Clobbered by Camembert

use them.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Agatha was with me,” he said over his shoulder. “But the pup hasn’t learned to people-speak yet. She’s no Lassie.”

“Didn’t Lois notice that Agatha was missing?”

“Agatha is like a wild child. She’ll chase squirrels and disappear for hours on end. Lois thinks it’s cute. I needed someone to talk to. The dog was as good as anything.”

“Did anyone pass you on the road?”

“No one I knew. I saw an Amish man, but he wouldn’t remember me. They drive with blinders on, don’t you know.” He smacked the railing again.

“What did you do when you came home?”

“Kept as quiet as a clam. Lois was scrubbing pots. The guests were in the dining room, polishing off their dinner.” He hung his head and swung it from side to side. “I couldn’t tell her about the affair.”

“Even though Kaitlyn Clydesdale was going to.”

“I planned to tell her in the morning. I needed the courage.” He raised his hand as if on the witness stand. “I never went near your friend’s cottage, I swear.”

I joined Ainsley at the railing, an idea nipping at the edge of my mind. Cool air snaked around my ankles and sent a shiver up my legs. “You said your property is north of town. Is it near the Burrells’ property?”

“It abuts it.”

I recalled a conversation with Sylvie outside Rebecca’s cottage on the night of the incident. Sylvie had said Kaitlyn had come into Under Wraps and talked about her empire. At the time, I hadn’t given it much thought, too distracted by Sylvie’s claim that Ipo had motive to hurt Kaitlyn. Now, I wondered. The word empire was unusual. I said, “Did Kaitlyn ever talk about wanting to build an empire in Providence? It seems she wanted to acquire more than yours and the Burrells’ properties. She was after Arlo’s, as well.”

Ainsley scratched his chin. “She never specifically said the word empire to me, but she was power hungry, that’s for sure.” He sighed. “I’m not sorry that she’s dead.”

A woman uttered a teensy sob. I swiveled toward the sound. Lois stood beyond the screen door, her hand over her mouth. Agatha, parked at Lois’s feet, growled between sharp teeth. So much for not being Lassie. The scamp must have tugged her mistress to the door to hear the conversation.

Ainsley darted to the screen door and whipped it open. He reached for his wife. “Lois, darling.”

She swatted him. “Don’t darling me.” She slurped back tears. “How could you? With Kaitlyn Clydesdale, of all people?” She peered at me, her eyes shooting missiles. “I told you that woman was trouble, didn’t I?”

“She was blackmailing me,” Ainsley said.

“After you gave in to her wiles.”

“I was weak.” He held his hands out, as if being powerless was a good enough excuse for cheating.

“Then I’ll be strong.” Lois drew tall. “Pack up, mister.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” She gestured, for emphasis.

Ainsley dropped to one knee. “But I love you.” He snatched Lois’s hand in his.

“Too late.” Lois flicked his hand away. Agatha yipped her support. “We’re through.”

“But—”

“Move out.” Lois jabbed a finger. “Go to your mother’s. She thinks you walk on water.”

Ainsley flinched as if she had slapped him, then scrambled to his feet and slinked into the great room. Through the archway, I saw him reach for the prized hockey stick hanging on the wall.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Lois stormed in after him. “Stop right there. You’ll take none of those things, you two- timer.”

“I was just going to set things right.”

“My foot!”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and ogled Lois with hangdog eyes. “Please, darling, don’t kick me out. We can fix this.”

Lois crossed her arms, looking as immovable as one of the ice sculptures at the Winter Wonderland faire.

Ainsley cut me a stony look, obviously blaming me for his current situation, then shuffled down the hallway toward his room behind the kitchen.

When he disappeared, Lois sank onto an ottoman, lifted Agatha onto her lap, and scratched the dog’s ears. “What have I done?” she muttered. “Oh, what have I done?”

She continued murmuring, seemingly unaware that I was standing at the front door, and I had to wonder, by her quick decision to boot out her husband, whether she had already known about his affair with Kaitlyn.

Had that knowledge driven her to do something rash?

CHAPTER

I trudged back to work, no wiser. On the way, I felt horrible for even considering that Lois could be guilty. Though she had been quite brusque with her husband, I didn’t believe, in my heart of hearts, that she could have lashed out at Kaitlyn—or anyone, for that matter—and left her to die.

When I entered Fromagerie Bessette, I found Bozz shadowboxing with his reflection in the glass that fronted the cheese counter. He stopped mid-punch, dropped his hands to his sides, and said, “Hey, Miss B. Sorry about skipping out earlier. I had no idea you needed me.”

“No worries. Where’s my grandfather?”

Bozz slung a thumb over his shoulder. “He just left. If you ask me, he sounded a bit like the Mad Hatter. He was mumbling, ‘I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.’”

“You mean he sounded like the White Rabbit.”

Bozz looked perplexed.

“In Alice in Wonderland,” I said. “The White Rabbit is the one who’s late. He wore spectacles.” I drew an outline of an imaginary pair of glasses. “He was doing the queen’s bidding.”

“Whatever. Anyway, Pepere was perspiring.”

Worry cut through me. It was my fault that my grandfather was late bringing food to starving actors. If only he weren’t always on the go. A while back, Matthew and I had wanted to send our grandparents on a vacation, but to date, we hadn’t convinced them to go anywhere. Oh, sure, they took occasional day trips to other Ohio hot spots like the German Village in Columbus or the zoo and botanical garden in Cincinnati, and my grandfather had joined Matthew and me on a tour of American cheese farms, but none of those trips counted as a vacation. Recently I had suggested they take a trip to France, but they had pooh-poohed me. They did not have a love affair with their native land.

I said, “Bozz, can you watch the shop for a while longer? I want to help Pepere distribute his pizzas at the theater. I’m sure you can handle the crowd.”

He scanned the store—which was empty—and winked. “Don’t think that’ll be a problem. Everyone’s at the faire. What time should I close up?”

“Five thirty is fine. Put a sign in the door steering customers to the Le Petit Fromagerie tent, then head on over for the night shift.”

“Gotcha.”

* * *

I needn’t have worried about my grandfather. When I arrived at the Providence Playhouse theater, I found him on stage scuttling around a long buffet table, tending to actresses, many of whom wore work shirts or robes slung over racy, very lacy getups. The Chicago costumes weren’t nearly ready this early in the rehearsal process, but Grandmere liked her actors to dress in character at the first opportunity.

Crew people, who always ate first at the Playhouse, sat on the floor in front of a giant neon ROXIE HART