Read Online Clobbered by Camembert by Avery Aames - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Avery Aames
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empty beside an unopened bottle of champagne, which rested in an ice bucket.
Earlier in the day, Rebecca had recited the menu for her romantic meal.
I glanced at her. Her lips were swollen. So were Ipo’s. There was no doubt in my mind that they had done it —kissed. What an ending to such a promising evening.
I started to open my mouth to call to Urso when he cut a look in my direction and glared at me. I recoiled. What had I done to warrant such displeasure other than snag a front-row seat? He held my gaze with an unspoken warning: Back off. I glowered to let him know that I wouldn’t budge, not when Rebecca could be in trouble. She was like my little sister. No way was I obeying him because he had a better bully look than I did. I folded my arms and raised my chin ever so slightly. Take that!
“Deputy Rodham,” Urso barked.
The gangly young policeman with a roosterlike hairdo stepped forward from the shadows, his narrow shoulders squared.
“Secure this scene. ASAP. And close that front door.”
Rodham saluted and fetched a roll of yellow crime-scene tape from a satchel. “Move back, folks.” He pressed open the lower half of the Dutch door, which forced me to shuffle aside, then secured and shut the whole door after him.
But I wasn’t done listening yet. He headed left, so I veered right and found a spot near a Bieber tilt-turn window, cracked open enough to ventilate but not refrigerate. Grandmère nestled in beside me.
“What can you see, chérie ?”
“Urso is crouching beside the coroner. He’s whispering something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
The coroner responded with a hushed word to Urso. Oh, to be Superwoman and have supersonic hearing.
“Thanks.” Urso rose to his incredible height and faced Rebecca and Ipo, his back to me.
From where I stood, it was like watching a play. Shadows created by the varying light in the room danced on each of the players’ faces.
Rebecca and Ipo sank deeper into the couch, both probably wishing they had worn red clothing and could blend into the background.
“Mr. Ho, you come from Hawaii,” Urso said.
“Yes.”
I stiffened. Where was Urso going with this line of questioning? What significance did it have? Why was he being so hard-hearted? On any other day, he would have called Ipo by his first name.
“Oh, there is your grandfather,” Grandmère said. “He will want to know everything. I will return.” She scuttled away.
A cold draft filled her spot, and then a body did. Sylvie. Lucky me. She was wearing a skintight purple sweaterdress and reeked of patchouli. I wondered if all her Under Wraps items smelled the same. If they did, I would run from the store the moment I entered. Not that I would enter. I had steered clear since it opened.
“Fill me in,” Sylvie said, breathless with curiosity.
“Shhh.”
“Don’t you hush—”
I gave her a sterner than stern look. Without asking, she wedged herself in beside me so that she could peer through the opening.
“Oof,” I whispered.
“Shhh,” she said with a snicker.
Urso continued. “Tell me about your luau jobs, Mr. Ho.”
“I was a fire dancer.” An edge crept into Ipo’s normally gentle tone.
“Fire dancer.”
“Yes.” Ipo’s face pinched with concern. He seemed as baffled as I was by the questions.
Rebecca caught sight of me, and her eyes filled with such pleading that my heart wrenched. I held up a finger to give her hope. For what, I couldn’t be sure—for a miracle answer, a suspect other than Ipo, something. And soon.
“Tell me about the wooden batons used in your ceremonies,” Urso said.
Ipo fidgeted.
“What are they called again?” Urso snapped his fingers, but I would bet dimes to dollars he knew the name. During high school, when most teens suffered wanderlust, Urso had devoured the entire set of James Michener books. He had looked so dorky carrying huge thick tomes to school when the rest of us were trying to read the thinnest books
Earlier in the day, Rebecca had recited the menu for her romantic meal.
I glanced at her. Her lips were swollen. So were Ipo’s. There was no doubt in my mind that they had done it —kissed. What an ending to such a promising evening.
I started to open my mouth to call to Urso when he cut a look in my direction and glared at me. I recoiled. What had I done to warrant such displeasure other than snag a front-row seat? He held my gaze with an unspoken warning: Back off. I glowered to let him know that I wouldn’t budge, not when Rebecca could be in trouble. She was like my little sister. No way was I obeying him because he had a better bully look than I did. I folded my arms and raised my chin ever so slightly. Take that!
“Deputy Rodham,” Urso barked.
The gangly young policeman with a roosterlike hairdo stepped forward from the shadows, his narrow shoulders squared.
“Secure this scene. ASAP. And close that front door.”
Rodham saluted and fetched a roll of yellow crime-scene tape from a satchel. “Move back, folks.” He pressed open the lower half of the Dutch door, which forced me to shuffle aside, then secured and shut the whole door after him.
But I wasn’t done listening yet. He headed left, so I veered right and found a spot near a Bieber tilt-turn window, cracked open enough to ventilate but not refrigerate. Grandmère nestled in beside me.
“What can you see, chérie ?”
“Urso is crouching beside the coroner. He’s whispering something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
The coroner responded with a hushed word to Urso. Oh, to be Superwoman and have supersonic hearing.
“Thanks.” Urso rose to his incredible height and faced Rebecca and Ipo, his back to me.
From where I stood, it was like watching a play. Shadows created by the varying light in the room danced on each of the players’ faces.
Rebecca and Ipo sank deeper into the couch, both probably wishing they had worn red clothing and could blend into the background.
“Mr. Ho, you come from Hawaii,” Urso said.
“Yes.”
I stiffened. Where was Urso going with this line of questioning? What significance did it have? Why was he being so hard-hearted? On any other day, he would have called Ipo by his first name.
“Oh, there is your grandfather,” Grandmère said. “He will want to know everything. I will return.” She scuttled away.
A cold draft filled her spot, and then a body did. Sylvie. Lucky me. She was wearing a skintight purple sweaterdress and reeked of patchouli. I wondered if all her Under Wraps items smelled the same. If they did, I would run from the store the moment I entered. Not that I would enter. I had steered clear since it opened.
“Fill me in,” Sylvie said, breathless with curiosity.
“Shhh.”
“Don’t you hush—”
I gave her a sterner than stern look. Without asking, she wedged herself in beside me so that she could peer through the opening.
“Oof,” I whispered.
“Shhh,” she said with a snicker.
Urso continued. “Tell me about your luau jobs, Mr. Ho.”
“I was a fire dancer.” An edge crept into Ipo’s normally gentle tone.
“Fire dancer.”
“Yes.” Ipo’s face pinched with concern. He seemed as baffled as I was by the questions.
Rebecca caught sight of me, and her eyes filled with such pleading that my heart wrenched. I held up a finger to give her hope. For what, I couldn’t be sure—for a miracle answer, a suspect other than Ipo, something. And soon.
“Tell me about the wooden batons used in your ceremonies,” Urso said.
Ipo fidgeted.
“What are they called again?” Urso snapped his fingers, but I would bet dimes to dollars he knew the name. During high school, when most teens suffered wanderlust, Urso had devoured the entire set of James Michener books. He had looked so dorky carrying huge thick tomes to school when the rest of us were trying to read the thinnest books
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