Clobbered by Camembert

Chip glanced over his shoulder. Oscar, like a copycat, peeked over his own. At Georgia? She glimpsed up from the table. Her mouth drew into a thin line of disapproval.

Oscar glanced at me, his gaze full of fear, and a new thought occurred to me. The other night when I had tackled him, he had told me that he had been working for Kaitlyn. Was that a lie? Had he been working for Georgia all along? Was his declaration of love for her a ruse? Tyanne had suggested a murder-for-hire scenario. Had Georgia paid Oscar to kill her mother? But then why would he want to talk to me? And why now? He waggled Chip’s cell phone with more vigor. I was missing something, but what?

I peeked at Georgia, whose eyes burned with unbridled fury. Had Oscar borrowed Chip’s cell phone another time? Had he used the telephone’s camera to snap an incriminating picture of Georgia, perhaps, on the night of the murder? Or had Chip taken the photograph and Oscar had stumbled upon it?

Be real, Charlotte. Oscar’s trying to get a rise out of you or out of Georgia.

“Charlotte, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Jordan cut around Chip and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.

At the same time, the music in the pub ceased. The quiet was unsettling.

I shivered. “Nothing.”

“Something has you spooked.”

I couldn’t tell him about Oscar. Not in front of Chip, who might run and blab to Georgia to get in her good graces.

“Nothing,” I repeated.

“You’re lying,” Chip said.

I whipped my gaze to my ex-fiance. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. When I say nothing has me spooked, nothing has me spooked.”

He threw his hands up, palms forward. “Alert, alert! I’m not the enemy.”

“Had me fooled,” Jordan said.

I shot him a sharp look. Chip chortled, as if he had won round one.

I lasered my gaze back at him. “I’m sorry things haven’t worked out for you here, Chip. Good luck in all your future endeavors.” A game-show host couldn’t have sounded more disingenuous. I thrust out my hand. Chip took hold and ran his thumb along the curve. I snatched my hand back. “Goodbye.”

Chip flinched but he didn’t make a peep. What could he say? Jordan, smart man, also kept mute.

As Chip skulked away, I scanned the room for Oscar, but he had disappeared. Before I could make excuses to Jordan so I could track down Oscar, the antique entry door that the pub had purchased from a defunct Irish castle crashed open.

Quigley, the shaggy-haired reporter, barged in. “Rebe-e-e-cca!”

Visions of a drunken Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire boogied through my mind. Quigley wasn’t buff like Stanley, and he was wearing a rumpled linen jacket, not a tattered undershirt, but he was wild-eyed and looked highly unpredictable. He headed toward Rebecca and Ipo, who had taken seats at a small round table.

Ipo tried to leap to a stand, but a foot tangled in his chair. He and the chair slammed to the floor.

I raced to intervene, with Jordan at my heels, but Rebecca was swift. She bolted from the table, cut around the fallen Ipo, and smacked Quigley hard across the face.

CHAPTER

“Ouch!” Quigley scanned the pub, checking to see if anyone saw the slap. Everyone had. Jaws hung open. Quigley glanced at Rebecca, hurt filling his gaze. “Why’d you do that?”

“You … you …” Rebecca hauled back a second time.

I grabbed her arm in midair. “Cool it, Babe Ruth.”

After a long, edgy moment, Rebecca whispered, “I’m good, Charlotte. Let me go.”

I did. Instantly she swung again, the little snip.

Jordan, in a quicker-than-lightning move, pinned her arms to the side. “Chill, Rebecca. He’s not worth a lawsuit.”

Rebecca squirmed, her feet tap-dancing in front of Jordan’s, but he didn’t release her.

“I’d never sue her.” Quigley sniffled. “I love her.”

The word love burbled through the crowd.

“Out of the way, folks.” Tim, the owner of the pub, his red hair and beard matching the burnt red plaid of his shirt, lumbered through the throng. In his hand, he carried a pitcher of ice water. If a fight got out of hand, Tim wouldn’t think twice. He would douse the participants. Water required fewer stitches than a baseball bat, he had once told me.

“Darling.” Quigley dropped to the floor on one knee, emitting a grunt as he landed. He wobbled for a second, then licked his lips and said, “Will you marry me?” Fumes of alcohol drifted our way.

“For heaven’s sake.” Rebecca wriggled free of Jordan. He let her, I was pretty sure. She folded her arms across her chest. “No.”

“Why?” Quigley teetered.

“Because she’s marrying me.” Ipo broke through the pack, face flushed, chest heaving with emotion.

“We’re engaged,” Rebecca announced, and for the first time I noticed a ring on her finger—a narrow band of gold etched with hearts. When had she received that? Why hadn’t she told me? Could that have been why Ipo had looked so nervous entering the pub earlier? I could only imagine his proposal at the precinct, kneeling behind bars.

Rebecca curled into Ipo. He slung his arm around her slender back.

Quigley scrambled to his feet and tugged on the hem of his linen jacket. “But he’s a murderer.”

“No, he’s not.” Rebecca resumed her combative stance. “Take it back.”

“But the luau thingies—”

“Someone took them, don’t you get it?” Rebecca poked Quigley’s chest. “He was robbed, and he’s being set up.” She whirled in a circle, pointing at everyone who had gathered around. “Ipo is innocent, do you hear me? If one of you knows something, you’ve got to speak up. Go to the police. It’s your civic duty. And now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re leaving.” She grabbed Ipo’s hand, and as regally as she could muster, forced people to clear a path as she marched her dearly beloved out of the pub.

As the door swung shut, Quigley grazed his hair with his hands. “I don’t get it. I thought she had the hots for me.”

I shook my head. Apparently Chip wasn’t the only man missing signals on this chilly evening.

Jordan bypassed me and patted Quigley on the back. “Hey, buddy, let’s get some coffee into you.”

As Jordan guided Quigley to the bar, Tim twirled a finger in the air. In an instant, Irish music resumed and members of the lookie-loo crowd returned to their tables or stools.

“Sugar.” Tyanne tapped my elbow. “Come on back to the table. Food’s getting cold.”

As much as I wanted to assist Jordan, I had to admit that he would have better luck getting Quigley sober by himself than with me tagging along.

I returned to the booth with my friends and polished off the rest of my ciabatta appetizer. “Has anybody heard back from Jacky?”

Delilah jiggled her cell phone. “She just called. She found a sitter, but she dumped us for a date with the big guy.”

I was tickled to learn Jacky and Urso might be working out whatever their issue was. I was also delighted that Urso was no longer scouring Providence for a thief. I hadn’t had the chance to ask Jordan if they had tracked him down, but I didn’t think either man would have given up until they had.

Licking my fingers clean, I glanced around the pub. Georgia and the elderly couple had departed, their meals virtually untouched. Oscar wasn’t anywhere to be seen, either. What had he been trying to show me? Had his signal to me incited Georgia to disappear? Was there something on Chip’s iPhone that would refute Georgia’s alibi? Maybe Chip had a picture of her slipping out of the pub on the night of Kaitlyn’s death. A time stamp on the photo could be mighty incriminating. So would a confirmation from an eyewitness. I decided now was as good a time as any to