“Oh,” I said. “They were trying to sell his work.” I looked at Baraniece. “That you painted?”
Now I understood. Mr. Mason knew those weren’t his works. He wasn’t too out there after all.
“So why did you offer to pay for something that was fake?” I asked. “Especially so much.”
“So we could get out of here.” Rory glanced at the door and groaned like she’d given up trying to get through it. “Their Florida Highwaymen are fakes, too.”
“Ohhh,” I said again. Things were beginning to clear up for me. “You found that out from your catalogue raisonné?”
“Ha!” Baraniece let out a nervous laugh. “You have one of those, too. When did we get so many art fanciers in little ole Chagrin Falls?” She swiped a hand across her forehead. “I can’t take it!”
“Too?” I mumbled, my mind churning.
“We have to leave, my dear,” Ivan said. He grabbed her elbow, but it seemed she didn’t want to budge. “We should go now.”
“We can’t. They know.”
“I only know because you told me,” I said sarcastically. Although, unlike Rory and Mr. Mason, I didn’t care that they were forging paintings. “But we can . . . Wait . . .” I tilted my head. “Too? You have one, too.” I looked at Rory. “Didn’t you say that Becky girl, the one that helped you get the catalog thingy, said you were the second person to order one of those for this zip code?”
Rory nodded.
I looked at Baraniece then Ivan. “Did you guys get one, too?” I looked at Rory again, this time with a scowl on my face. “But why would they need one, right?” I reasoned. “They would know the location if they owned the painting. They wouldn’t need one of those catalogs, would they?”
Rory shrugged.
“Why did you say you couldn’t kill us?” I asked Ivan.
“It is an expression,” Ivan said. He tugged on his wife. “We can go now. I will tell everyone that the sale is over. And we can go.”
“And what about them?” she asked.
“Baraniece!” he said, seemingly exasperated. “You just can’t kill everyone.”
She pulled a gun out of the folds of her kimono.
“Oh my!” I jumped, nearly out of my skin. “What the heck!”
I had flashbacks. Back to that stairwell when Althea Quigley tried to stab me to death.
“Baraniece, sweetie,” Ivan said. “It’s too many. How will we explain?”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying, and I couldn’t figure a way out. He blocked the path to the door out, and she blocked the way back in.
“She was in the alley,” Baraniece said, pointing the gun at Rory. “Her and that mop of hair.”
“The alley?” I repeated. Then my mouth dropped open. Everything I’d heard along the investigation came flooding back.
Oh, why in the world would I do another investigation!
My voice shaky, I turned to Rory. I needed her to help me understand why I was about to die. Again. “Veronica said that Zeke Reynolds was supposed to come over here that night. To buy art.” In my periphery, I could see Baraniece grip the gun tighter. “He didn’t buy any art, did he? Because he knew they were forgeries.”
“Fakes,” Rory said. She didn’t seem as frightened as I was. Her voice was calm—matter-of-fact. Maybe she was going into shock again. Because certainly, her voice had to belie the fear inside of her.
“Zeke Reynolds was from Florida.” My eyes were wide. “He would have known about the Florida Highwaymen, you think, Rory?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Her eyes had gone blank and were staring off into space. I needed her to snap out of it. Maybe we could make a run for it, but not if she was playing the role of a zombie.
“Rory!” I said. “Rory!” This time I stamped my foot and flinched. I wanted to get her attention, but I didn’t want to scare Baraniece into pulling that trigger.
Rory turned and looked at me.
“Amelia told me he’d been in Chagrin Falls for a week,” I said. “Veronica said he’d been over here a few times. He ordered the catalog, came over to check out what they had, just like you did, and . . .”
“I think we should go,” Rory said.
Like we could do that . . .
“Prekrati!” Ivan said. He put both hands on his head, covering his face with his arms.
“I can’t stop,” Baraniece said. “They don’t understand.”
“They don’t need to understand,” he said.
But she paid no attention to him. “He just wouldn’t go away,” Baraniece said, her voice and the hand that was holding that gun trembling. “We told him we were leaving. He already had our deal. Signed. Money transferred. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to turn us in.”
“Let’s go, Baraniece.”
“No!” she squealed. “We can’t leave them. They will tell.”
“You can’t kill all of them,” Ivan said, as if it really was an option.
“He’ll never know to tell.” She pointed the gun at Mr. Mason, saying, I guess, she could spare his life, but not ours.
My mouth got so dry, and my knees started to buckle. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see any of what was going to happen. All of this sleuthing stuff was going to get me killed.
Then I opened my eyes. Baraniece had told on herself. If I had just gone after Riya instead of Mr. Mason, maybe none of this would have happened.
“Riya!” I shouted, surprised she’d appeared just when I had thought of her.
Riya had come out of nowhere. She high-kicked Ivan off his feet and out cold to the ground. She swung around and with her left hand she pushed the gun Baraniece was holding, and with her right hand she punched her in the face. I could see only the whites of her eyes and the crimson red of the blood trickling out of her nose as she started to go down. Then, with both of her hands, Riya twisted the gun out of the painting faker’s already limp hands.
“Oh my lord,” Rory said, panting, as she leaned up against the building. “You are a superhero.”
Epilogue
Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me.” Maisie covered her ears and shook her curls. “How could you solve the murder without me?”
“I didn’t solve it,” I said. “Baraniece spilled the beans all on her own.”
“She just came up to you and said, ‘I killed Zeke Reynolds’?”
“Practically,” I said. “She was an art forger.”
“Faker,” Rory said. “There’s a difference.”
“Baraniece and her husband, what’s his name?”
“Ivan,” I said.
“Ivan,” Maisie repeated. “I never would have thought that Zeke was killed for any other reason except he wanted to put a vertical mall here.”
“Or because he’d had a spat with Veronica,” my mother said. “A lover’s quarrel.”
“Veronica as a suspect was filled with so much gossip that it was hard to prove. None of the stuff, except for the argument, was true.”
“Lin found the gun,” Maisie said.
“Where was it?” I asked.
“In the kitchen,” Maisie said. “In almost the same spot where they always kept it.”
“See, we were chasing her around for nothing,” I said.
“I don’t think we would have ever figured this one out.”
“So that means we shouldn’t ever try again.”
“Oh, God forbid,” my mother said, clutching her chest. “I don’t want to hear any more talk of murder.”
“What I want to hear again is how Riya took that gun away from the crazy faker lady.” Maisie jumped up and started doing karate chops through the air.
And that was how it went. We were back at the ice cream shop, and once we thought we had talked about it enough, customers started coming in and asking more questions about it.
<
br /> The question we got the most? Was Riya really a doctor or was that just a front for her real job—a CIA operative.
Like Riya, Baraniece Black had a problem controlling her temper. By the time Baraniece and her husband, Ivan, came to, Detective Beverly and his team had arrived and they were waiting for the FBI. Apparently it was a special unit for art crimes, but they had already been alerted. It seemed that Zeke Reynolds had left a message standing in that alleyway before Baraniece had caught up to him.
That was why they had stopped the art exhibit at the visitors’ center. For some reason they thought the call had been about one of those paintings.
And the mall idea was a bust. Cue the applause.
Everyone, except for Uncle Garud, was happy about that. I never found out what he wanted that night outside of the gallery when he grabbed my arm and accused me of doing who knows what, and I was fine not knowing and happy to steer clear of him. But whatever he wanted, it had to do with the mall coming and now that wasn’t going to happen. So technically, he couldn’t have any beef with me. I had nothing to do with that decision. The new company didn’t want their mall in a place where someone would possibly murder their company’s representative and wasn’t sending any of their people up (that’s why Bobby’s protest didn’t happen, he was waiting for someone from the company to see that they had grievances).
It was the first time in my life that I was okay with someone saying something bad about my hometown.
I did hope that Chagrin Falls wouldn’t get a bad rap out in the world, because in my eyes, and even with Rory trying to lure me back to the Big Apple with promises of grandeur, it was still, in my heart and eyes, the best place to be.
My family was sad to see Rory go, and I believe if we had better coffee in our little village, she might have stayed. Not quite sure what she was going to do when she got back to New York and to work, though. She had to go back and tell them she hadn’t convinced me to return, and she had to return to a job that didn’t make her happy. There was going to be a lot for her to figure out.
I told her, as we hugged our goodbyes, she should do the things that made her happy. It was why I made ice cream.
Speaking of people getting to do the things that made them happy, Mr. Mason might have a second chance at that.
It turned out that he had a niacin deficiency and it had left him—well, confused. To top it off, the MRI showed that he’d had a TIA—a transient ischemic attack, or ministroke. It resolves itself within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, so I was told, but can lead to a real stroke. Bobby and Riya said they would make sure Mr. Mason would get the care he needed, and in time, he could go back to his normal activities. Like painting.
It was a good feeling when Rory and I tracked down some of his paintings before she left. She took one home and told me she was hanging it in her living room. She even paid him for it.
Aunt Jack didn’t stay long. Thank goodness! (Oops, I hope I didn’t say that out loud!) Nice for her, her internet man came looking for her. Begging her to come back to North Carolina with him. Telling her how much he needed her. He sounded like one of those old tracks that my Grandma Kay used to listen to.
O took me out to dinner. I was reluctant to go. I didn’t want to give him any ideas, but I figured it would be nice for a moment to sit back and relax. One of my mother’s parking lot moments without the parking lot. He said he probably needed to spend more time with me to keep me out of trouble. I told him, I don’t need any help staying out of trouble. I just need help in keeping trouble from finding me.
Acknowledgments
Writing is not a solitary activity. At least not for me. There are so many that support me, read for me, encourage me. Some like Kathryn Dionne that have been with me since I started this journey. I couldn’t ask for a better writing partner. She has the patience and creativity that I rely on to get my next story out. I always say I couldn’t do it without her, and that’s the truth.
And then there’s my South Euclid-Lyndhurst Library crew. Just their presence helps get me motivated. Thank you, Laurie, Nicole, Molly, Rose, Connie and LaBena.
My Berkley team has made me feel right at home. I love them. So helpful and supportive. Since the release of my first Ice Cream Parlor Mystery book, A Deadly Inside Scoop, I have gotten so many compliments on what they helped me pull together. People are saying they are seeing it everywhere, and all seem to love the cover, agreeing that it is fun and cute and makes them want to pick up the book. And of course without their help, my story wouldn’t be as good. So thank you, Dache Rogers and Elisha Katz, cover artist Vi-An Nguyen, and Jessica Wade and Miranda Hill for making me and my book look good.
My agent, Rachel Brooks, and BookEnds Literary Agency are the best, I am so happy and lucky to have them by my side.
Crewse Creamery
ICE CREAM RECIPES
For these recipes, you don’t need an ice cream machine. But if you do use one, be sure to follow the manufacturer’s instructions. And if you don’t have one, remember to use whipped cream to create a better texture. It’ll take a little longer for your mixture to freeze properly, but it’ll be fine. Just check on it every couple of hours and give it a good stir.
Here are a few other tips before you get started:
TIP #1: When it comes to the milk you add, embrace the fat content. Low-fat products don’t freeze as well, don’t taste as good and give the ice cream an icy texture. Always use heavy cream, whole milk or half-and-half.
TIP #2: If you use an ice cream maker, never pour your warm (or even room-temperature) base into your ice cream machine. A base that isn’t chilled prior to going into your ice cream maker won’t freeze. The colder, the better!
TIP #3: Don’t overfill your ice cream machine. Remember, liquids expand as they freeze, and if your machine is filled to the top, it will end up spilling over the sides. Fill it no more than three-quarters of the way full.
TIP #4: Don’t over churn your ice cream. The ice cream will start to freeze as it churns in your machine, but it won’t freeze to the right consistency. Churning too much will cause your ice cream to have an icy texture. Churn just enough until the mixture is thick, about the consistency of soft serve, before transferring it to the freezer.
Rory’s Mint Mojito Coffee Ice Cream
2 vanilla beans or 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups heavy whipping cream
2 cups whole milk
1 cup sugar
⅓ cup ground decaffeinated coffee beans
1 bunch fresh mint leaves, torn
⅓ cup white rum
If using beans, with a knife, halve vanilla beans lengthwise. Scrape seeds into a medium-sized pot. Combine cream, milk and sugar and heat until sugar dissolved. Add coffee beans and mint leaves. Stir together. Cover pot and steep for forty-five minutes.
Strain liquid mixture and discard coffee beans and mint leaves. Place mixture over medium heat and bring to a boil. Take off heat and allow to cool.
Cover and refrigerate until chilled, four to five hours. Add rum once chilled.
Using the ice cream maker, add the chilled mixture according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Churn until it is the consistency of soft serve. Place in covered freezer-proof container and freeze for at least two hours.
Enjoy!
Aunt Jack’s Peppermint Candy Ice Cream
2 vanilla beans
2½ cups heavy cream
1½ cups whole milk
1 cup sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons peppermint extract
8 large egg yolks
½ cup crushed candy canes or star mints
With a knife, halve vanilla beans lengthwise. Scrape seeds into a large heavy saucepan and stir in heavy cream, milk, sugar and salt. Bring mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally, and remove pan from heat. Add pepperm
int extract.
In a large bowl lightly beat egg yolks. Add hot cream mixture to eggs in a slow stream, whisking, then return custard mixture to pan. Cook custard over moderate heat, and do not let it come to a boil. Stir constantly until mixture reaches 170°F.
Pour custard through a sieve into a clean bowl and cool. Chill custard, its surface covered with wax paper, in refrigerator until cold, about three hours.
Add cold mixture to ice cream maker and proceed according to manufacturer’s instructions. Just before ice cream is set, add crushed candy and continue mixing until combined.
Place ice cream in an airtight container and freeze until fully set, at least two hours.
Enjoy!
Win’s Easy Summer Mango Sorbet
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
4 mangoes, peeled and diced
2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lime juice
2½ tablespoons vodka or tequila (optional)
In a small pot, heat water, sugar and salt until sugar is melted.
Peel and dice mangoes and place them in food processor (discard seeds along with peels). Add lime juice and sugar water. Blend until smooth. Pour into a medium bowl, cover and refrigerate until completely chilled, at least two hours.
Before putting mango mixture in ice cream maker, add liquor if using. Mix according to the manufacturer’s instructions.
Transfer mixture to a covered freezer-safe container and freeze until firm, at least six hours.
Enjoy!
Duke Morse Photography
Wall Street Journal bestselling author ABBY COLLETTE loves a good mystery. She was born and raised in Cleveland, and it’s a mystery even to her why she hasn’t yet moved to a warmer place. She is the author of the Logan Dickerson Mysteries, the southern cozy mystery series featuring a second-generation archaeologist and a nonagenarian who is always digging up trouble. She is also the author of the Romaine Wilder Mysteries, set in East Texas, which pairs a medical examiner and her feisty auntie who owns a funeral home and is always ready to solve a whodunit. Abby spends her time writing, facilitating writing workshops at local libraries and spending time with her grandchildren, each of whom is her favorite.
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