“Charlotte, are you in there?” The curtain parted and Prudence Hart strode through, wearing an electric blue sheath, matching pumps, and a flashy blue hat. Was she trying to out-Sylvie Sylvie? “Aha, I’ve found you.” Mouth grim, she planted her hands on her bony hips—a woman on a mission. “Meredith, I’m glad you’re here, too. You won’t believe what I learned. Sylvie is going to throw a wrench into your wedding.”

  “She wouldn’t dare,” Meredith said.

  Prudence bobbed her head. “I happen to know for a fact that she’s planning to bring and release a horde of ladybugs. They’ll flock to the food.”

  “No.” Meredith clutched my arm.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll have a chat with Sylvie.”

  Sylvie bounded through the curtain. “What will you chat with me about, Charlotte?”

  Prudence sputtered. “Are you following me?”

  “Heavens.” Sylvie slapped her chest and widened her eyes. “Why ever would you think that?”

  I gaped at Sylvie. Not because of her holier-than-thou act. She had donned yet another eye-popping outfit, this one a skintight, shimmery red sheath. It was the middle of the afternoon in Providence. She wasn’t headed to some swank New York cocktail party or to some corner in the red-light district of Cleveland, for that matter.

  “It’s getting crowded in here,” Freckles whispered to me.

  “Do you think?” I bit back a snort.

  “I know what you’re up to, Prudence Hart.” Sylvie stabbed a finger at her nemesis. “You’re spreading lies, lies, and more lies.” She sidled up to the riser, viewed my dress, and let out a slow hiss. “Pastels and you, Charlotte…”

  I smiled beatifically and counted to ten. I would not let her get to me. No way, no how.

  “They’re not lies,” Prudence said, dragging Sylvie back to the argument.

  Like a heat-seeking missile, Sylvie zeroed her focus on her rival. “Yes, they are, you…you…”

  “I heard you talking to Iris,” Prudence insisted. “You asked her about ladybugs.”

  “For my garden.”

  “Bah!”

  “Believe what you will, love, but I wanted to know about ladybugs taking care of the pests in my garden. They eat aphids.”

  Meredith said, “Actually they do, Prudence. I’m sure—”

  “Not in October,” Prudence said. “They are predominantly spring and summer creatures.”

  Meredith threw open her hands. “Perhaps this was an innocent mistake.”

  “Innocent, my foot. Sylvie is purposeful, if nothing else.”

  Sylvie leaned forward. “You’re mad, Prudence Hart, because Under Wraps is doing better than La Chic Boutique. My business has put a dent in your earnings, and that’s why you’re selling.”

  “I am not selling.” Prudence’s voice thinned to a screech. “How many times do I have to tell you? I will never sell.”

  “Tosh. Try to explain away Edy Delaney looking for a loan at the bank. Just try.”

  Here we go again, I thought. When had every place in Providence turned into Sylvie and Prudence’s sparring arena? Well, no more.

  “Excuse me, Freckles.” I stepped gingerly off the riser and grabbed Sylvie and Prudence by the elbow. “Ladies, you’re leaving.”

  “What?” they sputtered.

  “Out, now.” I muscled them through the curtain and to the front of the shop.

  “You heard her.” Meredith followed behind, a hand pressed against each of the women’s backs.

  “Leave,” I said. “I will not have you scaring off Freckles’s customers.”

  “But I came to warn Meredith,” Prudence said.

  “Consider me warned.” Meredith opened the front door and held it wide. “Go.”

  “Well, I never.” Prudence wriggled free. “Mind my words, Meredith Vance. Sylvie will bring evil to the proceedings.” As a parting blow, Prudence said as she tramped down the sidewalk, “By the way, Sylvie, my dear, a woman your age should never wear such an ensemble. You don’t have the narrow hips and thighs for it. That’s why it creeps up. Tastelessly, I might add.”

  Sylvie blew a raspberry as she, ever so discreetly, shimmied the dress down her legs.

  CHAPTER

  When Meredith and I returned to The Cheese Shop, I assured her that Sylvie would not be able to pull a prank on the wedding day. “Grandmère and Tyanne will be watching her like a hawk,” I said as I passed the center display barrel, automatically straightening a stand of cracker boxes. “And hawks have mighty talons.”

  Meredith grinned. “Matthew’s mother will eagle-eye her, too. She doesn’t have fond memories of Sylvie, though she does admit that Sylvie is a better mother to the twins than she was before. The girls seem happy.”

  “They are.” I was the one who was unhappy that they were moving, but I would rally. I would. No more tears at two A.M. No more waking up from worrisome dreams. I paused at the archway between the shop and the wine annex. “I’m back,” I called to Rebecca and Matthew, who were chatting beside the old oak bar while Matthew jotted notes on a notepad.

  Meredith peeked over my shoulder. “How many lists is he keeping?”

  “So many, I’ve lost count. I found three in the office earlier.”

  Meredith whistled under her breath. “I guess between picking up the folks and getting my hair styled I’ll have to help him coordinate.”

  “A bride’s work is never done,” I gibed. “By the way, the twins are looking forward to going to Tip to Toe Salon.”

  “Even Amy?”

  “Yes, even Amy. She wants a cute little French braid.” I pointed to the side of my head. “You know the kind, where they gather the bangs and weave them into a strand. She saw a long-distance runner sporting it.”

  “Does she want beads woven in?”

  “I was thinking glitter.”

  Meredith sputtered. “Glitter? No, no, no, not glitter. Never.” She burst into laughter.

  “Gee, why not?” I grinned, knowing why not. Back in seventh grade, Meredith and I had styled each other’s hair for the Sadie Hawkins’ Day Sock Hop. I had wanted to ask Meredith’s brother to the event, but he was three years older, and it was taboo for a sophomore in high school to return to junior high for a dance. I settled for a gangly seventh-grade boy who adored basketball and had two left feet. Luckily Gangly Guy had been my date. Why? Because Meredith and I thought we needed glue to keep the glitter in our hair. We applied gobs of the stuff, and it didn’t come out for weeks. Meredith’s brother would have teased me for years. Gangly Guy kept touching the globules and saying, “Cool.”

  “What’s so funny?” Rebecca returned to the register and taped a note to the change drawer. In response to my glance, she said, “Matthew wants me to make sure we have plenty of natural almond soda and nonalcoholic champagne from the Bozzuto Winery. Some of the folks from his side of the family don’t drink.”

  “Done.”

  “So what’s so funny?” Rebecca repeated. “Why were you and Meredith laughing?”

  “We were talking about bad hair days.”

  “Speaking of bad hair days”—Meredith switched her purse to her other shoulder—“what do you think about the rumor?”

  “Which rumor?” Rebecca said.

  “About Edy.”

  “That’s cruel,” Rebecca said. “Edy’s hair isn’t that bad. In fact, I like it. I’ve been thinking of cutting off my locks and going spiky. I saw a model in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue with the same hairdo. What do you think? Would I look good with short hair?” She swooped her hair into an updo. Strands fell loose and framed her face.

  “She’s not talking about Edy’s hair,” I said. “She’s talking about the bombshell Sylvie just dropped, yet again, about Edy trying to buy out Prudence. She says she saw her at the bank applying for a loan.”

  “Now, wait a sec.” Rebecca released her hair. “Sylvie intimated yesterday—was it yesterday?—that Edy already had the funds. She has a backer. Charlotte, you’ve got to find out what’s the truth and what isn’t.”

  “I have to? Why?”

  “Because, you know…” Rebecca twirled a hand like that would fill in the end of her sentence. I shook my head, not getting her directive via ESP. “Because we talked about Edy…and money…and maybe she bribed Giacomo to get a stake for her new enterprise.”

  Meredith gaped. “You believe Edy could have killed Giacomo? Charlotte, go.” She prodded me toward the door. “No one should get away with murder. Especially Edy. Get the scoop.”

  “Since when am I the designated fact finder?” I said, grinding to a halt.

  Meredith and Rebecca gave me a united all-knowing look. “Duh,” they chimed.

  Solving a couple of crimes was giving me a reputation as an amateur sleuth that I wasn’t certain I enjoyed. I mean, sure, I liked solving puzzles as much as the next person, but I wasn’t brave, and I didn’t like people thinking I was a snoop.

  “You know Mrs. Fletcher would do it,” Rebecca said, referring to the fictional character from Murder, She Wrote like she was real.

  “What will I say?” I asked.

  Rebecca cuffed my shoulder. “Wing it!”

  * * *

  For over a hundred years, one family had owned Providence Provincial Savings. Though the bank was located in a newly built mall near the grocery store, the family staunchly maintained its Old World flavor and hometown appeal. The warm browns and ecru décor and the friendly, intelligent faces of the clerks made me feel confident that my money was secure.

  I paused as I entered and scanned the throng of people waiting in line to carry out transactions. Edy wasn’t among them. I peered into the nooks occupied by loan officers. Edy wasn’t sitting in any of them, either. Sylvie had to have been mistaken.

  As I turned to go, I spied Iris with her teenage daughter at a teller window. She was handing her daughter keys and giving her instructions, probably warning her not to drive off without her.

  Curious beyond curious as to whether Sylvie had been stirring the pot regarding Edy, I approached Iris. Maybe she had seen Edy and knew what was up. “Hello, Iris.”

  She spotted me, turned back to her daughter and said, “Get the deposit slip,” then hurried toward me, her face tinged with excitement. She wore a floral spandex shift that I had to admit made her look almost attractive. “What a surprise to see you.”

  “Is that a new dress?”

  She beamed. “It is. Do you like it?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s a little splurge. You know why? You’ll never guess who just called me. Meredith. She’s giving me a bonus.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I have Tyanne to thank. She convinced Meredith to hire me. You know what I think I’ll do? I’ll insert some of my homegrown orchids in Meredith’s bouquet. Won’t they be beautiful?” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, sorry, but I have to run. I’ve got so much to do.”

  “Wait.” I didn’t want her to leave before I got a few answers about Edy. But how could I ask subtly? Noticing the Band-Aid on her wrist, I said, “How are your burns healing?”

  “Oh.” She tinged pink. “Fine. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I mean, how hard is it to grab a pot holder? See you.”

  “Wait, Iris, can I ask you a question?”

  She glanced at her daughter who was still standing by the teller.

  “It’ll just take a sec. Have you been here a while?”

  “A half hour. The line was long, but—” She bit her lip. “I’m embarrassed to say it. I wanted to deposit the money Meredith advanced me. I’ve got to keep my business blooming.” She patted the Growing Stronger slogan on her tote bag. “Why do you ask?”

  “Did you see Edy Delaney in the bank?” So much for being subtle.

  Iris puckered her mouth as if, heaven forbid, she admit she saw someone her gal pal Prudence detested. “Yes, she was here.” She jerked her chin toward one of the loan officer nooks. “She was in there with the old biddy. You know the one I mean. Ruffled hair, beaky nose.” She wiggled her fingers to paint me a picture. “If you ask me, Edy was giving the gal a pretty hard time.”

  “Did the loan officer turn her down?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  I lowered my voice. “There’s talk that Edy wants to buy Prudence’s shop.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, didn’t you hear Prudence the other day? She is not selling.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Iris clucked her tongue. “Prudence talks to me about everything. Now, mind you, that doesn’t mean Edy Delaney isn’t wishing she could buy Prudence out. Ah, if wishes were horses…or college tuitions…” She twirled a finger. “And who knows what measures Edy might take to get what she wants? That woman is reckless. What’s with all that jewelry piercing her body? Why, I wouldn’t put it past her to have killed Giacomo Capriotti and stolen the money right off of him to pay for all that second-rate silver she owns.”

  “You know about the money Giacomo was carrying?”

  “The whole town does.” Iris leaned in. “FYI, as Edy left the loan officer’s cubicle, I heard her add that she was on her way to Café au Lait. She asked if she could bring the woman back a latte. What do you bet she’s hoping a bribe will get her the loan?”

  * * *

  Intrigued by yet another mention of bribery, I hightailed it to Café au Lait Coffee Shop. The place was decorated in a fanciful manner. Over each lacy antique iron bistro table hovered a miniature papier-mâché hot air balloon. On every wall, the Francophile owner had hung a watercolor that he had painted. He was particularly fond of France’s bridges, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Arc d’Triomphe. A jazz saxophone rendition of “La Vie en Rose” played through a speaker.

  Edy, clad in a black jumper over black tank top, stood out from the rest of the customers, most of whom were wearing Stomping the Grapes T-shirts. She hovered by the milk and sugar station while pouring creamer into a single cup of coffee—not two.

  I cornered her and flashed a sociable smile. “Hi, Edy.”

  She arched a wary eyebrow, which made her tooled hoop earrings wiggle.

  “How have you been?” I asked.

  “We’re not friends, Charlotte. Don’t pretend.” She sidestepped me and headed to an empty table.

  I followed her, mumbling, “So much for niceties,” and perched on one of the café chairs opposite her.

  “Look, if you’re going to hound me, be blunt,” Edy said. “I don’t like beating around the bush. Got me? Is it about Urso? No, we’re not dating anymore. Happy? He’s all yours.”

  I gawked. “I don’t want him. I’m engaged to Jordan.”

  “Right. The cheese farmer. Whoop-de-doo.”

  Her tone was intentionally mean, yet tears pressed at the corners of her eyes, and for some reason, my heart went out to her. Didn’t I believe she was a killer? Was she snowing me? She was a cheat and a liar. Given the chance, she could probably act rings around Sandra Bullock.

  I steadied myself and sat taller. “You went to the bank for a loan.”

  “What do you care?”

  “Are you planning to buy out Prudence?”

  She scowled. “Oh, yeah, like Prudence would ever sell. She may be under water on her loans, but she’ll go to her grave to keep that place, the penny-pincher. Do you know she cut my salary in half, for no reason, and expected me to work the same hours? That’s why I left. She’s a shrew. And that Iris friend of hers. What a piece of work she is.”

  “Let’s stay on topic.”

  “Fine, what’s your point?” She folded her arms.

  “What if you had a backer?” I asked, trying to lure her to a confession. “Would you buy out Prudence then?”

  “If I did, she still wouldn’t sell, and I still wouldn’t buy. Too much bad karma.”

  So much for that angle. A silence fell between us. I drummed my fingers on the bistro table, trying to fashion another question that might get results. Did district attorneys have to work this hard?

  “Is something else on your mind, Charlotte, or are you trying to leave an indelible impression in the wrought iron? Good luck with that.”

  I lifted my gaze to meet hers. Tears still pooled in her eyes, but they hadn’t fallen. Was she faking sadness to manipulate me? I urged myself to be more resolute and said, “Did you call Giacomo Capriotti and tell him where Jacky was? Did you ask him to pay you for the information?”

  “Oh, man.” Edy let out an exasperated sigh. “I already told you I didn’t call him. Check my phone records.”

  “There was a wad of cash on him. Chief Urso didn’t find it.”

  “Whoa. That’s enough.” She smacked the table. Her coffee cup lurched. She steadied it. “You’re implying that I killed the guy and took his money?”

  “I’m not implying—”

  “You are, too. I did not call him. I did not take his money. Why would I have cause to kill him? What motive?”

  “You need money for something. You were in the bank looking for a loan.”

  She inhaled and blew a harsh breath out her nose. “Why are you always darting around town playing Nancy Drew?”

  Nancy Drew? Is that what people thought of me? Not Wonder Woman, out to lasso the truth? I itched to pinch her arm. How high school of me was that?

  “Are you bored with running The Cheese Shop? Is that it?” Edy persisted. “Let’s end this. I have an alibi for that night, if you care to hear it. I was with my mother.”

  I pursed my lips. Really? Another mother as an alibi? Really?

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Mothers will lie,” Edy continued. “But not my mother. You don’t know my mother.”

  Actually, I did. I had met her a couple of times during high school. Like an aspiring beauty queen, she had been clipped and exacting, every hair in place, every outfit perfect. Was that why Edy had adopted the Goth look?

  “She’s sick,” Edy said.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “She’s in the Providence Nursing Home west of town, and I—” Tears slipped from her eyes; she swiped them with her knuckles. “I am behind on payments. That’s why I need a loan. I was turned down. Not that my mother deserves my help…”