Clobbered by Camembert

hung up.

To quell the pent-up anxiety peppering my system, I went looking for my cousin. I needed someone sane to talk to, but Matthew wasn’t in the wine annex. I glanced at Rebecca in the kitchen, who was hovering beside her boyfriend, Ipo, as he unloaded jars of honey from a box. Now was not the time to burden her with my troubles. But it was time to get to work.

“Rebecca, let’s get a move on,” I said.

She blew Ipo a kiss and joined me at the cheese counter. Standing together, we looked like a team—she in her ivory shawl-necked sweater and slim black trousers, I in my ecru V-neck and slate chinos.

“Perhaps we should start checking with each other regarding our wardrobe,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to think we have a uniform policy.”

“Just good taste,” she quipped.

“Grab that marble tray with the silver handles,” I said. “Lay out a wedge of Tilsiter on it.” The soft yellow, semi-hard cow’s cheese with Prussian origins would look good against the black. “Let’s add the Brebirousse D’Argental.”

She cocked her head, not following.

“You know, the sheep’s cheese with the orange rind and milky goodness. And add that Alabama Fromagerie Belle goat’s cheese. Then let’s set out a jar of raspberry jam and lay a couple of jewel-handled spreaders in the middle.” I glanced behind me. “Do we have any of the Providence Patisserie sourdough bread?”

“Yes.” She fetched a baguette.

“Perfect. Slice it thin and toss the slices into this basket.” I placed a gold napkin into a shallow, square basket and flipped the corners of the napkin over the edges. Easy but elegant. “When the tasting is over, we’re off to the tent. Tyanne is already there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for—” Rebecca gasped and pointed. “What’s he doing here?”

Urso lumbered into the shop, a deep crease forged between his eyebrows. He said, “Where’s Ipo Ho?”

I looked toward the kitchen. Urso didn’t wait for an invitation. He strode between the display barrels, around the cheese counter, toward the rear of the shop, and into the kitchen.

Rebecca said, “Oh, no. He’s going to arrest Ipo.” She scuttled after him. I followed.

“Ipo Ho.” Urso advanced.

Ipo backed into the doublewide refrigerator. If he wasn’t guilty, he sure looked it.

Undaunted, Rebecca wiggled herself between the man she loved and the man who wanted to incarcerate him and tilted her chin upward. “Why are you here, Chief? What are you doing about Arlo MacMillan? Have you investigated him? Is he guilty?”

“Miss Zook, please step aside.”

“I asked you a question.”

“No, you asked me four.”

“Getting technical, are we?”

Urso jammed his hands into his pockets, trying to look as casual as he could, but he didn’t fool me. He was on to something. “I’m investigating everyone I think has motive at this point, okay? Arlo, included.”

“Then why are you here?” Rebecca demanded. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, and you’ve already asked Ipo everything but his suit size.”

“I have one more question for him.”

“Like what?”

Urso prodded Rebecca to one side and addressed Ipo. “Where are your pu’ili sticks, Mr. Ho?”

“His what?” Rebecca looked blank.

Ipo gazed to the right, toward the kitchen’s exit. Was he thinking about bolting? Don’t be a fool, I silently urged him. As if picking up my message, he settled his shoulders and raised his head proudly. His guilty mien melted away. “Pu’ili sticks,” he said to Rebecca. “They’re luau instruments, too, about twenty inches long with one end uncut and the rest split into thin strips. They make a shaking-rattling sound when slapped against the body.”

“I’ve seen those,” Rebecca said.

Urso said, “You have?”

“In an episode of Hawaii Five-O. They were having this party, and—”

“Miss Zook, please be quiet. Where are they, Mr. Ho?”

Rebecca looked to me for help.

I moved closer. “Chief, I thought you said a kala’au rod was the weapon used to knock down Kaitlyn Clydesdale.”

“We’ve changed our minds.”

“You and who, the coroner?”

Urso gave a curt nod. “He found bamboo fibers lodged in Miss Clydesdale’s neck. Bamboo fibers like those found in pu’ili sticks.”

“A pu’ili stick is hardly strong enough to use as a weapon,” I said.

Urso focused the brunt of his gaze on me. “Ipo could have had the stick in his hand and struck her with one end.” He showed us the swift move. “Miss Clydesdale would have stumbled backward and hit her head.” He eyed Ipo. “Is that what happened? Were you serenading Miss Zook?”

“No!” Rebecca mewled like a wounded cat.

Ipo wrapped his arm around her. “Shhh. It’s all right.” He addressed Urso. “Chief, you know I didn’t do this, but if you want to see the sticks, I can show you. They should be in a storage box in my attic.”

“You already showed me—”

“Not that storage box,” Ipo said, his voice steady. “Another one. Half of the instruments belonged to my father’s family. The other half to my mother’s. Theirs was not an approved marriage. In their honor, I have never mixed any of their heritage. I have two separate storage boxes. My mother’s—”

“Let’s go.” Urso headed out of the shop.

Ipo offered a supportive glance to Rebecca and followed Urso.

A thick silence hung in the air after their departure.

“C’mon,” I said to Rebecca. “Back to work.” I strode to the cheese counter and did a mental inventory of what I needed to reorder.

Rebecca trotted after me. “Charlotte.” She clutched her hands in front of herself, begging with more sincerity than any penitent. “Do something. He’s not guilty.”

“Charlotte!” Sylvie barged into the shop.

Prudence Hart hurried in behind her. Both wore horrid thigh-length coats, neither of which went well with the women’s skin tone. Prudence’s was speckled orange, Sylvie’s oxblood red. How they ever convinced themselves that they were fashionistas was beyond me.

Sylvie said, “Wait’ll you hear—”

“Don’t listen to her, Charlotte,” Prudence said.

“Charlotte,” Rebecca whispered.

I petted her cheek. “Get back to work on the platters. I’ll follow up with Urso. Promise. We’ll figure this out.”

Prudence stomped her foot. “She’s been telling everybody that Georgia Plachette said Kaitlyn Clydesdale was not a nice person.”

“But Georgia is telling people that,” Sylvie said. “I heard her with my own ears.”

I moaned. I had felt stretched as thin as taffy before, but now I felt like a frayed rubber band ready to snap. I whirled on Sylvie and Prudence and jabbed my finger. “Stop it. Both of you.” I weaved past them to the cheese counter and resumed my slicing.

“Kaitlyn was a wonderful woman,” Prudence said, heedless of my warning.

“You’re only saying that because she came through with a donation to the historical museum.” Sylvie folded her arms across her ample chest. “Money, money, money. Is that all you ever think about?”

I looked at her askance. Like she didn’t?

“But Kaitlyn didn’t come through.” Prudence’s face turned sour.