The Long Quiche Goodbye (24 page)

“Of course, poor dear,” Gretel said.

“Tyanne, let’s stand up, darlin’.” The pastor hoisted Tyanne to her feet and he and his wife wrapped their arms around her. Flanking her, they escorted her through the crowd and out the gate, where an even larger crowd had gathered and spilled off the sidewalk and onto the street.

Vivian brushed grass off the back of my blouse and whistled. “What in heck was that about?”

I told her about Tyanne’s confession and she whistled again.

“Then it’s done,” she said. “Urso will arrest Kristine.”

I nodded.

“That’s wonderful news.”

“Charlotte!” Octavia scuttled toward us, the briefcase slung over her shoulder banging her broad hip. “The deal went through.”

“What?” I said, delight burbling inside me. I’d had enough bad news for one day. “We got the building?”

“No, just the opposite. You have a new owner.”

“But what about our higher bid?” I stammered.

“I’m so sorry. Somehow, Kristine found out you were Q. Lorraine Inc. She turned us down flat.”

“How did she find out?” I said. “Only Bozz, you, and I knew.”

“And me,” Vivian said. “But I didn’t blab. What about Matthew?”

He wouldn’t have said a word. I wracked my brain. Had I told someone else the name, or was Kristine just clever? Speaking of clever, had Kristine learned that Tyanne had spilled the beans to me? Had she threatened Tyanne? That could have been what had sent Tyanne into hysterics.

The rented lights snapped on, the glare blinding me for a moment. The crowd oohed. Then a spotlight illuminated the stage. Leave it to Grandmère, with her flair for the dramatic, to make a spectacle of the evening. The crowd of onlookers applauded. Their conversation swelled.

I leaned closer to Octavia and shouted to be heard over the din. “Who’s the new owner?”

“Providence Creative Arts, or something like that. It, too, is a corporation. I believe it bought the building Vivian is in, as well, and has plans for renovating it.”

Vivian moaned. “Well, there you have it. He’ll close me down.”

“He?” I asked. “You know who it is?”

“The generic
he
,” Vivian conceded. “Whoever the new owner is will close me down.”

Delilah joined us, her curly hair framing her face with wild abandon. “Who will close you down?”

I said, “Some corporation has bought my building as well as Vivian’s.”

Vivian said, “He’ll boot me out. Rental space in Providence is hard to come by. The new owner probably has an antique store of his own or some scrapbooking shop. Providence Creative Arts. Sounds snooty, doesn’t it?” She looked truly devastated. “Where will I move?”

“How about that space above Luigi’s restaurant?” I said, “It’s empty.”

Vivian sneered at the idea. “I warned Ed that this would happen.”

A niggling suspicion gnawed at the edges of my mind. Pépère had seen Vivian and Ed arguing. Was it about this very thing? Could Vivian have been so worried about losing her lease that she would have killed Ed to stop the sale? No, Bozz told me that the sale of her building happened before Ed died.

I pinched myself to keep from suspecting everyone. My friends were not guilty. Kristine was. With or without Tyanne’s testimony, Urso would be able to put the pieces of the puzzle together now. He had to.

“Did Urso find out anything about the woman roaming the hills?” Delilah asked.

I told them about his adventure with the Bible-quoting volunteers.

Delilah roared. “Too funny. He was toying with them. He knows those verses backward and forward.” Delilah knew more about Urso than I did. She and he had dated when she first returned to town. I always wondered why they hadn’t gelled but didn’t have the guts to ask her. “So that means they didn’t find out who was roaming the hills the night Ed died, huh? What if it wasn’t Kristine? What if it was Felicia? Remember Kristine saw her digging? She’s about the same size as Kristine. What if Felicia had dirt from the hills on her shovel and, to hide the evidence, dug in her backyard to mix up the dirt?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like Rebecca.”

“It had to be Kristine,” Vivian said. “Charlotte heard Tyanne’s statement. Kristine didn’t pick up her child. Kristine killed Ed, then went to the hills to bury the evidence.”

“What evidence?” Octavia said. “What statement?”

For the moment, I felt like we were playing the old game Telephone. I filled Octavia in.

“That should be enough for a jury,” Vivian said.

“Should be.” Octavia glanced at her watch. “Charlotte, I’m going to scoot. I just remembered there’s a colleague of mine who might know how to find out who the principals of the corporation are.” She hoisted her briefcase strap higher on her shoulder and dashed off.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Meredith joined the group, her face and clothes a dusty mess, her hair, tied in a ponytail, covered with cobwebs.

“Don’t you look lovely,” I teased.

“I didn’t have time to change after cleaning the storage room. You don’t think your grandmother will mind do you, Charlotte?”

“Not if you vote for her.”

Amy and Clair, rid of all their rally doodads, ran up to Meredith and each grabbed a hand. “You’re here!”

“Hey, you two,” Meredith said. “If you don’t promise to stay out of trouble at school, I’m going to make you help me in the storage room.” She plucked a cobweb from her hair and dangled it in front of them.

The twins screeched, “We promise,” then ran in circles around her, their giggles filling me with hope for their happiness.

Meredith said to me, “I heard you talking about Kristine. Can we trap her?”

Amy and Clair yelled, “Let’s trap her.”

My good vibes vanished in an instant. The twins did not need to be part of this conversation. “Girls, go tell Pépère it’s time to start. Put Grandmère on the podium. Chant for her like you practiced.”

Once they were out of earshot, I drew Meredith, Delilah, and Vivian into a huddle and said, “Trap her how?”

Meredith whispered, “Get her to confess.”

“She won’t,” Vivian cut in. “But a personal sighting by Gretel should be enough.”

“True,” Delilah said. “Add in Tyanne’s lie and—”

“Tyanne didn’t lie.” A hunched-back woman in a black veil and dress pushed her way into the huddle between Meredith and me.

I peered through the veil. Kristine stared back at me with a malicious leer.

A firecracker exploded and crackled red and blue in the sky. And then another popped. And another. Seven o’clock. Time for Grandmère’s speech.

Frizzles of electricity ran up my arms. “What do you mean, she didn’t lie? And why are you dressed incognito?”

“She’s spying,” Vivian said.

“Looking for political pointers,” Delilah suggested.

“I hardly need pointers.” Kristine’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Then why?” I demanded. First Tyanne showed up with her bulging bag, and now Kristine, acting shifty. My nerves couldn’t take much more. “If you’re planning on sabotaging the rally—”

“Oh, please. I wouldn’t have made it inside the gate if I had looked like me.” Kristine stood to her full height and pushed back the veil. “I will win tomorrow’s election on my own merit.”

“You will not.” Vivian charged at Kristine and stood nose-to-nose with her, her hands balled into fists. “Bernadette will win.” I thought for a moment she was going to punch Kristine, but then her fingers relaxed, and she backed up a step. “You’ll see. The town wants Bernadette.”

“What do you mean, Tyanne didn’t lie?” I said returning to my initial question.

“She told the truth,” Kristine said.

“You didn’t pick up Willamina that night?”

“That’s correct.”

My mouth dropped open. We had her. She confessed.

“I didn’t pick up my daughter because I, too, was meeting with a divorce attorney.”

“Who?” I asked. It wasn’t like Providence was overflowing with attorneys.

Kristine pointed. “Him!”

CHAPTER 26

“Mr. Nakamura is your lawyer?” I blurted. I glanced at the man and his petite wife who were standing amongst the throng nearest Pépère by the picnic table. All of them were cheering and hooting for Grandmère to take the stage
.

“But he’s the hardware store owner,” Delilah said.

“Not an attorney,” Meredith chimed in.

“He can barely write up a contract of sale,” Vivian said, sounding a tad snarky.

I was equally as stunned, but worse, I was disappointed. Kristine had a legitimate alibi. And Mr. Nakamura, who I adored, could corroborate it.

As if he knew we were talking about him, Mr. Nakamura glanced our way, offered a cherubic smile, and waved. Like a goofball, I waved back. What else could I do? Charge through the crowd and grill him right then and there?

Kristine said, “He was a lawyer in Cleveland. A few years ago, he decided law was not his calling and moved here. He likes to work with his hands, but he never gave up his practice.”

In our many encounters, Mr. Nakamura and I had talked about a lot of things, like how to refinish wood and how to hang a chandelier without electrocuting myself and possibly frying my hair. Why hadn’t he mentioned his previous career? How had self-centered Kristine found out? She was the kind of person who would always turn a conversation back to being about her.

“I have granted him permission to give the details to Chief Urso,” Kristine went on.

I moaned. She’d granted him permission. Like she was the Queen of England. My blood churned like hot oil ready to burst from a geyser, but I didn’t lash out because it was Grandmère’s night and she was climbing onto the picnic table.

A cheer broke out from the crowd.

Grandmère tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome.” The microphone hissed. She passed it to Pépère, who fiddled with the switch.

“That’s my cue to exit stage left,” Kristine said.

“Wait a second.” I grabbed her sleeve. “Mr. Nakamura and his wife were seen hustling into their shop a short time after the murder. Is that where you and he met?” She couldn’t have met them at the shop. Luigi would have seen her go inside with them. I’d trapped her.

“No, we met at his house at nine thirty, which I believe was about the same time that Ed was . . .” Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob. Phony or not, I couldn’t tell. She recovered quickly. “I wanted to keep the meeting hush-hush so Ed wouldn’t find out. Mrs. Nakamura was there. She saw me. They left your soirée early.”

How could I dispute her? I couldn’t remember seeing the Nakamuras during the last hour of the gala opening. “How long were you with him?”

Kristine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What are you, the district attorney?”

“How long?” Meredith said, edging to my side.

“Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.”

That timing was in keeping with what Mrs. Nakamura said. At ten to ten, they had entered their shop to do inventory.

“Ed was selling off building after building,” Kristine went on. “He wouldn’t tell me why. I thought he had made bad business investments. I didn’t know he was planning to divorce me. I had to protect my interests. Married, I would be responsible for any of his losses. I couldn’t go through that, no matter how much I loved him.” She glowered at me. “And I did love him.”

“Why didn’t the Nakamuras mention this to Urso?” Vivian asked.

“Or why didn’t you?” Delilah pressed.

“Yeah,” Meredith said.

I smiled at my little team of assistant district attorneys, proud to call them all friends.

Kristine cocked a hip. “Because Chief Urso never suspected me of killing my husband. He has Charlotte’s grandmother as a prime suspect.”

“Welcome, everyone!” Grandmère said, with no hissing from the microphone. “The time is now!”

“It sure is.” Kristine cackled. “If you’ll all excuse me, ladies, I’m off. See you tomorrow when you will bow to me in allegiance.” She waltzed away, the black chiffon getup fluttering behind her. If she had flown off on a broom, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

When I was able to calm my breathing, I said, “So if Kristine didn’t kill Ed, who did and why?”

“Swoozie Swenten had a lot to gain,” Vivian said.

“Maybe that wasn’t her that Luigi saw walking down the street with the reporter,” Meredith offered. “He’s got bad eyes, and he’s too vain to wear glasses.”

“And I wouldn’t rule out Felicia, no matter what she says,” Delilah added. “I saw the way she looked at Ed. Have you checked out her alibi with her aunt or reviewed her bookkeeping with her accountant?”

I hadn’t. I had taken Felicia at her word. Was I nuts? “Vivian, didn’t you see anybody running from The Cheese Shop when you went to your antique store that night?”

She shook her head. “I was too focused on getting a shipment ready for the next day.”

“The killer had to be somebody who knew Ed, someone who had a history with him,” I said.

“The time is now!” Grandmère repeated, her words echoing over the crowd.

Meredith gripped my arm. “Give it a rest and give your grandmother her due.”

She was right. I put my theorizing on hold and turned toward the picnic table.

“I love the town of Providence,” Grandmère went on. “We have prospered not only in business, but in education and the arts, as well. They are the three pillars of our society. Your vote for me tomorrow means you want to continue to thrive as a town. You want visitors to come and share in our excitement. Isn’t that right?”

Rousing shouts of approval followed.

“Now, I have to admit . . .” Grandmère chuckled. I’d bet she had scripted every laugh and hand gesture for emphasis. “I’m a little nervous, for the first time in my life. I stand before you accused of murder.”

“No!” the crowd intoned.

“I’m innocent. If you believe me, then vote for me.”

“We believe,” the crowd roared like revival attendees.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Jordan ambling solo through the knot of people in the driveway. I left my friends and drew up beside him, pivoting so we were both facing my grandmother on stage. “Nice of you to make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it. She’s won my vote.”

It warmed my heart to hear that. “Where’s your sister?”

“She has business to attend to.” He looked up at the sky. “Nice night. A gentle breeze, perfect temperature.”

“Lovely.” The sky was smoky from the firecrackers Pépère had shot off, but stars shone through. However, a breeze was kicking up from the west and a storm was in the forecast.

Jordan slipped his hand around mine and good vibes spiraled up my arm. We stood like that, part of the night’s tableau, for a full three minutes.

When Grandmère stopped speaking and the crowd started to disassemble, Jordan pecked me on the cheek.

“What was that for?” I said feeling like a schoolgirl who wouldn’t wash her face for a week.

“Couldn’t resist. Now, about that date. I missed you at the shop.”

“Yes, about that—”

“Saturday, say, eleven?”

I couldn’t believe it. We were actually setting not only the day but the time. “You’re on!”

“Charlotte!” Pépère charged toward me, his face etched with panic. “Come quickly. Your
grandmère
.”

Jordan and I raced after Pépère. We found Grandmère slumped on the picnic table bench. She wasn’t passed out, but she looked dazed. Jordan broke free and knelt beside her. He clutched my grandmother’s wrist and put his other hand to her temple. “She’s feverish.”

“Nerves,” my grandfather said.

“Did she eat beforehand, Pépère? She might have low blood sugar.”

“She was too excited.” He wrung his hands together.

“We need some cold compresses,” Jordan said. “And some juice.”

As if by magic, Rebecca appeared with a glass of orange juice, wet washcloths, and a couple of Hershey’s Kisses. Knowing about my weakness for the darned things, Grandmère always kept a bag of the tasty treats on hand. “Charlotte, take these.”

I grabbed the items from her, knelt beside Jordan, and slipped the cool cloths around Grandmère’s neck. When she could sit, I peeled off the Hershey’s shiny silver wrappers and forced her to eat a couple of them and drink some of the liquid.

When her eyes cleared, she smiled. “Oh,
mon dieu.
I’m so sorry. I’m better now. Don’t fuss over me.” She waved a hand. “I was so nervous. I could feel my heart . . .” She pounded her chest. “I want to win. I never knew how much.”

Pépère sat beside her and clutched her hand in his. “
Mon amie,
you are getting—”

“Don’t say it,” she snapped. “Do not say, ‘You are getting old.’ I am seventy.”

“Seventy-two,” he muttered.

“That is young enough to jump out of a plane and young enough to climb a mountain, so it is not too old to run a town.”

Pépère winked at me. “She’s better now.”

Grandmère batted him on the arm and laughed. “You old goat.”

“Ma-a-a-a-a,”
he droned.

Rebecca giggled.

Jordan and I stood up, moment of crisis averted. He said, “Why don’t we take a walk—?”

“Charlotte,
chérie
, I almost forgot.” Grandmère scrambled to her feet and clutched my arm. “Delilah needs you.”

“What for?”

“Tech rehearsal. Right now. We start full dress rehearsals in two days. Delilah isn’t sure she’s up to the task. She would never admit it, I know, but will you help her, please? You are so organized. You see the big picture.” She released me and folded her hands in prayer. “It would mean so much to me. It is a very difficult production.”

I glanced at Jordan, who offered a what-can-you-do smile. “Saturday, eleven,” I said. “A walk and a picnic. I make a mean prosciutto and Tomme Crayeuse panini.”

“Done.” He pecked my cheek again, in front of Grandmère and everybody, and strode across the grass toward his sister’s house.

When the moment of swoon passed, I said, “What about the twins, Grandmère?”

“They can stay here for the night. That will give Matthew and Meredith, you know, a little time.”

“First, I need to go home and change.” Even though my clothes didn’t smell of beer any longer, a skirt and blouse weren’t the right attire for hanging out in an air-conditioned theater. Providence Playhouse was only a few blocks from my house.

“Bless you. Bless you.” Grandmère kissed me on each cheek and gave my chin a tweak.

“May I go with you?” Rebecca said. “I’d love to see what a tech rehearsal is like.”

A howling wind kicked up as Rebecca and I rounded the corner to my neighborhood. My house, dark except for the sole kitchen light that I had left on for Rags, looked as ominous as a ghost house in a suspense novel. The willow tree in the front yard waved its arms like a banshee. A few loose shutters jackhammered the sides of the house. I made a mental note to fix them. I wasn’t one to let things go to pot. It wasn’t a good business practice.

I unlocked the kitchen door, and Rebecca followed me inside. Usually Rags flew out of nowhere and attacked my shoes. “Rags!” I didn’t hear him scrabbling down the stairs. “Rags?”

“Could he have gone outside?” Rebecca asked.

“He’s an indoor cat.”

“But you have the cat door.”

“He never uses it.” I slapped the granite counter. “Ragsie!” When he didn’t come running, I pressed down the lever of the can opener to fake a dinnertime sound. He still didn’t tear into the room. A riddling of fear snaked up my back. “Rags!”

“Shhhh,” Rebecca said. “Listen.”

A faint mewing came from the direction of the laundry room. I hurried down the hall, flew into the laundry room, and whipped open a cupboard that stood slightly ajar. I found Rags huddling beneath a pile of towels and shivering with fright.

I scooped him up and scratched his neck. “Hey, bud, what’s up? You didn’t hear those firecrackers all the way on this side of town, did you?” Rags was a bit of a scaredy-cat. When he was a stray kitten, he was attacked by a bully of an alley cat. He was taken in by the local animal rescuer, who gave him to me. Not worried about tomcats in my neighborhood, I’d allowed Rags to still be an outdoor cat. That ended one night, after a horrific lightning storm hit, and I’d found Rags howling with terror because he’d been pinned beneath the fallen branch of a red oak. He hadn’t had any broken bones, but I’d cried and apologized for weeks. “I’m so sorry, fella, for whatever spooked you.” He purred and nuzzled my neck. I said, “Yes, I adore you, too.” I handed him to Rebecca. “Crisis averted. I’ll be ready in a second. Give him some kisses, will you?”

She retreated to the kitchen, cooing to him like a lover.

I switched on the foyer chandelier and trotted upstairs, the old steps squeaking beneath my weight.

Near the top, my foot skidded on something slippery. I lurched to the right and groped for the railing. Without warning, the banister gave way, opening like a gate and propelling me sideways.

“Yipes!” Heart hammering, I grabbed the rim of the second-floor landing. My feet dangled down. My palms felt slippery. I dug my fingernails into the wood, but I knew I couldn’t hold on for long. “Rebecca!” If the post had broken outright, I would have fallen headfirst to the floor. As it was, I could drop and break an ankle, maybe a leg. Needless to say, I didn’t want to suffer either. My pulse thundered in my head as I repeated, “Rebecca.”