Free To Brie or Not to Brie by Avery Aames Page B

Scoops and Urso. All were emerging
     from the rear of the store. The Scoops grabbed their things from behind the counter
     and raced out of the store.
    Iris flew to her daughter, gripped her shoulders, and asked who died. When her daughter
     muttered, “Capriotti,” my insides clenched. Had I heard her right? Was Jacky’s estranged
     husband, Giacomo Capriotti, lying dead inside? I gazed back into the Igloo.
    Hugo headed for the rear of the store. Urso stopped him and put a hand on his chest.
     Hugo resisted. He tried to see over Urso’s shoulder. Urso gripped his elbow and steered
     him to a stool by the counter. Urso asked a question. Hugo shook his head. Urso asked
     something else. In explanation, Hugo tapped his watch, then spoke some more, his mouth
     and hands working in conjunction.
    Knowing I would get nothing from watching their silent play, I pivoted, searching
     for Iris and her daughter. I wanteddetails to relate to Jordan and Jacky, but the Isherwoods were gone.
    Rebecca poked me. “Charlotte, the chief is coming out. Get ready.”
    “To do what?”
    “Grill him.” She shoved me into Urso as he emerged through the front door.
    I skidded to a halt and tilted back my head. The sun’s glare hit my eyes. I shielded
     them so I could assess Urso’s face.
    His eyes grew dark, his mouth tight. “What are you doing here, Charlotte?”
    “What do you think?” I said—a snappy retort, if ever there was one—glad that the words
I’m here to grill you
hadn’t escaped my lips.
    He huffed, then held up his hands like Moses ready to part the Red Sea. “Folks.” The
     crowd hushed. “Please go back to your jobs or homes or whatever you were doing. This
     is police business.”
    A grumbling murmur swept through the throng.
    “Who died?” A heavyset man’s voice rose above the others.
    “I heard it was an out-of-towner,” someone yelled from far back in the crowd.
    “Did Hugo Hunter do it?” Stratton asked, his voice resonant.
    “I will not comment,” Urso said.
    I gripped Urso’s elbow and cleared my throat. “Chief, is the victim’s name Giacomo
     Capriotti?”
    Urso snapped a hard look over his shoulder. If I were a gnat and his gaze a laser,
     I would have been zapped. “Where did you hear that?”
    Rather than get Iris’s daughter in trouble, I glanced at the deputy who lingered by
     the front door. He was a true blue cop, but he was no palace guard.
    “He doesn’t know squat,” Urso said. “Where did you get your information?”
    My shoulders sagged. “One of the Scoops.”
    He gave me a cold, hard look. “Do you know the victim?”
    I inhaled.
    Rebecca gasped. “You do, don’t you? Who is he?”
    I kept mum.
    Urso’s eyes narrowed to slits of distrust. “Charlotte.” He reminded me of my grandfather,
     when I said the dog ate my homework. We didn’t have a dog at the time. Pépère had
     been hurt that I hadn’t trusted him with the truth.
    I wriggled with guilt. Should I tell Urso what I knew, or should I protect Jacky and
     Jordan until I talked to both of them?
    “Charlotte,” Urso hissed.
    “I know
of
him,” I blurted. “Hugo told me the man was killed in the freezer. Is that true?”
    “How did he die, Chief?” Rebecca said.
    Urso shook his head. “Uh-uh, Miss Zook. I’m not giving out any information until Charlotte
     tells me everything she’s got.” He tapped his foot, waiting.
    “What’s that on your shoe, Chief?” Rebecca pointed.
    Urso glanced down. “Ice cream cone crumbs.”
    “Was the freezer a mess?” she asked.
    Urso remained stoic.
    “Was there a struggle? Will the killer have bruises?”
    “Miss Zook, you can give up trying to coax something out of me.” Urso’s mouth quirked
     up on the right. “I repeat, you won’t get another word out of me until Charlotte spills
     what she’s got.”
    I opened my hands. “But I don’t know anything.”
    “You do, too.” Edy wedged between Rebecca and me. Had she followed us to listen in?