As Gouda as Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

Violet’s Victoriana Inn, was sitting with Paige Alpaugh, a pert, forty-something single mom who reminded me of a show pony with her big jaw, big teeth, and plume of caramel-colored hair.
    With no introduction, I slid onto one of the chairs at the women’s table and said, “Hey, Violet, I’ve got that Fromager d’Affinois you like in stock.” The cheese was a delicious French double-cream, similar to Brie in taste, and in my personal opinion, creamier.
    â€œMmm.” Violet, also mid-thirties, who had a classically pretty face but dyed her shoulder-length hair a ridiculous marshmallow-blonde color, hummed without looking up. She was rummaging in her purse. Out came a lozenge, a folded piece of blue paper, a receipt, and a pack of cigarettes. The latter must have been what she was after. She jammed everything but the pack of cigarettes back inside and began tap-tapping the pack on the tabletop. “I’m off of cheese for a while.”
    â€œWhy?” I assessed her. Had she lost weight? Despite the fact that her B&B offered spa cuisine, Violet usually appeared thick. Perhaps it was because she wore clothes that were one size too small. Tonight, however, she looked downright trim in her chic sweater and jeans. “Has Paige ordered you to change your eating habits?”
    â€œIt wasn’t me,” Paige said, holding her hand up like a Girl Scout ready to take the pledge. “I adore cheese.” A divorcee and mother of two, Paige made her living as a farmer. She was also a foodie blogger who wrote passionately and tirelessly about a well-balanced diet. I couldn’t get over the amount of hours she put into her blog. She posted recipes daily and showed every step of preparation. Each post had a chatty story and sometimes a moral or warning to go along with it. “Dairy in the diet is a good thing,” she said. “It’s the sugar you have to watch out for. Candy, sodas, pastries.”
    â€œAmen.” Violet gestured with a V sign.
    â€œAnd the cigarettes.”
    Violet threw Paige a nasty look.
    â€œEat right and you’ll make pretty babies,” Paige went on with authority. I was sure she believed what she professed, but, honestly, genetics had a lot to do with beautiful offspring. Paige’s eldest daughter had turned out as attractive as Paige; the younger girl had her father’s features.
    I turned to Violet. “Are you pregnant?”
    â€œNo. I’m single. I would never—” She huffed. “I hope to have kids one day. Soon. Paige is just being . . . Paige. In other words, annoying.”
    Paige hiccupped a laugh.
    â€œWhat’s up with the deputy?” Violet eyed O’Shea. “He looks like he’s on the warpath.”
    â€œHis uncle Tim called him.”
    â€œSo?” Violet, who was a head taller than I was, shimmied in her chair until she was sitting straight and, I was pretty sure, could look down on me. I wouldn’t necessarily call her controlling, simply in need of the upper hand.
    â€œHe left a message, which sounded urgent,” I said. “But the reception cut in and out, so the deputy didn’t catch all of Tim’s message. Now he can’t reach him.”
    â€œTypical around here,” Paige said. “All the rolling hills. What we need is a good cell tower.”
    â€œOh, yeah, right.” Violet gave her the evil eye. “Talk Councilwoman Bell into that. Can you spell eyesore on her precious landscape?”
    Not only did the councilwoman dislike noise in our fair town; she disliked any change whatsoever. She owned Memory Lane Collectibles, which was wedged in between the pastry shop and the Revue Movie Theater. Her shop reflected who she was: a woman who wanted things in her life and town to remain quaint and unchanged.
    â€œIf she had her way,” Violet went on, “we would return to pioneer days, as long as the showers and plumbing