Free Lost and Fondue by Avery Aames Page A

crowd obeyed, Quinn broke from Edsel and Dane and dashed toward me. “Charlotte!” She skidded to a stop. “I know who killed Harker. Your assistant, Bozz.”

CHAPTER 6
    “Bozz?” I nearly shrieked. “No way.”
    Everyone heading for the dining room turned. I caught Prudence Hart leering at me with a tartness usually reserved for vinegar. She whispered to a needle-nosed friend to her right, then snickered. What was Prudence’s problem? Did she blame me for being detained at the event? She certainly couldn’t blame me for her choice of clothing, which was an obnoxious hot pink pantsuit that wouldn’t even look good on a mannequin. Taking over Providence’s only upscale women’s boutique after the owner left town—on what she liked to call a sabbatical—hadn’t improved Prudence’s sense of style one iota. She reminded me of a worn pencil: skinny, hard, and chewed around the edges. I swear she cut her hair with garden shears.
    I pushed the catty thoughts from my mind and gripped Quinn by the shoulders. “Bozz is not a killer.”
    Matthew, Meredith, and Rebecca hurried to our huddle.
    Urso joined us. “What’s this about Mr. Bozzuto?”
    Quinn blanched. Her shoulders started to shake. If I didn’t know Urso was a teddy bear to his core, I’d have quavered at his harsh tone, too.
    “Bozz and Harker were fighting,” Quinn said.
    “Says who?” Urso folded his arms across his massive chest, jaw set, his eyes revealing nothing. If only I could be so implacable.
    “Edsel.” Quinn wriggled with discomfort. “He saw Harker push Bozz down the front steps.”
    “When?” I demanded. Certainly not when we’d arrived. They had exchanged words, but Bozz had backed off, and Matthew had instantly put him to work carrying crates of wine.
    “About a half hour ago,” Quinn said.
    “Edsel who?” Urso said.
    “Edsel Nash. The guy with the shaggy hair.” Quinn wiggled her index finger.
    “Mr. Nash, get over here, now!” Urso jerked a thumb.
    Edsel obeyed. Dane, like a shadow, shuffled behind him.
    Urso said, “Explain, Mr. Nash.”
    “Harker was, like”—Edsel cleared his throat—“spitting mad at that nerd, Bozz.”
    “Where?”
    “On the front porch.” Even standing at attention, Edsel looked sloppy. His shoulders slouched. His eyes grew hooded like a cobra’s. He wiped raggedy strands of hair off his forehead. “He said—”
    “Who said?” Urso cut in.
    “That dork, Bozz,” Dane blurted.
    Urso wheeled on Dane. “You saw this, too?”
    Dane screwed up his mouth. “Uh, no.”
    “Then let Mr. Nash tell the story.” Urso turned his glare on Edsel. “Nash?”
    Edsel licked his lips. “He—Bozz—said, ‘What’s your problem, man? Why are you following me?’ and Harker said, ‘I saw you looking at her.’ And Bozz said, ‘Was not.’ And Harker said, ‘Were, too. I told you to back off.’ Then Harker landed him one right in the jaw.”
    Urso’s face remained impassive. I would bet he had seen his share of fights—seen them, not engaged in them. He was an Eagle Scout through and through. But he had gone away to college and he’d joined a fraternity that favored football players and heavy drinking. An occasional brawl was inevitable.
    After a moment, Urso turned to me. “How does Mr. Bozzuto know Mr. Fontanne?”
    “He doesn’t,” I said. At least I didn’t think he did. Bozz wasn’t working at The Cheese Shop yesterday when the students came in for breakfast.
    “They met tonight,” Rebecca said. “When we drove up. He said Quinn was cute, and—”
    I gripped her wrist to hush her from telling more. “Look, U-ey.” I paused. Swallowed hard. “I mean, Chief. Bozz is the sweetest kid on earth, you know that.”
    Freddy sidled up to Quinn and put a protective, fatherly arm around her shoulders. Winona moved to Quinn’s other side, but her arms remained lank.
    Prudence and her needle-nosed friend clustered behind Freddy, Winona, and Quinn. Each of the women carried a plate of