Clobbered by Camembert

CHAPTER

I was pretty sure what Rebecca felt in her bones was a drop in the temperature, now hovering at below freezing. The gentle snowstorm that had been predicted had passed north of us, but a nippy wind had taken its place. What I craved was a warm fire, a good book, and a cup of tea, but I would have to wait. The remainder of the day beckoned. Bundled in my camel coat, red scarf, and matching gloves, I braved the afternoon chill and headed to the Le Petit Fromagerie tent.

For three hours, while Tyanne and I decorated and moved stock, I couldn’t help thinking about Ipo. How could I bail the love of Rebecca’s life out of a jam? Ipo was innocent until proven guilty, right? Except Urso didn’t seem to be focused on anyone else as a suspect—at least, not to my untrained ears.

By the time Tyanne and I had finished our tasks, I decided the best course of action was to follow through on my promise to Rebecca. I would discuss the sale of the Burrell farm with Octavia Tibble and find out if something had gone awry with the contract.

* * *

Octavia wore two professional hats. She spent half of her time as the owner and sole operator of Tibble Realty and the other half as our town librarian. Bracing against the wind, I headed to our quaint library to track her down. The moment I entered the Victorian building, which was built the same year as the town and painted the color of ripe lemons, I felt an instant sense of peace and harmony.

I followed the sound of young laughter and found Octavia in the children’s section, decked out in a plumed feather turban, purple brocade robes, and brocade slippers, prancing in front of a dozen three- and four-year-olds. She was reading from a glittery book, and as she turned a page, the plumed feather fell forward—intentionally, I was pretty sure. She blew it off her face, and the children roared again with laughter.

I smiled to myself. As a child, how many hours had I spent entertained by the clever librarian who read stories of adventure in far-off lands? Oh, to be that child again, at a time when cruelty and death were no part of my daily life.

When the reading ended and the children started to toddle out, I said to Octavia, “Purple looks good with your coloring.” She had the richest, creamiest café au lait skin I’d ever seen.

“Why, thank you.” She removed her turban and swooped her beaded black braids over her shoulder.

“I see you had the kids in stitches, yet again.”

She chuckled. “You know me. Always in for the fun of it.” She brandished The Fortune-Tellers by Lloyd Alexander. “This author is incredible, and the artwork is exquisite. It might be a little young for the twins, but you never know.” She had recently turned the twins on to reading the original Nancy Drew series. After setting The Fortune-Tellers on the checkout table, she said, “To what do I owe the privilege of your company?”

“It’s about the Clydesdale murder.”

Octavia fanned her chest. “Lord, isn’t it horrible? Wooden batons to the throat.”

“That’s not proven yet. It’s just a theory.”

“Ipo couldn’t find them, I hear.”

“It’s a rumor.” I sounded like one of Rebecca’s TV lawyers. Next thing I knew, I would be attending an online law school.

Octavia said, “You know, I was thinking—”

“Bye-bye, Mrs. Tibble.” A little girl with golden locks danced on tiptoe and wiggled her fingers. “Want to see me twirl before we leave?”

The man holding the girl’s hand spun her like a jewel-box ballerina. Around and around and around.

Octavia regarded him. “Is she your grandchild, Luigi?”

Luigi nodded. “She’s my youngest daughter’s child.”

If Octavia hadn’t said Luigi’s name, I almost wouldn’t have recognized him. Luigi Bozzuto, the restaurateur who owned La Bella Ristorante and was dating Delilah, was usually devilishly handsome, but he looked worse for wear, as if he had run a hundred miles without drinking a sip of water. Bags folded beneath his aging eyes. His skin sagged with fatigue.

“What a pistol,” Octavia said. “Why haven’t I seen her in here before?”

“They’re visiting from Wellington.”

“One of my favorite libraries is in Wellington.” Octavia bent at the waist to speak directly to the little girl. “Do you go to the library near your home? Do you love to read?”

“Yep. Watch me pirouette by myself.” The girl released Luigi’s hand and did another spin, arms wide, chin upturned.

“Oh, yeah, she’s a pistol.” Octavia rose to her full height and squeezed Luigi’s arm. “Hope you can keep up.”

“I can as long as I don’t drink shots. I feel like somebody slipped me a Mickey Finn.” He chuckled. “I’m getting old.”

That explained his dreary look. I had rarely known Luigi to have more than one glass of wine. His daughter was a flibbertigibbet who could bend an ear. Perhaps entertaining her and her family had driven him to over-imbibe.

As Luigi ushered his granddaughter out, I couldn’t help but wonder what Delilah was thinking by dating him. He was old enough to be her father. Actually, he was older than her father, Pops, who was a prime force at the Country Kitchen. Sure, Luigi was charming and a talented restaurateur, but he was too old for someone as vibrant as Delilah. On the other hand, could I wish her spinsterhood? Since returning to town, defeated by the fickleness of Broadway, Delilah hadn’t found anyone to date in Providence. Urso, the first love of her life, was captivated by Jacky. I didn’t want Delilah moving away because she was forlorn.

“Charlotte, follow me.” Octavia guided me to the added-on sunroom at the rear of the library. Sun had broken through the clouds outside and, despite the cool weather, warmed the room via solar panels.

Octavia indicated a teensy stool beside a squat table. Readers occupied all the comfy chairs nestled beside the windows. I sat first, feeling a bit like Gulliver in the land of Lilliputians.

“What do you want to ask me?” Octavia said.

I told her about Rebecca’s belief that Barton Burrell might have killed Kaitlyn. “She thinks he’s lying about his alibi. She’s certain there’s something more to his business deal with Kaitlyn. Did you broker the sale?”

“I did.”

“Did he want to cancel the deal?”

“Yes.”

Rebecca was on the right track. I said, “And did he?”

“He couldn’t.” Octavia set her turban on the table and took a considerable amount of time twisting it until the feather was flopping away from her.

“Because Kaitlyn had a clause that favored her, is that right?”

Octavia cocked her thumb and forefinger at me like a gun. “Good guess.”

It wasn’t actually a guess. Our contract with the former owner of our building contained a similar clause.

“The contract was rock solid,” Octavia said. “That CFO of Clydesdale Enterprises made us go over it line by line. Everything was in order. All the inspections were done and completed to Clydesdale Enterprises’ satisfaction. Barton could not back out.”

“Not even if he paid a penalty?”

She shook her head. “The only one who could alter the scenario was Kaitlyn.”

“Why did Barton change his mind about selling? I’m guessing that he needs the money. He’s been doing odd jobs at Lavender and Lace.”

Octavia chewed the inside of her lip, obviously reluctant to answer.

I shifted in my chair. “I get it. You can’t tell me because of Realtor/client privilege.”

“Yes … and no.” Octavia beckoned me to lean forward and whispered, “The Burrells have had a rough go this past year.”

“The cattle farm is suffering.”

“Not only that. Emma …” Octavia rubbed her thighs, obviously needing time to mull over the moral issue of revealing secrets to me. Finally she said, “You know Barton and Emma have been married for ten years.”

I had attended the late summer wedding. They had rented Harvest Moon Ranch for the occasion. Emma had waltzed beneath the arbors looking like a fashion plate in her tiered white gown.

Octavia continued. “They have three sons, but Emma really wants a daughter.”

“Is she pregnant?” Having three children could put a strain on a pocketbook, but having a fourth could break the bank.

“They’ve tried a few times. Each time, Emma … miscarried.”

“Oh, my!” I slapped my hand over my mouth and said through spread fingers, “I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t imagine suffering a miscarriage, let alone multiple ones. Nobody deserved that fate. Especially Emma. She was a goodhearted woman. She campaigned vociferously for organic farm choices and had served as a Cub Scout den mother for all three boys, which took grit. “That gives her all the more reason to sell. She could leave Providence and the sad memories behind her.”

“Except it’s also the reason she wants to stay. This is their home. This is where they both grew up. Emma is convinced she must have her daughter in Providence.” Octavia rested her hands in her lap. “You said they provided Chief Urso with alibis.”

“They told U-ey that they were watching TV.”

“Well, then.”

“Rebecca thinks their alibis ring false.”

“People do watch television, Charlotte.”

“What if Emma thought her only way out of the binding contract was to get rid of Kaitlyn?”

Octavia clicked her burgundy fingernails on the tabletop. “No, I don’t see Emma as a violent woman.”

“What about Barton? A man protecting his family can be fierce. If he knew where to find Ipo’s kala’au rods—”

Octavia coughed.

“You know something. Tell me.”

Octavia sat straighter. “Mind you, I don’t believe the Burrells are guilty for a second.”

“Got that.”

“But Barton and Ipo play cards every Thursday night at Ipo’s house. He might have known where Ipo kept those instruments.”