Clobbered by Camembert by Avery Aames

his free hand in surrender, thanked me for the sandwich, and strode from the shop … before I could tell him about the phone call Kaitlyn received.
    I glowered at Rebecca. “Why do you incite him that way?”
    “Because he’s stubborn!”
    I explained my theory about the conversation between Kaitlyn and her anonymous caller. “I’ll bet whoever called wanted her dead.”
    A woman gasped. I spun around, having forgotten Georgia was in the shop. She had moved to the Camembert display on the barrel in the center of the store.
    “What’s wrong?” I said. “Do you know who Kaitlyn was talking to that day?”
    Worming one hand into the other, Georgia moved toward the counter. Her lower lip trembled. Finally she said, “It could have been any of a number of people. Plenty wanted Kaitlyn dead. She could be quite exacting.”
    “Did you want her to die?” Rebecca eyed Georgia with cold suspicion.
    Georgia stopped wringing her hands and shot Rebecca a withering glare. “Of course not. She and I were”—she licked her upper lip—“the best of friends.”
    “Where were you last night?” Rebecca had no shame.
    Me? I felt like crawling under the tasting counter at Rebecca’s brashness.
    “I was at Timothy O’Shea’s Irish Pub playing darts.” Georgia cocked a hip and tilted her head, a pose a teenager could perfect—a pose that looked weak for a woman in her late twenties. “Lots of people saw me. I told Chief Urso. He came by the inn and interrogated me last night. Question him if you don’t believe me.” She pointed to the street. Urso was out of sight.
    An awkward silence filled the shop.
    “Ask her, Charlotte,” Rebecca said.
    “Ask her what?”
    “The question that’s on the tip of your tongue.”
    Perhaps I was slow, but I felt a step behind in this game of twenty questions. I didn’t have a question on the tip of my tongue or anywhere else.
    Rebecca faced Georgia. “Who else might have wanted Kaitlyn Clydesdale dead?”
    Georgia counted a list on her gloved fingertips. “Her spy, her developer, and don’t forget her lover.”
    “Are they three different men or all the same man?”
    “Three.”
    “Who is the lover?” I asked.
    Georgia shrugged. “I don’t know. Kaitlyn could be very discreet.”
    Visions of Chip in bed with Kaitlyn Clydesdale sprang to mind, except he was twenty years her junior. On the other hand, she had offered him a big role in her enterprise. Would he have offered himself up as a boy-toy for the chance to own his own restaurant?
    “And then there’s Ipo Ho.” Georgia raised one lip in an Elvis sneer. “He’s very cute. Kaitlyn liked them cute.”
    “He’s innocent!” Rebecca cried.
    “Is he?” Without purchasing a thing, Georgia pivoted and strutted out of the shop, and I had to wonder whether the whole intent for her appearance at my store had been to upset my sweet assistant.
    Breathing high in her chest, Rebecca scurried to the office and I followed. She braced her palms on the desk, shoulders heaving. Rags weaved figure eights around her ankles and mewed loudly. I nudged him away with my toe and petted Rebecca’s arm.
    “No matter what,” I said, “the way Kaitlyn died will be considered involuntary manslaughter.” I hoped I sounded reassuring. “Remember, the coroner said it was the bump on her head from the coffee table that killed her. It could have been an accident, which would mean no malice aforethought.”
    “The killer didn’t report it, didn’t stick around. That can’t be argued as no malice aforethought, and you know it.” Rebecca broke away from the counter and jabbed her index finger at me. “You think Ipo did it, don’t you?”
    Truth be told, Ipo was as passive a man as I had ever met. I couldn’t see him hitting Kaitlyn. And if he had, wouldn’t Rebecca have witnessed the event? She didn’t go outside to smooch by herself. She wasn’t twelve, for heaven’s sake.
    “You do,” she cried before I could answer.