Clobbered by Camembert

“How so?”

“They were separated. Would a pu’ili stick make this kind of bruise?”

“Possibly. The bands of the bamboo would jut out and not hit the skin flush. There would be spaces in between, so the bruises wouldn’t be one mass.”

He hummed and rubbed his chin again. “What else could make such a bruise and leave fibers?”

“A hatbox-style cheese container could,” Amy said.

“Could not,” Clair countered.

“Could so. It’s got bands on it.”

“It’s made of wood.”

“Not all of them.” Amy took on the same righteous tone that my grandmother did whenever she argued. “Some are made from bamboo.”

“They’re not hard enough,” Clair countered.

“Are, too. Tell her, Aunt Charlotte.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m afraid Clair is—” I stopped myself as an image flickered at the edges of my mind.

“What is it?” Pepere asked.

“On the night of Kaitlyn’s death, Rebecca took a round of Emerald Isles goat cheese to add to her cheese platter.”

“That particular cheese is cased in just such a bamboo container,” Pepere said.

“See?” Amy turned to Clair, who blew air up her bangs in frustration. They fluttered then settled down.

I wracked my brain, trying to remember if I had seen either the cheese or the box when I had scanned Rebecca’s cottage that night from my position beyond the Dutch door. I recalled the makings of the cheese platter on the pass-through counter. Rebecca had laid out a wedge of Manchego, Rouge et Noir Brie, and Chevrot, as well as crackers, cheese knives, and a jar of honey. But I couldn’t remember seeing the goat cheese. I said, “The Emerald Isles box wasn’t there after Kaitlyn died. I would stake my reputation on it.”

Pepere said, “But, cherie, Ipo could not have knocked Kaitlyn over with a box of cheese.”

“What if the box was filled with rocks?” Amy asked.

“That’s a silly question,” Clair said.

“Rebecca says there are no silly questions.” Amy huffed. “Besides, Ipo is strong. Have you seen his muscles?”

“But Rebecca was there,” Clair protested, “and she said he didn’t do it.”

“That is enough, mes filles. No more talk.” Pepere nudged the girls’ shoulders. “Back to our project.”

As they set to work, I thought of Arlo again. What if Kaitlyn’s promise to reveal his secret had sent him over the edge? What if he had lied about not stealing Ipo’s pu’ili sticks? Arlo played cards with Ipo. He might have known where Ipo stowed the luau instruments. He could have gone to Rebecca’s, fought with Kaitlyn, and whacked her with one of the pu’ili sticks. As Kaitlyn fell and struck her head on the coffee table, Arlo could have noticed the cheese platter and, unable to restrain his kleptomaniac compulsion, taken the goat cheese. He had a stash of filched hatbox-style cheese containers in his home.

CHAPTER

Perched on one of the dining chairs at my grandparents’ table, I whipped my cell phone from my purse and dialed Urso to tell him my renewed suspicions about Arlo. Urso didn’t answer his phone—no big surprise. He probably saw my number on his caller ID and opted to ignore me, the toad. I dialed a second time, listened to three cheery rings and an annoying beep, hung up and dialed again. I could be a pest when provoked.

Grandmere pushed open the dining room door and peeked in. “Charlotte, my ladies are leaving, and I am putting together a snack for the girls before they go to their chorale rehearsal. Are you hungry? I am cooking Parmesan zucchini circles. Votre favori.”

My mouth watered instantly. At about the twins’ age, I had gone through a cycle where I had wanted zucchini every day for a month—probably because it was growing rampant in my grandparents’ garden. My grandmother couldn’t brew a decent pot of coffee, but she could cook up a storm—in a variety of styles. Back then, she had made stuffed, baked, and barbecued zucchini for me. She had incorporated it into bread, pasta, salads, and even hamburgers. I couldn’t remember the last time she had made circles—succulent pieces of zucchini dipped in a Parmesan batter and fried to a golden brown. Major comfort food. Exactly what I needed when irritated with our dear, sweet, dedicated chief of police.

I said, “I’d love some, thanks! Can you hurry?”

“Five minutes.” She disappeared into the kitchen. The door swung shut.

Pepere said, “Girls, remove the aerator from the box and place the pieces on the table.”

As the twins obeyed, I entered Urso’s number on speed dial and pressed Send again. And again and again. I muttered under my breath. He was adding a second deputy to his roster. He could certainly spare a moment to answer my call. If I’d had the time, I would have tracked him down to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, but I only had fifteen minutes, tops, before I had promised to open Le Petit Fromagerie at the faire. When Urso didn’t answer after my twelfth attempt, I stabbed End on my cell phone.

“What’s wrong, Aunt Charlotte?” Clair rested a supportive hand on my shoulder.

“Nothing. I’m just mad at a friend.”

“At Chief Urso?” Amy said.

How did she know? I hadn’t spoken his name aloud during any of my phone call attempts.

“Amy, hand me the screwdriver,” Pepere said.

She plucked it from a wicker basket and held it out to him, handle first.

“Why are you mad at Chief Urso?” Clair asked.

“Because Aunt Charlotte wants to tell him that some cheese boxes are made from bamboo,” Amy said. “Right?”

“Girls, fetch me a cloth.” Pepere gestured at the stack of cloths on the buffet.

As they scuttled to do his bidding, he lasered me with a look. I got the message. It was time to end this conversation. For the girls’ sakes. I set the cell phone on the dining table and twirled it in a huff. Watching it spin, I thought of Kaitlyn Clydesdale and the telephone call that had incensed her. Was the call crucial to the case? Had Urso followed up?

I picked up the phone and dialed Urso one more time. If he could link the telephone call to Arlo and connect Arlo to the missing goat cheese, he might be able to weave this murder mystery to an end.

As I waited through three more rings, Pepere laid his hand over mine. “Let it go, cherie.”

“This time I’m leaving a message.”

“Do not burn the bridge.” He held up his hands. “I am only saying.”

The girls trotted to him and, giggling, flapped their white cloths at me like surrender flags.

I covered the mouthpiece and mock-snarled, “Very funny.”

They giggled louder. Pepere snatched the cloths, warned them with a stern finger, and started to polish pieces of the aerator to a shine.

I listened to Urso’s greeting message. After the beep, I forced my voice to be light and deliberately charming. “Urso, it’s me, Charlotte. I was wondering—did you happen to follow up on the mysterious phone call to Kaitlyn Clydesdale? I have a tidbit of a thought to offer. Call me.”

When I hung up, Pepere said, “A tidbit of a thought?”

I shrugged. Fine, perhaps I had sounded phony. Urso would have to deal with it.

Amy said, “Didn’t Chief Urso already pull up telephone records?”

“Of course, he did,” Clair said. “That’s one of the first things the police do.”

I gaped. “Where did you two learn something like that?”

“On TV,” they said in unison.