A Deadly Inside Scoop

by Abby Collette

  Okay. So “hate” was a strong word. But I had strong feelings about him, and they were not of the good kind.

  He’d said he needed proof that my father wasn’t that kind of man, and all my stories I had conjured up about what a good man my father was hadn’t even found a voice. They didn’t seem adequate to leverage against the detective’s speculation and accusation.

  But if it was proof he needed, it was going to be proof I gave him.

  By the time I’d left the village’s administrative offices, it was eight thirty. Two and a half hours before I needed to open the ice cream shop. I had promised myself I was going to go in early to make ice cream, but after last night’s revelation, I didn’t have the will to do it.

  Now I was bursting with determination. But it wasn’t of the ice cream–making kind.

  Maisie Solomon, green-thumber that she was, had taken a little plot on the side of a vacant building and turned it into an oasis of green, even in the middle of winter. She had donated materials to build a greenhouse and seeds to grow food to help feed the homeless. Like her if-it’s-broke-don’t-use-it philosophy, Maisie didn’t stick with things. She changed jobs and hobbies as often as a traffic light changed colors. But this one she seemed to be sticking with.

  “Maisie,” I called after opening the greenhouse door. It was warm inside, the smell of dirt and herbs settling around me after I set foot inside.

  She didn’t look up. She was concentrating on the plant in front of her, struggling to uproot it. She looked determined, her curls falling into her face, but it seemed like the plant was winning.

  “Maisie!” I yelled in her ear. I’d walked up to her and leaned in without her noticing. That got her attention. She looked startled. She jumped back and stared at me bug-eyed. I put on a cheesy grin and waved.

  “You nearly scared me to death.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Tried to get your attention before I shouted in your ear.”

  “Oh geesh, Win. Next time try harder.” She brushed her garden-gloved hands down the sides of her smock. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it time for you to open the store?”

  “Almost,” I said. “But I think I need your help.”

  “Sure,” she said, pulling off her gloves. Not even asking what it was I needed. “I’ll help. Is it about that lady that came in last night booking a party?”

  “No,” I said, and shook my head. “It’s about . . .” I swallowed, making an exaggerated effort to do it. “I think that maybe you’re right.”

  “Me?” she asked, as if it were a novel idea. “About what?”

  “We should find out if Ari killed . . . you know . . . Dead Guy.”

  “What?” she said, a smile crossing her face. “You really want to be an amateur sleuth?”

  “No,” I said, but I doubted she’d heard me.

  “Like Agatha Raisin,” she was saying. “Did you watch that show? I told you to watch the show. You said you would.”

  I was sure I hadn’t given her any reason to think that I’d watch it. I wanted to dissuade her from watching it. Now, I thought, her having some knowledge about sleuthing might come in handy.

  “Or Vera,” she was rattling on, “but she doesn’t really count because it’s her job. Oh, but like Rosemary & Thyme.” She giggled. “It’s spelled like the herbs. That could be us.”

  I held up my hand. “No. Haven’t watched anything. And that’s not why I want to do this.”

  “What’s the reason?” she asked.

  I hadn’t thought I had it in me to do any sleuthing. But that detective coming to my parents’ home. Talking to my father like he could have done something so terrible . . .

  “I overheard something.”

  “Overheard what?”

  “Detective Beverly questioning my parents.” I closed my eyes and drew in a breath. “Mostly my father.”

  “Come and sit down,” she said, and pointed to a bench. “You hungry? I should get you something to eat.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m good.”

  “Okay, right here.” She plopped down on the garden bench and patted the seat next to her. “C’mon, now. Tell me what happened.”

  “Looks like there has been a murder.”

  “I already told you that,” she said.

  “I wasn’t thoroughly convinced when you said it.”

  “Now you are?”

  “Heard it with my own ears. And they think my father may have done it.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Who thinks that?” she asked.

  “The Chagrin Falls homicide detective.”

  “We have one of those?” She scrunched up her nose. “We’ve never even had a homicide before.”

  “I’m sure we may have had one before, just not one we can remember,” I said. “And, honestly, I don’t know what he is. A detective is all I know. And one who thinks my father killed that man I found.”

  “Well, that detective is a bumbling idiot. Because I know that Mr. Crewse didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Thanks for that, Maisie,” I said, and tried to muster up a smile. “But we’re going to need proof that my father didn’t do it. Because, according to Detective Bumbling Idiot, my father looks like the number-one suspect.”

  “So what do you wanna do?” Maisie asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I came to you,” I said. “Thought maybe you’d know what to do.”

  “I think we should search the restaurant. And Ari’s office. Bet we’d find proof there.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Proof that Ari Terrain killed Peter Sellers and your father did not.”

  “His name was Stephen Bayard.”

  “Whose name is Stephen Bayard?”

  “The guy I found at the falls.”

  “I thought the guy who worked at the restaurant was the guy you found at the falls.”

  “Maisie, that was your assessment, not mine. We had no proof that they were one and the same. Except,” I said thoughtfully, “there’s only been one body that’s turned up so far.”

  “This is so confusing,” she said. “But it’s a puzzle to figure out. And maybe another body to locate.”

  “Do you really think that Ari did it?” I asked. I know how bad I felt about someone accusing my father, and while I didn’t know Ari Terrain all that well, what I knew about him I liked.

  “Of course he did it,” Maisie said. “And it’s better he go to jail than your dad.”

  I didn’t want anyone to go to jail.

  “I can’t be sure that it was Ari,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because this guy—Stephen Bayard—was killed with a poison that’s found only in hospitals.”

  “So?”

  “So how would Ari have gotten it?”

  “He stole it from the hospital. He knows someone that works in a hospital.” She ticked off other possibilities. “The black market. From a drug dealer. Where do they make it? Maybe he stole it from there. Heck!” She grabbed my arm. “Maybe he bought it off the internet!”

  “You think?”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. You don’t have to be a doctor to get drugs. If Ari wanted a drug to kill someone with, he could have gotten it. Haven’t you heard of the drug epidemic sweeping the nation? You think they get their stuff from hospitals?” She tugged on my arm and gave it a shake. “We can look at people other than those that have hospital affiliations.”

  I left that greenhouse with my heart just as heavy as it was when I’d gone in.

  Maybe Maisie was right.

  I drove to the ice cream shop and thought about what she’d said, her list of possible procurement places and how they just rolled off her tongue.

  I got to the store and parked the car across the street, then leaned back against the headrest.

&nbs
p; Trying to clear my father wasn’t going to be easy, especially . . . a tear rolled down my face . . . especially when a thin veil of suspicion clung to me. What had he been doing that he wouldn’t tell me the truth about where he’d been? He didn’t have on work clothes. He couldn’t have been at work, but that was what he told me.

  Maybe it was nothing. An innocent act, whatever it was, now misconstrued.

  Simple.

  And it was simple, too, that that smug detective, Liam Beverly, had his reasoning twisted.

  I pushed open the car door and hurried into the store. I liked being in the shop first thing all by myself. It gave me time to create and think.

  Today, though, it wouldn’t be about ice cream.

  Maisie and I had decided we’d go to the restaurant around three o’clock. Wilhelmina would be in by then to cover my absence. I wasn’t sure what my mother’s schedule was. She was voluntary help and pretty much made up her own hours.

  Maisie’s plan had us getting to the restaurant before it opened at four. She thought that way we could snoop without anyone seeing us. I had cautioned her not to tell anyone what we were doing.

  I turned the lock on the side door of the shop, pushed it open and smiled. Everything gleamed and was bright and welcoming. I could just picture my Grandma Kay standing there with her apron on, arms open wide, ready to embrace me and assure me that when family stuck together there wasn’t anything we couldn’t do.

  I could only hope that was true.

  chapter

  TWENTY

  Her Royal Highness Felice was asleep on the window seat when I went out front with the first batch of ice cream to put in the dipping case.

  “The day’s just getting started,” I said to her. “You tired already?”

  She lazily opened one eye as if telling me not to disturb her.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just thought you were ready for a treat.”

  I heard her snore.

  I chuckled and went back to work.

  My mother hadn’t made it in, and come to think of it, I hadn’t even had the chance to speak to her about what time she’d be there. After Detective Beverly’s late-night visit, she might just be sitting in a parking lot somewhere.

  The shop wasn’t open five minutes when I heard the chime over the door go off.

  I called out, “Be right with you.” I ran water over my hands and tugged my apron off over my head.

  I put on a smile and hurried to the front of the store. “Welcome to Crewse Creamery,” I said.

  “Hi, Pumpkin.”

  It was my daddy. As soon as I saw him, tears started to well up in my eyes. I left from behind the counter and practically ran over to give him a hug.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I said. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t know it,” he said, patting me on my back. “You haven’t stopped by the house in two days.”

  I couldn’t let go. I stood on my tippy-toes, arms flung around his neck and my head lying on his shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asked, trying to pull back so he could see me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, holding on tighter.

  “You’d think you hadn’t seen me in years.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Only two days.” I let go and swung around to go back behind the counter without letting him see my face. “A long two days.” I swiped at the tears and put on a smile before facing him again. “Did you come to get ice cream?” I asked.

  “I came in to see how you were doing,” he said. He was dressed for work. A gray suit, a white shirt and a black-and-wine-colored paisley tie. His Italian loafers were covered with rubbers. He had on a camel-colored coat, and even though I’d let go of him, I could still smell the subtle notes of the sweet amber and buttery oakmoss of his cologne. “I haven’t seen you since the other night after you found that man down at the falls.”

  I blew out a breath. Was he going to tell me about it? Did he think maybe I couldn’t handle it? That’s how he’d often treated me. Fragile. Innocent. I was the only girl in the family, and the baby, and he had always thought he needed to protect me.

  But after going off to college and living in New York, I’d hoped he’d formed a different opinion of me. Felt different about my strength. My endurance over life’s bumps and ditches. Add to that my taking over the management of the shop and overseeing the renovations, and it had to have alerted him to the fortitude in my character.

  Maybe I should just bring it up to him . . .

  “Daddy, were you down by the falls earlier that night?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Not before I came after your mother called. She was frantic. We didn’t know what had happened to you.”

  “At the time I didn’t think it was such a big deal,” I said, eyeing him to get a reaction. “But as it turns out—”

  He didn’t let me finish that sentence.

  “I heard you made up some ice cream for Halloween,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “Seasonal flavors. Just like your grandmother used to do. She’d be real proud of you, you know.”

  “That’s what I strive for, Daddy, every day. To make Grandma Kay proud.”

  “My mother used to say, when I’m gone, I want Win to be the one to carry us on.”

  “Did she really?” I said, another tear popping up in my eye. “You never told me that before.”

  “Yeah, I think she probably rolled over in her grave when Jack took over. Especially after she turned it into a novelty shop.”

  I laughed. “Why did PopPop let her take it over?” I asked.

  “He was waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me?”

  “Waiting until you were ready,” he said. “Waiting for you to realize that this was what you were supposed to do.”

  “Do you feel like that, too?” I asked.

  “I do,” he said. “I always knew you’d run it someday. We all were just waiting for you to realize that your ‘someday’ had arrived.”

  “I loved being in New York,” I said. “I loved my job and the feeling it gave me when we nailed it—the pitch, the client—then I wanted to come home. Not because of anything bad.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve often wondered if you felt like you were giving up anything to move back. Like you had made a step backward?”

  “No,” I said. “I never did. I didn’t even realize I wanted to take over the shop when I made my decision. I figured after I got well from whatever was making me sick, I’d just get a job downtown somewhere. I just knew, when I started feeling bad, I wanted to be home.”

  “I know you don’t think that I think you’re strong. But I know that you are.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” I said.

  “Don’t ever think that. Because I do know it.” He put his head down. “I would have never taken on the renovation of this store.”

  “I just felt it was right,” I said. “The right thing to do.”

  “Keep doing the right thing,” he said. “Keep being who you are.”

  “Mom says I’m like you,” I said. “I think I got my strength from you and Grandma Kay.”

  “Sometimes, I don’t feel strong at all,” my father said. I saw a darkness come over his face and it broke my heart.

  “Something you want to tell me, Daddy?” I said.

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said. “You have your hands full with this place. Which, by the way, is a marvel. You have done wonders.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I blushed. “And you know that I am here for you.”

  “I know,” he said. “Be here for your mother, too. Promise me.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Promise.”

  “Are you going somewhere?” I asked, my mouth getting dry. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell me.

&nbs
p; “Not for a long time,” he said. “At least that’s my plan. But I still want you to promise that you’ll see after your mother.”

  “That’s what we do in this family,” I said. “We take care of each other.”

  My father bought two pint-sized cartons of ice cream—cherry amaretto chocolate chunk and Ghoulish Blueberry. Then we had to find a plastic bowl with a top to give him the gallon-sized tub of French vanilla he wanted to buy, emptying out the tray. He kissed me on my cheek, then on my forehead, and gave me a big hug before he left.

  I didn’t know what was going through his head, why he’d decided to stop by the store, or why he’d had that conversation with me. All I knew was that I felt that same urge, that same determination I’d felt when I’d taken over the store. Nothing was going to stop me from finding proof that my father hadn’t done anything wrong. And certainly nothing as heinous as murder.

  “We’re here.” My mother blew out a breath and she and PopPop burst through the front door. PopPop wiped his feet, took off his hat and headed over to the bench he’d occupied the day before. My mother trotted around the counter, unbuttoning her coat and tugging at the scarf around her neck.

  “Hey, you made it,” I said to her.

  “I had a hair appointment.” She shook her head, her ringlets bouncing. “Can’t let all that gray show.”

  I tried to keep a straight face. “No worries, I have Wilhelmina coming in and we still don’t have more customers through the door than we can handle.”

  “You will soon,” my grandfather reassured me.

  “But I did need you,” I said, and ducked my head, trying to keep from smiling.

  “Needed me?” she said, and touched her hand over her chest. “My independent daughter?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded. “I have to make ice cream and plan for the event I booked over at Wycliffe.”

  Both of them stopped in their tracks.

  “A what?” my mother said, a grin spreading across her face.