Free As Gouda as Dead by Avery Aames

around voting time. I admit, it wasn’t a very enlightened way to approach life, but hearing about world tragedies and political nonsense often made me sick to my stomach.
    â€œI wanted to see how it felt to hold a gun,” Rebecca said. “I wanted to understand the allure. So I went to Lock Stock and Barrel. It’s real clean and spare. There were a few people there, shooting in the gallery. Jawbone—he told me to call him Jawbone—fitted me with a Remington and said, ‘Remember, little lady, guns don’t kill people; people kill people.’”
    â€œAnd . . . how did it feel?”
    â€œCold.” She shivered. “Jawbone was really nice about it. The rifle was empty, so it was safe, he assured me. He wedged it against my shoulder and placed my hands in the right position, and then he helped me aim it at a target. He has narrow, long fingers, by the way. Like a musician.”
    â€œDid you pull the trigger?”
    â€œNo. I couldn’t. I froze.”
    I gawked at her, wishing I could swaddle her in bubble wrap to shield her from harm forever. She was such an innocent. “Well, for now, I’d keep a wide berth from Jawbone. He is the number one suspect in Tim’s murder.”
    â€œWhy would he want Tim dead?”
    â€œGood question.” I recalled Urso asking about Jawbone’s motive. If not him, who else might have wanted Tim dead? Dottie had hinted that Councilwoman Bell complained about the noise at the pub. She had also suggested that Frank Mueller, jealous over how Violet was flirting with Tim, might have lashed out. I didn’t know that side of Frank. He seemed an even-tempered man, kind to his employees and welcoming to customers, but lots of people could put on a good face for the public.
    If only I knew what Tim had seen.
    Rebecca said, “Do you think the killer dumped Tim in the vat, hoping no one would find him until the next day’s cheese making began, so it would throw off the time of death?”
    â€œWhat TV show did you learn that from?”
    â€œThat’s a classic forensic assumption.” Soon after Rebecca had left her community, she became a mystery and crime show aficionado. She watched them on television and streamed them on the Internet. “Maybe it was a crime of passion. Maybe Tim and Jawbone were both in love with Tyanne.”
    At that exact moment, Tyanne entered the shop. She looked frazzled, her hair messed and her cheeks wan. She hadn’t put on any lipstick, and she wasn’t wearing hot pink, the color she’d declared she would wear the entire Valentine season. Instead, she was dressed in a drab black suit that did nothing for her skin tone or sassy figure.
    I hurried to her and put my arm around her. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
    â€œOh, sugar. My sweet Tim. Murdered. I can’t believe it.” She sucked in a dry breath while fanning herself with a fistful of flyers. “I loved him, Charlotte.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWe were good together. He told the funniest jokes. He said he adored the sound of my laugh.”
    â€œHe did. I could tell you two were meant to be.”
    Could Dottie Pfeiffer have been mistaken about Violet flirting with Tim? Perhaps I could forget about Frank Mueller attacking Tim in a jealous rage. However, what if Violet, feeling rejected because Tim was so obviously in love with Tyanne, had lit into Tim? No, she couldn’t have killed him. She had a solid alibi. She was at the pub with Paige.
    â€œWhat’re those?” I asked, pointing to the flyers in Tyanne’s hand.
    Tyanne sighed as if the anguish of the world continuing in Tim’s absence were cutting out a piece of her insides. “There’s going to be an event at All Booked Up on Tuesday afternoon.”
    My business-savvy grandmother, by divvying up the center of town into four districts, had ensured that all of the businesses would benefit from