“I want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Me, too.” Then he grinned at her. “But I also want a pint of Mr. Koolemar’s Chocolate Chip Peanut Brittle Bonanza while we’re there. The Four Gates golf caddies highly recommended it.”
She laughed briefly. God, he loved that sound. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the sidewalk, but they kept defying his higher brain’s orders and sneaking glances at the two open buttons on Cait’s blouse instead.
That lower brain of his couldn’t get enough of the way the light breeze pushed against the thin, white material, allowing him to see translucent wisps of lacy lingerie underneath. It was too tantalizing a promise to ignore for long.
But this morning he was going to have to ignore it. They’d reached Mr. Koolemar’s house, and he had to concentrate on strictly professional matters. At least until he could get Cait alone in his condo again.
Cait took a deep breath and rang the bell. A middle-aged lady answered the door. She had hair spun like cotton candy, piled in a hive of frosted gold on her head and lips painted the shade of a painful sunburn.
“How can I help you kids?” she said in breathy syncopation.
Garrett introduced them both and asked for Mr. Koolemar.
“My Alan’s down in his workshop,” the woman replied. She radiated a hot pink smile at them. “Wanna come in and see?”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Koolemar,” Garrett said.
So the older lady pushed the screen door wider to let them in. “Just call me Audrey, dear.”
They trailed behind her into a ranch house right out of the 1950s and followed her down the stairs until she came to a stop in front of a door with the words “Kool Kreme Ice Kreamations” written in dripping white letters on a pink plaque.
“This is my Alan’s ice cream workshop,” she said proudly. “He’s licensed.” She swung open the door.
Inside, a large wooden tub sat between a long tan counter and six tiers of wall shelving. The shelves were crammed with glass jars of every sweet imaginable, from chocolate chips to crushed cookies to colorful sprinkles. There were also decanters of multicolored syrups, bottles of natural extracts and a myriad of measuring tools stuffed in a small cardboard box on the lowest shelf. Cait’s mouth dropped open at the sheer variety.
“Hi, folks,” Alan Koolemar said.
To Cait’s eye, Mr. Koolemar appeared to be his usual cheerful self as he ushered them further into his workshop. Open boxes littered the floor. Spilled candy and chocolate bits gave the linoleum tiles a sprinkled effect. Dribbles of syrup decorated the counter like a Jackson Pollock original. Tasty artistry at work.
Audrey gave her husband a kiss.
“Thanks, sugarplum,” the man said, his eyes twinkling.
“If anyone needs anything else, y’all just holler,” Audrey said, breezing out the workshop door with a sway of her abundant hips and a toss of her cotton-candy hair.
Mr. Koolemar wiped away a butterscotch squiggle from the counter and grinned at them. “You two here to learn about ice cream making or did you just want to buy a few pints?”
“Both,” Garrett said quickly.
Cait added, “You know I love your unique flavors, Mr. Koolemar, and I always stop at your booth first when you’re at the school carnivals. All of my students rave about your cones, too.”
“And I’ve been a fan since we met at Giuseppe’s last month,” Garrett interjected.
Cait noted Mr. Koolemar’s look of pride. “I also appreciate your willingness to go to New Brighton for the Hoopla in a few weeks,” she said, “but there’s something we’re worried about.”
She took a deep breath. This was so much harder to say than she’d imagined last night when she rehearsed this question in her head. She’d feel terrible if she frightened the kind gentleman, but forewarned was forearmed.
“Are you aware of anyone who might have tried to cheat you of profits in the past?” she asked him. “Is there anybody, perhaps even someone from the school during the festivals, who could have stolen some tokens from your booth?”
Mr. Koolemar’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows merged for a moment of deep contemplation. He pressed his lips close together. “I’ve had a lot of offers for scooping helpers since I started churning up the ice cream maker a few years ago. But that’s because I’m pretty liberal about giving away free samples to anyone who works for me. I always collect the tokens, though—”
“Any suspicious, unusual or uncharacteristic behavior among those workers?” Garrett asked.
“If my memory serves me, a few of the sixth grade boys fought over who’d get to work in the booth last year.”
“Any adults react that way?”
“No.” He gave them a serious look. “Say, kids, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”
Garrett gave him a succinct version of the leaking district funds and the superintendent’s suspicion that someone working in or around the festival last year might be responsible.
Garrett crossed his arms. “How well do you know Ronald Jaspers?”
Mr. Koolemar squinted, his puzzlement apparent. “I’ve talked with the man a few times. Seen him at all the festivals and around town. I remember he asked for a double scoop of Igloo Almond-Cherry Crème at the Carnival of Love. But he hasn’t bought anything from me for a few months.”
“How about any of the school board members? Do you know Shelley McAllister, Mike Firenzi or Doug Chippenak, for instance?” Cait asked, holding her breath.
“Shelley got the Coconut Carob Ripple once. Said it was good but still too rich.” He whistled. “I say, that woman’s a foxy one, isn’t she?”
Garrett laughed, much to Cait annoyance. She glared at him, but he was too busy agreeing with Mr. Koolemar to notice.
Mr. Koolemar continued, “Anthony Firenzi, Mike’s dad, said something to me about stocking a few flavors at Four Gates. He’s a big fan of Pistachio-Raisin-Chip Gazpacho, but we haven’t worked out the details yet. Mike’s a regular Hazelnut Highway customer. Gets my triple-scoop parfait every time. As for Doug—” he smiled, “we go way back.”
This hooked her attention. “You and Doug Chippenak go way back?” Cait asked. “How far back?”
“Oh, very far. Thirty years or more. His uncle and I are pals. We went to the same university. We’re all three chemists, you know.”
“That’s right.” Garrett gave him a sharp look. “Tell me more.”
“Why, sure,” he said, a warm grin making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “We all get together now and then, swap ideas.”
“What kinds of ideas?” Garrett asked.
“Oh, the usual. New techniques for plant growth. Splicing, grafting and so on. Topical treatments for skin injuries or mosquito bites. Mmm…the latest research on DNA engineering. And, of course, cooking, wine and ice cream making.”
“Is their business thriving?” she said.
Mr. Koolemar nodded. “Normal ups and downs and all, but Doug and I talk frequently. He’s a great one when it comes to investing. They’re doing all right for themselves.”
Garrett shot her a look that telegraphed uneasiness, but Mr. Koolemar had turned his attention back to his frosty creations and began chattering about toppings. He seemed to have lost interest in their investigation, so they let the subject drop for the time being.
“One thing I’ve always wanted to know,” Garrett said to the man, “is what’s the secret to making really fine, premium ice cream. Is it an ingredient or a process? One thing or a combination?”
Mr. Koolemar laughed. “The basics are simple, young man. You need fresh milk, eggs, sugar, heavy cream, spices, vanilla extract, syrup flavors you love and toppings that excite you. You need a rock-salt freezer—if you like the old ways—a hardening freezer, too, and some clean utensils. And you need patience. But, there’s more to creating exquisite ice cream than chemistry, extracts and candy. Takes heart and soul, too.” He blew a kiss in the direction of his mixing bowls. “A little love needs to go into every b
atch.”
Garrett caught Cait’s eye and winked at her. Her heart started fluttering. Then he turned to Mr. Koolemar. “That’s what must make your brand extraordinary. I can taste the love.”
The older gentleman’s grin broadened. “Taste the love. Spread it around. That’s what I always say.” And he blew them a kiss also. “Wanna try some flavors I’ve been experimenting on?”
“Yes!” she and Garrett said together. Then, when Mr. Koolemar turned his back to open the silverware drawer, Garrett pulled her close and kissed her hard.
“Taste the love. Spread it around,” he whispered.
The fluttering in her heart became pounding.
Mr. Koolemar grabbed three ice cream dishes from the cabinet and some spoons. “I’ve been working on an action flavor line.” He lifted the hardening freezer’s lid. “We got pints of Orange Mango Jitterbug left. I see some Double Dark Chocolate Sleepwalk and Runaway Mint Paradiso. Umm, Lemon Burst Sundae Stroll and Strawberry Whiplash, too. Which do you want to try?”
“No more Chocolate Chip Peanut Brittle Bonanza?” Garrett asked, his voice registering only slight disappointment as he leaned against the counter and eyed the flavors inside the freezer.
“Sorry,” the older man said. “But I’ll add it to my special request list.” He scribbled a few words on a clipboard.
“Well, I don’t think I can leave in good conscience without trying Double Dark Chocolate Sleepwalk,” Garrett said. “Cait?”
“Strawberry Whiplash please,” she said.
Mr. Koolemar smiled merrily at them. “Good choice, kids.”
An hour later, after they thanked the Koolemars for their hospitality and all the delicious ice cream, Cait trailed Garrett through the park again and toward his fancy car.
She exhaled. “I know we must be getting warmer, but I feel as though there’s a major piece missing somewhere. For instance, could there be a connection, besides an old friendship, between Chippenak Chemical and Mr. Koolemar’s Ice Kreamations?”
“I don’t know,” Garrett said. “But I think we’re going to have to keep a particularly close eye on those board members just in case. And—” he eyed her, “we’re going to need to look deeper into the teachers’ backgrounds and motives, too.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his washboard-flat stomach. “But if I keep eating like this, I’m going to have to spend more time working out at Firenzi’s country club.”
Cait had devoured three bowls of ice cream herself, so she knew what he meant. Still, it wasn’t all the sweets that were making her nauseated.
She couldn’t help but worry that someone she knew was involved in something underhanded. All the roads leading to the school board members hadn’t turned up anything definite so far, although Shelley was certainly devious enough.
Yet, if Cait were completely honest, she had to admit she considered Jenna to be the brightest of the people potentially involved. More so than even Loni and Marlene. If anyone could mastermind such a plan, her best friend had the brains to pull it off. But hopefully not the motivation.
Sonja, their sweet secretary, had the most opportunity, however. She was the one who’d purchased all the tokens. But Garrett said he’d checked her out and all was well.
Ronald…well, Cait still couldn’t figure him out. He did seem to be worthy of suspicion, though.
She sighed. Where, like in movie mysteries, were all the clues?
***
There were sweet rolls, fruit and vegetable trays and ice cream sundaes the following Thursday night at the Open House Parents’ Coffee, but whoever brought the ice cream wasn’t thinking. It was conventional and store-bought. Cait didn’t bother with it.
She stood near a wall, rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers and tried to remember to breathe deeply. All the way to the bottom of her lungs. In on a count of five. Out on ten.
“Well, you sure look stressed,” Jenna whispered in her ear. “You doing okay?”
“I’m hanging in there. But look—” Cait pointed to Doug Chippenak and Shelley McAllister huddled together in a corner of the auditorium. People milled around them, laughing over coffee and snacks, but those two were engrossed in a very private tête-à-tête. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“My guess? Malicious intent to take over the Universe.”
Cait nodded. “Good answer.” Even though Cait couldn’t confide any of her suspicions of board-member thievery to Jenna, it was no secret that Mrs. McAllister was universally despised amongst the teaching staff. Mr. Chippenak was merely considered bland as sawdust.
They watched silently until Shelley and Doug parted ways a few minutes later.
Cait eyed her friend, and her concerns about Jenna’s involvement in the money leak rocketed back to her.
“How are you, Paul and the kids doing?” She watched Jenna’s reaction, hunting for the slightest indication of discontent.
Her friend laughed. “Good. Great, actually. Paul got a promotion back in the spring. He’s been putting money aside. Says he wants to take me on a real vacation this Christmas. Just the two of us.” She grinned. “Somewhere warm.”
Cait grinned back.
“I’ve been looking into good deals online. What do you think of Aruba? Or maybe Turks and Caicos?”
“Wish I knew more about the Caribbean, Jenna. I’m sure they’re all good.
“You know, that’s what I think. Besides, the most important part is just to be together. I’d be happy to be alone with Paul at a Holiday Inn in Madison, eating cheese curds and drinking cheap wine from a bottle.”
“That sounds great, too.” And it did. Cait smiled at her friend, and she knew—just knew—there was no way Jenna would get herself involved in something unpardonable. She refused to entertain the notion again. Ever.
The other teacher leaned in and said, “So, what’s up on the Garrett Ellis front? You two going out regularly now or what?”
“Our relationship clearly falls into the ‘or what’ category.”
“Go on,” Jenna said.
“He’s respecting my wishes to take things slowly. In fact, even though we spent time together this weekend, he’s barely touched me since the copy room.”
“The copy room!”
“Oops. Didn’t I tell you about that?” Cait quickly filled her in on what had happened by the Xerox machine. She could tell Jenna was disappointed that what had transpired wasn’t bawdier.
“So you think he’ll try to get you alone in the janitor’s closet next—”
Cait nudged her friend. A few yards away, Garrett walked down the aisle and handed a cup of coffee to Shelley. He appeared not to notice anyone else in the room.
“He says he doesn’t like her. Doesn’t trust her. Yet, look at how natural they are together.” She sighed, the old insecurities flooding back in. But, no denying it, Garrett was a guy. Even though Shelley was married and Garrett knew her history, how could he help but recognize all the things other men found attractive about her? The red hair. The fabulous body. The full chest shown to advantage in that spicy V-neck.
Cait looked down at her own more modest chest, which was concealed in a prim button-up summer sweater. So teacher-y. Okay, maybe the baby blue was a striking color on her, but she knew it couldn’t compete with Shelley’s black, plunging-collar blouse.
A tall, trim guy in his mid-forties with a dark ring of hair across the back of his bald head, strode up to Shelley and Garrett. Cait looked on, mesmerized. The guy couldn’t be called attractive, not by Cait’s definition, but he had an air about him. She saw him pull the cup from Shelley’s hand and speak with a hint of displeasure to Garrett, but they were too far away to hear specifics.
“Who is that guy?” Jenna asked.
“I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing that’s her ‘Darling’ Chucky,” she said.
“No one outside of a bad horror movie calls anyone Chucky.”
“Apparently Shelley does. I’m pretty su
re that’s her husband.”
“That’s Charles McAllister? The big banking dude?” Jenna regarded the man in the distance with a rueful shake of her head. “Hey, Cait, take a peek to your left.”
Cait turned just fast enough to see Doug shooting Shelley an intense, lingering look before slipping out a side door. So maybe Garrett had it right. Maybe those two were having an affair. Hey, stranger things happened every day.
Yet almost any debauchery was better than the thought of Shelley together with Garrett…or even with Ronald Jaspers, who, at that very moment, was shaking the hand of a Ridgewood Grove parent with his right and holding a giant chocolate-almond Danish with his left.
Chuck McAllister, who’d been eyeing the room with irritation, shot Ronald a look of disgust. He put a proprietary arm around Shelley and led her out of the room. Garrett caught Cait and Jenna staring at him and gave them a long, mysterious look before turning to talk to the parents of a high-needs third grader.
“Maybe we’d better separate now,” Cait whispered.
Jenna took a step toward the center of the auditorium. “Mix-n-mingle, girlfriend,” she mouthed over her shoulder.
***
Garrett couldn’t get Shelley’s comments out of his head. As the parent in front of him droned on about the need for a restructuring of the IEP/special-ed budget, he reviewed what Shelley told him before her jerk of a husband showed up.
“Nice job running the Open House, Shell,” Garrett had said, handing her a coffee with milk but no sugar, just like she’d had it at their last administrative board meeting. He figured he’d butter her up before he grilled her. “Want me to get you an ice cream sundae?”
“Heavens, no, darling. I can’t believe Ronald let the PTA bring in all those hideous desserts.”
“I saw fruit and vegetables up there,” he said, pointing to the treat table.
“Well, of course. I brought those. But no one’s eating them.” She scanned the room with a glare. “Ice cream, of all things,” she muttered. “That’s the worst. The butterfat in the cream, the egg yolks, all that sugar.” She shivered. “The chemical additives used to stabilize the ice cream and improve its texture in commercial products can be extremely unhealthy, not to mention the coconut oils and unnatural flavorings.”
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