To Brie or Not to Brie (22 page)

I shrugged. “To each his own.”

Mrs. Urso shook a finger. “Uh-uh. She is not his, and he is definitely not hers. Not
if I have anything to say about it.”

Smiling at her tenacity, I pushed through the door and hustled down the hall to Urso’s
office. The door hung open. Sunlight streamed through the blinds and outlined Urso
in a golden halo.

He looked up from his desk, his gaze steely and cold. “I should’ve guessed you could
slip past Mom. What do you want?”

I contemplated pointing out the soot that smudged his nose and cheeks and thought
better of it. He didn’t need a keeper. He would peer into the gunmetal-framed mirror
by his door before exiting. “Jacky Peterson is innocent.”

“Says who?”

“Says my grandfather.” I trod across the chocolate brown carpet toward Urso’s desk
as I filled him in on Pépère’s eyewitness account. “You know he wouldn’t tell a lie.”

“Except when it comes to sneaking cheese.”

I sputtered. “Does everyone in town know?”

“Just about.”

“Okay, yes, Pépère would lie about that but not about this.”

Urso’s mouth curled up in a wry grin. “I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“So, arrest Vinnie Capriotti.”

“On what charge?”

“He’s a liar and a cheat. He’s got gambling debts, four wives, and eight children.”

Urso lifted a pen from his desk and twirled it between his fingers. “Who’d you hear
this from?”

“Octavia, who heard from Violet. Vinnie is—”

“Stop right there.” Urso stabbed the pen into the leather blotter. “I have the lowdown
on Mr. Capriotti. I know how many times he’s been married. I know how many children
he has, and I know about his gambling debts.”

“You do? Of course you do. You’re on the ball. You…” I ordered myself to stop blathering.
“Do you know that Violet heard Vinnie and his brother arguing at the Victoriana Inn
about a last will and testament? Vinnie wanted his brother to rewrite the will. He
demanded that Giacomo cut out Jacky. We’ve got to assume that Vinnie stands to inherit
half the estate.”

“No, we don’t,” Urso snapped.

“Violet didn’t hear Vinnie say anything about a foundation. I think that’s bogus.”

“You don’t know—”

“C’mon, U-ey. Vinnie threatened Jacky. And he threatened me.”

“You? When?”

“Yesterday.” I shifted feet. Why hadn’t I been up front
with Urso after Vinnie caught me near his car? Because I didn’t want him telling me
to back off, that was why. Not wanting to hear a lecture about personal safety now,
I crowded his desk. “He said if Jacky wanted to remain anonymous, I should tell her
to pay him some hush money.”

“
Hush
—?”

“Speaking of which…the cash that Vinnie said his brother was carrying. What if it
didn’t exist? What if Vinnie made that up? What if it’s a red herring?”

“You and Miss Zook.” Urso yanked the pen out of the blotter and clicked its button
repeatedly. After a few seconds, he tossed the pen aside and stood up, shoving the
chair backward with his thighs. “Why are you always theorizing?”

“Because I care. Because I hate that Providence—yes, Providence—is the victim of yet
another crime. At this rate, we’ll lose our tourism. Our economy will suffer. Our
citizens will struggle.” I jabbed his desk with my index finger. “Vinnie Capriotti
killed his brother. He came here with a plan, and when it didn’t go his way, things
got out of hand.”

Urso inhaled and let out a long breath. “For your information, I have my own eyewitness
at the Victoriana Inn. The dining room manager overheard the brothers arguing, too.
He came to the precinct the day after the murder. Why didn’t Violet?”

“She’s afraid of you.”

Urso wiggled his hands. “Oh, yeah, I’m so scary.”

“Yes, you are. You’re big, you’re gruff, and when you get that look in your eyes—”

“What look? This look?” He drew his eyebrows together. An angry grizzly bear couldn’t
have appeared more foreboding.

“Yes, that one, but you don’t scare me because I know you’re mush inside.”

“Mush?”

“Yes, mush. Back in winter, when you kissed me and said you would always be in love
with me—”

“That doesn’t make me mush. It makes me honest.” He turned toward the window, his
neck red with embarrassment.

I wanted to crawl under the desk. How could I taunt him so mercilessly?
Bad, bad Charlotte
.

After a long, quiet moment, Urso turned to me again, his face unreadable, his eyes
steady. He retook his seat and in an official tone said, “I’ll have a chat with the
rest of the staff at the Victoriana Inn. In the meantime, based on the dining room
manager’s testimony, I have discussed these matters with Vinnie Capriotti. He claims
he and his brother argued because he wanted his brother to file for divorce without
spousal consent.”

“Did the dining room manager mention that they argued about the will? Did Vinnie bring
it up?” I aimed a finger. “Think about it, U-ey. The person with the most to gain
here is Vinnie. I promise you, if Jacky dies, Vinnie stands to inherit everything.”

“Only if that’s what the will says.”

I gaped. “You still haven’t seen it?”

He raked his hair with his fingers, which gave me his answer. Was the vacationing
lawyer’s failure to respond coincidental or on purpose?

“All I know, Charlotte, is that Vinnie said he had more to gain by trying to work
his magic on his brother. Alive. I believe him. I—”

A jolt of energy shot through me.
Magic
? If I was wrong and Urso was right and Vinnie was blameless, then someone else was
the murderer. I flashed on Hugo Hunter. Mr. Houdini. The guy with the mother as his
alibi.

Urso cleared his throat. “Are you listening?”

“You should reinvestigate Hugo Hunter’s alibi.”

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“And don’t rule out Anabelle.” I offered a quick rehash
of my theory about Anabelle duking it out with Giacomo in the Igloo.

“Charlotte, please.”

“We have to learn the truth.”

“Not we.
Me
. I’m in charge of this investigation. However, I’ll give you this. With your grandfather’s
claim, I am prepared to believe him about Jacky’s alibi. Satisfied? You can go now.”
He flipped open a file on his desk, dismissing me.

“What about Edy?” I blurted even though, given Urso’s grumpy mood, now was not the
time to throw her name into the suspect ring.

“What about her?” Urso cast a vicious look.

To be honest, he did scare me sometimes. I flinched and backed off. “Um…how was your
date?”

Urso leaned back in his chair and weaved his hands over his stomach. “We’ve had two
dates. Nothing serious. I’m playing the field. After my mushy mess with you…” He grinned,
clearly teasing me, the upset of earlier already in the past. “I’m a little gun-shy.”

“Gotcha. Well, good luck with that.” I headed toward the exit.

As I reached the threshold, Urso said, “How are Rebecca and that boyfriend of hers
doing?”

“They’re engaged. Why do you ask?” He couldn’t be thinking of dating her, could he?
She was aeons too young for him.

“Deputy O’Shea has been querying.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Deputy O’Shea, who turned out to be our friendly
tavern owner’s nephew, was added to the police staff last year. He was cute, young,
and dedicated, and from various conversations with him at Fromagerie Bessette, I had
deduced that he, like Rebecca, loved the Internet and old TV crime shows. “He’ll have
to get in line,” I said. “Rebecca is madly in love and engaged to our local honeybee
farmer. And if that doesn’t result in
a wedding, don’t rule out that quirky reporter who makes a play for her occasionally.”

Urso smirked. “That reporter is an odd duck, always traveling in and out of town.”

“Which brings us back to Hugo. He travels a lot.”

“That doesn’t make him a bad guy.”

“I think he’s lying about his alibi.”

Urso moaned.

I twirled a finger. “Do you really believe he was chatting with his mother for three
hours? C’mon, really? That’s just plain weak.”

Urso rose and pointed at the door. “Out.”

“But—”

“Go. You’re done in here. Jacky Peterson is off my radar. You have no further interest
in this case.”

“Except it happened in Providence, and I—”

“—care about Providence. Point taken. Now, leave.”

I flashed my palms at him. “Okay, fine, I’m leaving. Man, are you touchy.”

I exited the precinct, thankful for the waves of October heat that rolled off the
pavement. They warmed me after Urso’s chilly reception. Remembering my promise to
give Octavia an update after talking to our illustrious chief, I headed east across
the Village Green toward All Booked Up. Beyond the clock tower, I walked through the
area where Grandmère and her crew had turned the park into Renaissance heaven. Four
huge posts sporting red flags and dozens of barrels teeming with luscious fall flowers
defined the arena. Rows of wooden benches faced the stage, where
Hamlet
would be performed, at the north end of the park.

As I neared the stage, I heard a whistle. Not a coyote whistle—a summons. I searched
for the source. Neither Stratton nor the actor with whom he was slashing swords on
stage seemed interested in me. The slew of players sitting on the apron of the stage
downing sandwiches didn’t pay me any heed, either. And Grandmère was oblivious to
my presence. She stood in front of the stage and glowered at the actors, her gaze
smoldering with frustration.

“Stratton,” she yelled. “Both of you. For the last time, come here and sit.”

Like chastised kids, Stratton and his buddy hurried forward and plopped down on the
apron. Stratton laid his sword across his lap and kicked the front of the stage with
his heels. I heard another whistle. I was surprised when I spotted the love of my
life perched on a ladder, a leather tool belt looped around his hips. When had he
joined the stage crew? The tails of his work shirt hung outside his jeans. Perspiration
coated his tanned skin. He and a handful of other guys, also on ladders, were ramming
nails into the outer rim of the backdrop, which was a painting of an Italian countryside
complete with statues in the foreground and the Mediterranean Sea in the distance.

Jordan beckoned me with his hammer. I jogged up the stairs at the side of the stage,
hurried to the ladder, and ran my fingers beneath the hem of his jeans and up his
calf. His smile turned into a shameless grin. Man, he was handsome.

“Guys, I’m going to take a short break,” he said to his coworkers. He descended the
ladder, slung his hammer into the tool belt, and planted a kiss on my neck.

“Since when did you become a stage crew member?” I said.

“Since I heard your grandmother needed help.” He winked. “I’m not stupid. Volunteering
is the way to your grandmother’s heart. I know she’s not a fan of mine. I thought
a little goodwill might go a long way.”

My throat choked up. I couldn’t remember being more proud. I was going to marry a
man who would meet my spirited grandmother halfway. Was I ever lucky. “Did Jacky call
you?” I said.

He shook his head.

I told him about Pépère corroborating Jacky’s alibi.

Jordan whooped with delight.

“I meant to call, but I got caught up talking to Urso, who believes my grandfather’s
account.”

Jordan clutched me in a bear hug. “Best news ever…next to you saying yes.” He whispered
how much he loved me, and yelled, “Guys, sorry, but I’ve got to go see my sister.”
He drew me in for another embrace and said, “Explain to your grandmother, will you?”
He sprinted toward the west entrance to the park.

Grandmère stopped lecturing the actors as Jordan whizzed past her. Catching sight
of me, she said to her actors, “Take five,” and then greeted me. “
Chérie
.” She kissed me on both cheeks. “I did not tell him. I wanted to wait until you had
the time to speak with Chief Urso.” She grinned. “Jordan’s delight tells me that Urso
believes your grandfather.”

“He does.”

She slid a hand around my elbow. “Your Jordan is a hard worker. I am enjoying him.”

“Really?”

“
Oui.
”

Life was good. I said, “How is the rehearsal going?”

“
Pas bien
.” She sounded weary. “The actors, they are lazy, especially that Stratton. Delilah
works with him, but he cannot seem to understand the character. Why she cast him…”
She fluttered her hand. “I should not speak ill.”

“Relax,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll come around. Delilah has a way of tightening the
reins in the last week of rehearsal. You said so yourself.” Secretly I wondered if
Grandmère was ruing her decision not to direct this particular play. She had such
an affinity for Shakespeare. She said the soliloquy “To be or not to be” was one of
the greatest ever written. Within those words was the answer to life itself.

“We must continue,” she said and kissed my cheek. As I turned to leave, she added,
“
Écoutez-moi
,
chérie
, before you go, take a look at the giant grape press.” She pointed.