As Gouda as Dead by Avery Aames Page B

Bell might have had reason to kill Tim.”
    Urso frowned. “Why?”
    I explained.
    Grandmère said, “No! It cannot be so. Belinda has her moments. She is contentious. But she is a good woman. She is not evil.”
    â€œNot everyone who kills is evil,” I reminded her. “Some are simply pushed too far.”
    Grandmère clucked her tongue, doing her best to dismiss me, but I could see she was concerned. Even if she didn’t like someone on the city council, she would support him or her as a fellow politician should.
    Urso said, “I’ve contacted every one of Tim’s family members.”
    â€œYou mean I did,” Deputy O’Shea muttered. “Uncle Tim left the bar to all twelve of his nephews, me included.”
    Urso said, “That doesn’t imply that any of you had motive to kill Tim.”
    â€œHow could it? None of us wants the pub. Not that it isn’t a great place.” O’Shea waved his hand. “It is. It’s just . . . we’ve all got careers.”
    I placed the sandwiches along with napkins and packages of extra mustard into bags. “This is on the house, U-ey. I insist. No argument.” On occasion, I could be as tough as he could be. I addressed Deputy O’Shea. “The other eleven nephews don’t live anywhere near here, do they?”
    â€œNo, we’re spread out in three states. Most of them are up north, near Cleveland. We’re close, but we don’t talk a lot. We communicate via a social networking site. We share pictures of kids and pets.”
    â€œYou don’t have either of those,” Rebecca said.
    â€œYeah, but you know the drill.” He flapped his hat against his thigh. “Two of my other uncles are coming to run the pub until we decide what to do, and my dad and mom are due in town. They’ll be handling the funeral arrangements.”
    My grandmother whispered, “Some people leave this world too soon.”
    Another poignant silence enveloped us.
    Rebecca drew in a deep breath. She looked from me to the deputy and back to me. A sneaky grin spread across her face. “You know, chief, if you need a hand with the investigation, you should deputize Charlotte.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œTemporarily. You can do that, right? She sees things others don’t.”
    â€œNo,” Urso repeated, his tone brusque.
    My grandmother seconded his decision.
    â€œI assume you’ve questioned Jawbone Jones,” Rebecca continued. “He’s your main suspect, correct?” She snatched the bags holding the sandwiches off the counter and swung one like a carrot in front of Urso. Her pluck—okay, audacity—truly amazed me sometimes.
    Urso took the bags. “Mr. Jones swears he didn’t race after Tim.”
    â€œAnd you bought that?” Rebecca said. “Two witnesses saw him. Does he have an alibi?”
    â€œHe was on his way to a jam session.”
    â€œA jam session?” Rebecca eyed me. “I told you he had musician’s hands. Strong fingers. I’ll bet he plays a mean guitar.” She turned back to Urso. “But he wasn’t at the jam session, was he? He said he was on his way, which means no one can verify as to his specific whereabouts.”
    â€œThe other half of his duo said she talked to him on his cell phone,” Urso said. “He’d called to tell her he was running late.”
    Rebecca smirked. “That’s a pretty feeble alibi, if you ask me. We all know cell phone reception isn’t good around here.”
    Deputy O’Shea jumped in. “I agree. Uncle Tim’s message was jumbled. And Mr. Jones owns Lock Stock and Barrel, right?”
    â€œYour point?” Urso said.
    â€œCan you trust what a gun shop owner says?”
    â€œAre you saying what he does isn’t legitimate?”
    â€œI don’t know, is it?” A hank of Deputy O’Shea’s hair fell onto his face. He