them on her sweater, then chuckled. “L-O-L. Just kidding, but Matthew did say it was a financial windfall. Why hasn’t he returned?”
“He’s probably buying a hot chocolate. He’s like a little kid when it comes to cocoa.” The Country Kitchen made the most luscious chocolaty goodness and topped it with a dollop of whipped cream that was infused with sugar crystals.
“Say, speaking of kids, did you see mine outside?”
“I did. They’re watching the ice sculpting.”
“You mean watching their snake of a father,” Tyanne said quietly so customers wouldn’t hear. “You saw
“Gee, hmmm, I can’t recall,” I said, sounding like a reluctant witness.
Tyanne chuffed. “It’s okay to admit it. I’m so over him.” She sliced another tasting of cheese and offered it to our next customer. “Here you go, enjoy. By the way, Charlotte, so far, the Zamorano is the favorite. The Vacherin Fribourg comes in a close second. And the Mount Eden chardonnay seems to be the most popular wine, despite the cold weather.” She lowered her voice. “Though I tasted the zinfandel and loved it. That’s okay, isn’t it? It was only a sip. I don’t think I’ve had a whole glass of wine in over a year. We were trying to get pregnant again.” She bit her lip. “Maybe that’s what sent my Theo searching. A woman wanting to procreate on a time schedule is so not- sexy.”
“Tyanne, I’m sure—”
“Don’t, sugar.” She flicked the air with her hand. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m fine, really. We’ve decided to divorce.”
I observed the crowd of customers. None were listening to us, all of them too busy tasting and marking their lists or browsing the items in the tent.
“Our marriage was over years ago,” Tyanne went on. “I was just too hooked on the idea of marriage to admit it. Now, with a job and being good at something again—and I am; I love cheese!—I’m ready to soar. Thank you, thank you, thank you for believing in me.” She embraced me for a brief second, then pushed away with a teensy pat to my arm. “Sorry. No public display of affection. That’s what Theo always says.”
From what I had observed a moment ago, good old Theo had changed his tune, but far be it from me to zap Tyanne’s glow by mentioning that I had seen her husband canoodling with some lusty dame.
“By the way, mum’s the word about the d-i-v-o-r-c-e,” Tyanne went on. “We haven’t told the kids, yet. My sister Lizzie is moving to Providence to help out. You’ll like her a ton. She’s so funny and warm. My other sisters, Selby and Linda Jo, can’t make it, but you’d like them, too. They wish I’d out-and-out kill Theo for cheating and be done with it.” She laughed. “Can you imagine? Did you hear of that book:
Tyanne turned away and offered a bright smile and a souvenir plate to the next customer, but I couldn’t let go of what she had said. Had Kaitlyn’s lover’s wife attacked Kaitlyn? How did the missing container of goat cheese at Rebecca’s cottage play into that scenario?
“Yoo-hoo, excuse me.” Rebecca waltzed into the tent, wheeling a cooler on a pull cart. Strands of hair straggled around her face and stuck to her lipstick. “Let me through, please. Yoo-hoo, Charlotte, I have more cheese.” She cut through the crowd, removed the cooler from the cart, and set it on the green grass carpet. As she unpacked wedges of cheese and plunked them on the staging table behind us, she said, “Did you have a clue we’d have so many people?”
I sidled to her and whispered, out of earshot of our guests, “Got a question.”
“Ipo’s fine. Except Urso’s starving him. He’s withering away to nothing.”
“I doubt that.” It would take weeks for brawny Ipo to wither away.
“Urso’s a pill,” Rebecca added.
“Forget him. There’s something off between Jacky and him, I think.” Maybe Jacky wanted another baby. Perhaps, like Tyanne said, a woman on a time clock wasn’t sexy. Urso could be letting his frustration spill over into his work, and that was why he hadn’t answered any of my earlier telephone calls. “Back to my question. The goat cheese.”
“What goat cheese?”
“The round of Emerald Isles goat cheese you took home for the evening with Ipo. The night Kaitlyn, um, died. I didn’t see it among the fixings you’d set on the pass-through counter. Where was it?”
“I don’t know. On the platter still wrapped? Maybe in the kitchen? I started putting the platter together, but then I got so flustered because”—Rebecca turned three shades of crimson—“because Ipo wanted to take our … um … walk. I didn’t even open the champagne. He clutched my hand all the way to the park. I remember thinking the moonless night was so dark but romantic. And then everything happened so fast. He kissed me. And I kissed him back and, oh—” She fluttered her fingers in front of her face. “I will not cry. I will not. Why does it matter?”
I explained.
“You mean the cheese is gone, as in someone stole it?” Rebecca sucked in a breath. “I’ll bet it was that Arlo. That puts him in my house. Do you think he’s the murderer?”
“Not so fast.”
“Do you remember that day Miss Clydesdale came into the shop? Arlo was standing by the Camembert and goat cheese display with that customer … you know the one.” She snapped her fingers. “Remember the dad with all the children in heavy winter coats? Big buttons on the coats. You made sandwiches. Urso came in and bought his usual. Oh, look, there he is.”
“The dad?”
“Urso, the pill.”
I caught sight of him through one of the tent windows, introducing the new deputy-hopeful to locals. Seeing the young man made me think again of Chip standing on my grandparents’ porch, hat and flowers in hand. I was a wimp to have allowed my grandfather to scare him off. I should have confronted Chip and told him to stop pursuing me. On the other hand, he had claimed he’d come to tell me something. If that were so, why had he brought flowers? Should I have given him the chance to explain?
“Tell Urso about the missing cheese,” Rebecca said.
“Now?”
“No time like the present.” She prodded me.
Before she had pushed me two steps, a jaunty guy with shaggy hair sauntered into the tent. “Hey, Rebecca! Got a sec?”
“Fiddlesticks.” Rebecca uttered a teensy growl. “When did he get back in town?”
“Who is he?” I asked. He looked familiar—charming, with spirited, aware eyes.
“Don’t you remember Quigley?” Her tone was as tart as a cheese that had gone bad.
The man zipped through the throng saying, “I’m not cutting in line, folks, promise.”
Rebecca met him at the end of the counter and thrust a finger at his chest. “Stop right there! You’re mean. And spiteful. And manipulative.”
He smirked. “I am not.”
“You took advantage of me when my armor was off.”
“The phrase is ‘when your armor was down.’”
Rebecca sputtered. “Ooh, you make me so mad.”
“May I quote you?” he gibed.
When Quigley offered a lopsided grin, it all came back to me. He was the reporter. A year or so ago, Rebecca had fallen for him hard until she found out he was dating other women. Lots of them. With money.
“You’re so cute when you get angry.” Quigley smoothed the lapel of his plaid blazer. “Beautiful, in fact.”
“O-o-oh,” Rebecca repeated, longer and shriller. She raised her arm, palm flat. Tension vibrated through her muscles. I could tell she wanted to slap him, but she held back. I was proud of her for showing restraint. I wasn’t sure what our customers would do if a fracas broke out. “Leave before I clobber you.”
“Gimme a quote.” Quigley held up a tape recorder. “Just one.”
“Not on your life.”
“Not even to save your boyfriend?”
“He’s innocent.”
“The police have evidence,” Quigley said.
