Murder with a Cherry on Top

by Cynthia Baxter

  Glancing around the shop, Emma added, “I was thinking that maybe I could even work for you. Here in the store, I mean.” She picked up her spoon and, with a sly little grin, added, “I even promise not to eat up all the inventory. Unless you need help getting rid of extra stuff, of course.” She stuck a huge glob of Cappuccino Crunch into her mouth, raising her eyes upward to show how much she was enjoying it.

  “I could help out with Grams, too,” she went on. “I know she still hasn’t completely recovered from her fall, and I’d be happy to do some of the cooking and cleaning and whatever else needs to be done. Besides, it would be so great to be able to hang out with her, and I’m sure she’d appreciate having the company. She’s been promising to teach me how to knit for ages, but somehow we never find the time. There are all kinds of things we could do together.”

  “Emma, it all sounds fabulous,” I said sincerely. “I’d adore it if you came to live with Grams and me. But this isn’t up to me. Or Grams, for that matter. It’s up to your parents.”

  “I know,” Emma replied, her enthusiasm instantly flagging. “But I am eighteen, after all. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But you don’t want to do anything your parents are totally against, do you?”

  She hung her head. “I guess not.”

  I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “You’re at a tough age, Em. Technically you’re all grown up. You’re old enough to vote or join the army or get married . . . but like you’ve been saying, there’s still so much you haven’t yet had a chance to figure out. Heck, I’m still figuring out a lot of that stuff myself, and I’m thirty-three!

  “I mean look at me,” I continued. “Look at this place. An ice cream shop! If you’d told me a year ago—three months ago—that I’d end up running a place like this, I’d have said you were suffering from brain freeze!”

  “But you love it, right?” Emma asked anxiously. “It’s your dream come true, isn’t it?”

  I could feel a slow smile creeping across my face, one I couldn’t have controlled even if I’d wanted to. “It is. I am living out a dream, even though it’s one I didn’t even realize I had until very recently. So I understand completely all that stuff about making your way through life, getting to know yourself better and better so you can make good decisions about what moves to make next.”

  “So does that mean you’ll talk Mom and Dad into letting me live with you and Grams?” Emma asked, her face bright with hope.

  “Emma, I’ll do my best,” I told her. “But I can’t promise, of course—”

  “Thank you, Aunt Kate!” Emma jumped out of her chair and leaned over to give me a big bear hug. “I knew you were the reasonable one in this family!”

  * * *

  Emma’s opinion of me being the reasonable one—and her implication that the rest of our family was, shall we say, less than reasonable—was born out by the phone conversation I ended up having with her mother as soon as we’d both had enough so-called breakfast to be able to face calling her.

  “Jules, it’s me, Kate,” I said as soon as my sister answered. Knowing how frantic she must be, I quickly added, “Emma is fine. She’s with me.”

  “Emma is with you?” Julie shot back. “What are you talking about? She’s upstairs in her room. And why on earth are you calling me at this ungodly hour? Kate, it’s six-thirty a.m. On a Sunday!”

  So my big sister hadn’t even realized that her daughter was missing. So much for the drama of running away from home.

  “I guess you haven’t noticed that Emma isn’t in bed,” I said dryly. “Or that she didn’t come home last night.”

  “Honestly, it’s not as if I have that girl tied to a leash,” Julie said. “She’s always off doing her own thing, especially on the weekends. She is eighteen, after all.”

  Old enough not to be checked up on, I thought, but still not old enough for her to decide how she wants to spend the next year or two of her life.

  “You know, Jules, maybe I should give you a little time to wake up before we have this conversation,” I said, suddenly losing patience. “Maybe after you’ve had a cup of coffee.”

  Or two or three, I thought.

  It wasn’t that Julie was difficult; it was just that she was a linear thinker. She was one of those people who needed to have things laid out for her. Otherwise, she didn’t always connect the dots.

  “Katy, you’ve just called me practically in the middle of the night to tell me my daughter has basically run away from home, gotten herself to the hinterlands of New York, and shown up on your doorstep. I think I’d better hear about this now.”

  I glanced over at Emma, who was sitting right across the table from me, rolling her eyes. No doubt she could hear every word her mother was saying.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. Basically, Emma has asked me if she can come live with Grams and me while she decides what she wants to do about her education.”

  I held the phone away from my ear, expecting a tirade. Instead, all I heard was a sigh.

  “Emma and her father and I have been over this a hundred times,” Julie said, sounding exasperated. “Frankly, he and I are both getting a little tired of it.” Another sigh. And then: “You know, Kate, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. Let me talk to Greg and see what he thinks. But after the three of us having the same argument for almost a year now, I’m beginning to realize it’s not one we’re going to win. Maybe once Emma is out on her own for a while, she’ll get some sense knocked into her.”

  She won’t exactly be on her own, I thought grimly. Living with Grams and me isn’t exactly the same thing as putting in time at a halfway house.

  But even though talking to Julie was, as usual, a bit of a downer, suddenly having Emma in my life was an upper that was even more powerful than a large scoop of Cappuccino Crunch ice cream and the sugar and caffeine rush that came along with it.

  My life had just gotten a little bit sweeter.

  Chapter 7

  The world’s tallest ice cream cone was created in Kristiansand, Norway, on July 26, 2015. It stood 10 feet 1.26 inches high and consisted of a wafer cone weighing about 211 pounds, a chocolate lining that weighed about 132 pounds, 285 gallons of ice cream and 88 pounds of jam.

  —GuinnessWorldRecords.com

  “Should I take you back to the house so we can tell Grams the good news?” I suggested to Emma as soon as our dishes of ice cream were nothing but the last smears of cream that even experts like us couldn’t manage to extract from the dish.

  Emma nodded. “I can’t wait to see her. Oh, Aunt Kate, thank you so much! You have no idea how happy I am that you’ve agreed to let me come stay with you and Grams!”

  “First of all, I’m sure I’m even happier about this arrangement than you are,” I told her. “And there’s no doubt in my mind that Grams will be thrilled, too. Second, from now on, it’s just Kate. Let’s drop the ‘aunt’ part. Too many syllables.”

  Emma just grinned.

  We stashed her backpack in the back of my truck and headed home. All the while, she chattered away about her plans for the new life she’d just found herself in.

  “I thought that if nobody minded, I’d take the bedroom in back, the one that overlooks the garden,” she chirped away happily. “And if you and Grams don’t object, I thought maybe I’d plant a little vegetable garden in that space that gets the most sunlight. I’ve never had a chance to do that, since Mom has every inch of our property manicured so that it looks like Disneyland. . . .”

  Even as she spoke, her eyes were fixed on the streets of Wolfert’s Roost. Though she’d been coming here all her life, visiting Grams, I suspected that she was looking at it differently, considering all the possibilities. After all, this was her home now, too.

  It was also the place in which she’d have her first taste of independence. It reminded me of going off to college and experiencing the thrill of living on my own for the very first time. Being able to make the simplest decisions, thi
ngs as simple as what time to eat dinner—or exactly what that dinner would be.

  It meant a lot to me that I’d be there to experience it with her.

  Think of it, I thought with a smile. Three generations of us, living together.

  I couldn’t imagine anything better.

  When we reached the house, I opened the door as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake Grams. Of course, Digger undid all of my good intentions the moment we stepped inside. He began barking his welcome, skittering around the floor as if he, and not us, had just had his morning dose of caffeine.

  “Hey, Digger!” Emma cried in a hoarse whisper. She crouched down to give him a hug, at least as much as that’s possible with a whirling dervish of a terrier. That creature just didn’t know the meaning of the words “stand still.” “Sh-h-h-h! Digger, don’t make so much noise! You’ll wake Grams!”

  “I’m already awake,” Grams said, suddenly appearing at the doorway that led to the kitchen, wearing the pink chenille bathrobe I’d given her for Christmas two years before. “At least, I think I am. Part of me thinks I must be dreaming!”

  Emma laughed, then ran over to give her a big hug. “You’re not dreaming, Grams. It’s really me!”

  “Emma, what a lovely surprise!” Grams said, hugging her back. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit.”

  “It’s not exactly a visit,” I said, watching the two of them. The three of them, if you counted Digger, who was jumping up on the two women as if he simply refused to be left out of this happy reunion. “Grams, Emma is going to stay with us for a while, if that’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Of course I don’t mind!” Grams replied. “I’m absolutely ecstatic! Now, stand back a bit so I can get a good look at you.”

  It didn’t take long for Emma to settle in. Grams agreed that the back bedroom was perfect for her, and she immediately got busy pulling an extra blanket out of the linen closet and emptying a drawer full of fabric to make room for Emma’s things. We all had a cup of real coffee, sitting together at the kitchen table, while Emma told Grams everything she’d told me about her reasons for wanting some time to think—time she felt was best spent with us.

  Finally, I said, “I’m afraid I have to go back to the shop. I’ve got to make up a couple of batches of ice cream before we open.”

  Emma jumped out of her chair. “I’ll come with you, Aunt Kate—I mean Kate. If you don’t mind, that is. But I’m ready to get to work, so I’d love it if you’d take me back to the shop and put me to work.”

  It took about an hour for Emma to learn everything there is to know about running an ice cream shop. At least, everything I knew about running an ice cream shop.

  And scooping ice cream was the least of it. That morning, the first thing I did was teach her how to make ice cream from scratch. Not surprisingly, she picked it up easily. And she was already letting her imagination run wild as she thought up possible flavors.

  “How about Lemon Meringue Pie?” she suggested, her eyes bright. “Lemon-flavored ice cream, dotted with bits of meringue and little pieces of graham cracker?”

  “That could work,” I replied.

  “And . . . and Cannoli!” she exclaimed. “You know, like the Italian pastry? Let’s see: ricotta-flavored ice cream with crumbs from a cannoli shell, crispy but not too sweet . . . and little chocolate chips, like they sometimes dip them in!”

  “That’s funny,” I told her. “I thought up that one, too. I guess great minds really do think alike.”

  Emma beamed. “How about sweet potato? With sugared walnuts!”

  The girl was a gem.

  And that was just the early part of the morning. When we opened at eleven and the ice cream cravers started drifting in, Emma quickly learned how to concoct all the specialties of the house. It took her about a half hour to master everything on the Lickety Splits menu, from the Rootin’-Tootin’ Root Beer Float to the Hudson’s Hottest Hot Fudge Sundae. She looked like an absolute pro, standing behind the counter, her blue hair tied back with a hot pink headband and her black jeans and T-shirt covered by a black-and-white checked Lickety Splits apron.

  She was also turning out to be a master at chatting up the customers. She encouraged them to try new flavors, cheerfully insisting that they take advantage of our free samples policy to see if cardamom was a flavor they liked. She made sure no one walked away without a couple of paper napkins or the straw they needed. And whenever there was a lull, she hurried over to the tables to wipe them down and neatly arrange the napkin dispenser and the little vase of flowers in the middle of each one.

  Emma was turning out to be even more of an asset than I’d originally thought. I was relieved to know that whenever I needed to leave the shop for some reason, I’d be leaving it in good hands. Really good hands.

  Even though Sunday afternoons were one of my busiest times, I decided to take advantage of her ice-cream-shop-running abilities that very day.

  As euphoric as I was over Emma’s sudden appearance, Ashley’s murder was a dark, ugly cloud that continued to hover over me. Even with the distraction of having my niece suddenly move in with Grams and me, my determination to do whatever I could to find Ashley’s killer never wavered.

  For the past forty-eight hours, ever since Pete Bonano had hauled me into the police station—well, maybe he didn’t exactly haul me—I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the fact that there lurked in some people’s mind even the vaguest possibility that I could have had something to do with the crime. Overhearing the town gossip at Ashley’s funeral had made me feel even more uncomfortable.

  I wanted to find out everything about Ashley’s world I could.

  True, I’d never done anything even remotely like this before. But the way I saw it, I’d figured out how to open up my own ice cream shop. I’d rented space and decorated it so that it was unimaginably cute and learned how to make big batches of ice cream and come up with fun names for flavors and irresistible ice cream concoctions.

  So stretching myself a little wasn’t exactly something I was incapable of.

  I reminded myself of that as I pulled Hayley Nielsen’s business card out of my purse and called her.

  “Hi, Hayley!” I said brightly. “It’s Kate McKay. I’m following up on your offer to talk about improving the look of my ice cream shop. I hope it’s okay that I called so soon, but I thought it might be a good distraction for you.”

  “It’s the perfect distraction,” Hayley replied. “I’m really glad you called.”

  I was sincerely glad she felt that way. “Great,” I said. “Maybe we can set something up for this week. . . .”

  “Let me check my calendar. . . . Well, will you look at that! It turns out I just had a cancellation for this very afternoon. Would that work?”

  “That would work just fine,” I said. I couldn’t help wondering if there was a lot of blank space in that calendar of hers.

  “I can stop by at, say . . . three o’clock?” she suggested.

  “Three is perfect.”

  I could hardly wait.

  * * *

  At one minute before three, Hayley strode into the shop, holding a large, heavy-looking tote bag in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

  I realized that she actually looked a lot like Ashley. Only she was a slightly less impressive, less . . . shiny version. She, too, was tall and slim, only not quite as tall and slim. She dressed just as stylishly as Ashley, but instead of looking as if she had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue, looked merely like one of the mannequins at Bloomingdale’s.

  Today, for example, she was dressed in tailored white linen pants and a bright pink-and-green print tunic. Lilly Pulitzer, or at least some designer who was good at imitating Lilly’s style. On her feet were delicate sandals, thin strips of pink leather studded with bling.

  It was as if Ashley Winthrop had taught her everything she knew about how to dress.

  “Thanks for coming in,” I greeted her, pulling off
my apron and leaving Emma to deal with the short line of customers who were awaiting ice cream bliss.

  “No problem,” Hayley replied. She plopped down at the one empty table and pulled out an off-white leather folder. She flipped it open to a blank white pad.

  “This is a charming little place you’ve got here, Kate,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I replied, even though I had a feeling that was her opening line wherever she went. “I’m pretty happy with the way it turned out. I put it all together myself. But I’m sure it could use some improvement.”

  Hayley nodded. “It’s great that you’re open to new ideas. Not everyone is.”

  She glanced around, squinting a bit, as if that might help her pick out any flaws. “One thing I noticed right away is that you could improve the lighting,” she commented. “It’s a little bright in here, don’t you think?”

  I hadn’t noticed. But now that she’d mentioned it, I could see her point.

  “You might think about replacing these hanging light fixtures with overhead lighting that’s set into the ceiling,” she continued. “Installing what’s called high hats. You could even get some retro ones that would look totally cool. I’ve seen these round plastic ones, white, of course.... Anyway, that’s one idea.

  “Another thing you might consider is changing the way the tables are placed. If it were up to me . . .”

  As she spoke, I nodded and murmured “Um-hmm” every once in a while, doing my best to pretend I was interested in what she was saying. But while part of me was actually listening, even considering her ideas, most of my mind was focused on how to bring Ashley into the conversation.

  I decided to use the direct approach.

  “Great ideas,” I said crisply, leaning back in my chair. I hoped my tone and my body language would communicate that we were done.

  And then, I abruptly leaned forward. “So tell me, Hayley,” I said in a much softer voice, “how are you doing? I know what close friends you and Ashley were.”