A Deadly Inside Scoop

by Abby Collette

  “The dead guy.”

  “My dead guy? The one I found at the falls?”

  “Yes.” Her tone was conspiratorial.

  “Who was he?” I asked. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  I frowned.

  “Okay. I don’t know him, know him,” she said. “I just know who he is—was. At least I think I know.” She bit her lip. “And I do know his name, if I’m right. I just for the life of me can’t think what it is right now.”

  “Why do you think you knew him?”

  “He worked at the restaurant.”

  “At Molta’s?” I asked. Now I could see why she was acting strange. It must have been weird working with someone one day, then finding out the next day that they’d died. “He worked yesterday?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does ‘not exactly’ mean, Maisie?” I asked.

  “And,” she said hesitantly, “I think I know who did it.”

  That wasn’t an answer to my question. She had just added another layer of confusion to the pile. “Who did what?” I asked.

  “Killed him.”

  “Ki—” I sputtered and almost choked on the soup. I swallowed hard before saying anything else. “Killed him?” My brows were knitted in confusion. “No one said anyone’s been killed, Maisie.” Other than my first customer. “Why do you say that?”

  “Customer!” my mother yelled out from the front even before the chime went off on the door. “We’re going to need more coupons.”

  “Oh brother,” I said, jumping up. “I made fifteen. We need more already?” I went over to the sink to rinse my hands. I threw a glance at Maisie. “I’ll be back.”

  “I didn’t finish telling you,” Maisie said.

  I swiped my wet fingers on my apron and started out front. “Tell me after I see about our customer,” I said. I put on a smile and walked out to the counter.

  It was the guy from Zoup! I lost the smile. As he walked over to the dipping case, Felice jumped from her window seat, the first movement I’d seen her take all morning. She followed him as he walked, circling his legs as he walked the length of the dipping case, peering down into it.

  “Hey, little cat,” he said, stooping down. She wasn’t to be ignored. “Where’d you come from?” He stood up straight. “Is this your cat?”

  “Officially, she belongs to our upstairs tenant. But Felice does what she wants.”

  “You’re Felice, huh?” he said, stooping to pick her up and giving her a scratch behind the ears. She bumped her nose with his.

  “Errreow. Erreow.” That was a love trill Felice made if ever I heard one.

  “I’m going to print off more coupons,” my mom said.

  “Do you know how?” I turned my attention from the love affair Felice was having with Zoup! Guy.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Sooo, can I help you?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, and put Felice down. “I’m here for dessert. And to see what kind of soup you’re serving.”

  “We’re only serving ice cream,” PopPop said. My grandfather didn’t know about the silly little conversation I’d had with him at Zoup!

  “Mr. Crewse?” Zoup! Guy walked over to my grandfather with his hand extended. “I remember you from when I was little.”

  “You used to come in for ice cream?” my grandfather asked. He half stood, hovering over his seat to shake his hand.

  “What kid wouldn’t want to?” our customer said. “The ice cream here was the best.” He licked his lips. “I remember your wife, too. She told my mom the first time we came in that she made all the ice cream herself.”

  “She did.” My grandfather had a proud smile on his face. “Now Win makes it.”

  “Win,” he repeated, and turned to look at me, that same stupid grin on his face that he’d had at the restaurant.

  He wasn’t bad-looking. He was dark, with skin as smooth as the chocolate I melted in my double boiler. Maybe five-ten or -eleven, his hair was black, in a low-cut curly afro. He had deep-set eyes and teeth that were white and straight. But I didn’t have time for him or his charming smile. I had a business to run, and the snow and dead guy were enough of a distraction.

  “Bronwyn. Win is my nickname.” I said. “But hardly anyone calls me Bronwyn.”

  “Pretty name,” he said. “My name is Morrison Kaye, by the way.” He stuck out an awkward hand. “But everyone calls me O.”

  I shook his hand. Nice, firm grip . . .

  “Kay?” my grandfather interrupted. That got his attention. “That’s your name?”

  “My last name, yes, sir. It’s spelled with an ‘e’ on the end.”

  “Why do they call you O?” I asked.

  He turned and looked back at me. “When I was little, I’d always say ‘okay’ to everything. It stuck and was shortened to just ‘O.’”

  “I like this fellow,” my grandfather said. I shook my head. He would like the guy who was stalking me. It didn’t seem to me that PopPop was going to be too good at protecting me.

  “I don’t remember ever seeing you around here,” I said, wondering how much of his story was true. I guessed he was about in his late twenties or early thirties, and I knew nearly all the people in Chagrin Falls around my age.

  “I didn’t live around here then,” he said. “I grew up in South Euclid. But we used to come out here in the summers. You know, Fourth of July. The Memorial Day Blossom Festival. I even came once for the Pumpkin Roll.” He pointed out the window in the direction of the big hill.

  My grandfather grumbled.

  “He doesn’t like the Pumpkin Roll,” I said.

  “Yeah, I only came the one time,” O said, as if he needed to explain and not get on my grandfather’s bad side. “But the store was different that time.” He swung around looking at it, then pointed to the window. “Like that. That wasn’t there.”

  “It’s new,” I said.

  “That’s a really nice view.”

  “Win put that in,” PopPop said. “Good touch, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, I would,” O said, and looked at me. “But last time I was here, I was under the impression it was owned by someone else. The store was different. Candy. A hotdog stand. Not so much ice cream.”

  “That was my daughter, Jaqueline,” PopPop said, his mouth turned upward like he had a bad taste in it. “She did all kinds of things.” He shook his head. “But Win here rebuilt it with the original plans in mind.”

  “I like it,” O said, looking around.

  “I think he likes you,” Maisie said in a low voice right in my ear. She startled me and I jumped. I hadn’t realized she’d come out from the back. Standing close to me, she hit me on my thigh.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “That guy.” She brought her hand up slightly and pointed. “Who else?”

  “He does not,” I whispered. “He came in for ice cream.”

  “I don’t see him with any,” she whispered back.

  “You playing backgammon by yourself?” O asked PopPop.

  “You know this game?” PopPop asked. “Not many young folks do.”

  “Sure, I know it,” O said, and slid into the bench opposite PopPop.

  “I had a partner earlier,” PopPop said, “but he had to go. You wanna play?”

  “Doesn’t he have somewhere to go?” I asked Maisie, speaking in hushed tones again.

  She smiled. “Seems like he wants to be here.”

  “Who is that?” My mother came out from the back. Apron off, she had her coat and hat on.

  “Someone who is evidently unemployed and has no life,” I said.

  “He likes Win,” Maisie said.

  “Who is he?” my mother asked again.

  “I met him at Zoup! when I
went for lunch.”

  “And he followed you here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if he followed me. We were talking while we were standing in line and I told him I worked here.”

  “He likes her,” Maisie said, nodding her head knowingly.

  “Sounds like it to me,” my mother said. “And your grandfather seems to like him. Grumpy Pa doesn’t talk that much to anybody.”

  “His last name is Kaye,” I said.

  “Ohhh,” my mother said, nodding. “He’s got your grandma’s name. He’ll probably make that guy his best friend.” She pushed her purse up on her shoulder. “Well, I’m off to my class. You want me to come back later?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “We’re good. I’ve got Maisie and Wilhelmina.” I shrugged. “And PopPop.”

  “Thought you said PopPop wasn’t working today?”

  “I’m sure he’d help out if we got busy.”

  “Okay, then. Sounds like you’ve got it covered,” she said. “So, I’m off.”

  “Wait,” I said, stopping her. “Where are the coupons?”

  “I couldn’t figure out how to work that printer,” she said.

  My eyes rolled upward and I chuckled. “No worries. I’ll do it.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Stop by the house on your way home and let me know how the rest of the day went.”

  As she headed out the front door, it opened and a customer came in. My mother turned after she passed him and gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Welcome to Crewse Creamery,” I said, and put a great big grin on my face.

  chapter

  FOURTEEN

  Maisie and I served a few customers after my mother left, then I went into the back to print off more coupons. Maisie followed right behind me.

  “So about the dead guy,” she said.

  “The one you knew?” I opened up the laptop and started it.

  “The one that was killed,” she said.

  “Maisie?” I slid the mouse across the pad and clicked on the file folder at the bottom of my screen. “Like I told that lady earlier today, we don’t get murders around here.”

  “We do now, thanks to Ari.”

  “What did Ari do?” I asked.

  “I think he’s the one who killed him.”

  I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. She couldn’t be serious. “You mean your boss? Ari Terrain? That’s who you think killed someone?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Ari Terrain. My boss. I think he killed a guy that worked at the restaurant.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “That’s a huge accusation.” Which I couldn’t understand how she could have thought of. I didn’t know Ari as well as she did, but he seemed like a nice guy. The kind of nice guy who doesn’t commit murder. “And what does that have to do with the guy I found by the falls?”

  “Ari killed him.”

  “I’m confused,” I said. “Are you saying ‘too’? He killed him, too? Like Ari killed two people?”

  “No. I’m saying that the guy I’m talking about and the guy you found are the same guy.”

  “Oh.” I let that sink in for a moment. “And that this guy was murdered by Ari?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you come up with that?”

  “Ari called off from work last night.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “And he was supposed to be at work.”

  I thought about my father saying he was working when he hadn’t been. But that would never make me think he’d been out committing murder.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I don’t see how you think just because Ari wasn’t where he was supposed to be that he might have been involved in a murder.”

  “Because the police called,” she said matter-of-factly, like that would clear everything up.

  “Called who? You?”

  “The restaurant.”

  “I’m not understanding,” I said.

  “Remember yesterday I told you I could stay all day and help you?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “I remember.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t supposed to work.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then I got a call after I left the ice cream shop that I needed to come in. The new guy who was supposed to work hadn’t shown up, one lady who just started called to say she wouldn’t be in, and then Ari was MIA.”

  “Okay.” I still didn’t understand how she was making the connection. But I figured she’d get to the point sooner or later.

  “So why wouldn’t Ari come into work?” Maisie asked, holding out her hands.

  “I don’t know, Maisie.” I was trying hard to follow her. “Why?”

  “Because he was out killing the new guy!”

  I wanted to laugh, but Maisie was serious and I would never make her feel bad.

  “And what did the police say when they called?” I asked.

  “They asked where they were calling.”

  I frowned. “They didn’t know?”

  “No. They didn’t know.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I would have thought that fishy, too. Then why would they call?”

  “I have no idea,” she said.

  I hung my head and tried to keep from laughing.

  “I think they were using the new guy’s phone.”

  I tilted my head, considering what she said. “Sooo . . . the police used the phone that belonged to this guy who was supposed to come to work to call the restaurant?”

  “Yes,” she said, giving a resolute nod like now I was getting it. Only I wasn’t.

  “Why would they do that?” I scrunched up my face.

  “Oh my goodness!” Maisie said, and slumped her shoulders. “Don’t you watch TV?”

  “Evidently not the same shows you watch,” I said, and laughed.

  “They always call the last number dialed on the vic’s phone.”

  “The vic?” Then I held up my hand. “I got you. The victim. Okay. So the last number dialed on the phone they had was to Molta’s?”

  “Right,” she said, seemingly happy I was finally following her.

  “So what does that mean?”

  “Really, Win?” She flapped her hands on her thighs. “Just really?”

  “I mean I get how you could think that something might be amiss with the police having a phone and calling the last number dialed. But it might just have been a lost phone.”

  “Or the phone of a dead guy.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, shaking my head.

  “And what about Ari just not showing up? He owns the place. He shouldn’t ever do that. And then this new guy not coming in?”

  “Coincidence?” I offered.

  “Murder gets my vote,” she said.

  “We’re voting on whether there’s been a murder committed? Maisie! We shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that.”

  I heard the chime on the door.

  “We’ve got a customer,” I said. “Oh shoot!” I glanced at the printer. “I didn’t print any more coupons. Can you do that for me real quick and bring them out?”

  “We have to do something about the murder,” she said, her arms folded in protest.

  “There hasn’t been one,” I said. She opened her mouth to speak, but I put up a hand. “But if we do do something,” I said to placate her, “we’ll have to do it after I wait on this customer. Can you print up some coupons for me, please?” I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard.

  I walked to the front of the store. When I got to the cash register, ready to greet my customer, Maisie bumped into the back of me. She had followed right behind me. Guess this customer wasn’t going to get a coupon.

  She went around the corner and over to Felice, picking her up and giving her a kiss. “Hey, sweetie,” Maisie cooed. Fel
ice purred right back.

  I put on a smile and started my usual salutation. “Welcome to—” I stopped mid-sentence. It wasn’t a customer. It was the back of Detective Liam Beverly. I knew that leather bomber jacket anywhere.

  I blew out a breath. What does he want?

  Maisie talking about murder and then he shows up. Geesh.

  I glanced over to see what PopPop was doing, but he wasn’t in his booth. I looked around the small eatery and saw he’d left altogether. Missed opportunity for him, I thought. Here was something I would have loved him to protect me from—the detective’s questions. I was sure he’d come back to ask me more.

  At least Felice was taking a stance. Literally. She’d gotten out of Maisie’s arms and was on all fours, seemingly ready to pounce if given a reason.

  That’s right. I tried to telepathically get my thoughts over to Felice. He’s a menace. Get ready to attack!

  “Hello, Detective Beverly,” I said, directing my attention back to him, a sly grin on my face. If he only knew my thoughts. “Are you here for a scoop of some of our delicious confectionary delights?”

  He turned from looking out of the door and walked over to me. He was dressed much like he had been the night before—leather jacket, apple cap—but today his pants were brown and those pistachio-colored eyes looked tired. I did notice something new: he was bowlegged.

  “Are you really selling ice cream?” He swung around from his waist and glanced out of the window, then swung back to me. “In the cold?”

  “It’s just that good,” I said, and smiled.

  “You had any customers today?” he asked.

  “Of course we have,” I said, thankful it wasn’t the day before that I was being questioned about.

  “Not many?” It sounded as if that was his question and his answer.

  “We had a few,” I said. He turned the ends of his mouth down and slowly nodded his head, indicating he was impressed. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? I mean, just about anything.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I do. I’m just an inquisitive kind of guy,” he said.

  “Lucky me.”

  “And as luck would have it, I have a few more questions for you about last night.”

  “That doesn’t sound lucky to me,” I said. “Why so many questions anyway? Is this routine when someone dies?”