Clobbered by Camembert

I popped a morsel into my mouth. The ciabatta was crispy. The ricotta-and-sardines combination had a nice salty tang; the underlying flavor of olive oil was just right.

Freckles took a bite from her half of the mini-tureen of mac-and-cheese and hummed. “Mmm. Havarti, Parmesan, and Fontina cheeses. Delish!” She pushed the stoneware tureen to Delilah.

“One bite, that’s it?” Delilah said. “That’s all you’re going to eat?”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“And I’m not?” Delilah laughed. “Who am I kidding? I’m not when I’ve got this to eat.” She pulled the tureen closer and started to devour the contents. Between bites, she said, “Back to the Kaitlyn Clydesdale mystery. What’s with that Oscar guy?” She gestured with her thumb. “One day he’s stalking Georgia Plachette; the next he’s chummy with her.”

Oscar was still sitting with Georgia and her grandparents, but he wasn’t paying an iota of attention to them. He was scanning the room. Why had he gone off with Georgia at the tent when, according to Rebecca, he had wanted to talk to me?

“He seems pretty suspicious,” Freckles said. “He’s big and he’s got beady eyes. But then so does Arlo. He’s downright creepy.”

“And Barton Burrell is not,” Tyanne said, matter-of-factly.

“Speaking of which”—Delilah pushed the mini-tureen away from her—“I saw Georgia spying on Barton earlier.”

“I saw her, too.” I revealed Georgia’s semi-secret identity.

Freckles said, “She doesn’t look a thing like Kaitlyn Clydesdale. Does she stand to inherit everything?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “But she has an ironclad alibi. She was here at the pub until the wee hours of the morning, playing darts. Chip verified it.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t hire somebody to kill her mother,” Tyanne said.

I gawked at her, wondering if she was channeling Rebecca. “This is Providence.”

“Providence is in flux,” Delilah said.

“She’s right. We’re in flux,” Tyanne echoed.

“Flux?” Freckles huffed. “Is that what you call it? You know me, my business is all about attracting tourists, and I was in support of the addition of a college. But lately we’ve been getting more than studious types and tourists in search of a good deal. All sorts of riffraff are coming to town.” She clapped her hand over her mouth, then removed it and whispered, “Will you listen to me? I’m starting to sound like Prudence Hart. Did I actually say riffraff? Heavens.”

Delilah chortled.

I didn’t. I flashed on the thief that had assaulted me in the tent and the other thief who had stolen ice sculpting tools, which spurred me to consider what Jordan and I had discussed. Was there anything we could do to thwart what was happening to our gentle town? Were we being overrun by riffraff? Perhaps I should suggest that Grandmere put on the show Brigadoon next year. Maybe the musical would remind townsfolk that we lived in a magical place, and everyone who lived here had to do his or her part to preserve the town’s innocence.

Dream on, Charlotte. One theater show would not turn the tide. Change has to be organic.

“Lose the frown,” Freckles said. “Providence is fine. We’re still the safest town in America. Promise.”

Delilah elbowed me. “Take a gander at who just entered the pub. You have to admit he’s a handsome devil.”

Chip, dressed in his zippered suede jacket, striped buttoned-down shirt, and jeans, lingered by the front door, chatting with the hostess. A hint of a five-o’clock shadow outlined his jaw. His wavy hair looked windblown. The Marlboro Man couldn’t have looked any better.

“Feeling any of the old passion for him?” Delilah asked.

“No.”

“Don’t snap at me.”

Had I snapped? Yes, I probably had.

“He is awfully good looking,” Freckles said.

“He’s average,” I said, knowing I was lying.

Tyanne clucked. “Sugar, there is nothing average about him. If he were an actor, he’d win People Magazine’s: Most Beautiful Person award.”

Chip split from the hostess and sauntered to Georgia’s table. He put his hand on the back of her chair and she looked up, her eyes glistening with interest. She introduced him to the older couple and offered him the extra chair. He didn’t sit. Oscar, who looked miffed at Chip’s arrival, deftly wiped the scowl off his face, then stood up and clapped Chip on the shoulder as if they were old friends. He said something. Chip buffed Oscar’s arm with his knuckles. Oscar bandied with a one-two jab, pulling his punches and reminding me of Bozz when he was shadowboxing. Chip countered playfully. Oscar attempted another jab at Chip’s face, but Chip raised both hands to protect his jaw. At the same time, as sly as the corporate spy he claimed to be, Oscar ducked and rifled through Chip’s pockets. He came up with Chip’s iPhone and danced backward in a celebratory way. Chip tried to snatch the cell phone back. In the process, he spotted me. Quickly he backed away from Oscar, made some excuse to Georgia, and strode toward me.

“Here he comes,” Delilah said.

“I’m not blind.”

“You’re snapping again.”

For good reason. Chip wasn’t carrying flowers, but he looked like a man on a mission. I steeled myself. I would tell him, once and for all, that he didn’t have a chance with me. With his dream of being a restaurateur squelched by Kaitlyn Clydesdale’s untimely demise, it was time for him to leave Providence. I nudged Delilah to scoot out of the booth. She did, and I followed. I was almost at a full stand when Chip arrived.

“Ladies,” Chip said.

Freckles tittered. I glowered at her.

“Can we talk, Charlotte?” He ran his thumb along my shoulder. “Alone?”

“Chip, I—” Why was my mouth stone-dry?

“It’ll only take a minute.”

“No,” I managed to say. Superb, Charlotte. Clever. Forthright. Not!

“Fine, I’ll tell you here.” He hooked a finger into the loop of his jeans. “I’m moving back to France.”

Relief, mixed with something else I couldn’t identify, swept over me.

“Georgia has power of attorney for Kaitlyn,” Chip went on. “She won’t honor the contract. She’s being a b—” He mashed his lips together. “A businesswoman. She’s not interested in having me around.”

Why didn’t I believe him? She had looked way more than interested.

“I—” Chip’s gaze darted to the left.

I followed his stare and saw Jordan marching past the hostess who was pointing in our direction. Jordan ground his teeth as he walked. Chip stepped toward him. The two faced off as if they were players on the ice, waiting for a referee to blow a whistle and drop the puck.

“What’s your problem?” Chip raised his chin.

“Are you bothering the lady?” Jordan demanded.

“I was telling her my plans for the future. What’s it to you?”

“You know what it is.”

I didn’t. My pulse started to race. Would Jordan spell it out? And not in Morse code. I was no good at deciphering code. Especially when hyperventilating. He had said that he adored me. Did he love me? Would he say it in front of everyone? Now that I knew the truth about him, I could shout I love you back. The anticipation made me tingly all over. But he didn’t utter a word.

While he glowered menacingly at Chip, I caught sight of Oscar waggling Chip’s cell phone. I thumped my chest and mimed: Me? He nodded. Did he have someone waiting at the other end of the line that he wanted me to talk to? Not now, for heaven’s sake.

I mouthed: No.

Oscar shook the phone harder.