as she removed her turquoise knit cap. In her arms, she toted a book about training a dog. She had taken to Rocket. She was the one who played ball with him, tugged rope with him, and combed the shaggy hair from his eyes.
“What are you girls doing here?” I asked.
“We just finished rehearsal,” Amy said.
Matthew and Meredith entered the tent and waved a greeting. Matthew said, “Hey, cuz, did you hear? We’ve sold the most tickets ever for our Founder’s Day celebration. Tomorrow tourists will be flooding the area.”
“Daddy, I was talking,” Amy said.
“Sorry, princess.” Matthew steered Meredith toward the wine-tasting area on the buffet and straightened the stacks of tasting cups. “Please continue.”
Amy whisked off her striped scarf and swung it like a lasso in the air. “Aunt Charlotte, do you want to hear about what happened at rehearsal tonight?” Her cheeks shone pink from the brisk weather; her chocolate brown eyes glistened with enthusiasm. “It was great. Really great. Grandmere listened.”
“And guess who else?” Clair said in singsong fashion.
Amy glowered at her.
Clair tilted a head in Tyanne’s direction. I winked that I understood. Tyanne’s son Thomas must have made an appearance. When I had arrived at the faire earlier, I had seen Thomas and his sister watching their father ice sculpt a second knight on a horse.
“We sang lots of songs,” Amy went on. “Want to hear one?” She burst into a chorus of
“Tommy blew her a kiss,” Clair said.
Amy stopped singing. “His name is Thomas.”
I glanced at Tyanne, who was applying lipstick while trying to stifle a smile. A teensy chortle escaped her mouth. If I wasn’t careful, I would follow her down the path to outright laughter. I nudged her ankle with the toe of my shoe. She nudged me back.
“He was moony-eyed.” Clair tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Or maybe he was feeling queasy because you make him sick.”
Amy huffed and slogged away to inspect jars of jam on the decorated shelves. Clair trotted after while continuing her taunting.
At the same time, Sylvie pushed open the tent door. “Hello, my babies. Did you see Mumsie at the rehearsal?”
How could they have missed her? She was wearing a thickly quilted white outfit with shoulder pads so wide she could have been a hockey goalie … or the Pillsbury Doughboy.
The girls abandoned their tiff and sprinted to their mother. They threw their arms around her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew and Meredith wince. Both had admitted to me that sharing the girls with the ex- wife was hard, especially when the ex-wife didn’t deserve them. Since she had moved back to town, Sylvie had won the girls’ affection, and she wasn’t half-bad as a mother when she focused her full attention on them, but too many times she was
“What are you wearing, Sylvie?” I asked.
“Yes, do tell.” Tyanne’s pert nose curled up as if she had smelled something bad.
Sylvie missed the look. “Like it?” She freed herself of the twins and pirouetted.
“Not really,” Tyanne whispered for my ears only.
“It’s an original Gretchen Grunfeld.”
“Never heard of her,” I said.
“Tosh!” Sylvie said. “Everyone who is anyone has heard of Gretchen Grunfeld.”
I guessed I wasn’t anyone. And I was glad I wasn’t.
“Are you cold, Sylvie?” Meredith asked.
“Must be,” Tyanne said. “An Eskimo would sweat in that.” That dig, Sylvie could hear.
She planted a hand on her quilted hip. “I’ll have you know that this one-of-a-kind outfit is made of wicking material. It breathes.” She bent forward with great effort to display the designer’s tag at the neck.
As she did, I feared she might pop and fly around the room backward. I held my breath. She didn’t. Rats.
“Girls, do you want Mumsie to buy you matching outfits?” She tweaked their chins and grabbed hold of their hands. “Let’s see what I’ve got in my magical tent for my two beautiful daughters.”
Nothing, I imagined. Her wares were for adult women.
“Wait,” Matthew said. “We’re taking the girls for ice cream.”
“Too bad, love. I’m here now.” As Sylvie and the twins reached the door, she turned. “By the by, Charlotte, it smells sort of musty in here. I’d spruce it up if I were you. A spritz of patchouli incense might do the trick.”
