Hot Fudge Murder

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Let’s get back to work,” I said. “We don’t want him to know we’ve been gawking at him.”

  “Wow,” Willow said breathlessly. “He’s really a hunk.”

  “Think so?” I replied loftily. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Willow cast me a strange look, giving me the feeling that she noticed that I’d noticed.

  And once he strode into Lickety Splits, I noticed something else: that he was even better-looking close up.

  “Hey!” he greeted the four of us with a big grin. Wouldn’t you know it, he also had a perfect set of gleaming white teeth. And eyes that were a remarkable shade of green. Not fake-looking like Federico’s, either. This was the real deal.

  We all responded with a hello or another “Hey.”

  “I thought I’d introduce myself, since I’m the new kid on the block,” he said. Turning to face me, he said, “I’m Brody Lundgren. I just opened up a shop across the street.”

  “Welcome,” I said.

  “Thanks,” he said, his smile widening to reveal even more perfect teeth.

  The man positively exuded healthiness. Animal sexiness, too.

  I got the feeling that by this point Emma had noticed as well.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” she cooed, draping herself across the table like one of the barmaids in a Western. “We can’t wait to hear all about this new business of yours!”

  Brody shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve always loved being outdoors. Kayaking, swimming, camping, mountaineering. . . I grew up doing all that stuff and loving it. So I decided to find a way to make those activities available to everybody. And the Hudson Valley is the perfect place to enjoy them. This part of the country has everything: mountains, rivers, forests . . . Besides arranging tours, I also plan to sell clothes and footwear and whatever supplies people may need. Kayaks, tents, whatever.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” Willow cooed. She was looking at Brody the same way I’d seen people gaze at one of my Bananafana Splits.

  “Are you from around here?” Emma asked. In addition to her unnatural posture, she was now batting her eyelashes as if she were playing a siren in a silent movie.

  Fortunately, Brody seemed oblivious. “Actually,” he replied, “I was born in Washington.”

  “Washington, D.C.?” Willow asked.

  Brody chuckled. “Everybody on the East Coast assumes the same thing. By now I should have learned to be more specific. I’m from Washington State. I was born in Seattle. When I was seven my family moved to Oregon. A little town near the Columbia River Gorge. Do you know anything about that area?”

  All four of us shook our heads.

  “It’s a great place,” he explained. His green eyes grew dreamy as he added, “It’s kind of like this area, but on an even grander scale. Big mountains nearby for rock climbing, tremendous cliffs along the Columbia River for spelunking, rapids to ride and caves to explore . . . I grew up with two younger brothers and parents who loved being outdoors as much as we kids did. Every spare minute the five of us had, we spent outside. Hiking, fishing, skiing and snowshoeing in the winter . . .”

  “Sounds like nirvana,” Ethan said wistfully. “The state of mind, not the group.”

  Ethan, a secret spelunker? And here I’d thought the only exercise he ever got was plugging his iPhone into the wall to recharge it.

  “It is Nirvana,” Brody agreed. “At least, it is to me.”

  “So how come you left?” Willow asked.

  Brody grinned. “The love of a good woman. My fiancée moved back east to try making it as a dancer on Broadway.”

  “So you’re married?” Willow asked. She was deflating so quickly I could practically feel a breeze.

  “Nope,” Brody said. His smile turned rueful. “Wouldn’t you know it, the relationship fizzled as soon as we got here. The fact that she had to live in the city to take classes and go to auditions sure didn’t help. I’m not a city guy. Never have been, and never will be.”

  He shrugged. “Since I’d already relocated to New York State, I decided to see if there was an area nearby where I could start a business doing what I love most. You know, someplace where there were enough people to support it. And a place where I could find good employees, too, people who are as comfortable in a cave or on a mountain as I am. I figured I’d lead some tours myself but that I’d mostly hire local people to be guides. It also seemed to make sense to sell and rent equipment. Anyway, I did some research about where would be a good place to base my business, and, well, here I am.”

  “Here you are,” Willow repeated dreamily.

  “And what about you?” Brody asked.

  You’d have thought he was addressing all four of us. Instead, he seemed to be looking directly at me.

  I assumed it was because I was the only one wearing the Lickety Splits apron, which gave me official status. “I opened this shop at the start of the summer,” I told him. “Back in June. Before that, I worked in public relations and lived in the city.”

  Almost apologetically, I added, “Unlike you, I loved it. But I grew up here in Wolfert’s Roost, and my grandmother, who pretty much raised me, suddenly needed help. So I came back, moved in with Grams, opened a business I’d always fantasized about, and, well, here I am.”

  “It sounds like you and I have a lot in common,” Brody observed.

  Ignoring his comment, I continued, “Willow, here, who happens to be my best friend, has a story that’s just like yours and mine. She teaches yoga here in town. It’s been her passion since college. Emma is my niece. She’s staying with my grandmother and me for a while. And Ethan . . . well, he’s her friend. He’s from around here, too.”

  Brody acknowledged each one of them with a nod, then turned back to me.

  “So do you live in town?” he asked.

  “Yup,” I replied. “Less than half a mile from here. Do you know Sugar Maple Way?”

  “I do,” he said. “It’s a few blocks away from where I’m renting a place. I pass it all the time. That’s your street?”

  I nodded. “I live in the yellow Victorian with the wonderful porch.” I couldn’t help adding, “It’s the house that looks as if it needs a little yard work.”

  His expression suddenly grew earnest.

  “So what’s this I’ve been hearing about a murder?” he asked. “Is that just some crazy rumor, or is it actually true?”

  “I’m afraid it’s true,” I said.

  I filled him in on what I knew. I also assured him that today wasn’t a typical Sunday in Wolfert’s Roost. After all, I didn’t want him to think he’d made a mistake in opening his business here. Not on his very first day.

  “Well, keep me posted if you hear anything about this murder business,” he said. “I should probably get back to the shop. I was going to have an opening-day sale, but it doesn’t look as if any one of us is going to see much action today.”

  Glancing at the four of us, he said, “Honestly, feel free to stop over any time. I’ll show you around my new place. I’m really proud of it. This is a big deal for me.”

  “We’ll do that,” Ethan said, nodding vigorously. “We can talk about bungee jumping.”

  “Definitely, bro.” The two of them did one of those obnoxious guy handshakes, the one that makes it look like they’re arm-wrestling.

  Then he nodded at Willow and Emma, saying, “Great meeting you both.”

  I was starting to feel a little slighted. But then he came right up to where I was standing and leaned forward so that his face was only a few inches away from mine. His eyes were positively boring into mine.

  With a smile that would have put James Franco to shame, he added, “And I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

  I told myself that the chill that ran over me was simply because Willow was deflating again.

  As he sailed out of the shop, the four of us remained silent for a few seconds.

  “Whoa,” Emma finally said with a loud sigh. “Is he hot or what?” She
was shaking one hand as if it had just touched a hot stove. Or perhaps wandered somewhere else where it was likely to get into trouble.

  “He’s even more of a hunk up close than he is from across the street,” Willow said wistfully, sinking into a chair.

  “He’s a very nice-looking guy,” I said, doing my best to sound neutral. “In fact,” I added, turning to Willow, “he strikes me as someone who’d be perfect for you. He’s athletic, he loves nature and doing outdoorsy things . . .”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Right. Except there’s one small problem.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It was you he couldn’t keep his eyes off!” she replied.

  I was about to scoff when Emma piped up, “She’s right, Kate. That guy Brody was checking you out practically the whole time he was here. He looked like he’d just stumbled upon the most spectacular flavor of ice cream in the world.”

  “Yeah,” Ethan agreed, nodding so that his mass of black bangs bobbed up and down. “The dude is totally into you.”

  “You guys!” I wailed. “You’re all nuts.”

  Still, I could feel my face turning the color of the raspberries I put in my Berry Blizzard ice cream. Which only made the smug looks they were all exchanging all the more embarrassing.

  I could feel my cheeks growing even redder when the door of the shop opened and in strode Jake Pratt.

  Jake Pratt, who owned and operated the Juniper Hill Organic Dairy on the edge of town, the source of the milk and cream that I regularly used to work my culinary magic. Jake Pratt, who had startlingly blue eyes whose color was made even more pronounced by the robin’s-egg-blue shirt he was wearing with jeans.

  Jake Pratt, with whom I have what might be called a “history.”

  “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted Emma and me. Glancing over at Ethan, he asked, “How’s it going, Ethan?”

  “Hi, Jake,” I said, keeping my eyes down so he wouldn’t see how flustered I was by his unexpected appearance. Especially at that particular moment.

  My muddled state got even worse when Jake casually asked, “Who was that?” He gestured toward the street behind him with his thumb.

  “The owner of the shop that just opened across the street,” Emma replied.

  “Which is going to be totally awesome,” Ethan said. “The dude’s opening a shop that sells adventure.”

  “What does that mean?” Jake asked, looking startled.

  “It means he arranges expeditions for people who want to enjoy the Hudson Valley’s natural beauty,” I explained. “Kayaking, rock climbing, hiking, all those outdoor activities that granola bars were invented for.”

  Jake nodded. “Cool. We could use something like that.”

  “I bet Kate could,” Emma said with a smirk.

  I glared at her.

  “I thought Kate was more of an indoor type,” Jake commented.

  Emma smiled sweetly. “There are also all kinds of indoor adventures—”

  “This was fun,” Willow interrupted, rising from her seat, “but I’m heading out.”

  I cast her a look of gratitude. A change of subject was exactly what was needed.

  “I’ve got a few classes scheduled for later this afternoon,” she went on, “and I really need to clean the studio before people start arriving.” She wrinkled her nose. “The last thing I want is for my clients’ yoga mats to start picking up dust bunnies.”

  “I gotta get going, too,” Ethan said. Holding up his tattered novel, he added, “I’ve almost made it to the halfway point.”

  “And I should get back to work,” Emma said with a sigh.

  “You can take a few hours off,” I told her. Glancing toward the window with a frown, I said, “I don’t think I’m going to be very busy today. You might as well enjoy this beautiful day.”

  “Great!” she said, her face lighting up. “In that case, I’m going to go ask Brody about bungee jumping.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. But my niece must have read my mind. Before I had a chance to say a word, she said, “Just to find out more about it, Kate. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything crazy. At least, not without your permission.”

  All of a sudden, Lickety Splits was empty. Except for Jake and me, of course.

  “Pretty wild, isn’t it?” he said. “What’s going on out there, I mean?”

  “Insane,” I ageed. “Omar DeVane’s murder is putting Wolfert’s Roost on the map. And not in a good way.”

  His expression grew earnest. “Are you okay? I mean, you were there last night, weren’t you? At the guy’s house?”

  I nodded. “It was kind of surreal,” I said. “One minute, a houseful of glamorous people were enjoying a lovely evening, and then all of a sudden—”

  I didn’t finish my sentence. There was no need to.

  “I bet you were pretty shaken up,” Jake said. Frowning, he added, “Emma and Ethan were there, too, weren’t they?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Willow, too.”

  “How are they all doing?” Jake asked.

  “Everyone is fine,” I assured him. “We were all upset, of course. But aside from the shock, it’s not as if any of us actually knew the man.”

  “True,” Jake agreed. “I just hope Detective Stoltz doesn’t start bothering you. After all, you do have a way of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I think Stoltz realizes that I was only an innocent bystander,” I assured him.

  “Good. But if you ever need a lawyer, don’t forget that that’s what I used to be before I became a dairy magnate.” Glancing out the window, he said, “I just hope they find the killer soon. I hate what this is doing to Wolfert’s Roost.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed, glancing at my display cases filled with lovely vats of ice cream. “Want some ice cream? It looks so lonely, sitting there with no one to eat it.”

  Jake grinned. “That’s definitely something I can help you with.”

  For him, I filled a large cup with Strawberry Banana Blast—strawberry ice cream studded with chocolate-covered strawberries and chunks of chocolate-covered bananas. For me, it was Cappuccino Crunch, my personal version of breakfast.

  “Have some berries and bananas,” I told him, joining him at the table where he’d sat down. “Fruit is good for you.”

  He didn’t waste any time before digging in. I was starting to wonder if there was some other reason he’d stopped by—other than to ask how my ’Cream Team and I had weathered the events of the night before—when he said with unnatural casualness, “So-o-o, there’s this Spanish movie I was thinking of going to see.” He kept his eyes fixed on the beautiful bevy of berries in front of him. “It’s by that director whose name I can never pronounce. Anyway, it’s playing at the Rhinebeck Cinema all week. I wondered if you might like to join me.”

  I was glad I’d just shoveled a golf-ball-sized glob of Cappuccino Crunch into my mouth since I needed time to think.

  Was Jake asking me for a date? Or was he simply looking for someone to go to the movie with, perhaps someone who would be able to teach him how to pronounce Pedro Almod-óvar’s name?

  When it came to Jake, I still wasn’t sure.

  I also wasn’t sure whether I wanted it to be a date.

  Which is why I was surprised when I heard these unexpected words pop out of my mouth: “Sure. That sounds great.”

  After all, it’s only a movie, I told myself. A chance to do something fun.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, the news crews had vanished.

  I stood at the window, watching the photographers and videographers packing their cameras back into black canvas bags and the reporters climbing into their cars and taking off.

  Suddenly, Wolfert’s Roost was a ghost town.

  When Emma drifted back to the shop, ready to work, she froze as soon as she walked in.

  “Really?” she cried. “There’s literally no one here?”

  I cast her a woeful look. “Apparently this is an
other example of how crime doesn’t pay.”

  My cleverness was wasted on her. “Do you want me to stand outside and hand out free samples? Maybe that would help get customers in here.”

  I shook my head. “I can see the sidewalk perfectly from here. And the problem isn’t that no one’s coming in. The problem is that no one is even out there! Now that the media folks are gone, we might as well roll up the sidewalks.”

  I sighed. “In fact, you might as well take the rest of the day off. I’ll stay, just in case something changes. But there’s certainly no reason for both of us to hang around here.”

  After she left and I was debating whether or not to allow myself to eat even more ice cream, I heard the door open. I glanced up excitedly.

  But I realized immediately that the two women coming into my shop weren’t customers.

  Selma Silver and Palma Lanciani were the owners of Stitchin’ Time, the quilting shop a few doors down. The two women had opened their store back in the 1990s, when Wolfert’s Roost was still called Modderplaatz. Back in those days, their only customers were local women who loved cutting up fabric and then sewing it back together again, albeit in very different ways. Grams had been one of their regulars since the start.

  But since then, word had spread. For a modest-sized store, it offered an amazing selection of fabrics. Bright splashy batiks, solids in every shade imaginable, and hundreds of novelty fabrics. Even though I was about as handy with a needle and thread as Digger, I loved going in there with Grams and examining the bolts of material printed with skiers or puppies or flowers or polka dots. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could ever make a choice.

  Then again, I felt the same way about ice cream.

  The shop also carried a huge selection of notions. Thread in every color, an endless selection of needles and hoops and scissors and rotary cutters, pincushions shaped like hearts or little houses or even donuts. Then there were all the items whose purpose was a complete mystery to me.

  But the reason that Stitchin’ Time had become so incredibly successful was its two proprietors. Both Selma and Palma were expert quilters. They were remarkably patient, too. The two women were happy to spend as much time as was required to talk their customers through whatever quilting challenges they happened to be facing. I knew this because I’d seen them give Grams a tutorial in a technique called Stack-’n’-Whack. The effect of stacking and whacking fabric, it turns out, is astounding patterns that remind me of a kaleidoscope.