Free Lost and Fondue by Avery Aames Page B

bread chunks dipped into fondue. While popping bites into their mouths, they leaned forward, looking eager to hear the dirt. Inwardly, I groaned. I could just imagine the gossip that would fly around town tomorrow.
    Freddy said, “Bozz might be a nice kid, but I saw the altercation, too.”
    I gaped at him, upset that I couldn’t defend Bozz if two witnesses came forward.
    “Tell the chief what you know, Freddy,” Winona said.
    Urso zeroed his gaze on Freddy. “Got something to say, Mr. Vance? Where were you at the time of the incident?”
    “C’mon, U-ey, you can call me Freddy.”
    “I asked you a question, Mr. Vance.”
    Freddy stretched his neck. His jaw flicked with tension. “I was outside for a smoke.”
    If he’d gone outside for a smoke when Winona had, why hadn’t they gone together? Winona said they had gotten separated. That must have been when Freddy had the fight I’d witnessed with Harker. I thought of the words they’d exchanged. What agreement had Freddy and Harker made? Why was Harker worried that Freddy would renege on it?
    “Outside where, exactly?” Urso said.
    “Over by the Dumpster.” While Freddy plucked strands of hair off Quinn’s shoulders with his right hand, his left hand fidgeted in his pocket, something he used to do back in grade school whenever he was lying. Was he fabricating an alibi for himself? Why would he and Edsel tell the same story about Bozz if it wasn’t true?
    “Did you see Mr. Bozzuto and Mr. Fontanne go down to the cellar together?” Urso asked.
    “They couldn’t have,” I cut in. “Bozz left for the theater with my grandparents.”
    “Charlotte, hush,” Urso said. “He’s your employee.”
    “Does that mean I can’t defend him?”
    Urso glowered at me. “Did you see him leave the premises?”
    “Well ... no.” My arms, down to my fingertips, prickled with anxiety. I shook my hands to clear the uncomfortable feeling, but it was to no avail. “Pépère was looking for him. He wouldn’t have left without him. Bozz is innocent!” I clapped my hand over my mouth, surprised at my outburst; but my Internet guru was no more of a killer than Gandhi was. Bozz listened to inspirational music, he was an eco-nut, and he wrote poetry. Heck, he sneaked little treats to my cat and helped old ladies across the street.
    Urso huffed. Exasperation turned into beads of perspiration. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Tell me again, Mr. Vance. When did this altercation take place?”
    “A half hour ago.”
    Rebecca elbowed me and twitched her chin toward the staircase. I got the hint. I replayed the scenarios she and I had witnessed while on the hunt. Right at the start, Harker had chased Quinn into the kitchen. About five minutes later, we saw Edsel and Quinn upstairs. Two minutes after that, Harker and Freddy were heard arguing. Had a half hour passed since then?
    I said, “Quinn, where did you go after you and Edsel played Quasimodo upstairs?”
    “Quasi what?” she asked.
    “The candle thing. He was making you laugh.”
    “Oh.” Her breath caught in her chest.
    Was she surprised someone had seen her? Maybe her dalliance with Edsel had made Harker so mad that he’d come after her a second time. Had he chased her to the cellar? Had she lashed out? No, I couldn’t see Quinn having the strength to kill him. Not by strangulation. But it was her scarf that was the murder weapon, and she was the one we found hiding in the coal chute.
    But then I recalled the earlier scuffle between Dane and her, when Dane had tried to force-feed her fondue. She’d abandoned the scarf. Anyone could have picked it up. Even Bozz.
    My shoulders tensed.
    “Don’t worry, Quinnie,” Meredith said. “Charlotte’s not accusing you of being guilty.”
    “I’m just trying to establish everybody’s whereabouts.”
    “That’s what detectives do,” Rebecca chimed in.
    “She’s not a—” Urso didn’t finish the sentence. He pursed his lips with minor annoyance. “I’m