CHAPTER 1
“Church Bleu. It’s bound to be the highlight of this weekend’s invitational—Max Dumas’s one-of-a-kind bleu cheese.” Behind the counter of Curds & Whey, I held my phone out so my cheese shop crew, Archie and Mrs. Schultz, could admire the photo of the special cheese wheel. Its ivory-colored rind only hinted at the pronounced blue-green streaks within that gave it its complex piquant flavor. This wasn’t their first time seeing the extraordinary cheese, but we couldn’t help but take another peek at it. We’d be viewing a wheel in person in a few hours at the Northwest Cheese Invitational, which was held annually to showcase cheesemakers’ custom creations. This year, they’d be posthumously honoring my former employer, Max Dumas, at the new conference center right here in Yarrow Glen. “It’s amazing the amount of attention it’s garnered in only seven years,” I added. “It won Best in Show its first year out and then the next two years after that until Max stopped entering it.”
I stuck the phone back in my Curds & Whey apron pocket and took up the broom I’d left leaning against one of the turned-leg display tables. I’d been neatening the shop for my former colleagues from Church Cheese Shop, the last place I’d worked before moving to the Sonoma Valley to open Curds & Whey. They were coming by any minute and would be seeing it for the first time. I was excited to show it to them. I finished sweeping and took a last look before deciding if I was satisfied that it was perfect.
My shop’s aesthetic was inspired by my brief time working at a fromagerie outside of Lyon where my passion for cheese blossomed. I wanted to bring the color, warmth, and romance of France into my Sonoma Valley shop. We sold charcuterie boards, cheese lovers’ cookbooks, and anything you’d need for a cheese-perfect picnic: picnic baskets, engraved cheese knives, and plenty of sweet-and-savory cheese accompaniments. Of course, there was also cheese, and plenty of it. Distressed tables held stacked wheels of aged cheeses from all over the world, while the front windows displayed wrapped wedges. The shades and textures revealed inside their casings lured customers into the shop to inhale their heady fragrances.
Archie, my twenty-year-old cheesemonger-in-training, wanted to know more about Max’s Church Bleu. “Had there ever been a three-peat winner before?”
“Never,” I replied.
Archie and Mrs. Schultz teamed up to cut, weigh, and wrap an online order while we talked about the special cheese.
“I bet the other cheesemakers were relieved when he withdrew his cheese from the competition,” Mrs. Schultz commented. The retired high school drama teacher’s wheat-colored apron was livened by a summer scarf that complemented a colorful flared dress cinched at the waist, her usual attire. She and Archie had been with me since I opened the shop last spring, and I’d yet to ask why she preferred to be called Mrs. Schultz.
“Just the opposite, Mrs. Schultz. They wanted their custom cheese to be the one to finally best Church Bleu. Max was of the ‘keep them wanting more’ school of thought. He kept the location where it was made and aged a secret, so batch sizes were small, and his Church Cheese Shop was the only place that sold it. That fit his personality perfectly—Max loved puzzles, riddles, mysteries…” I stowed the broom away. “He was protective of his cheese, but he also really enjoyed his Church Bleu being enigmatic.”
“A mysterious cheese! That’s cool,” Archie said. The only thing Archie liked almost as much as cheese was solving a mystery, which he’d taken part in several times, along with me, Mrs. Schultz, and my best friend, Baz, when the necessity had arisen.
I noticed him repeatedly glancing out the large picture windows at the front of the shop. As we didn’t close for another couple of hours, my Church Cheese friends had volunteered to take Archie to the invitational ahead of me and Mrs. Schultz. I’d spent a couple of hours there this morning, but I couldn’t leave my shop all day. I knew he was excited to attend his first invitational, although he tended to be enthusiastic about most things. He was often like a human Tigger.
“Max thought it was cool too, but the threats he’d gotten over the years weren’t,” I said.
Mrs. Schultz’s toothy grin vanished. “Threats?”
“Just because he wouldn’t disclose the secrets to making the Church Bleu. There can be a dark underbelly to a popular custom cheese. Thieves have been known to steal cheese and sell it on the black market. In one year, almost seven hundred blocks of Saint Nectaire were stolen in France.”
“Cheese can be that valuable?” Archie said.
I moved on to fussing with the displays. “A wheel of the Spanish Cabrales was auctioned one year for twenty-two thousand dollars.”
“No way!”
“With the right hype and a supply that can’t meet the demand, some people will pay up.”
“What did Max do about the threats?” Mrs. Schultz asked.
“Nothing really. He didn’t take them seriously. He’d gotten a kick out of the fact that the FDA inspectors were occasionally bribed to give up its location. To their credit, they never have. I don’t think it affected him too much. Like I said, Max always had a mischievous streak. He liked the cloak-and-dagger aspect of keeping it to himself and driving to the secret location solo. Although, it made our jobs a little harder because he never told us ahead of time. We’d open the shop and find a note that would say I’ve left under the dark of night.” I chuckled at the thought. “Then a handful of days later, he’d be back.”
“I’ve seen you pick apart cheese, Willa, and tell me exactly what’s in it and how it’s made. Why couldn’t that be done to this special blue cheese, so others could figure out how to make it?” Mrs. Schultz asked.
“It has been. Some have even tried to replicate it but couldn’t get it exactly right. There are so many variables that go into making cheese—timing, aging, temperature and humidity, where the milk comes from … even the type of grass the cows graze on. We can only come up with educated theories, kind of like paleontologists. The consensus is that Church Bleu’s uniqueness comes from where it’s aged.”
The order done and packed, Archie removed his gloves. “What’s your guess?”
“Well, since his cheese shop is in a renovated church, Max would say the difference between his cheese and others is divine intervention. It’s ironic, really, since he had such a devilish streak.” I smiled thinking about crazy Max.
“Willa!” Kendall Waterstone walked into the shop and wrapped me in a hug. “Long time, no see.”
“Too long,” I replied.
We looked each other over. I hadn’t changed much except maybe for some extra worry lines around my eyes that had developed since opening my own shop. She noticed my shorter hair. It was easier to deal with, although I still had to pluck the stubborn premature grays that stood out like neon signs against my jet-black color.
She looked just as I’d remembered her. Her highlighted brunette hair was out of its work ponytail and flowed past her shoulders. She wore a short denim jacket over a well-fitting crew neck and dark jeans with loafers. She didn’t try to outshine anyone, but often did anyway. She was one of the best cheesemongers I knew and among the hardest working. Yet, unlike me, no matter how long of a day she’d had, she still always managed to look incredibly put together.
Behind Kendall, I spotted Claire Ingram, another Church Cheese colleague. She left the doorway to give me a hug. “Hi, Willa. Good to see you.” Not surprisingly, I hadn’t noticed her walk in with Kendall. I recalled how, as a staff member and not a certified cheesemonger, she seemed to prefer to blend into the background at the shop. She had Kendall’s brunette hair and hazel eyes, although they seemed dulled a bit.
Archie bounced slightly on the balls of his feet in excitement. I introduced him and Mrs. Schultz to Kendall and Claire.
“I’m sorry we’re running late,” Kendall said. “We just drove in and got our rooms at the inn. Pepper and Freddie wanted to wash up before we go to the invitational, but they’ll be by tomorrow morning after the reading of Max’s will.” Pepper was another cheesemonger from Church Cheese, and Freddie was hired after I’d left.
Of the group, I’d felt closest to Kendall when I worked at Church Cheese Shop in southern Oregon before moving here to Yarrow Glen. She’d talked about coming to see my new shop, but I wasn’t surprised when she hadn’t. It’s one of those things you say to people you’ve had extended work relationships with. We were close work friends only, unlike her and Claire. Having spent the eight years prior to opening Curds & Whey employed in roughly as many cheese shops across the country, I was used to work friends. In fact, I’d preferred them. It wasn’t until Archie, Mrs. Schultz, and I were brought closer together by investigating the murder of a magazine critic shortly after I opened my shop that our work relationship turned into much more.
Copyright © 2023 by Korina Moss.
