Clobbered by Camembert

As if summoned by Prudence’s negative spirit, Kaitlyn Clydesdale swept into the store. “Why, Prudence, are you telling me you don’t remember me?” She smiled broadly. “It’s me, Kaitlyn. Katie C.”

“No!” Prudence said, taking in Kaitlyn with narrowed, disbelieving eyes. “Can’t be.”

“It is.” Kaitlyn ran a finger across the brim of her hat. “A few pounds thinner and wrinkles older. You dated my little brother, Kent.”

Prudence’s face grew reflective. She wasn’t married and was known as a penny-pincher who would never share her wealth with a man. Did she actually have a soft spot for someone on this planet? This Kent guy? Prudence hurried to Kaitlyn and gripped her by both arms. “How is he?”

“Married, four kids, living in California. He told me to look you up. I heard you’re in charge of the Providence Historical Museum.”

“I am.”

“I’m in charge of an organization that helps renovate such institutions.”

Prudence’s eyes brightened, and if I hadn’t seen Kaitlyn Clydesdale in action earlier, snubbing Rebecca and practically taunting me with the memory of my parents’ deaths, I would have sworn she was a nice woman. But I knew differently. She dropped bombs with ease, like the Red Baron.

“We’ll talk, Pru.” Kaitlyn broke free of Prudence and strode toward the counter.

As she did, Arlo shuttled toward the exit. He bumped into Kaitlyn as he passed and grimaced as though the contact stung.

Before the door closed behind him, my lively grandmother breezed inside, her purple crocheted poncho billowing up with vigor. She flipped off the hood of her homemade patchwork coat and plucked at her short hair. “Kaitlyn, there you are. I—” When Grandmere spotted me, she skidded to a stop, and a flush of embarrassment colored her aging crepe-paper-wrinkled skin. In my gaze, she must have detected that Kaitlyn had dropped the bombshell about my parents’ deaths. She held up a finger to me as if to say we’d talk later, and I blew her a kiss, letting her know that I wasn’t mad about the story. She knew best what I could handle at the time. I didn’t believe that, at the age of three, I would have devoured myself with guilt, but perhaps I would have, and that guilt could have altered my life’s journey.

With a sigh of relief, Grandmere skated toward Kaitlyn and slipped her fingers around Kaitlyn’s elbow. “Charlotte, I see you’ve met my dear, dear friend Kaitlyn.”

Dear, dear, I thought. Since when?

“We have known each other for years,” Grandmere went on. “She was one of your mother’s first friends. What was it you both loved to do?”

Kaitlyn said, “Climb trees.”

“Oui.” Grandmere petted Kaitlyn’s arm. “And scrape your knees.”

“Pfft,” Prudence sputtered and glowered at Grandmere. Was she jealous that Grandmere and Kaitlyn were best buds? Was Grandmere purposely fawning over Kaitlyn to irk Prudence?

“By the way, Charlotte, did Kaitlyn tell you?” Grandmere said. “The Do-Gooders are going to invest in the Providence Playhouse.”

“No!” Prudence gasped.

Grandmere stood as tall as her five feet two inches could make her. “It is a historical building worth saving, Prudence Hart, no matter what you may think.” In addition to being the mayor of our fair city, my grandmother also ran the theater. Five years ago, she’d campaigned for a new set of loge chairs and had succeeded at raising the funds, but the structure was old beyond old. The walls had cracks. The bases of the walls were weathered. The wiring was faulty. “It is going to get a makeover,” she crowed. “We have found our saint.”

“Angel,” I corrected her.

“Whatever. Are we not lucky? Our first production in the newly refurbished building will be … Wait for it.” She held her finger up. “The musical, Chicago.”

“But that’s so mainstream,” I said. My grandmother was known to do plays or musicals with a twist.

“Nothing like shaking things up by keeping them normal.” Grandmere winked.

Prudence sputtered. “But Kaitlyn just promised to help renovate the Providence Historical Museum.”

“Don’t worry, ladies. I’ll be doing both.” Kaitlyn offered her megawatt smile. “I have every intention—” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” She fished the phone from her purse and answered. As she listened, her smile turned taut and her gaze steely. Though she cupped her hand around her mouth and the phone’s mouthpiece, she could still be heard. “You listen to me. You’ll do nothing of the kind! Do you hear me? I’ll ruin you.” She flicked the cell phone shut and flung it into her bag. As fast as her smile had vanished, it returned. “Now, where were we? Do- Gooders to the rescue.”

CHAPTER

“Aunt Charlotte, I’m ready!” Amy hurtled down the stairs of my two-story Victorian, her eyes frisky with excitement.

She and her sister, Clair, weren’t actually my nieces. Their father was my cousin, so the girls were first cousins once removed, but I could never bring myself to call them that. Matthew and I settled on using the terms niece and aunt the day the twins were born.

“Oops.” Amy nearly missed the last step. She hit the floor and skated on one foot toward me, while I was struggling to put a leash on Rocket, the Briard pup that the twins’ mother, Sylvie, had so sweetly dumped on my doorstep … and on me. Looping the choke chain over the dog’s overly active head was always a challenge. The dog barked as a warning.

“Sorry,” Amy said.

“Keep your head steady, pup,” I added.

Rags, my Ragdoll cat, scooted into the foyer, batting an empty box of Camembert like a hockey puck. He sailed it into the dog. Rocket leapt backward and barked again. Rags hissed. Rocket hunkered down and growled. I grinned. I had a house full of kids and none but the cat were mine.

“Sit, Rocket!” I ordered, though I had to admit I didn’t sound very tough. Rocket didn’t mind me. I said, “Sit!” more sternly. Rags, the rascal, did a victory cha-cha then scooted away. “C’mon, Rocket. Sit or you don’t get your evening walk.” Begrudgingly he obeyed. I slipped on the leash.

“How do I look?” Amy tugged the hem of her blue and yellow polka-dot sweater over the hips of her Capri pants then fluffed her blunt brown hair.

“Cute.” I zipped up my parka and snugged my gold filigree scarf around my neck. “But why the fuss? It’s just rehearsal.”

The twins and ten other girls their age had been selected to sing in this year’s Winter Wonderland chorale. A recital “hall” tent stood in the middle of the Village Green, near the town’s wishing well and clock tower. The songfest would be the highlight of Saturday evening’s festivities.

Amy’s mouth quirked to a smile. “Because.”

“She likes a boy,” Clair said from the landing. “He’s going to be at the Winter Wonderland faire.” She tucked a book under her arm and took the stairs cautiously as she always did, but once she hit the hardwood floor in the foyer, she became as animated as her sister. She poofed her bangs and plucked lint off her floral sweater.

“Who is the boy?” I tilted my head.

“Thomas Taylor,” Clair blurted.

Amy thwacked her. “I told you not to tell.”

“You said don’t tell Dad,” Clair said with pixielike glee then adjusted her mini ponytail. “You didn’t say I couldn’t tell Aunt Charlotte.”

“Does Thomas know?” I asked, surprised that Amy was the one who liked him. He was a shy boy and seemed better suited to Clair.

Amy shook her head. “Boys are dense.”

“Why will he be at the faire?” I asked. “It’s not officially open yet.”

“His father is carving one of the ice sculptures. It’s the one of a horse with a knight on it.”

The sculpture I had admired, which shocked me. I didn’t think that Tyanne’s soon-to-be ex-husband had an ounce of creativity in his bones. “Well, you look very nice, and Thomas would be a dolt not to flirt with you.”