into an outfit appropriate for a sixties’ disco. “Sylvie, I’m sorry, but you weren’t invited.”
“Oh, yes, I was. I got an invitation.” She waved a pretty silver embossed card.
“Good try, but it was only a verbal invitation.”
Caught in an outright lie, she blanched. “But”—she sputtered—“but I brought food. Bangers and mash.” She peeled up a corner of the foil. The heavenly aroma of spicy sausages greeted me.
Pepere trundled to us. “Let her stay.”
“But—”
I knew the saying. A needlepoint my mother had made of the Sun-Tzu quote hung in my bedroom. But Pepere didn’t fool me. He was a sucker for good sausage, and Sylvie knew it.
She smiled triumphantly. “There, you see? I’ve been invited. Verbally.” If she could have stuck out her tongue and gotten away with it, she would have.
“Charlotte.” Delilah scooted to our group, a spoon in one hand and wineglass in the other. “Matthew has an announcement to make.” She tapped the wineglass with the spoon. “Matthew, you’re on!”
Matthew stopped his wine pouring and looped an arm around Meredith’s back. “I’m pleased to announce we’ve set a date.”
“Congratulations,” “About time,” and “When?” filtered through the crowd.
“The first Saturday in October,” Meredith said, her eyes glistening with joy.
Sylvie harrumphed. “I give it a year.”
I glowered at her. “I give it a lifetime.”
“Not everyone is meant to have a life partner,” she said.
“Matthew is. It just wasn’t you.”
“Well, well.” Sylvie gave me a look that bordered on respectful. “The vixen has come out to play.”
I didn’t rise to her jab. “I’m not a vixen, Sylvie. I’m truthful. If you want to spar, why don’t you duke it out with Prudence?” Sylvie’s latest rival chatted on the opposite side of the room with a pack of town council members. “We don’t have any canapes,” I added, “but I’m sure you’ll find some ammunition.”
Sylvie turned pale. Valiantly, she slapped on a phony smile, sashayed to the dining table to set down her potluck contribution, and waltzed toward the foyer. I chuckled, happy that the canape story would follow her for years.
As Sylvie disappeared into the foyer, Urso sauntered into the room, sans Jacky. Maybe she couldn’t get a sitter. Or maybe I was right and they had broken up. He strolled to Delilah and me. “What’s with Matthew’s ex?”
Delilah raised her wineglass. “The M&Ms have set a wedding date. Our resident twit isn’t happy.”
“M&Ms, ha!” Urso chortled. “That’s good. May I use that?”
“Be my guest.” Delilah winked. “Oh, there’s Luigi.
I averted my eyes and caught Urso staring at me.
His face turned grim. “Charlotte, can I have a word?” He removed his broad-brimmed hat and jerked his chin toward the kitchen door.
Why did I have a bad feeling about what he wanted to say?
“Sure,” I said, praying for nothing worse than a verbal slap to the wrists. I wouldn’t hold up well in jail.
We moved into the kitchen where a foursome of Providence Do-Gooders were sitting at the table playing bridge. Turquoise-studded hats adorned each of their heads. When I’d arrived earlier, Grandmere boasted that the group had grown to thirty members. They were scouring our county, as well as the surrounding counties, for goodwill projects. In unison, they said, “Hello, Chief.”
Urso returned the greeting. “Charlotte, are you warm enough to talk on the porch? The storm has passed.”
I grabbed one of my grandfather’s jackets from the mudroom beyond the kitchen and shrugged into it as we strolled outside. The sleeves hung over my hands, making me look like Dopey in
I strolled across the patio and stopped at the edge of the grass. “Nice night.” The air was brisk but refreshing. A shiver curled up my spine. “Look at the moon.” A sliver of pale yellow hung in the black velvet sky, surrounded by shimmering, diamond-bright stars.
Urso touched my shoulder. I turned. In the soft light, his face looked as solemn as a judge’s. “Let me cut to the chase,” he said. “I’m not pleased with you.”
“I know. I—”
“Number one, you shouldn’t have gone to the inn with Rebecca.” Urso tucked his hat beneath his arm, then ticked off points on his thick fingertips. “Number two, you shouldn’t have walked down an abandoned alley.”
I had hardly considered the Winter Wonderland aisles alleys. Or abandoned.
“Number three, you should’ve called me right away, and not—”
“Whoa.” I held up a palm. “It’s not like I didn’t try to communicate, but you’ve been so busy.”
“The next time you impede an investigation, I’m putting you—”
“Impede?” Heat flushed my neck and cheeks. I jammed my hands onto my hips, a clumsy move with the extra length of sleeves. “I did not impede.”
“You allowed a suspect to trap you.”
“You never told me Chip was a suspect.”
“I didn’t trust him within a lick of his life. I never have, in all the years I’ve known him.”
“In the future, you might want to keep me in the loop.”
Urso craned his neck forward, reminding me of a buzzard inspecting a worm. I stood taller. I wouldn’t be cowed. Not by him. Not by anyone.
“Are you saying, in the future, you intend to nose around?” Urso asked.
“When I feel an injustice is being done, I’ll do everything I can to find a solution. Ipo Ho wasn’t guilty, but you were so focused on him as your suspect that Rebecca was sick with worry.” I shoved the jacket sleeve up my arm and thrust a finger at him. “Could you have figured out that a Camembert-style cheese container was used as a hockey puck without my input?”
He scrubbed his stubbly chin.
“No, you could not.” I stabbed my finger for emphasis. “So don’t tell me to—”
In one fell swoop, he grabbed my finger, pulled me to him, and kissed me. I didn’t kiss back. At least I didn’t think I did. How could I know? My body was vibrating with shock. A boiling heat brewed in my chest.
As fast as he zeroed in, Urso backed away. A stealth bomber couldn’t have been sneakier. “I apologize,” he said, a boyish flush suffusing his face. “I was just …” He whipped his hat from beneath his arm and beat it against his leg. “Earlier, when Jordan called, I was so worried for your safety that I couldn’t imagine another day going by without telling you how I feel about you.”
“But Jacky.”
“We broke up. She said she felt like a surrogate for someone else. She was right. She doesn’t know it’s you. It’s always been you.”
“But—”
A man cleared his throat. I whirled around.
“Am I interrupting?” Jordan loped up the driveway, hands tucked into the pockets of his distressed leather jacket. The glow of lamps along the driveway lit the underside of his chin and the planes of his cheeks. He looked incredibly handsome.
I glanced between Urso and Jordan, and my heart kicked into overdrive. “We were discussing the case,” I said.
“Ahhh.” Jordan drew near, lips pursed.
Did he know? Had he seen? I needn’t feel guilty. I hadn’t instigated the kiss.
“I heard Georgia Plachette is clearing out tonight,” he said to Urso. “She’s broken off all contracts and hostile negotiations. Oscar is leaving with her.” Oscar had roused from his coma at the same time Chip was holding me hostage.
