“You’re trying to console me by making me think Ipo will get a shorter prison sentence. Well, he shouldn’t get any prison sentence, do you hear me? He didn’t do it. I was with him. Every minute.” She thumped her chest. “Besides, I couldn’t love a man who committed this crime or any horrible act. Could you?”
Her words coldcocked me. Had Jordan ever committed a horrible act? Could I love him if he had?
“You’ve got to beg Octavia Tibble for details about the sale of the Burrell farm,” Rebecca said. “There’s a story there. I can feel it in my bones.”
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
Her words coldcocked me. Had Jordan ever committed a horrible act? Could I love him if he had?
“You’ve got to beg Octavia Tibble for details about the sale of the Burrell farm,” Rebecca said. “There’s a story there. I can feel it in my bones.”
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
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