Clobbered by Camembert

wind had kicked up or an icy rain—the next wave of the predicted inclement weather—was starting to fall. I was born and raised in Ohio. I could deal with weather. No, I was edgy because my ex-fiance was hustling beside me, grinning like he had won the lottery: me. I didn’t have the time or the energy to boot him away.

“Let’s plow through Winter Wonderland,” Chip said, opening the umbrella and tilting it in my direction to cover my head. How gallant. “It’s a shortcut to the diner.”

At the north entrance to the Village Green, we skirted around a man offering horse-drawn hayrides. Chip, who had lived on a horse ranch for most of his young life, gave the roan a pat on the nose. The roan snuffled a greeting and jutted his head for more.

“Sorry, Chuckles, gotta go. Police business.” Chip gestured for me to pass through the twinkling Winter Wonderland archway first.

As I did, the scent of horse and hay swam up my nostrils and made me wobbly. I remembered the attacker’s hands on my throat at Oscar’s. I could feel them pressing. Why hadn’t Ainsley wrung the life out of me? He was strong. He could have finished the job before I had found the chance to poke his Adam’s apple. Had he held back because he liked me?

“Ciao, Charlotte.” Sylvie, dressed like a teenager in an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, torn jeans, and Uggs, pranced toward me. In her arms, she lugged a cumbersome stack of Under Wraps boxes while balancing a frilly umbrella overhead. “I’m closing up the tent and having a sale at the shop. Why don’t you stop by? You could use some wardrobe advice.”

Not from someone who dressed like a Flashdance extra, I didn’t.

Without waiting for my reply, she trotted past.

Chip nodded appreciatively. “She’s hot.”

“Keep off the grass. She’s crazy.”

“And you’re not?” He chortled. “Don’t worry about me. I’m leaving town, remember? Unless you want me to change my mind.”

“No, I—”

“Wow, will you look at that?” Chip pointed.

Beyond Sylvie’s retreating figure, a knot of people were clustered beneath umbrellas, watching Theo put the final touches on his knight on horseback ice sculpture. Nearby, children fought with icicle swords. The adults in the crowd, led by Theo’s lusty girlfriend, began to chant, cheering Theo to the finish. Theo’s mouth quirked up with appreciation, and then after one last flourish with the ice saw, he stepped away. The crowd went wild.

“Guess he’s the winner,” Chip said.

“Not until the judge says so.” I gestured to a stoic man in a blue suit with a broad red ribbon across his chest. Sleet slipped over the brim of his hat and onto his clipboard. Mouth grim, he jotted notes.

Past the judge, I spied Tyanne hovering beneath the rim of a tent, sheltered from the rain. She stood frozen in her spot, a box of stemware from Le Petit Fromagerie in her arms. A pained expression consumed her face. I made a mental note to keep her busy at The Cheese Shop in the coming weeks so her sorrow over the demise of her marriage wouldn’t drag her into a dark hole.

“Theo carved a good likeness of me, don’t you think?” Chip thrust his chin upward for my assessment.

“You’re far from a knight in shining armor.”

“I try.”

“And fail.” I prodded him, and we zigzagged past the throng.

Seconds later, we neared the La Bella Ristorante concession cart, which looked a little worse for wear, thanks to last night’s fire. However, a new Italian flag waved at the top of the flagpole. Luigi and one of his sous chefs were preparing brandy-laced crepes. Despite the icy rain, a crowd of hopeful gourmets stood beneath a makeshift awning. Barton Burrell, money in hand, waited with his family. His children looked eager to tear into a crepe. Emma appeared pale and even more withdrawn than she had seemed yesterday, if that were possible. Poor thing.

Luigi raised his hand. “Chip, hold on, son. Where are you going in such a hurry? Aren’t you going to say goodbye to a pal? I got wind that you’re leaving town.”

“And I heard about the fire yesterday.” Chip thwacked Luigi on the shoulder. “Way to go.”

“I haven’t been completely myself.”

“Don’t blame it on me. You’re the one who bent your elbow one too many times. Be careful around that flame, or you’ll go”—Chip gestured like a magician—“poof.”

As if on cue, the contents in the crepe pan ignited. Seeing the blaze and feeling the waves of heat made me think danger. Was I wrong to have left Rebecca back at the inn? What if Ainsley returned? What if Lois or Rebecca blurted that Chip and I were taking the hockey stick to Urso? Ainsley might hurt them before coming after me. Granted, Rebecca had an umbrella, but it wasn’t nearly the weapon she believed it to be.

“Chip, let’s go.” I explained my concern. “The sooner we get Urso on board, the sooner we get back to Lavender and Lace.”

“This way, Charlotte. Too many distractions here.” Chip grabbed my elbow and steered me down a familiar aisle, the one leading to Le Petit Fromagerie.

The lane felt cooler than the one we had just left. Though strands of lights outlining the tents were switched on, shops on both sides of the aisle were closed. Owners had packed up. Foot traffic was nonexistent. Other than the ice sculpture judging, the faire was officially over.

Chip said, “Let’s exit by the pub and jog down the sidewalk.”

With him holding on to my arm, I was forced to keep pace. “Speaking of the pub,” I said, dodging icy spots of sleet. “Last night Oscar borrowed your phone. I think he saw something on it. Maybe a photo. He tried to get my attention. Did you take a picture of Ainsley without Ainsley knowing it?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Did you get the iPhone back from Oscar?”

Chip patted his jacket pocket.

“Let me have a peek.” I wriggled free of his grasp and waved my hand.

“Not now.”

“Yes, now. Maybe you got a picture of Ainsley hiding the round of Emerald Isles goat cheese or”—another idea struck me—“listening to Tim telling Kaitlyn where she might find Ipo.”

“A photo of him listening to a conversation wouldn’t be incriminating. It would be impossible to know what he was hearing.”

“Okay, fine. Let me have your phone anyway.” I groped in his jacket pocket. My fingers hit something that felt like mittens.

Chip plucked my hand out and wheeled on me. “Stop it!”

I threw my hands up in surrender, hockey stick and all. “Sorry if I’m infringing on your space, but Urso’s going to want to know how Ainsley knew where Kaitlyn would be. A picture of him in the pub would say more than a thousand words.”

“That’s a stretch.”

“Oscar saw something on your phone. What if he called Ainsley and dunned him for money to keep quiet, and Ainsley tracked Oscar down at his bungalow?”

“Time out.” Chip flattened his palm. “You told me Ainsley met with Kaitlyn earlier. He knew she was going to a Do-Gooder meeting. She probably gave him the rest of her agenda then.”

“But Kaitlyn didn’t know Ipo was at Rebecca’s until she talked to Tim. Ainsley must have overheard them talking.”

“Unless he waited outside the pub and followed her.”

“But how would he know she was in the pub?”

“Maybe he trailed her from Under Wraps.”

A snap-crackle cut through the air. A string of tiny white lights on the Le Petit Fromagerie tent blew. At the same time, a sizzle of electricity zapped the edges of my mind. I tried to tap the source, but I felt like I was trying to peel the waxy rind off a stubborn cheese. I said, “How did you know Kaitlyn went to Under Wraps?”

“Town gossip.” Chip pivoted and jogged ahead.