“Like I said, Rhys couldn’t build a mall if they were missing even one piece of real estate,” Rory said. “Especially if that parcel is in the middle of the land they need. It could have been the mayor that was the shop owner in Maisie’s story.”
“Did you guys ask Mayor Greer where he was when you interrogated him today?” Riya asked.
“No, we didn’t,” I said.
“We can go back and ask him tomorrow,” Maisie said. “When we question the Darling Dixbys and Garud Khatri.”
“Why do you call them the Darling Dixbys?” Rory asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“We can ask tomorrow,” Maisie said.
“They’re called the Darling Dixbys because they used to be in a traveling carnival act,” Riya said.
“What kind of act?” Rory asked.
“They were sharpshooters.”
That made Maisie so happy that it set off an uncontrollable fit of giggles. I was sure she’d end up on the floor.
chapter
THIRTY-ONE
Garud Khatri shot to #2 on Maisie’s list of suspects as soon as we found out who he was. The Darling Dixbys were, of course, #1. Maisie had wanted to talk to them from day one, even before she knew about the love affair they had with guns—hosting gun shows, keeping their very own armory—and especially after I told her what they’d said the day they visited the shop.
We had to figure out a way to get to them and get some information out of them—useful information.
“I knew something was up with that Khatri guy,” Maisie said. “Him and that bow tie just made him seem like a criminal to me.”
I laughed. “Maisie, you’re just suspicious by nature.”
“Didn’t you think so, too?” she said. “You had to think he was up to something if he was following Veronica around,” she reasoned.
“True,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean he could kill someone.”
“He’s a shady guy,” Riya offered. “I never liked him, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Then why is your aunt married to him?” Rory asked.
“Again, not my real aunt. But probably because he has a lot of money. Guess my auntie liked that about him. Won over her heart with it.”
“He’d have even more with the property he owned if he sold it,” Rory offered. “Don’t see why he’d stand in the way of progress.”
“You know,” I said, “I never thought about who owned the land or the buildings that those shops sat on. Never gave a second thought to whether they were renters or not.”
But glancing up at the clock, we knew it wasn’t going to be tonight.
It had been a long day.
We decided to reconvene in the morning. I had to get up early to get to the shop to make ice cream. After the busy day, we’d nearly run out. I wasn’t sure what I was going to be able to make—I didn’t know offhand what was in the refrigerator at the ice cream shop. I probably would have gone shopping by now if a murder investigation hadn’t come up.
We had all piled into Rory’s rental car when we had decided to go to Riya’s house. So I took Maisie home, and Rory and I went back to my Victorian upstairs apartment.
Rory had spent half of the day crying, the other half we had spent chasing clues to keep Detective Beverly’s paws off of her. I don’t know that anything we’d found so far had any value to them or were viable as clues. But we had tried our best and right now it was the only thing we had. We just needed to keep pushing forward.
I wondered what the Dixby sisters would have to say for themselves and their gun-wielding tendencies. I wondered what Riya’s uncle would have as the reason he was following Veronica. And why did he decide to approach us? Did he think we had found out some information about the deal that we’d be willing to share with him? Or maybe he thought we’d found out something about the murder. Or the murderer . . .
That sent a chill down my spine.
We’d been warned on several occasions that the killer, if confronted or backed into a corner, might kill again. And this time it might be one of us.
“Tell me again why you have all of these stars hanging from your ceiling.” Rory’s voice intruded on my thoughts. We were sitting on opposite sides of the bed. She was doing her night hair routine, and I was looking inside my commercial refrigerator on the virtual app that came with it. I needed to see what I had, to figure out what I was going to make the next morning. “You told me this morning, but I was still half-asleep,” she said.
“You should be half-asleep now,” I said. “We’ve had an exhausting day.”
“I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t find out why I have to wake up with glitter all over me and in my hair from your stars.”
I giggled. “They were in my room at my parents’ house,” I said. “My Grandma Kay helped me make them when I was seven. She told me to always reach for the stars.”
“You were really close with your grandmother, huh?”
“Yep,” I said. “I’ve told you that before, I’m sure. I tell everyone that’ll listen about her.”
“That’s why the glitter is falling off of them. They’re old.”
“But full of memories. And hope.”
“Cute,” Rory said. “I guess me and my hair can suffer through.”
“I doubt if anyone could even tell that there was anything in that nest of a hairdo you have,” I said.
“It says I am stylish and creative.”
“Oh, it talks, too?”
“Funny.”
I got up and turned off the light and climbed into bed. Lying on my back, I yawned and my last thought before drifting off was whether we were really going to find the answers we needed.
“So, Bronwyn, what do you think our chances are on solving this thing?” Rory’s voice cut through my sleep.
“I think that we are in way over our heads,” I said, sleepily. I let out a chuckle. “We don’t have the faintest idea what we’re doing, we’re probably chasing down the wrong clues and people, and if the detective finds out what we’re doing, he’ll probably throw us all in jail.”
“I thought your friend O said the detective couldn’t charge us with anything.”
“Sometimes they arrest people and convict them when they haven’t done anything.”
“Is that why you’re helping me?” Rory asked.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I’m helping you.”
“Then, hopefully,” she said, “Detective Beverly won’t find out what we’re doing.”
“I hope so, too.” Mumbling the words, I yawned. “You know, on the TV shows Maisie watches, the people that do the stuff we’re doing never get into trouble.”
“All of this I’m going through doesn’t seem real,” Rory said. “Feels like I’m on television or in some kind of dream. Huh! Some kind of nightmare!”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll wake up soon. And you’ll see everything is okay.”
“Thanks, Bronwyn.”
“You’re welcome, Rory.” I plumped up my pillow and snuggled in. “Anytime.”
chapter
THIRTY-TWO
I woke up two hours later at four thirty and tried to be as quiet as I could as I dressed and got ready for work. I didn’t want to wake Rory up that early. She’d had a hard day the day before and needed her rest.
I needed to get to the shop to make ice cream. The virtual tour of my fridge didn’t give me much inspiration. I still didn’t know what I was going to make.
I checked the weather, found it was going to be another scorcher, threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, and headed out. I stopped by PopPop’s house just like I did every morning. Bypassing my parents’ house entrance, I walked around the back and knocked on his door.
PopPop was already up and dressed as usual. He opened the door for me without sayin
g a word. As I stepped over the threshold I could smell the coffee brewing.
“Good morning, PopPop,” I said.
“Good morning, little girl.” It was the nickname he had for me, no matter how big or old I got. I was still his little girl.
I followed him into the kitchen and pulled out one of the chairs around the table and sat down. He grabbed a cup out of the cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“You want a cup?” he said as he pulled out the chair next to mine.
“No, thank you,” I said.
“You want to take Rory a cup?” he asked. “You didn’t bring her with you.”
“No,” I said. “I left her sleeping.” He nodded and stirred in milk and sugar. “Thank you for offering, though. She doesn’t seem to like anyone’s coffee but yours. Oh. And Ari Terrain’s.”
“Over at Molta’s?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she stopped by here after she wakes up this morning. Molta’s doesn’t open until four. Hope that’s okay with you.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said. “I enjoy her company.”
“Good,” I said.
“I’ll make sure I keep some hot for her.”
“I wanted to ask you about Mayor Greer,” I said.
“I heard that you upset him yesterday.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
He lifted up his cup and looked at me over the rim. “He told me.”
“I bet he didn’t tell you what he was upset about.”
“Didn’t have to,” PopPop said. “I knew it must have been about the murder.”
“The village owns some of that land that Rhys Enterprises wants to buy.”
“And?”
“And do you think that Mayor Greer might have killed Zeke to keep him from getting it?”
“Zeke didn’t want that land personally.”
“You know what I mean, PopPop.”
“Kevin is a good politician. An okay mayor, but not a killer. I don’t think he would have done it.”
“He didn’t seem to be too honest about the mall,” I said.
“Like I said, he’s a good politician. Did you see how those town folk reacted to the news that a mall was coming? Wouldn’t help his reelection none if they thought he was a part of that.”
“He owns the land and according to Zeke they were going to get it.”
“He said they were working on getting it. But the mayor doesn’t control the land because the village owns it. It would have to go through city council.”
“City council,” I repeated. “I never thought about that.”
“Oh no, you’re not adding all the council members to your list of suspects, are you?”
I turned, surprise on my face. “How do you know I have a list of suspects?”
“You don’t live as long as I have and not know things,” he said. “But before you start suspecting people, you have to look at their motives. Kevin doesn’t have any motives.”
“I’ve been wondering about motives lately, too.” I looked at PopPop. “You have lived a long time and know stuff . . .” I hesitated, but I needed to know. “What do you know about Aunt Jack?”
“I know she’s my daughter.”
I chuckled. “Okay. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant her motives.”
He took another sip of his coffee, not giving me an answer.
I decided to push a little more. “Is she back to stay?” I asked.
“You’d have to ask her that,” he said.
“What about the ice cream shop?” I said
“What about the ice cream shop?” he asked.
“Is she back to take over the shop?”
“Why would you think that?” he asked, his voice never changing, not even to reassure me. Maybe because he couldn’t. Maybe because she was there to take it back.
“Well,” I started. I had to lick my lips and clear my throat—it had gotten dry. “Because she brought in all those catalogs. And because she’s there every day.” The pacing of my words picked up. “She doesn’t like anything I make. I was just wondering what it is she’s doing.”
“Like I said, you’d have to ask Aunt Jack what her plans are,” he said and took another sip of coffee. The sip took forever and I wanted to say something while he was quiet, but I couldn’t think of anything. “But”—he started talking again—“as long as I’m around, I’ll decide who’s running the ice cream shop.” He looked at me as he stood up. He walked over to his coffeemaker and poured another cup, again not finishing what he was saying until he’d finished what he was doing and came and sat back down. “I’ve chosen you to run the ice cream shop, and I haven’t changed my mind.”
I let out my breath. Then a thought popped into my head. “Does that mean I can tell her what to do?” I asked.
He chuckled. “She’s still your elder, you know. Probably best to remember that, little girl,” he said. “Don’t be disrespectful.”
“I know. I won’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t ever do that.”
“But you can certainly tell her to stop bringing in those darn catalogs,” PopPop said.
I grinned. “Thank you, PopPop,” I said. I stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “I have to get to the shop and make ice cream.”
“What kind of ice cream you making today, Win?” he said, getting up so he could walk me to the door.
“I don’t know,” I said and winked. “Maybe with Aunt Jack and her candy obsession, I’ll make something candy-like—maybe some licorice-flavored ice cream.”
He thought that was hilarious.
I left PopPop laughing at his door and headed down the hill. The sun had made it out and it cast orange tones across the sky. I cautiously turned the corner off of Carriage Hill onto North Main, worried that I’d see Aunt Jack standing out in front of the shop with her arms filled with catalogs and maybe even a lottery machine slung across her back. But thank goodness she wasn’t there.
The soft glow from the lanterns that hung on either side of the new door, the one Aunt Jack didn’t have a key to, made the blue and yellow Crewse Creamery awning shimmer. It was like a beacon calling me. Telling me that it was all mine.
Well, at least the management of it.
I loved our family’s ice cream shop. I loved how well it was doing, how sales had ramped up exponentially since that first day we’d reopened. And I loved my PopPop for putting me in charge and sticking by me.
I had started to worry that if Aunt Jack was going to take over the ice cream shop, I might have had to take Rory up on her offer and go back with her to New York City.
Just the thought of that made me sad.
The morning was busy. I got started on the ice cream before any of my help showed up. I had to get my ingredients from the windowsill garden that Maisie had started in the kitchen. I went with the ice cream flavor of tart lemon basil—bright lime-green colored, it was tangy and tart and tasted licorice-like (take that, Aunt Jack!). Next I crumbled up pieces of bright red peppermint and swirled them into a creamy French vanilla base, a cool winter flavor made into a sweet summer treat. Another nod to Aunt Jack—it was the candy she was always eating.
I had a whole crate of juicy blood oranges stuffed in the back of my commercial fridge, so I decided to do something with them. I made an orange lavender sorbet, made with the succulent, beautifully colored fruit that naturally had a hint of raspberry, it was that aromatic and citrusy.
And while I was pulling out the oranges, I spotted a couple of mangoes. Mmmm. I loved mango sorbet. What the heck, I plucked them out as well.
I knew my unusual choices would send Aunt Jack for a loop.
Then I thought about how I had promised PopPop I’d be nice. So, I made a batch of Neapolitan. I’d fill the layers with chunks of milk chocolate and morsels
of fresh strawberries, and I’d make black walnut. I had a bag of them in the pantry. Those had been two of her and Grandma Kay’s favorites.
Time flew by, and before I knew it, my mother, Rory and Riya came in. Maisie was late as usual, but we wouldn’t have had the black walnut made in time for opening if it hadn’t been for her.
“We’ve got an appointment with Uncle Garud at four o’clock,” Riya announced after the first wave of customers left.
“Four?” I said and glanced up to the clock on the wall. My appointment with the food truck guy was at one. I’d be cutting it close.
“Yep. At his office.”
“What are we going to do when we get there?” I asked.
“Ask him why he killed Zeke Reynolds.”
chapter
THIRTY-THREE
I’d met the food truck guy the night Maisie and I had figured out who the murderer was in our last “investigation.” If it could be called that.
He’d seen us sell our wares off of a frozen food cart and had offered his business card. His name (Charles Randolph Manuto), company name (Manuto Systems) and contact info were written on the one side. I flipped it over per his instruction and the other side was embossed with We Make Food Trucks. “I can get you a good deal,” he had told me and sure enough he had.
I’d been skeptical about investing in one. I’d just spent a boatload on remodeling the store, upgrading our commercial appliances, paying our two new employees a living wage. But soon after people got wind of our delicious ice cream flavors and me solving a murder, it didn’t take long, even with the snow we were having at the time, for a steady stream of customers to start rolling in. And when the weather broke and just a sliver of warm sun shined through, we were generating enough profit to justify me making another investment. I’d hoped a solid investment.
Manuto Systems was located on the west side of Cleveland in North Olmsted. A good forty-minute drive from Chagrin Falls. I took Rory with me and tried to keep the conversation light. No murder or jail talk.
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