PRAISE FOR

  THE CHEESE SHOP MYSTERIES

  To Brie or Not to Brie

  “A mouthwatering mystery with characters as colorful as its autumn setting and a plot that twists and turns, keeping the reader guessing right up until the end. Enticing and intriguing, I was thoroughly engaged from the very first page.”

  —Jenn McKinlay, New York Times bestselling author

  Clobbered by Camembert

  “For those who are unfamiliar [with the Cheese Shop Mysteries], we strongly recommend that you give these books a read.”

  —culture: the word on cheese magazine

  “The setting may be winter but that makes this a perfect cozy to curl up in front of the fire to read.”

  —Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book

  Lost and Fondue

  “Avery Aames has cooked up a delectable culinary mystery with a juicy plot and a tasty twist. Lost and Fondue is fun, flirty, and full of local flavor…A tasty morsel of a mystery that will leave you hungry for more.”

  —Kate Carlisle, national bestselling author of the Bibliophile Mysteries

  “Avery Aames delivers another deliciously fast-paced, twisty mystery filled with lovable, quirky characters and Charlotte’s delightful attempts at amateur sleuthing. Come sample what Fromagerie Bessette has to offer. I guarantee you’ll be back for more.”

  —Julie Hyzy, national bestselling author of the White House Chef Mysteries and the Manor House Mysteries

  “Fans of Aames’s The Long Quiche Goodbye will be just as pleased with the latest mystery…Settle in with a nice cheese, a glass of wine, and enjoy Lost and Fondue.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  The Long Quiche Goodbye

  Agatha Award Winner for Best First Novel

  “Avery Aames’s delightful debut novel…is a lovely Tour de Fromage. It’s not just Gouda, it’s great!”

  —Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author

  “A delicious read. Charlotte Bessette is a winning new sleuth, and her gorgeously drawn world is one you’ll want to revisit again and again. More please.”

  —Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries

  “Rich characters, decadent cheeses, and a scrumptious mystery. A bold new series to be savored like a seductive Brie.”

  —Krista Davis, author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries

  “Avery Aames serves up a yummy mystery featuring cheese purveyor Charlotte Bessette, an adorable new character whose love of family rivals her love of good food. Fans of amateur sleuths, prepare to be charmed.”

  —Joanna Campbell Slan, author of Death of a Dowager

  “Absolutely delicious! This is the triple cream of the crop: a charming heroine, a deceptively cozy little town, and a clever cast of characters. This is more than a fresh and original mystery—Aames’s compassion for family and friends shines through, bringing intelligence and depth to this warm and richly rewarding adventure.”

  —Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha Award–winning author of The Other Woman

  “The charm of the story is greatly enhanced by a very rich cast of characters.”

  —Booklist

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Avery Aames

  THE LONG QUICHE GOODBYE

  LOST AND FONDUE

  CLOBBERED BY CAMEMBERT

  TO BRIE OR NOT TO BRIE

  To Brie

  or Not to Brie

  AVERY AAMES

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa), Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North 2193, South Africa • Penguin China, B7 Jiaming Center, 27 East Third Ring Road North, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100020, China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  TO BRIE OR NOT TO BRIE

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Excerpt from Days of Wine and Roquefort by Avery Aames copyright © 2013 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Cover illustration by Teresa Fasolino.

  Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-61914-8

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON

  To my sister, Kimberley. You are my dear friend.

  I am blessed to have you in my life.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

  —MARCEL PROUST

  There is no possible way to acknowledge all those who have helped me along the road to publishing and the road to life—family, friends, teachers, and more. I’ll do my best.

  First and foremost, thank you to my family for loving me and understanding that a creative person is sometimes crazy. Thanks to my first readers: my husband, Chuck; Krista Davis; and Janet Bolin. Thanks to good pals Kate Carlisle and Hannah Dennison for supporting me and listening to me wax “not poetic.” Thanks to my brainstormers at Plothatchers. Thanks to my blog mates on Mystery Lovers Kitchen and Killer Characters. Thanks to Jenn McKinlay, Julie Hyzy, Cleo Coyle, Lorraine Bartlett, Hank Phillippi Ryan, and Jamie Freveletti for your savvy advice. And thanks to the Sisters in Crime Guppies, a superb online group.

  Thanks to those who have helped make the Cheese Shop Mysteries sparkle: my fabulous editor, Kate Seaver; Katherine Pelz; Laura Perry; and Kayleigh Clark. I appreciate all your insight and enthusiasm. To my artist, Teresa Fasolino, wow. You amaze me. Thank you to my publisher, Berkley Prime Crime, for wanting books about a cheese shop and for granting me the opportunity.

  Thank you to my business team, including Kim Lionetti, P.J. Nunn, Lindsey LeBret, and Sheridan Stancliff. And thanks to my cheese consultant, Marcella Wright. Your tasty knowledge is so helpful.

  Last but not least, thank you librarians, teachers, fans, and/or readers. Thank you for loving the written word, and thank you for sharing the world of a cheese monger at Fromagerie Bessette with your friends.

  Say cheese!

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Recipes

  Days of Wine and Roquefort

  CHAPTER

  “Charlotte Erin Bessette, you’re a goner.” A blissful moan escaped my lips. Had I died and gon
e to heaven? I took another bite of the ciabatta, spinach, and goat cheese crostini—one of many appetizers sitting on the granite counter in The Cheese Shop kitchen—and sighed again. Adding minced sun-dried tomatoes to the recipe had done the trick.

  I downed the remainder of the scrumptious morsel and eyed the array that I had started at six A.M. The jalapeños packed with mascarpone and seasoned with Cajun spices had nearly seared the roof of my mouth, but the ricotta-stuffed mushrooms were a good balance. All in all, the experiment was a success. I had at least ten winning choices for the taste testing.

  As I collected cartons of cream to use in the desserts I planned to make, I paused. Did I smell smoke?

  I tore out of the walk-in refrigerator. Flames not only licked upward from the sauté pan on the stove, they spiraled from the twenty-five-pound bag of flour beside it.

  “Fire!” I yelled to no one. I was alone in the shop. Lured by the ciabatta crostini, I had forgotten that I was frying shallots for one more dish. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.” I hadn’t patted the shallots dry enough. Water must have boiled a spit of oil out of the pan, which caught fire and nailed the flour bag.

  “You dope, Charlotte.” I knew what danger lurked in a kitchen. That would teach me to multitask. Why did I always think I could do everything…at once? Wonder Woman I was not, though, at the age of seven, I had liked her costume so much that I begged and pleaded to wear it for Halloween. What girl hadn’t?

  I dumped the cartons of cream on the counter, swooped to the stove, grabbed a lid, and threw it onto the sauté pan to douse the flame. Then I switched off the gas beneath the burner, snatched one of the oven mitts, and batted the bag of flour. I quenched the fire, but smoke coiled toward the ceiling, and the fire alarm began to bleat.

  “Dang.” I chucked the oven mitt, hoisted one of the wicker stools that nestled under the counter, placed it beneath the alarm, and climbed on.

  “Sacre bleu,” a woman yelled from the front of the shop. Rebecca galloped into the kitchen. “Charlotte, I smell smoke.” She skidded on her heels. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” I teetered on tiptoe, the hem of my pumpkin-colored sweater rising up my midriff, the heels of my loafers loose. “I’m trying to hit the red button.” I jabbed at the darned thing with my index finger but missed my target. The smoke alarm began to howl like a banshee.

  “You can’t turn it off that way.” My young assistant covered her ears. “You have to remove the battery.”

  Swell. Out of spite, I poked at the red button one more time before unclipping the alarm case, which came loose but remained fixed to the ceiling by its wires. I plucked at the battery, breaking a nail in the process—double swell—and removed the battery from its slot.

  Just as the siren stopped blaring, I felt something give way beneath my feet. “Oh, no.” The seat of the wicker chair burst. I let rip with a yelp, lost my grip on the alarm, and careened heels-first through the seat’s hoop. The wicker and rubber matting on the floor cushioned my landing; the underside of my bare arms scraped the rim. I would have black-and-blue bruises, but at least I hadn’t broken skin, or worse, my neck.

  Rebecca rushed to help, her ponytail flapping behind her, her pencil skirt preventing her lanky legs from making long strides. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “Only my ego.”

  “What were you thinking? We have a ladder.”

  “Do you see it nearby?” I said. “No, you do not. I didn’t have time. I had an emergency.”

  “Impulsive,” she muttered.

  “Proactive,” I countered.

  “Okay, okay.” Rebecca offered a hand to help me out of my confinement.

  Spurning her goodwill, I snuggled my feet into my loafers and, balancing both palms on the broken chair’s hoop, slipped one leg out, followed by the other. I brushed bits of wicker from my clothes and tugged the hem of my sweater over my chinos. After a stunned second, I burst into giggles.

  Rebecca covered her mouth with the back of her hand and sniggered. When she regained control of herself, she said, “What kind of quiche are you making—let me rephrase that—were you making?”

  “I wasn’t.” Each day at Fromagerie Bessette—what the locals liked to call The Cheese Shop—we made a different quiche to sell to our customers, but I had finished the dozen long before I had started in on the wedding menu. Every October, when daylight savings ended, my inner clock went cuckoo. For weeks, I had been waking before dawn. “I was testing out wedding appetizers.”

  “Bien sûr. But, of course.”

  I smiled. Ever since she had started working at the shop, Rebecca practiced her French. She loved the way my grandparents, who had owned the place before ceding it to my cousin and me, settled into their native tongue. To date, I think she had learned close to a hundred phrases.

  “How is the menu coming?” she asked.

  “Pretty well, except for one.” The shallots—now ruined—were intended to go into a radicchio marmalade that would garnish a filo dough turnover, filled with breast of turkey and smoked Gouda.

  I headed to the kitchen sink to freshen up.

  “Why are there ice cream fixings on the counter?” Rebecca trailed me.

  “I’m planning on trying out a few new desserts.” I wasn’t a caterer—I was a cheese shop owner—but when my best friend had asked me to come up with an eclectic menu for her wedding, I promised I would do my best.

  “Maybe you should have waited until you had more hands to help.”

  I frowned. The last thing I wanted after a kitchen fiasco was sage advice from a twenty-something who was ten years younger than me. Wonder Woman wouldn’t take it, would she?

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I said as I rinsed my hands and patted them dry on a fluffy white-and-gold-striped towel. “It’s your day off, isn’t it? I thought you were spending it with your fiancé and his parents. You were going on a tour of Amish country.”

  “Speaking of desserts,” she said, ineptly changing subjects, “remind me to show you an all-cheese wedding cake that I saw on the Internet.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Was there trouble brewing in Romance Land? Was that why she had come to work? “Are you okay?”

  “The cake was so cool,” she went on, fluttering her fingers to describe the shape. “Wheels upon wheels of assorted cheeses. Cheddar, Smoked Gouda, Cashel Blue, and Ashgrove Double Gloucester, all topped with a wedding couple carved out of cheese.”

  I raised an eyebrow and pursed my lips, my standard look when demanding an answer to a question.

  “I’m fine,” she assured me. “Really.”

  She didn’t seem to have been crying. Maybe I was making more of her sudden arrival at the shop than I ought. I turned back to the sun-shaped mirror over the sink and assessed the damage the shock and awe of a kitchen fire had done to my appearance. Thanks to nerves, my short feathery hair had gone as flat as a pancake. I tweaked it but to no avail. Giving up, I dabbed perspiration off my face with the tip of the towel and walked back to the main shop.

  I fetched a container of Brie from the glass cheese case, set it on the wooden counter, and cut it in half with a carving knife.

  Rebecca scooted to my side and tapped the cheese counter with the tips of her hot pink fingernails. “Okay, truth? I don’t want to go on the tour. Ever.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m afraid I’ll run into Papa. He was so shut down the last time we saw each other.”

  Her Amish father had been as cordial as a bale of straw. He had come to town to bring Rebecca her grandmother’s shawl. They had exchanged few words. Anger and disappointment could run deep for the elders of a clan when someone like Rebecca left the fold.

  “Was I nuts not to go?” she asked.

  “Sometimes you have to protect your heart.”

  “That’s what I told my future in-laws. They seemed to understand. Do you think they understood?”

  “I’m sure they did.”