To Brie or Not to Brie (11 page)

The girls couldn’t race out of the shop fast enough. The gossip at Providence Junior
High would be rampant tomorrow.

Urso turned back to Jacky and—what was Vinnie? Her former, estranged, ex?—brother-in-law.
“Tell me about the argument with your brother, Mr. Capriotti.”

“What’s your name?” Vinnie demanded.

“Chief Urso.”

Vinnie snorted. “Urso, as in bear? Because you look like a bear.”

Urso’s mouth turned grim. He didn’t take kindly to anyone making fun of his family
name.

As if realizing his faux pas, Vinnie sucked his lips into his face and grew quiet.

Urso said, “The argument. I want details.”

“We weren’t arguing exactly. I mean, yeah, we raised our voices. Giacomo always bossed
me.” Vinnie stroked the side of his face. “I wanted to get a facial.”

Sylvie’s aesthetician would have a field day with his damaged skin.

“He told me I was a wuss,” Vinnie went on, “but I wouldn’t kill him because of that.”

Behind us, Cecily started to cry. Jacky swiveled to calm her.

Vinnie tipped to the right to catch a peek. “Is that a brat?” Before Urso could react,
Vinnie darted past him. He shoved Jacky out of the way and lunged with both hands
at the baby.

Urso nabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him backward. “Hands off, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Is that my brother’s baby?” Vinnie snarled, struggling to get free of Urso’s hold.
“You witch. You kept the baby a secret.”

Jacky snatched Cecily from the stroller and clutched her to her chest. Cecily continued
to wail. “She’s not Giacomo’s.”

“Prove it.”

“She’s beautiful,” Jacky sniped, “and he was a swine.”

Vinnie swung a fist at her but missed making contact, thanks to Urso’s firm grip.
“She’s not getting a dime of my brother’s money, do you hear me?”

Urso tugged him backward a few more feet. “Okay, that’s it, pal. You’re coming with
me to the precinct.” He nodded to Jacky. “Don’t leave town. We’re not finished.”

As Urso steered Vinnie out the exit, Jacky sidled up to me. “Urso thinks I’m guilty.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“If I’m still in Giacomo’s will—” She paused. “He was wealthy, Charlotte. That’s motive.”

“Did you know you were his heir?”

She nodded. “New Jersey is a common-law state. There’s no community property, but
there are laws preventing a wife from being disinherited.” She sighed. “But I thought
when I abandoned Giacomo, he would have figured out a way to circumvent the law. I
had left him for good. He knew that.”

Did he? According to Vinnie, Giacomo had come to Providence to apologize to Jacky.

Cecily wailed. Tears pooling in her eyes, Jacky rocked her baby and cooed to her.
Soon the only sound in the shop was the ticking of the clock over the kiln.

I said, “Who do you think killed Giacomo?”

“Vinnie.”

“I don’t know. He was pretty adamant about his innocence.”

“He was also a hack actor at one time. A hack can fake anger. I’m telling you, Charlotte,
he hated Giacomo. They had knock-down, drag-out fights.”

“What if Vinnie didn’t do it? Who else might you suspect?”

Jacky sighed. “I guess someone could have followed Giacomo from New Jersey. A disgruntled
client, maybe.” Her husband had been a lawyer—a defense attorney. He had managed a
dangerous clientele. But would any have followed him from New Jersey to Ohio?

“Do you think someone in town might have known him?” I asked.

“I can’t imagine how. He’d never been to Ohio. That’s why I thought I was safe here.”
Jacky started to quiver. She set Cecily back in her stroller, tightened the safety
belt, and then settled onto a stool by the kiln. “I was relieved to hear he was dead.
Is that wrong of me?”

“No. He abused you. You feared for your life.”

She laid a hand over her heart. “What if Vinnie wants to kill me or Cecily? If I were
out of the picture, Cecily would inherit. If we both died, wouldn’t the other inheritor,
i.e., Vinnie, get everything? You know, because of right of survivorship or whatever
that’s called.”

“That makes sense, except Vinnie denied that he was named in Giacomo’s will.”

“I don’t believe him. No matter how much they fought,
Giacomo loved Vinnie. He would have provided for him. He suffered the ultimate big
brother complex. And Giacomo never donated to foundations. Never. Vinnie’s lying.”

“I’ll make sure Urso is aware. In the meantime”—my thoughts returned to the onset
of Urso’s brief interrogation before Vinnie so rudely dismantled it—“let’s discuss
Hugo. He lied about his alibi and told Urso he was with you. Why would he do that
unless he wanted to cover his tracks?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “To protect me? I can’t imagine him as a killer.”

“He recently moved to town. What do you know about him?”

“He’s nice. Kind. Funny. And he’s creative. He’s always telling Cecily big, grandiose
stories. A simple
Cinderella
won’t do.”

“But what do you know about him? Where did he come from?”

“I’ve never asked.” She covered her mouth. “Isn’t that amazing?”

It was. Curiosity dominated my life. With Jordan and Jacky’s history, I fantasized
that every new person who moved to Providence was running from his or her past. “Do
you think Hugo might have killed your husband to protect you?”

“No, it’s not possible. How would he have known where to find Giacomo?”

“Maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe Giacomo found him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Urso didn’t tell you, but Giacomo was found dead in the Igloo Ice Cream Parlor.”

“Oh, heavens.” Jacky’s hand flew across her mouth. She stifled a scream. After a long
tense moment, she lowered her hand. Lips quivering, she whispered, “He couldn’t…Not
Hugo.” She shook her head. “Giacomo must have
threatened him. He has a gun. A Beretta. Did they struggle? Did Hugo turn Giacomo’s
gun against him?”

“There was no gun,” I said. At least Urso said there wasn’t one, but perhaps he had
found evidence of a gun and was being coy. If there had been a gun involved, where
was it now? Had Giacomo brought it to the Igloo? Had the killer—whoever he or she
was—taken it?

When I returned to Fromagerie Bessette, Rebecca was behind the cheese counter catering
to a long line of customers, many of whom were wearing
Stomping the Grapes
T-shirts.

I slung on an apron, edged beside Rebecca, and took note of the patron number on the
wall.

“What did you find out?” Rebecca whispered.

“Later.” I called, “Seventeen.”

A woman I recognized from Café au Lait waved her fleshy arm. “That’s me.” She ordered
a pound of our daily special, Mahon—a creamy Spanish cow’s cheese, with the teensiest
of holes and nutty flavor—and a tomato, olive, and oregano quiche.

As I filled her order, Matthew drew near carrying a tray of wineglasses. “I’m heading
to the cellar. Cover for me in the annex.”

“You’re not slipping down there for a nip or two, are you?” I teased.

“Ha-ha.” He threw me a rakish glance. “You have unearthed my secret.” Matthew was
one of the most temperate people I knew. He liked wine; he never overindulged.

“Are you excited about the big day, Matthew?” Rebecca asked.

He grinned. “The wedding is ten days away. Ask me in seven.” He whistled the opening
bars of “Wedding March” by Mendelssohn as he disappeared.

Four more customers requested Mahon cheese. At my suggestion, they also purchased
a Chalk Hill sauvignon gris, a fragrant white wine with flavors of tangerine and melons.
The two paired perfectly.

When the shop was empty of customers, Rebecca pivoted and leveled me with a look.
“So-o-o?” She tapped her foot as she dragged the word out.

“What?” I said.

“You know what. I heard the racket next door. What happened?”

I told her how Vinnie had come into A Wheel Good Time and how Jacky had accused him
of killing his brother. “He’s a gambler.”

“I knew it. He seemed reckless to me. Murder is always about”—Rebecca rubbed her thumb
and finger together—“money.”

“Or sex or politics or revenge.”

She clucked her tongue. “Find the motive, find the killer. We should—”

I held up a hand. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“But who will? You said yourself that Urso suspects Jacky, and you know he suspects
Jordan, too. You’re not a reliable alibi.”

“I am, too.”

“You’re in love with Jordan. You’d lie to save him.”

Would I? I couldn’t imagine keeping quiet, knowing I was with someone who could commit
murder. No, I would tell the truth, so help me God. Besides, Jordan didn’t kill
Giacomo Capriotti. But how about Jacky? Was Rebecca right that we had to investigate?
Maybe I should find out more about Hugo Hunter.

I grabbed a towel and started wiping down the counters. “Urso is a good policeman.
He will get the job done.”

Rebecca harrumphed. “In what alternate universe do you live? He’s only got two deputies.”

“Two capable deputies.” He had added one to the force a few months ago.

“And a big community—growing bigger by the day—to patrol.”

“Solving this murder will be his number one priority, I promise you.” I swabbed harder,
in big swooping circles. “Besides, what do we know about Giacomo Capriotti? Where
would we start?”

“While you were gone, I did a little research.”

The front door of the shop opened, and Jordan, wearing his standard crisp white shirt
and jeans, sauntered in. A cool breeze followed him inside.

Welcoming the fresh air and the end to my debate with Rebecca, I tossed the white
towel into a bin, cut around the register, and weaved through the display barrels
to greet the love of my life. As I neared, I tensed. He looked grim and discouraged.
Why would I have expected anything else? He must have learned that his sister was
a suspect in a murder.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his gaze flat.

Though I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him passionately, I held
back. “You’ve heard.”

He nodded.

“Have you seen Jacky?” I asked.

“She’s ragged.”

“Urso thinks she might be guilty. I’m worried that he—”

“Shh.” Jordan drew a finger along my arm and clutched my hand. “I know what Urso thinks.
He’s wrong. I told Jacky to close up shop. Now that the word is out, customers will
understand.”

“She was scared when I saw her earlier.”

“She should be,” Rebecca said as she sidled up with a feather duster in her hand.
“Urso’s gunning for her. And there might be other people after her, too.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “What other people?”

Rebecca waved the duster. “I was trying to tell you a second ago. While you were out,
I researched the Capriotti family on the Internet. I found an article that implied
the Capriottis have Mafia ties.”

“Not this segment of the family,” Jordan said, his jaw tense. “It’s all legit.”

“But if Vinnie’s a gambler, he might have messed around with the wrong folks, you
know, thugs.” Rebecca swished the duster across a display of crackers and jams. “If
Urso lets Vinnie go, Vinnie might alert the thugs to Jacky’s whereabouts.”

“Why would they harm her?” I asked.

Rebecca rolled her eyes as if I was the dumbest student in the classroom. “Because
if she’s Giacomo Capriotti’s heir, they might dun her to repay Vinnie’s debts.”

“I’m sure Urso will hold Vinnie if he has cause,” I said.

“Sure as rain, which we have had none of in weeks,” Rebecca said snidely. “Jordan,
you could investigate. You’re Jacky’s brother.”

“I know Vinnie very well,” Jordan said. “Married twice, a couple of kids. He’s a lot
of hot air.”

“Hot air can explode,” Rebecca said. “Just look at the
Hindenburg
.”

“That was filled with hydrogen,” I said.

“Pfft.” Rebecca blew her bangs upward. I was obviously not on her level of understanding.
When I frowned at her, she gave me a single shoulder shrug and used her duster as
a point maker. “I saw that Vinnie guy. He’s got beady eyes. You can’t trust gamblers.
If they need money, they take it, no matter the consequences. They’re born losers.
They’re the horse that finishes last.”

I smirked. “What television show provided that theory?”

“Actually, I’ve branched out. Thanks to your suggestion, I’ve been watching the American
Film Institute’s top-rated movies. In the sports category, there’s this flick called
The Hustler
with Paul Newman. Know it?”

I nodded. I had viewed it about ten times. I adored Paul Newman movies. So did Pépère.
Thinking of him made me wonder if he was feeling better. Maybe I would take him soup
later.

“Paul Newman was magic with a pool cue.” Rebecca flipped the duster around and mimed
a pool shot with the handle. “Speaking of magic, while we’re trying to come up with
suspects other than Jacky, let’s not rule out Hugo ‘Houdini’ Hunter, as a suspect.”

“Houdini?” Jordan said.

“Rebecca thinks Hugo looks like Houdini—you know, dark and mysterious.”