Clobbered by Camembert

Lois plodded into the great room and dusted picture frames that looked freshly dusted. We followed. I glanced at the wall and my pulse went tick-a-tick. Ainsley’s prized hockey stick, the one with three red stripes, still hung alongside the snowshoes and other decorative winter items. My fingers itched to take it to Urso.

“Oh, my, my, my.” Lois crumpled into one of the Queen Anne chairs and wedged the duster beside her thighs.

I rushed to her side and took her hand. “Are you okay?”

Agatha bolted into Lois’s lap.

“I love him, Charlotte. God help me, but I do.” She massaged the pup’s ears. “I would forgive him if he came back.” Tears pooled in her eyes but they didn’t fall. Not one. “That Kaitlyn Clydesdale. She was no good. She seduced him, don’t you know. Whatever did she see in an old man like him? A moment of sport, that was all. He isn’t to blame.” Her shoulders heaved for a moment. Just a moment. Then she set Agatha on the floor and stood up ramrod straight. No self-pity for her.

Rebecca sidled to me and jerked her chin toward the wall. “There’s the hockey stick,” she whispered. “Ask for it.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ve got to.”

“Lois.” I jammed my lips together. How could I convince her to let me take the hockey stick after what she had said? She wouldn’t believe her husband was capable of an act of violence. He was a pawn. An innocent. Oh, my, was right.

“Chip is back from that sightseeing tour, if that’s why you’re here,” Lois said.

“Ooh, did he go on one of the Amish ones?” Rebecca asked.

“No, he went on a tour of the town.”

“I remember putting together dinners for the English,” Rebecca continued. English was the term Amish ascribed to anyone who didn’t share the Amish faith. “That was probably the most fun I had as a girl, seeing outsiders enter our home.”

“I would imagine,” Lois said. “Well, I must get back to work.” She smacked the duster against her hip. Particles of dust drifted to the floor. Agatha scampered to the vacuum sitting near the entrance to the great room and barked as if willing it to do its magic. “By the by, Charlotte, I told Chip you stopped in this morning, wanting to speak with him.”

Rebecca’s mouth quirked up on the right. “I knew it. You’re holding out on me.”

I waved her off. I had no desire to talk to Chip. Not now. I needed to get hold of that hockey stick.

Lois gestured with her duster. “I moved Chip’s luggage into the sunroom over there.” She shook her head and laughed wistfully. “Why do I persist in calling it the sunroom when the sun doesn’t truly hit it? Ainsley named it that, the fool.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Rebecca whispered and winked at me. “Lois, would you mind fetching Chip for us?”

I gaped. Did she plan to steal the hockey stick when Lois left the room?

“No need,” Lois said. “He’ll be right down. A car is coming to take him to the airport.”

“Rats,” Rebecca mumbled.

I glanced at the sunroom and an idea came to me. Maybe, with Chip’s help, I could convince Lois to hand over the hockey stick. I strolled into the sunroom, which was cheery despite the gray skies outside. Chip’s luggage stood beside the lavender wicker sofa. An umbrella and his zippered suede jacket lay across the tote bag.

The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor made me turn.

Chip, handsome in an ecru fisherman’s knit sweater and jeans, sauntered in. He stopped inches from me, and a sly grin spread across his face. “Well, well, we meet again, babe. Having doubts about me leaving? Want me to stay?” He ran a finger down my arm. “You know I would. I’d like to give us another try.”

“No.” I backed up. I wasn’t having doubts. Not one, though for some stupid reason, a sense of loss coursed through me. He was truly leaving. Again. For good. It was for the best. I knew it; he knew it.

“How about one last kiss for old times’ sake?” He leaned in.

I blocked him with my palm. “Chip, I need to take Ainsley’s hockey stick to Urso.”

“Why?” He grabbed his jacket and put it on.

“I think he used it to kill Kaitlyn Clydesdale.” I told him about the affair.

Chip rakishly raised an eyebrow. “Good old dullard Ainsley and Kaitlyn? I can’t see it.”

I shared the news about Ainsley’s weak alibi of walking the dog, his last plea to Kaitlyn, and Kaitlyn’s blackmail scheme. “You were right. Ainsley didn’t go to the hockey game. I think he followed Kaitlyn to Rebecca’s cottage. He argued with her, lashed out, and resorted to using a hatbox-style cheese container like a hockey puck.” I gave him the play-by-play I had envisioned in my mind.

“Wow.” Chip zipped up his jacket. “It’s hard to imagine. That would take some skill.”

“Lois said Ainsley was an ace shot way back when.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll help you, but you have to promise me a kiss after I do.” He didn’t wait for me to respond. He strode ahead of me into the great room. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, all charm and swagger. When Lois didn’t respond, he crossed to her and repeated, “Hey, beautiful.”

Lois looked up, her cheeks rosy, but she didn’t stop sweeping her duster across the mirror above the fireplace.

“Cool it for a moment, Lois,” Chip said.

“Can’t.”

“Sure you can. For me.” He spun her around and tugged on her timer necklace to draw her to him. He held his hand out for the duster.

Like a woman under a spell, Lois relinquished it.

“Charlotte would like to take your husband’s hockey stick and get it bronzed,” Chip went on. “It’ll be a real surprise to him when he returns.”

“Do you think he’ll return?” Lois sounded as fragile as one of her china tea sets.

“I’m sure of it. How could he leave someone as special as you?” Chip opened his arms, and Lois moved into them. She laid her head on his chest. “Special people deserve to be loved, right?” He winked at me, making sure that I had gotten his message. Though he had uttered the words to Lois, they were meant for me. He wanted me to reconsider taking him back into my life.

The scent of burning sugar penetrated the air and interrupted the tender moment.

Lois startled and checked her timer. “Oh, no, the scones.” She scurried toward the kitchen.

Chip said, “What about the hockey stick?”

“Take it. What do I care?” Lois said over her shoulder.

“Rebecca, go with her,” I said. “She’s not herself.”

“Will do. I’ll meet you at the precinct.” She darted after Lois.

Thankful I hadn’t removed my gloves, I plucked the hockey stick from the wall and sprinted toward the foyer, pulling my cell phone from my purse as I ran.

“Wait up.” Chip veered into the sunroom, grabbed his umbrella, and trotted after me. “Who are you calling?”

“Urso.”

“You don’t need to do that. I saw him at the diner. He was sitting down to a meal.” He snatched the phone from my hand and dropped it into my coat pocket. “I’ll go with you.”

“But a car is coming to take you to the airport.”

“It’ll wait. I’ve got to see Urso’s face when you tell him that you—not he—solved the case.”

I sighed. Men and their egos.

CHAPTER

I was racing toward town, carrying what I thought was a murder weapon, and I had landed on a suspect with a clear-cut motive, yet my breathing was stilted, my body tense, and the bump on my forehead ached with a vengeance. Why, for heaven’s sake? Not because the sky had grown dark and bloated with clouds, or because the