by Bree Baker
“Yes, please.” I bounced on my toes, feeling ten years younger. “I’d like a scoop of Praline Dream in a sugar cone. And sprinkles.” I added the last part in case the free sprinkles were only by request.
“Sure thing.” Sandy flipped the curved lid on the freezer and tossed his scoop in the air like a Miami bartender. His smile was contagious, banana-split wide, and already setting me at ease. “My wife and I moved here last summer to open this shop. We’ve met most everyone, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around here,” he said, smooshing praline ice cream into a cone of crispy perfection, the top inch of which had been dipped in chocolate and rolled in jimmies.
I licked my lips in anticipation.
“How long are you in town?” he asked, tidying up the cone and closing the display lid.
“Forever, probably.” I stretched to accept the cone over the tall counter.
A familiar silhouette caught my attention outside the giant picture window to my right, and I turned to stare. Detective Hays scooted through the crush of babies and bodies on the patio, vanishing and reappearing several times before arriving at his SUV with a blond woman.
Was he married? I couldn’t recall seeing a ring, but then again, I hadn’t looked. And I didn’t care. Except, if the woman wasn’t his wife, then who was she? Surely he hadn’t had time to find a date in the day or two since his arrival. He couldn’t have had time to unpack, much less ask someone out for ice cream. He didn’t even get her door for her. Rude.
Sandy punched my order into the register. “Where are you visiting from?” he asked. “You should mark it on our Friends Across the Country map.” He nodded toward a giant poster of the United States on the far wall, little ice cream cone stickers plastered all over the East Coast identifying the origins of past customers.
“I’m local,” I answered, straining to see over his shoulder as the SUV pulled into traffic. “I grew up here and just moved back.”
“Well, that’s neat!” He rocked back on his heels and rested a hand on the counter.
I stuffed the top of my cone into my mouth and blamed low blood sugar and a poor night’s sleep for my erratic thoughts.
“That’ll be two-fifty.”
Oops! I’d almost forgotten to pay. I fished a five from my pocket and delivered it to Sandy.
By now, the SUV was long gone. It bugged me more than it should have to know the town’s only detective was out having fun instead of investigating Mr. Paine’s murder. Didn’t these things get more difficult to solve after forty-eight hours? Or was it seventy-two? I took another bite of my cone and contemplated the issue. Maybe I was thinking of the guideline for missing kids. Either way, it had barely been twenty-four hours since I’d found Mr. Paine by the marsh. It hardly seemed like the time for the investigating officer to go out for ice cream.
I gave Sandy a long look. He’d said he’d met most everyone, so did he know Mr. Paine? I took a bite of ice cream to shore up my nerve. “Sandy? Did you know Benedict Paine?” I asked quietly. “Or have you heard anything about what happened to him?”
Recognition lit in Sandy’s eyes as he made my change. “I knew him. My wife and I saw him quite a bit after we moved here.”
I couldn’t imagine Mr. Paine at a sweet shack, considering the level of grief he’d given me about the sugar content of sweet tea, but maybe he’d been involved in the ice cream shop’s setup. Probably forcing it into compliance with his vision for Charm.
Sandy glanced over my head at the line of waiting customers, then leaned closer. “I heard he was poisoned. It was terrible.” He shook his head sadly. “I read all about it on the Town Charmer blog.”
I turned to check on the couple behind me. They were still discussing flavors, so I pushed on. “Had you heard anything about him recently?” I asked. “Before the poisoning?” I scanned the crowded ice cream shop, imagining all the things I could overhear if I lingered long enough—pushing a broom or wiping down tables, for example. “Was anyone especially upset with him that you know of?”
Sandy rolled his shoulders back and cocked his head. “Don’t you read the town blog? It covered the whole story as it unfolded.”
My cheeks heated at the memory of all those mean comments. “I’m just having a hard time accepting his death,” I blurted. “Things like that don’t happen here.”
“I suppose bad stuff happens everywhere, once in a while,” he said. “Living here has been a dream come true for my wife and me. What happened to Mr. Paine hasn’t changed that. In fact, we feel needed more than ever now. Folks come to our sweet shack for something good and familiar. In some ways, we provide a break from the heartache of losing a community member.” He smiled warmly. “What do you do here?”
I rushed through a mouthful of creamy bliss, trying not to choke on a pecan. “My name is Everly Swan. I opened the iced tea shop on the beach last month. Sun, Sand, and Tea.”
Sandy’s smile faltered a bit before performing a quick recovery. “Of course! Hello!” His sudden and complete overenthusiasm confirmed my suspicions: he clearly recognized the name of my café and my connection to the murder.
“I hope you’ll bring your wife by some time for a glass of tea,” I suggested, redoubling the efforts on my smile. “I’d love to meet her, and there’s a fabulous view from my café’s deck.”
“Definitely.” He gave the line another long look.
“I think we’re ready,” the woman behind me said.
I stepped aside and polished off the too-tiny cone, then licked my lips. “Thank you again, Sandy. It was nice meeting you.” I smiled and waved at the couple placing their order.
It took all my self-control not to get back in line for seconds.
I picked up the pace a little on my return trip to make up for the spontaneous ice cream. I hadn’t come up with any amazing epiphanies on my night’s outing, but I had the wind in my hair and the whispering ocean at my side. That was the real prize.
My fitness bracelet beeped and I pressed the button to see what it wanted.
BE MORE ACTIVE.
I loosened my too-tight belt, and I was certain my thighs would start chafing if I went any faster. I’d worn a size six when I left home for culinary school and returned in a size twelve. I was trying not to let the weight gain bother me, but when I tossed in my looming thirtieth birthday and a murder suspicion, I didn’t need a Git Fit to remind me I was losing control. Somewhere along the line, my life had stopped being something that happened because of me and it had become a collection of things happening to me.
I’d had about enough of that.
I took longer, more purposeful strides as I headed home through the waning twilight. The problem was that I’d gotten sidetracked wondering about the new detective when what I should’ve been doing was asking everyone what they knew about Mr. Paine’s most recent complaints around Charm. Sandy didn’t know any more than the skewed details the town gossip blog had provided, but someone else might have.
Who had Mr. Paine argued with this week? How about last week? Me and Sam Smart, for starters, but we couldn’t have been the only ones. Paine was always miffing someone off.
I wondered idly if my aunts were having any luck coming up with alternate suspects, imagining Clara plying folks with sugar and smiles while Fran pointed a spotlight at their faces and demanded the details.
What I really needed was more than a list of people who had argued with Paine—I needed to know who was willing to kill. In other words, who had motive, and what was it? Why did people commit murder? Love? Power? Money? Mr. Paine didn’t seem the sort to care about any of those things. He’d been divorced for a decade and didn’t appear to be wealthy. His kids were grown. He’d long ago retired from everything except the town council, which was his sole obsession. So, who would want him dead and why?
I had nothing.
My breaths grew short as my quick steps hau
led me farther away down the beach. The sense of freedom was invigorating, but the stitch in my side was not.
I stopped to pant and grip my aching ribs. I’d never been much of a land animal. Put me in a kayak or toss me in the ocean, however, and I was home. Maybe when the weather warmed, I’d trade in my walking shoes for something with fins.
Up ahead, a shadow bobbed swiftly in my direction.
I considered hiding, but there was nowhere to go. I had three feet of boardwalk to get out of the way and zero ability to run. Whoever was headed in my direction was doomed to see me bent at the waist and regretting two-fifty’s worth of Praline Dream.
“Everly?” A familiar female voice danced in the darkness. My childhood friend, Amelia, blinked into existence beneath a cone of lamplight, carrying a stack of books.
“Amelia!” I hastened my pace, a wide smile growing on my lips.
“How are you?” she asked, adjusting the tomes against her chest and hugging me with one arm. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call or stop by today. I heard about everything that happened last night, but I had ten million things to do and the store was just so busy. Are you doing okay? You should hear the crazy things folks are saying.”
I waved her worry away, too thankful to see her face to care what the local gossips were saying. “I’m fine, but I’ve missed you so much. You look fantastic. And I saw your store today when I went to visit my aunts. It looks bigger. Did you expand?”
Amelia stepped back with a proud smile. “Charming Reads had a big remodel last summer. I couldn’t expand, but I found a better way to use the space. It really made a difference. Thank you for noticing.”
A moment later, her smile drooped. “Are you sure you’re okay? This town’s been so brazen with the gossip.”
I puffed out my cheeks, and a deep sigh blew free from my chest. “I’m okay, and I’m going to find out who really killed Mr. Paine.” I nodded to encourage myself. I had means and motive for finding justice, but not for murder. “I’ll clear my name.”
Amelia’s narrow brows stretched over wide sapphire blue eyes, and she reached for the headband tucked into her blond hair. “How?”
“I don’t know.”
She blinked several times. “Okay. Well, when you do, I’m glad to help.” She hoisted the load in her arms. “Would you like a book?”
I laughed. “Uh. Sure?” I examined the myriad titles with wonder. “Why are you carrying this lovely selection along the boardwalk at night? Find a lot of readers out here, do you?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m only carrying them because the wheel on my wagon broke.” She shifted the spines in my direction. “Everyone loves a good book, right?” Her eyes twinkled with pride. Amelia had had her life plotted out since high school, right down to her bookstore on Main Street, where she kept enough literary adventures for all of Charm to get lost in forever. “Go on. Pick your poison.” She frowned. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. It’s an expression.”
“It’s fine.” I took a worn copy of Little Women and a hefty-looking recipe book by Good Housekeeping, one of those vintage numbers where they instructed you to grease every pan with lard and featured an entire section devoted to Practical Uses of Spam. I smiled as I balanced the books in my arms. The cookbook weighed at least five pounds, or about half as much as any one of the finished Spam recipes.
“How was cooking school?” Amelia asked suddenly. “I feel like I should know this, but I don’t.”
“I quit.” I pursed my lips and focused my attention on the horizon straight ahead. “It was nice, but it didn’t work out.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Wasn’t meant to be,” I said. “But I learned a lot about technique and running a kitchen. I’m sure I can put all that knowledge to good use at Sun, Sand, and Tea.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back,” she said.
“Me too.” And it was true, despite the mess I’d fallen into last night when I found Mr. Paine’s body.
Part of me wished I’d have finished culinary school, but there was no point in feeling too bad about dreams lost. After all, I had also planned to marry a cowboy, and there was no doubt that would have been disastrous if it had gone my way.
I turned my attention back to Amelia. “Did you say you’re carrying these books because your wagon’s busted?” I puzzled over the odd explanation. Did she normally take her books for an evening walk? “Are these new donations? Did you just make a pickup?”
“Oh no. These are from the Little Library I put up last week by the beach-access parking lot. I try to switch the inventory every few days for variety and refill when the stock is low. Plus, I make sure there are plenty of my business cards in the little holder.”
Amelia’s Little Libraries were the cutest things on the boardwalk, and she had several more throughout the town. Some were designed to look like giant birdhouses, others like big wooden tomes. Most stood on a sturdy post, but all were whimsically painted and held a great selection of books. The Little Library concept worked on a need one/take one premise, and seemed like a great way to get readers to stop by her store.
“Smart. I wonder if I should make some business cards or maybe takeout menus for the café.” I turned the little rectangle over in my fingertips. “These are really cute. Where did you get them?”
“I made them.” She smiled proudly. “They’re not hard, and menus won’t be, either. I can help you design yours, if you want.”
“I’d love it.”
A gust of wind whipped our hair and fluttered our clothes. Amelia turned her small face skyward with a frown. “I’d better get going before it gets much later.”
“Of course. Hey. You should stop by sometime,” I told her. “We should catch up.”
“Okay.” She beamed. “This week, then. I’ll come by for tea.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Amelia took a few steps backward. “I’d come now if I could, but I have two more Little Libraries to check in on, and I left Charming Reads open while I ran out. I mean, my dad is there, but he’s probably asleep in the archives.”
I lifted my books in goodbye. “See ya soon!”
My steps were lighter after running into Amelia, if not faster. By the time the creepy crime scene tape near my house came into view, I’d forgotten about Mr. Paine’s murder for a blissful few minutes. The yellow plastic fluttered loosely in the breeze, having been partially knocked away by wildlife or the wind. I tried not to look, but memories of Mr. Paine’s slack face forced their way into my head and stalled my antsy feet. Should I fix the broken tape? My gut said to leave it alone, but my head worried that someone might mistake the downed barrier as an invitation to butt in while the investigation was still underway and maybe disturb crucial evidence that could lead to the killer.
I checked over both shoulders for lookie-loos. Amelia’s silhouette was nearly invisible in the distance behind me, and a pair of tiny figures near the surf were too far away to identify. I gave myself a pep talk, then reached for the broken tape. It was too short to re-tie easily.
I took another reluctant step forward and yanked one of the little wooden pegs from the ground, then moved it closer by a foot. I jammed it back into the soggy earth and grabbed the loose tape ends. There. Now I could tie the two together and protect the area within.
As I leaned over, my toe caught on an old busted boat oar and I pitched forward, catching myself with an outstretched hand. “Whoa.”
A rustling sound drew my attention, and I righted myself in a hurry, tossing the oar aside. I imagined an alligator lurking in the weeds and swallowing me whole. The entire town would speculate that I’d run away to hide my guilt over Mr. Paine’s murder.
“Hello?” I called.
No one answered.
I stepped away from the sound, back toward the safety of the wide-planked boardwalk, when something small and blue c
aught my eye in the waving grass. Not far, I realized, from where the odd rustling had occurred. I peered down into the darkness, hands on my knees, begging my eyes for better night vision.
“What are you?” I asked the object, creeping back the way I’d come.
Another nearby sound stopped my heart, and I jerked around in a tight one-eighty, sweeping my gaze from left to right and turning my back on the small blue item. I strained to see the source of movement in the darkness, but there was nothing.
Instinct told me someone was near. A shiver of fear ran down my spine and curled my toes inside my sneakers.
What if it was Mr. Paine’s killer returning to the scene of the crime?
I’d barely completed the thought before something broad and sturdy collided with my backside. I lurched forward toward the murky water, praying I wasn’t met by a hungry gator. A yelp burst from my lips as I fumbled to remain upright, but a half heartbeat later, a second resounding smack sent me tail over teakettle into the marsh.
The scream I let out as I fell into the water was nearly enough to unhinge my jaw. I choked on mouthfuls of duckweed and mud as I jolted out of the marsh, clawing my way back through the crime scene to safety. The muck sucked one of my shoes off in its desperation to keep me, and a cloud of gnats settled around my head like dirt following Pigpen on Peanuts.
The worn and busted boat oar rattled to a standstill on the boardwalk, abandoned by whoever had used it against me.
I collapsed beside it in a fit of tears, lungs burning, skin crawling. I swallowed back a second scream and wiped yuck from my nose and eyes. There was no one visible in any direction, save the set of distant figures in the surf, now near enough to recognize as a pair of tween boys, collecting sand and shells in swinging buckets. Whoever had done this to me was gone, and they’d taken whatever I’d seen in the weeds with them.