“I know what you mean,” echoed a police officer. He looked at the menu again but couldn’t find anything else he wanted. “I just don’t like ice cream with fruit in it,” he said handing the menu back to Jessie.
“What about vanilla?” Jessie suggested.
“No, thanks. I think I’ll just go to the donut shop.”
“I’d have vanilla,” said a woman in a straw hat. “But you don’t even have any chocolate sauce to put on it, isn’t that right?”
Jessie was forced to agree.
“What’s happened to this place since Mr. Richards retired?” the woman in the hat shook her head. “Let’s go, Delores,” she said to her companion. “Maybe we can find that new ice cream truck. They must have chocolate.”
Simone looked at Jessie and rolled her eyes.
Jessie felt very sorry for Mr. Brown. She knew that if he was at the counter, he’d be offering to give everyone free ice cream.
After the rush, Jessie went to the kitchen to help Mr. Brown make more sauces. She left Simone deep in conversation with a red-haired young man. Jessie wondered why they were whispering.
“Oh, there you are,” the owner said when he saw Jessie. “I have a fresh batch of chocolate in the ice cream maker.”
Jessie nodded. She didn’t have the heart to tell Mr. Brown about all the customers they’d lost at lunchtime.
For the next hour Jessie and Violet measured out chocolate, butter, sugar, milk, and vanilla extract for the sauce. Then they heated the mixture over the stove, stirring it constantly with a big wooden spoon.
“Oh, this smells wonderful,” Violet said as she stirred the large saucepan.
“It makes me want to lick the spoon,” Jessie answered.
“I’m glad I’m not the one making it,” Benny observed. “Or I would only be licking the spoon and not cooking.” His sisters laughed.
Jessie and Violet made four batches. They did let Benny taste it. “That should be enough to last us for awhile,” Violet said as the sauce cooled on the counter.
“Tomorrow, we’ll make butterscotch and raspberry sauce,” Mr. Brown said. “I don’t want to run out of anything again.”
Jessie and Violet nodded.
Mr. Brown looked at his watch. “Well, it’s going to be time to close in about an hour,” he said. “You must be tired.”
“I feel fine,” Violet said. “Me, too,” Jessie said as she washed out the mixing bowls and put them in the dishwasher.
“Don’t rinse the big wooden spoon!” Benny almost yelped. “Can’t we lick it?”
“Sure, Benny,” Jessie said, handing it to him.
Violet wiped her hands. “I think I’ll help Simone at the counter. She must need a break.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Jessie. “She’s still talking to that red-haired guy.”
The only customers Violet found were a mother and her little girl. They were sharing a butterscotch sundae. The girl was upset her white poodle had to be left outside.
“I could go play with him,” Simone offered. “Violet can take my place at the counter.” Violet nodded.
“Oh, would you just see how she is?” the little girl asked. She looked at Simone with big blue eyes.
“Oh, really, Angela,” the girl’s mother said. “There’s no need to bother the waitress. Pebbles will be fine. We’re not going to be here very long.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I would like the fresh air,” Simone assured the mother.
Violet had not been at the counter long when she heard a familiar voice.
“That poodle outside your store almost bit me!” a woman said as she came into the parlor and collapsed in a booth. Violet knew the woman right away. She was Mrs. Saunders, the owner of the pink ice cream truck.
“Pebbles wouldn’t bite anyone,” cried the little girl at the counter.
“Goodness!” said the girl’s mother. “Are you all right?”
Mrs. Saunders nodded and said “I think so,” in a low quavery voice. Then she took a small pocket mirror from her purse and carefully examined her reflection. She powdered her nose and reached up to straighten the pink bow in her hair.
“At least, I think I’m all right,” she continued in the same tone of voice. “I’ve just had a bad shock. You see, I don’t like dogs,” she admitted. “And they don’t like me.”
“What happened exactly?” the mother asked.
“I was just walking down the street,” Mrs. Saunders began in a much stronger voice, “when that dog began to bark at me. It barked very loudly I must say.”
“Pebbles doesn’t have a loud bark,” Angela protested.
“Ssh Angela,” her mother warned. “Please don’t interrupt.” Angela scowled at Mrs. Saunders and blew bubbles in her milk with a straw.
“Luckily, a girl was holding that animal,” Mrs. Saunders continued more loudly now that she had everyone’s attention. “Or I’m sure he would have bitten me.”
“Pebbles is a girl dog,” Angela commented.
“Angela, quiet,” her mother said wearily. “I’m sorry this happened,” she said, turning to Mrs. Saunders. “We’re glad you’re not hurt.” Angela frowned, but she didn’t say anything more.
“May I get you anything, Mrs. Saunders?” Violet asked, coming over to her booth with a menu.
Mrs. Saunders looked curiously at Violet. “Oh, do you know my ice cream truck? Is that how you know my name?” She sounded pleased.
“Well, yes,” Violet admitted.
“You could bring me a glass of water.” She looked at Violet more closely. “Aren’t you one of the children who wouldn’t buy my ice cream? You had a dog with you.”
Violet nodded. She felt her cheeks flush.
“Well,” Mrs. Saunders said fanning her face with her menu. “I didn’t know you worked in the parlor.”
“Would you like to try any of our ice cream?” Violet asked politely.
“Yes, I could try it.” Mrs. Saunders sounded like she was doing Violet a favor. “What about a small sample of your fresh peach? I hear from my customers you’re out of chocolate.” Mrs. Saunders looked smug.
Violet nodded.
“Do you have samples? I just want to taste it. I don’t want to pay for a whole portion,” Mrs. Saunders said.
“Well, I’ll have to ask the owner,” Violet answered.
Simone came back in the parlor just as Violet was bringing Mrs. Saunders her glass of water. The waitress carried a piece of paper with some writing on it. When she saw Violet looking at her, she hurriedly folded the note and put it in the pocket of her apron.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Saunders had enjoyed a glass of lemonade on the house. She had also sampled the strawberry, vanilla, and peach ice cream. In exchange, Mrs. Saunders had agreed to bring Mr. Brown small samples of her ice cream to taste the following day.
“It’s too bad the chocolate isn’t ready,” Mrs. Saunders said as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “But may I try your hot fudge sauce?” She leaned back in the booth.
“Mrs. Saunders, we’re getting ready to close up now,” Mr. Brown said gently. “I can give you some hot fudge to take with you.”
“Oh, thank you. And maybe some strawberry and butterscotch sauce, too. Just enough to taste now,” she called after Mr. Brown.
Henry exchanged glances with Jessie. “Mrs. Saunders, what made you change your mind about the Shoppe’s ice cream?”
“Well, I’d never tried it before. It’s old-fashioned, but it isn’t bad. Not bad at all.”
“Isn’t there anything you would like to buy here, Mrs. Saunders?” Henry hinted. “What about a small cone?”
Mrs. Saunders frowned and looked at her watch. She checked it against the big clock at the counter. “Your clock has stopped,” she said.
“Yes, we know,” Mr. Brown called as he came out of the kitchen. He placed three small paper cups, all wrapped, in front of Mrs. Saunders. “It’s very old. I’m trying to find someone who can fix it.”
“Wel
l, I must be going,” Mrs. Saunders said. Reluctantly, she rose out of the booth and carefully put the samples in her large bag. On the way out, she did buy a small — very small — vanilla cone.
“I know Mrs. Saunders was trying to be nice, but I still don’t trust her,” Henry said as the children pedaled home through the park.
“Me neither.” Benny was out of breath. He had to pedal very hard to catch up with Henry.
“I know what you mean,” Violet said. She was just behind Benny. “Mrs. Saunders looked very pleased we’d run out of chocolate ice cream this afternoon.”
“That probably improved her afternoon business,” Jessie remarked.
“I wonder if Mrs. Saunders took that chocolate ice cream,” Henry said. He pedaled more slowly so Benny could keep up with him.
“And the missing glasses and hot fudge sauce,” Benny reminded them.
“There could be another reason all those things are missing,” Violet said.
“Like what?” Benny turned around to look at Violet with raised eyebrows. His bicycle swerved a little on the dirt road.
“Maybe Simone or Brian broke those glasses, and didn’t want to admit it,” Violet suggested.
“It’s true,” Henry agreed. “It would be easier for one of them to be responsible for the missing things since they both work there.”
Then Violet told the others about Simone not wanting her to see the note she carried.
“But,” Jessie protested, “why would Simone or Brian want to take anything from Mr. Brown? He’s so patient and kind — always giving food away. Even if Simone or Brian broke those glasses or ate up the chocolate ice cream, Mr. Brown probably wouldn’t take any money out of their salaries or fire them.”
The others were forced to agree. “We’ll just have to keep our eye on all of them — Mrs. Saunders, Simone, and Brian,” said Henry.
“What about that angry customer we saw the first day?” Violet asked.
“He’s suspicious, too,” Jessie said, nodding. She playfully rang her bicycle bell so Benny would let her pass in front of him. “I’ll race you home,” she called to Violet and her brothers.
CHAPTER 6
Benny Has a Dream
That night, Benny had a dream. He was working in the Ice Cream Shoppe surrounded by cartons and cartons of all different kinds of ice cream — banana, chocolate, raspberry, vanilla, blueberry, and peach.
In his dream, Benny wore a big white chef’s hat. He spooned the creamy chocolate ice cream from its container and put it in a tall glass. Suddenly more and more glasses appeared. Feverishly, Benny tried to put a scoop of ice cream in each one, but he couldn’t keep up. The glasses clicked against one another. Some of them broke and shattered all over the Shoppe. . . .
Suddenly Benny woke up. Something was rattling outside his window. He sat straight up in his bed. Was this part of his dream?
Sleepily, Benny tumbled out of bed and peered out the open window. It was very windy and a tree branch lashed against the house. “That’s probably what I heard,” Benny muttered under his breath.
As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard boys’ voices in the distance.
The following day, Benny woke up when Henry playfully tossed a pillow at him.
“Benny, better get up. Don’t you want to come to the Shoppe with us?” Benny opened his eyes and saw Henry, Jessie, and Violet crowded around his door.
“Hello, sleepyhead,” Jessie teased. “Do you know what time it is? Almost nine o’clock.”
Benny turned on his side. “You know, I dreamed about the Shoppe last night.”
He moved his stuffed bear, Stockings, out of the way so his sisters and brother could sit on the bed. “I dreamed I was the chef.”
“Did you wear a big hat?” Violet liked knowing what everybody wore.
“Yes,” Benny murmured. “I was surrounded by all different kinds of ice cream. And some glasses broke. Then I heard a noise outside my window and woke up.”
“Well, Sir Chef,” Jessie said, getting up to give Benny a bow. “You should invent a new ice cream dish at the Shoppe and name it after yourself. That’s what chefs do.”
Benny laughed. “Maybe I will,” he said.
A half hour later, Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny were heading quickly down the sidewalk to the Shoppe. As they stopped at the corner to wait for a car to pass, Jessie looked down and stepped out of the way of some broken glass.
“Watch out!” she warned the others.
Benny looked down next to his red sneakers. “Broken glass,” he said. “You know I dreamed about broken glass.”
“Yes, you told us,” Violet said thoughtfully. “You dreamed some glasses in the parlor broke.” She stepped carefully so the glass wouldn’t cut her new lavender sandals.
“You mean the parfait glasses we couldn’t find yesterday?” Jessie suddenly looked very interested. She bent down to examine the glass more carefully. So did Violet.
Just beneath the curb Jessie found a big piece that looked like it could be the rim of one of the missing parfait glasses. Jessie held it up and looked very excited.
“We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions,” Henry cautioned. “Somebody may just have dropped their groceries. For all we know, this could be a jar of peanut butter.”
“If that’s true, how come there’s no peanut butter or food around?” Benny wanted to know.
“Good point,” Jessie said. “Benny did you hear anything else last night?”
Benny looked thoughtful. “I remember waking up for a minute. I think I heard some boys talking but it seemed far away. Then I went right back to sleep.”
“Did they sound like young boys or teenagers?” Violet wanted to know.
Benny scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. “They were just boys,” he said. “Maybe about Henry’s age.”
Before they left, the Aldens picked up more pieces of glass and carefully put them in Jessie’s handkerchief.
“There,” Jessie said as she tied the handkerchief. “If we do find more parfait glasses in the Shoppe, we can see if the glass looks the same.”
When they arrived at the Shoppe, the Aldens found Brian and Simone hard at work. Brian was helping Mr. Brown make sandwiches in the kitchen. Violet noticed that Brian had dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes were rumpled.
Simone stirred some butterscotch sauce on the stove. She was wearing yet another new American T-shirt. This one had a pink background and pictures of different colored ice cream cones printed on it.
“I wish I had a shirt like that,” Benny said with approval. “I could think about ice cream all day long.” Everyone laughed, except Brian. He mixed mayonnaise into a large bowl of tuna and yawned.
“Brian, you’re looking very tired. Am I overworking you?” Mr. Brown asked. He said it teasingly, but he looked worried.
Brian shook his head. “No, I was just up a little late last night,” he said as he squeezed some lemon juice over the tuna salad.
Mr. Brown nodded. “Well, see how you’re feeling, my boy. Maybe you can leave early.”
Brian shook his head. “No thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll be all right.”
At lunchtime, Jessie, Brian, and Benny worked behind the counter while Violet and Simone waited on tables. Henry made sandwiches in the kitchen.
“Mr. Brown, did you ever find those missing glasses?” Henry asked. He added pickles and potato chips to a plate holding a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.
Mr. Brown shook his head. He stirred more sugar into the pot of caramel sauce he was cooking. “No, I never did, but I’ve been too busy to look more carefully,” he said.
At the counter, Benny topped a strawberry sundae with whipped cream and a cherry. “Thanks, Benny,” Jessie said as she took the sundae from her brother and placed it in front of a man in a pin-striped suit.
The man took a spoonful and made a face. “Oh, waitress,” he said. “Your whipped cream is sour!” The man pushed the sundae away from him.
“No, thank you,” the man answered. He shook his head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Several other customers at the counter looked at Jessie and Benny in disgust. A woman in a blue smock dress eyed her chocolate milkshake suspiciously. “I don’t think I want to taste this,” she said. “There’s whipped cream on it.”
Jessie nodded and took the drink from the woman. “Can I make you another one?”
“No, thank you. I’ll just finish my sandwich.”
By then, the customers sitting in the booths had also complained. Simone, Brian, Violet, Jessie, and Benny collected many ice cream dishes from unhappy customers. Only two people decided to reorder.
When Benny went to get more whipped cream from the kitchen, he found the other jars had spoiled as well.
“I don’t understand it,” Mr. Brown said. He frowned. “Those jars were all in the refrigerator.”
“Did the power go off last night?” Henry asked.
“I don’t think so.” Mr. Brown rummaged through the refrigerator. “If it had gone out, these cartons of ice cream would have melted. Everything is frozen solid,” he reported.
Henry frowned. “Someone must have left the cream out for a long time.”
Mr. Brown nodded. “That’s true,” he said. “That’s how it could have spoiled. Oh, Simone,” he called to the waitress as she came in to pick up her order.
“Yes,” Simone looked up. She held two plates of tuna sandwiches.
“Did you refrigerate the cream at the counter yesterday?” Mr. Brown asked.
“Of course.” Simone sounded surprised by the question. “I always do.”
“I know you do,” Mr. Brown said reassuringly. He looked at Henry and shrugged. “We kept all the other jars refrigerated the whole time we worked here yesterday.”
Henry nodded. “Did we have the refrigerator open a long time?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so. But I’ll ask your sisters. They were in here helping me make the chocolate sauce.”
Jessie and Violet did not remember leaving the refrigerator open. Violet looked very upset. “I hope we didn’t leave the door open by mistake,” she told Mr. Brown.
The Chocolate Sundae Mystery Page 3