by Tara Lush
"They never stop. The owner rents that apartment out to tourists, and I’m starting to think it’s reserved for frat guys only."
Zander turned to face me and killed the car's ignition. My heart sped up because I knew I'd soon have to make a decision.
Invite him into my apartment, or not?
I cleared my throat. "Zander."
He reached for my hand. "Hadley, let’s clear the air. I was really close to kissing you tonight.”
Yessss.
“But it was way too soon."
Womp, womp.
"No, it wasn't. I mean, maybe it was. I don't know." I paused and chewed on my lip. "I just got out of a bad relationship in New Hampshire and…"
"And you don't want to start anything new. I get it."
My eyes widened and I squeezed his fingers in mine. "Wait. No! That's not it at all. I'm all about starting. And new. I just want to go slow, is all. My heart was shattered late last year. That's all. I want to make sure it's strong enough to begin again. I think it is."
He tilted his head. "I probably shouldn't ask, but who was the jerk who shattered your heart?"
Did I really want to get into the long, sordid, and depressing story of Connor? My stomach fizzed with champagne and sudden shame.
"We'd dated since high school. Were prom king and queen, blah blah. I stayed and went to business school locally at a nearby small university, he went to Boston. When he graduated, he came back and promptly started sleeping around. Everyone knew but me."
I hesitated. Retelling the story made me bone-tired. "I found out because someone in town posted a list of all his conquests on Facebook, with photos. And tagged me."
Zander winced. "Oh, Hadley. I'm sorry."
I stared at our intertwined fingers. "Yeah. I was supposed to open my ice cream business up there, for the summer tourists. But after that, I couldn't face anyone in town. I packed up and drove to Devil’s Beach by myself. I was done with him and New England life."
I looked up and smiled triumphantly. "And I'm glad I did. No regrets."
"I'm glad, too."
Silence hung in the air as we stared at each other for a few seconds.
"Why don't I walk you to your door? Don't worry, this isn't a ploy to get an invitation to come inside. I just want to know you're safe. Those guys at that party over there look pretty drunk."
"I'd appreciate that," I whispered. I snuck a glance to the open door of the apartment downstairs, where two guys were guzzling what I assumed to be beer from what looked like a garden hose. Again, I had to admire Zander's quick powers of observation.
We held hands as we walked up the flight of stairs to the second floor. A couple of guys from the party hollered at us, something about Prince Charming and kissing a frog. My instinct was to retort something snarky, but I kept my mouth shut.
Zander and I paused at my door.
"Thanks again for everything. The costume, the evening. I'd like to do it again, maybe without the murder investigation part." I figured the chances of us seeing each other again were about fifty-fifty now that I'd shared with him my tale of woe. "But I still want to get to the bottom of your aunt's death."
He smiled. "Same. We’ll definitely do this again. We've still got a couple more people from the party to check out. One is a friend of my aunt's, a florist. Her name's Lillian Pope, and she owns a store called Kabloom. Let me think about the best way to approach her. I'll text you tomorrow."
"Sounds good."
"And Hadley?"
"Yeah?" I looked into his eyes.
"You're really brave. I admire that about you. Not many people would start fresh like you did, in a whole new state, with no friends or family."
I shrugged. "I guess I was just following my inner eccentric."
He laughed softly and kissed my forehead. My insides turned to goo from the intimate, romantic gesture. I let out a pleasurable sigh and dug my keys out of my bag. I twisted the key in the top lock and glanced at Zander.
"What?" His brow furrowed. "I want to see you again. I just want to give you space and respect your wishes to go slow."
"No, it's not that."
"Then why the sigh?"
"That was a happy sigh."
"It was?" He was so adorable when he had that slightly confused look on his face.
I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss against his grin. "Yes. Because forehead kisses are totally underrated. Especially from guys dressed like Prince Charming."
Ten
Saturday melted away like sweet vanilla soft serve on a Florida sidewalk in August.
I sold cone after cone. Hundreds of them, more than I'd ever moved since opening my business. Probably because the beachfront was packed for a sand sculpture festival. If business was like this every day, I'd have to hire someone to stay afloat.
The thought sent a zing of pride through me and kept me energized for hours. Back when I was in New Hampshire, Connor had scoffed at the idea of an artisan ice cream van. First he said that only pervy old guys drove ice cream trucks, then, when he saw my lavender-striped van, had called it "too cutesy for real life."
Well, the line that was ten deep outside my van's window was also real life. A little, vindictive part of me wished Connor could see how successful I was. But mostly, I sailed along, scooping the day away.
In my few moments of downtime, I traded texts with Zander. He was at the office, working on his new roller coaster project, and to be honest, I was secretly glad he didn't ask if I wanted to hang out because by the time I was finished at nine p.m., I was beat.
My eyelids barely stayed open as I drove the few miles home, and I dragged myself up the stairs and fell onto the sofa. I reached for my phone. Zander had wanted me to text him when I arrived home safely.
Made it home. So exhausted, I tapped. I'm going to take a hot bath and fall into bed. Today was crazy. My best day since coming to Devil’s Beach, sales-wise. I think I'm going to take tomorrow off.
Proud of you. Probably a good idea to relax tomorrow. When was the last time you had a day off?
I squinted in the direction of my kitchen. Each week had blurred into the next. I can't remember. I think it was ten days ago.
Hadley, you don't want to get burned out. My only regret is that I'm working all weekend and can't take you to brunch. The executives at my company need this report on the new ride by Monday. It has to be perfect because we're testing soon and we want everything perfect for state regulators.
I wasn't sure what testing a ride entailed, but I figured it had bureaucratic red tape involved.
We'll have brunch some other weekend. Promise.
It's a plan.
We typed our goodnights, and I ran a bath. I stripped off my clothes, which were heavily scented with vanilla from a day inside the ice cream van.
As much as I was thinking about Zander, I was equally ruminating about how we'd struck out at the party. The mystery of Linda's death had taken hold of me and wouldn't let go. I dipped a toe into the piping hot water and remembered what Zander had said about one of the other guests at the party.
Lillian Pope. She was a florist.
I slid my entire leg in, then the other, sucking in a breath. Maybe I could do some sleuthing on my own tomorrow. What was the name of her shop? It was something unusual. I closed my eyes and scooted down, sighing as the warm water overtook my skin. Then the name came to mind.
Kabloom.
Sunday dawned, blazingly hot and disgustingly sticky at ten in the morning. My van didn't have an air conditioner, and I wiped sweat from my forehead while driving through thick tourist traffic across the island.
I'd done my research on Kabloom and its owner, Lillian. From her Facebook page, she looked about thirty, which fit the voice I'd heard. She had several photos of herself on a beach in a bikini, some with a generically handsome guy about her age. They both had the same tan, the same toothpaste-white grin, the same flashing hardness in their eyes. They wore that slightly manic expression that's appa
rent in too many selfies. The I'm-trying-too-hard look.
The rest of her pictures were of beautiful bouquets. She sure was talented, and looking at all the bursting, blooming flowers made me hope that she wasn't the culprit.
Too bad there weren't any videos of her — I wouldn't feel compelled to drive to this strip mall, the last group of stores on the island before the bridge to the mainland, where Kabloom was located. It was sandwiched between a fresh fish joint and a place called Maid and Carrot. I was unsure what that sold.
The horn emitted a faint hooooonk as I pulled into the lot. I backed into a space in the far corner, under the shade of a squat palm tree. For a few minutes, I sat in silence, studying the outside of the floral shop. The window was decorated with what looked like a riot of pink roses, and I wondered if they were real.
I glanced at my cell phone. I hadn't told Zander I was coming here to snoop around, and I paused, wondering if I should. It was his aunt, after all. But a kernel of wariness had sprouted in me overnight.
Why had he been so kind to me? He barely knew me. Maybe I was having a difficult time accepting that someone could like me as is, after Connor. Or maybe the entire situation between Zander and me was just plain strange.
All I knew was that I wanted to do some investigating on my own, and I had a solid plan in mind. If I could clear Lillian from the suspect list, all the better for everyone.
I grabbed the insulated bag I'd packed at home. It was filled with two pints of my vanilla ice cream. After carefully locking the door — I'd have to get a mechanic to check that out because the lock was sticking in this humidity — I marched to Kabloom.
And discovered it was closed on Sundays.
"Crap," I whispered, looking around helplessly. The window décor was even more beautiful up close, and I discovered the cascade of pink roses was actually hundreds of delicate paper flowers. It was breathtaking. But if I wanted beauty, I'd have gone to a museum. I was on a mission.
My gaze landed on Maid and Carrot, the store next door. It appeared to be a hipster men's clothing store, with vintage Hawaiian shirts and colorful shorts. My brows drew together, wondering about the store's name. It made no sense.
I thought back to the funky, fashionable shorts Zander wore when I first met him, and took a few steps so I could peer into the shop window. Maybe he shopped here.
The lights blazed inside, and a lanky young guy about my age with a handlebar mustache was folding T-shirts. Might as well see what he knew about Lillian. I waltzed in and a column of bells attached to the door jangled.
"Morning! How's it going?" the guy called out.
"Hey. Not bad." I pretended to inspect a worn T-shirt with an iron-on sunrise.
"Everything in here's vintage. Mostly men's clothes, although some chicks buy stuff here too. You looking for a gift for your boyfriend? Or for you?"
I looked up at him, wondering how he got his mustache to be an exact replica of Salvador Dali's. Must be some kind of wax.
"Actually, I was wondering about the place next door. I'm delivering food, and she said I should drop off here." I thumped my bag with my hand. "But it looks like she's closed. I think there's been a mix-up and I don't seem to have her number."
"Aw she's always doing stuff like that. Lillian's a little flighty."
I nodded. "It's perishable, so I was curious if you had a number for her. Or maybe a home address."
He rubbed his neck. Please, please let this work… If I can just call, hear her voice, then hang up, I can glean all the information necessary.
"Naw, I don't have either of those. But I can let you into her store and you can put your stuff in her fridge in the back. She gave me a key because she's always losing hers."
I nearly gasped but caught myself and cleared my throat. "That would be great, thanks."
"Sure thing, babycakes. Follow me."
Babycakes? I grimaced as he led me through stacks of men's clothes, and the smell of mothballs tickled my nose. We passed the cash register and stepped through a doorless archway into a back room that was empty except for a small wooden desk covered in stacks of papers. A tired office chair was pushed toward the desk. Both were next to a door, and he took a ring of keys off a metal chain attached to the loop of his jeans.
As he unlocked the back door to Kabloom, I squeezed the strap of my bag with both hands to hide my shaking. What was the point of going inside if she wasn't there? But I couldn't back out now.
He swung the door open and waved his hand with a flourish. "There you go. The fridge is in the far corner. She keeps a bunch of crap in there. I'd just root around for a place to put your stuff."
The jangle of bells on the clothing store's front door rang out. We both turned to look. Two guys, both in porkpie hats, had walked in.
"I'm gonna help those dudes. Just shut the door on your way out, Gucci?"
I reared back. “Gucci?”
"Y’know, Gucci. It means good, okay, fine."
I laughed weakly. I clearly wasn’t versed in millennial slang, even though I was of the generation. Or maybe it was because I’d spent most of my life in an uncool small town. “Oh, right. Yeah, sure. Gucci. Gucci!”
As the hipster with the mustache hustled into his store, I tiptoed into Kabloom, quietly shutting the door behind me.
Eleven
Although there were no lights on in the shop, the enormous front window allowed the morning sunshine to filter in, giving a peach-hued softness to my surroundings.
I took a few steps in, and that's when the scent hit me. It was a heady mixture. Jasmine, freesia, rose, and lingering base notes of eucalyptus and something that I could only describe with a single word: green. It was as if I had walked into a fresh-cut bouquet, and I inhaled deeply, reveling in the smell.
But I needed to get a grip. What was I even doing in here, snooping around? On instinct, I moved toward the counter, past wooden tables filled with cut flowers in glass vases. There were plants, too, in plain yet elegant terra cotta pots.
Lillian clearly had a superior design eye because everything looked so perfect. Delicate pots of lavender were nestled next to tall vases of tulips. I wanted to stop and inspect things, but I didn't have the time.
How much time did I have, anyway?
I made it behind the counter, clutching the insulated cooler bag close to my body. While the store décor was neat and perfect, the counter and a table behind it were a disaster. Papers were scattered haphazardly around the cash register, as if someone had tried to create a stack of files and failed. I rifled through, looking for… well, what, I wasn't sure. There was no way I could go through all this stuff right now.
Gah. Shaking, I took my phone out of my jeans pocket and snapped a few photos, using the camera's flash. I opened one of the top files that said ORDERS in large, loopy cursive on the front and took a photo of all five papers inside.
As I was closing the file and about to scrutinize the paperwork behind me, I heard the back door pull open. I gasped.
"Hey, cutie, you find the fridge?"
I exhaled. It was the store clerk from next door. I rushed away from the counter and toward the door.
"Sure did, dude," I called out. I don't think he saw me near the cash register; a table filled with potted topiaries shaped like animals obscured the view.
I smiled tightly when I reached the door and saw him. "Thanks so much," I trilled, speeding past him. "I'll call her and let her know I dropped off the food."
Oh crap. Earlier I’d said I didn’t have Lillian’s number. Would he catch me in the lie? My heart migrated into my throat as I picked up speed through the shop.
"Sweet." The guy's long legs ate up the distance and he caught up with me. We paused near the front door of his shop. I looked up at him. Guilt was probably written all over my face.
"Listen, do you cater? I'm doing a party with a DJ and everything. Would love to have you cook something, like hot dogs. Want to grab a drink later and talk about it?" He grinned.
Was he serious? Or was he asking me on a date? Either way, I was relieved that he didn’t notice my fib.
"Uh, I don't cater." I put my hand on the door and pushed. The bells attached to the knob jangled. I stepped one foot out of the shop.
"We could still get that drink," he said, his eyes eager and hopeful.
"Thanks, but no. I've, uh, got a boyfriend."
And with that, I practically ran to my van and cranked the ignition. I don't think the engine ever fired up as fast as it did that day.
"Good girl," I murmured, patting the steering wheel as the old vehicle wheezed off.
My heart had stopped slamming against my chest after about three miles, and that's when my van's engine sputtered and died.
"No, come on," I yelled, thumping on the dashboard. I pumped the gas and twisted the key in the ignition off, then on. Nothing. It was deader than the flying cockroach I'd killed in my bathroom the previous night.
With a strangled groan, I coasted into the parking lot of an abandoned motel and grabbed my phone. Thank goodness for triple-A towing. My parents had insisted on paying for it, and I'm glad they did — I'd used it more than once since leaving New Hampshire.
The tow truck guy said he would arrive by eleven. Maybe I should just leave it here and walk home. It was only a few miles. Or use a ride share app. But I didn’t want to leave my precious van alone.
At noon, I fanned my face with the neckline of my T-shirt. Crap, it was scorching today, especially in the dead van.
I dialed the tow truck number again, and the driver answered right away.
"Hi. It's Hadley Mortimer. With the VW van. You were supposed to be here an hour ago?"
"Yeah, sorry, sweetheart. I'm stuck in hellacious traffic on the mainland. There's been a fatal with a tractor trailer that’s snarling everything. I'll get there as soon as I can. Sit tight."
"Thanks," I muttered. Sit tight? What else was I supposed to do?
Melt. That's what my insides felt like they were doing, and not in a swoony, Zander-like way. The faint throb of a headache knocked the inside of my skull.