Clobbered by Camembert

I picked up the iPhone. The readout read: Nana, which meant the phone wasn’t Chip’s. Both of his grandmothers had died years ago. I offered it to Georgia.

Without a thank-you, she closed the door, and I heard her mumble, “Yes, Nana. In a sec, I told you.”

I peeked at the briefcase beside the bed. No time like the present. If Georgia had a clear-cut motive to kill her mother—like a will ceding her a sizeable estate or making her the sole owner of Clydesdale Enterprises—Urso deserved to know about it. I started with the file bearing her full name on the label. In it, I found a contract for employment, which included a starting salary that was measly at best. No language stated that she would receive bonuses for a job well done. In addition, the file included a copy of Georgia’s graduation certificate from the University of Southern California. Post-its had been attached to both documents, with handwritten notes saying Kaitlyn had reviewed and approved them. I didn’t detect a hint of favoritism, as Georgia had implied in our previous meeting at the Clydesdale Enterprises office.

The second file contained a list of the company’s holdings, which included several strip malls across the country. As I feared, a megastore was the anchor at each. Kaitlyn hadn’t been interested in returning to Providence and soaking up the local flavor. She had intended to change the landscape for profit. How many locals had known? How many of those people would have wished Kaitlyn a speedy and not-so-fond farewell?

The third file held plat maps of Providence properties. I flipped through them, looking for a document or will granting Georgia millions buried within them, but found nothing.

As the door handle to the bathroom turned, guilty heat gushed through my veins. I couldn’t let her catch me snooping. As I raced to restore order to the briefcase, Georgia’s cell phone jangled a second time.

From within the bathroom, Georgia said, “Now what?”

Using those few precious seconds, I stuffed the files into her briefcase. I was rising to full height when Georgia stepped out carrying a pair of scissors. She pointed them at me, her face pinched with what could only be described as intense pain.

I gulped. Did she mean to run me through? Where had she left her cell phone? I would have preferred it to the scissors. I raised my hands, palms toward her in a placating gesture. “You’re upset.”

“I’m sick.”

Okay, I could go with that. Twisted, perhaps.

“Are you spying on me?” Brandishing the scissors, she indicated the briefcase.

I cursed silently. One of the files was jutting up—a dead giveaway. Rebecca would be appalled at my shabby sleuthing skills. “Um … I was interested in what Clydesdale Enterprises was up to.”

She edged toward me.

Though my pulse raced, I would lie, lie, lie if it would save my hide. “Rumor has it that your mother was trying to buy parcels along the northern route out of town. I wanted to see which—”

“Buy? Are you kidding me?”

I ogled the scissors. “Um, why don’t you put those down so we can talk?”

Georgia glimpsed at the shears and back at me, then sneezed. The intense expression on her face faded. Had she been trying to hold in the sneeze? Her mouth turned up in a wry smile. She flipped the scissors around in her hand and offered them to me, butt first. “I was hoping you could trim a lock at the back of my head. I can’t reach it.” She spun around and pointed. “See it? Dead center. Curls are tough for even the best hairdressers.”

I felt myself blush with relief. She didn’t want to kill me. She wanted a helping hand. Trying to keep the conversation going, I said, “You seemed surprised when I said your mother wanted to buy property north of town.”

Without looking at me, she said, “It was the word buy that got me. She wasn’t trying to buy anything. She was blackmailing people for the parcels.”

“Really?” I said innocently. I could act as dumb as the best of ’em. I snipped off the offending inch-long curl and held it out to her.

Georgia took the lock and strode to the bureau. She checked out the back of her hair in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. She held out a hand for the return of the scissors. I was a bit reluctant, needless to say, but I granted her wish. She set the scissors on the shiny silver runner that ran the length of the bureau and gazed again at me. “Townsfolk didn’t want to sell,” she said. “Many were savvy to my mother’s wiles. So she resorted to her true nature. She got dirt on people and voila.” Her mouth pursed with distaste.

“I thought you said you liked your mother.”

She sniffed, but this time it wasn’t from her illness. “Truth? I feel like I can trust you.”

I felt a smidge guilty for having raided her files, but not guilty enough to dissuade her from continuing.

“I hated her. No, that’s much too gentle a word. I despised her. She didn’t approve of anything I did. Who I dated. Where I lived.”

I thought of the Post-its in Georgia’s personnel folder. What kind of contempt had she suffered from her mother throughout her lifetime?

“I got over it,” Georgia went on, “because I didn’t approve of her either. I didn’t like the way she did business or of the way she treated people. She was vicious.”

And yet Chip said Georgia had been acting with similar heinous intent. So did the Burrells. She had been stalking them and ruining their reputation. Was she playing me?

“Why did you work for her?” I asked.

“When I graduated college, I needed a job. Nobody was hiring.” She worried her hands together. “I thought I could put in a year and find another job, but I couldn’t. It took fifteen years.” She muttered something about a weak economy. “The day before my mother died, I learned that a realty firm specializing in purchasing hotels wanted to hire me. I asked to quit, but my mother wouldn’t let me.” Georgia tilted her head, eyeing me like an apprehensive puppy. “Please don’t think I would’ve killed her over a contract. Mother was tough, but in time, I could’ve persuaded her to release me.”

“Not everyone could have.”

“True.”

“Like Oscar, for instance.”

“Good old delusional Oscar.” Georgia wrapped a curl around a finger.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Home, I expect, sleeping off a few too many beers.” She released the curl. “Did you see him at the pub prancing around with Chip’s iPhone? Men!”

Did she like him? There was a sparkle in her eye. However, despite her more relaxed demeanor, I couldn’t erase the vision of Oscar looking fearfully at her at the pub. “Why did he want Chip’s cell phone?”

Georgia coughed out a nasal laugh. “He made Chip a bet that he could win the heart of anyone Chip had in his little black book. Chip didn’t want to give him the phone, but Oscar”—she clopped the floor with her heel—“let’s just say he can be quite persistent.”

“Do you know he’s in love with you?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “He was going to talk to my mother that night to beg out of his contract so he could ask me on a date. She was dead before he could.”

“Do you think he killed her?”

“Oscar?” She shook her head. Her mane of curls bounced with abandon. “Not a chance.”

“Are you sure? He’s an actor. Did you know that?”

She gaped. Apparently she didn’t know.

“That would make him a good liar,” I said.

Georgia offered a dismissive wave of her hand. “He didn’t kill my mother. He’s much too passive.”

“When he was playing with Chip’s cell phone, he looked at you oddly. Like he was scared.”

Her mouth twisted up on one side. “He’d better be scared. I told him if he called one of those women, he was toast.”

Aha! So she did like him.

But that didn’t solve my quandary. Oscar had wanted out of his contract. What if he met with Kaitlyn? What if she laughed in his face? What if rage, fueled by his love for Georgia, made him lash out?

CHAPTER