Milkshakes and Murder

by Christy Murphy

  DC sighed. "I don't think this is a good idea."

  "Then why did you come over and agree to take us on the stakeout?" Mom asked.

  "I didn't agree to a stakeout. I just thought we'd drive over to Brent's house and come back," DC said.

  "And not even wait for him to come home? Why bother driving us at all?" Mom said, crossing her arms.

  I couldn't help but wonder why he'd agreed to drive us around either, and I looked at him for an answer.

  And then I saw it–an embarrassed look. DC Cooper wasn't there for the case. He'd agreed to drive us around because he wanted to spend time with Mom and me. And if I'm honest, I think it was to spend more time with me than Mom.

  I was both flattered and annoyed. We'd done some great work on this case. He should take us seriously. I also knew Mom's idea of watching for Simon coming back down the mountain might give us a little more evidence. She'd definitely spooked him by showing him that rock. He was likely to take off soon.

  Listen," I said. "Let's all go to the Fletcher Diner and have some dinner. Then you're not on the stakeout with civilians. You're just hanging out with Mom and me. We'll get a table by the window and if we should happen to see Simon going up or down the mountain, we can take it from there. What do you think?"

  DC smiled, and I think he was up for the compromise. I turned to Mom to see if she was as well. She nodded yes. Look at me being all reasonable and grown-up about things.

  I know now I should've seen what Mom was up to from the beginning, but in my defense, DC's good looks distracted me, and Mom capitalized on that.

  We entered the diner. The place looked even worse than it had earlier in the week. It wasn't overcrowded with customers, but the tables without customers were covered with dirty dishes. The overworked staff was pushed past its limit.

  "When is The Lucky Dragon reopening?" Sheila yelled across the diner. "This is a two-restaurant town. Someone asked us if we could stir-fry rice. We don't even serve regular rice."

  "I think it's just a day or two more," Mom said.

  "Tell her to make it a day and pass on the two," Sheila said, taking the plates off of one table and pushing on to another.

  "We need one by the window," Mom said, grabbing menus from the hostess station and picking out the table with the best view. Then Mom grabbed some of the dirty dishes off the table and stacked them onto another table. I jumped to help, and DC took a rag off the counter and wiped our table.

  "Thanks," Sheila said. "I think my busboy had a nervous breakdown earlier today and wandered off. I hope he comes back tomorrow. Would you mind?" she asked as she threw her order-taking pad onto the table with a pen. "I need to get the dishwasher running, or you guys will have to eat all the food with your hands and drink out of the last clean glass."

  "What do you have left?" Mom asked as she slid into the booth. Out of habit I slid in next to her, ruining my chance to sit close to DC.

  "Any of the sandwiches that don't require turkey. We still got burgers, salads, and most of the breakfast stuff except sausage," Sheila called before pushing past the swinging door into the kitchen with an armload of dishes.

  "With all the talk around town about milkshakes, I think I'll get a milkshake and a burger," DC said, picking up the pad to write it down.

  "Very funny," Mom said, waiting for her turn for the pen. I watched as she wrote down the chef salad. I assumed she would just have them replace the turkey with ham.

  I just added the number two next to DC's order to keep it simple, and added a diet soda.

  Sheila reappeared to collect the written down orders, and Mom asked her if Al was in the kitchen. "Yep," she said. "He's been manning the grill himself."

  "I'll have to pop in and say hi later," Mom said. "We’ll be here a while so no need to rush."

  "Couldn't do it if I wanted to," Sheila said.

  We talked and passed the time. In a little while our drinks arrived. DC offered Mom a taste of his milkshake. "It's pretty good," she said. "Not as good as mine."

  We ate our food, talked more, and ordered coffee. A few hours went by, and the late lunch/early bird dinner patrons left in favor of the regular dinner crowd. DC was a good conversationalist, and he laughed at all of my jokes. Mom excused herself to go talk to Al in the kitchen, leaving DC and I alone.

  It seemed obvious Mom didn’t really need to talk to Al, and she’d left so DC and I could have time alone, but I didn't mind.

  "So," DC said. "This is what a date with you might look like." He looked around the place. "Except with less dishes and in a place more romantic."

  Holy smokes! This handsome and completely employed man said the word "date" in reference to me.

  "And I'll imagine that my mother isn't on the date with us," I said.

  "That would be handy," DC said with a laugh. We both laughed that particular type of laugh that was a little harder than what was funny, but it was evidence we were getting along.

  Our eyes locked. I was able to keep myself from giggling, but I couldn't stop my smile. Here's the thing about my smile, it's all cheeks and teeth. Even though I don't have the classic Asian eyes that my mother has, when I smile, they get small and squinty.

  "You have a beautiful smile," DC said. At first I thought he was being sarcastic, because of my self consciousness, but when I looked at him, I could tell he meant it.

  His complement stunned me. It's so odd to receive a genuine compliment about something that you'd always thought was a liability.

  "And you're incredibly good looking," I heard myself say. He smiled. "It's almost disturbing," I went on, and his smile morphed into a questioning look. What I’d meant was that it was odd for to me to be with someone so good looking and have them not be critical of my looks—another first.

  Smooth Christy, real smooth.

  But before I could apologize or fix any of that, I saw something out the window–a skinny man heading toward a blue car parked on the street, and another figure crossing the street heading toward him. It was hard to make out who they were, because it was just getting dark. But there was something familiar about the way the figure crossing the street walked.

  "Mom!" I said as I recognized her pony tail swinging back and forth.

  "What?" DC said snapping his head in the direction, but his eyes focused on something else. "Is he carrying a pickaxe?"

  I dashed out of the diner without answering. Mom had given us the slip!

  Mom and Me

  The distance from the diner to Mom and Simon was a lot further than it had looked from the window. And yes, it was a pickaxe in Simon's hand. Mom was confronting a possible murderer holding a pickaxe, and somehow my running was supposed to help the situation. This was like every personal nightmare rolled into one.

  I kept my eyes trained on the two of them as I ran. I saw Simon fall to his knees and drop the axe. He put his head in his hands, and judging from the shake of his shoulders, I think he might've been crying. I slowed down to quiet myself and not upset the delicate balance. Whatever Mom was saying was keeping her out of danger. I crept closer in case it didn’t stay that way.

  "Is she doing it again?" DC whispered into my ear as he put his hand on my shoulder. I hadn't even realized that he was right behind me. I guess he learned to be stealthy in detective school. It took me a moment to nod yes, because, of course, I was distracted by my proximity to DC. Insert eye roll here.

  "Jo, I swear I didn't mean it," Simon said. "I'd started searching for gold just for the heck of it. I didn't intend to do a full-on mine. That's against the law."

  "But something changed," Mom said.

  "Brent figured out what I was up to, and he threatened me."

  "You could've gone to the police," she said.

  "It wasn't that simple."

  "Not when there's gold," Mom said. "Don't you watch the movies? Don't you know how it hypnotizes people with greed."

  "Jo, you have to believe me. When I found out the way he was going to try to get the gold from the roc
k, it was awful. It would destroy the ground water, and it would make so much noise that we were sure to be caught. But then he came up with a plan for the construction here at the foot of the hill. I thought if you were mayor, you'd figure out a way to keep the trail open."

  "So you fought with him," Mom said, keeping Simon on track with his confession.

  "I can't believe she's done it again," DC whispered to me.

  DC had no idea. He didn’t grow up with Mom. She made us kids confess all the time.

  "He wouldn't listen to reason, Jo. You gotta understand. We argued. He got physical first, and pushed me. He’s got a hundred pounds on me. I had to pick up the shovel. It was self defense. And even after I hit him, he seemed fine. He left to go home and get ready to be judge. Then he tried your milkshake and died."

  "You need to go to the police," Mom said.

  "No, Jo. Maybe he didn't die because I hit him with that shovel," Simon said, no longer crying.

  "The police said it was a concussion," Mom said.

  "It could’ve been from falling after getting sick on your milkshake," Simon said, his voice turning steely as he reached for the ax.

  "Detective Cooper wouldn't appreciate you trying to kill me," Mom said.

  "What?" Simon asked, confused and distracted.

  DC had already rushed over to Mom. How did she know he was there?

  "I wouldn't advise it," DC said.

  Simon dropped the ax. I could tell DC's presence surprised him. For a solid hunk of man, that detective moved darn quick and quiet. I hadn't even realized he'd left my side.

  DC pulled out his handcuffs. "Move away from the axe and and put your hands behind your head."

  DC arrested Simon and took him to his truck in the parking lot of the diner. Sheila and Al were both standing in the parking lot. The dinner crowd had their faces pressed up against the window.

  "Did you just arrest him?" Al asked DC.

  DC didn't answer and turned to me instead. "Looks like we’ll have to finish where we left off on another night."

  "Looks like it," I replied, and I didn't stop myself from smiling.

  "It was just like what you said in the kitchen," Al said to Mom as DC pulled away. "Simon killed Brent. How did you know?"

  "Listen," Sheila said. " I need to hear this, but I have tables waiting. You two come inside and tell us all."

  "I don't know," Mom said. "It's getting late, and I don't want to be a bragger."

  But I knew Mom enjoyed talking about solving mysteries. "You might as well tell them, Mom. Our ride home just left."

  "It's settled," Sheila said grabbing Mom by the hand and leading us inside. "I'll take you home, but the cost of the ride is all the gory details. You might as will spill it now, because everybody's going to be talking about this. You can't keep secrets in Fletcher Canyon."

  Sheila turned around to face me. "And don't even think that nobody notices about cute little you and that detective."

  Mom and I sat in our well-worn booth at the back of the re-opened Lucky Dragon. Wenling had gone to help out in the kitchen. The restaurant had been slammed with people who'd missed the food and were eager to hear all about the murder and gold.

  "Did you text DC today to tell him we re-opened?" I asked Mom. She'd advised me to dress up this morning. So, I did my hair and makeup, thinking maybe she'd arranged for him to meet us for lunch, but it was getting late.

  "No," Mom said picking up her phone. "But that's a good idea."

  I stopped her from texting him. "We have to meet with my divorce attorney at three, so maybe we should wait."

  "He might stop by anyway," Mom said.

  "It’s no big deal," I lied. Mom smiled and took a sip of her coffee. She knew I liked him.

  We sat alone in the booth, and I figured now might be a good time to talk to Mom about her sister. I'd been waiting for an opportunity to bring up the papers I'd found about Aunt Lalaine's death. Meeting Dar-dar had given me an opening. "Let’s try to contact Dar's Mom on video chat. He said she had news."

  Mom paused.

  The bell over the door tinkled. A familiar voice asked, "Are they here?"

  "Follow me," I heard Wenling say. I turned around and saw her lead Todd Fletcher and Solomon to our side of the dining room.

  "Is this where all the action happens?" Todd asked.

  "We discuss the cases right at this back booth," Wenling said.

  I noticed Solomon had his camera slung around his shoulder. I turned to Mom. "What's going on?"

  "Wen, go get the bag," she said. Wenling dashed into the kitchen and came back with a shopping bag and handed it to Mom.

  Mom reached inside and whipped out two Sherlock-style deerstalker hats, a pipe, and a magnifying glass. "It's the photo shoot for the Best of Edition. We're Fletcher Canyon's best catering crime solvers."

  "Maybe Wenling should be with you in the picture," I said.

  "I'm already in it for best egg roll," Wenling said. "Besides you're the Watson, and she's the Sherlock."

  "The mother-daughter thing is a great angle," Todd said. "And this is for the cover." He added that last bit as if it made things better. But I knew that for us to be on the cover of the paper, the photo would be huge, and my cheeks looked big enough in a thumbnail.

  Mom put the deerstalker hat on my head and then held out the detective-y props. "Magnifying glass or pipe?"

  I looked around the room for a quick exit, but all I saw were their smiling faces waiting for me to choose. And it struck me. I was among friends. They didn't care about my toothy grin or my round face. Why should I? Change is good. No. More. Hiding.

  So I took the magnifying glass, and we posed for photos. Lots and lots of photos. People came over to watch.

  It turned out to be fun.

  Solomon showed us the pictures after we were finished. I stared at the little screen, noticing how the magnifying glass called attention to my eyes—making their squinty-ness all the more apparent.

  "I think that's the one for the cover," Todd Fletcher said as Solomon paused on a photo of Mom and I with our heads together, smiling, Mom with pipe in mouth, and me with magnifying glass in hand, both staring right into the camera. My toothy grin, big cheeks, and squinty eyes magnified.

  "I do, too," Solomon said. "You can see the family resemblance."

  Mom turned to me. "Do you like it, kid?" She knew how self conscious I was about photographs.

  I bent over to take a closer look. "I love it."

  My response surprised Mom. But looking at that picture with us smiling cheek to cheek, happy and confident, I noticed a part of me I'd never seen before—the part of me that was like my mom.

  A Note from the Author (and her mom)

  "I finished another book about us solving mysteries," I said to Mom as I took a break from my ravioli with meatballs. My sister, Mom, and I had decided to go out for Italian. "Do you have anything to say to our readers?"

  "What’s this one called?" Mom asked.

  "Milkshakes and Murder."

  "We don’t have to make milkshakes, do we?"

  "I think most people know how to make milkshakes," I said.

  "Good, because I'm still waiting for the store to stock mangoes to make that cake. We might have to go to the Farmer's Market," Mom said referencing book one in this series, Mango Cake and Murder, and the many requests for the cake recipe.

  Mom wanted me to tell you that she'll help me make a cake soon and that she's glad that people like the books. "But they know it's not real. Right, kid?" she asked me, worried that she'd disappoint people if they were to meet.

  "Yes, they know it's not really real, but it partly real," I teased knowing that if you met my mother, you wouldn't be disappointed.

  Mom laughed. "You always got carried away with your imagination. Think of something good for me to say."

  I called Mom again a few days later and asked her about solving mysteries. She told me a person had to have a talent for it, but like anything, she believed that it to
ok practice. "Like writing books," she said.

  "Or cooking," I added.

  "Yes," Mom agreed knowing that I'm trying to be a better cook.

  I think I'm a slightly better cook than my fictional counterpart, but Mom has promised to help me with several recipes before she goes back to the Philippines. For more information on new books, recipes, freebies, and other special offers, join Mom and Christy's Mysteries Club here:

  http://christymurphy.com/m3/

  (If link doesn’t work just copy and paste into your browser.)

  Mom says hi!

  Regards,

  Christy

  P.S. You might have noticed that there's a private investigator named Eddie Harlow in this book. She's going to have her own series. And as a side note: she's named after my older sister, Edie. Yes, my sister's name is Edie Murphy, and many people accidentally called her Eddie, but I'm the one with the typo on my birth certificate.

  So stay tuned! Mom and Christy's Cozy Mysteries continues! And this year I’m launching a new private investigator suspense series featuring Eddie Harlow.

  Thank you for reading. Your wonderful reviews, Email, and Facebook messages have inspired me.

  Also by Christy Murphy

  Mango Cake and Murder

  Apple Pies and Alibis

  Milkshakes and Murder

  Mocha and Murder

  Coconuts and Crooks

  Honey Buns and Homicide

  Marshmallows and Murder