A Deadly Inside Scoop

by Abby Collette

  I laughed. “I’m going to hang up my coat. You guys can take a break. I got this.”

  “I’m here to stay, too,” Maisie said, and followed me.

  “What have the two of you been up to?” Riya asked as she came in behind Maisie. “And how come you left me here to work and not take me along?”

  “We haven’t been up to anything,” I said.

  “Win went with me over to Molta’s.”

  “I thought Mrs. Crewse told me Win had gone out to check with her vendors for an event she was planning,” Riya said, giving us a disapproving eye.

  “My mother said that?” I asked.

  I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I mean, what was I going to say? I’m trying to clear Daddy’s name so he won’t go to jail for murder?

  “I ran into Maisie,” I said. “While I was out on business.”

  Technically, what I’d been doing counted as taking care of business. Family business.

  I didn’t so much care about Riya knowing what we’d been doing. I would have included her, and I would clue her in, too, after my mother left. I’d only gone to Maisie because she seemed to know more about what to do. Even if her knowledge stemmed from the television shows she watched.

  “Next time include me,” she said.

  “I will,” I said. “I promise.” I pointed at the trash and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on there?”

  “I told you your mother worked me until I dropped,” Riya said.

  “Doing what?” I remembered my mother said we hadn’t had a lot of customers.

  “Maisie had cut up the ingredients for ice cream that you didn’t get around to making, right?” Riya asked.

  “Oh, yeah, she did,” I said. “And no, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, so I had to make it,” Riya said.

  “We made it,” my mother shouted from the front. “Mostly me.”

  “Mostly me,” Riya mouthed and pointed to herself. “And”—her voice back to a normal volume—“I waited on customers and cleaned the back and the front and carried Felice upstairs.”

  “That’s a whole lot of ‘ands,’” I said. I walked over to the freezer and swung the door open. It was full. I smiled. “And a whole lot of work.”

  “You said that already,” Maisie said. She took a big bite out of a banana she had peeled.

  “Good job.” I nodded at the freezer as I shut the door. “And you know how much I appreciate you,” I said, and flung my arms around Riya’s neck and kissed her on her cheek. “A girl couldn’t ask for a better best friend.” I let go of her and grabbed my coat back off the rack where I’d just hung it and stuck my hat on top of my head. “I’ll take out the trash. It’s the least I can do.”

  I got it together and went out the side door.

  “Hi, Mrs. Cro,” I said. She was taking out her trash at the same time.

  Isabella Cro was the owner of The Flower Pot. She’d owned the store for the last year or so. It had sat vacant for a while after Mr. Clawson closed down his bike repair shop. I remembered my mother saying she’d gotten a good deal on it. Mrs. Cro had told me that owning a flower shop had been her lifelong dream, although she wasn’t able to open one until, according to her, her life was almost over.

  “Hi, Win,” she said, pushing the top down on her garbage dumpster. “I’m so glad you’re finished with all that remodeling over there.”

  “Sorry if it bothered you,” I said. “Rivkah said the same thing. Too much noise.”

  “If it hadn’t stopped soon, I was going to sell my store.”

  “Was it that bad?” I asked.

  “Worse than you could imagine.”

  Older people must be more attuned and sensitive to loud noises, I thought. I couldn’t recall it being loud at all.

  Mrs. Cro was probably around sixty-five. She was tall and thin and reminded me of a ballerina. Her long black hair, which she usually wore in a bun, had been mostly replaced with gray.

  “Well, it’s all over,” I said. “So you don’t have to sell your store.”

  “Are you selling any ice cream?” she asked.

  “Yes, we are.” I smiled. “My Grandma Kay’s recipes bring people out for ice cream even in the cold.”

  She closed her eyes and smiled. “Yes, Kaylene made the best ice cream. We spoke often about doing what you love and making your dreams come true.”

  “My grandma didn’t mind passing out encouragement,” I said. “In big scoops or small ones.”

  “No, she didn’t.” She nodded in agreement.

  “Mrs. Cro, you didn’t happen to lose a puppy the day before yesterday, did you?” I asked. I knew that Stephen Bayard had gotten that puppy from somewhere. My grandfather believed he’d stolen it. Standing here talking to her, I thought maybe he’d stolen it from her. He had said that he’d found it on her stoop.

  “A puppy? No. But there was a commotion at the store that day.”

  “The day before yesterday?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It looked like someone broke into the store. Came down through here.” She pointed to the ground.

  “Through here?” I said, and looked up the alleyway to the street.

  “Yes,” she said. “To break into the door.” She pointed at it.

  “Oh my,” I said. “I saw a police car outside here. But I thought it had to do with the guy who died. What did they take?”

  “That’s the thing,” she said. “They didn’t take anything. At least as far as I could tell. They were in the back storage room. Some kind of in-wall safe was behind a fake wall that I didn’t know was there. I hadn’t done anything in there after I bought it but store things. I don’t know that I would have noticed that wall anyway. It was concealed.”

  “What was in the safe?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “At least not after whoever broke in left. I don’t know what was in it before.” She shook her head. “They made such a mess and left the safe standing wide open. But they did lock the outside door. Unusual because that’s a dead bolt.”

  “So they had a key?” My eyes got big.

  “I’m assuming.”

  “That’s terri—” I started to say, but we were interrupted.

  “Hi there.” A woman’s voice I recognized came from around the front. “Just wondering if the flower shop was open.”

  “Oh yes,” Mrs. Cro said, projecting her voice. “Go back to the front and I’ll be right there.”

  But the woman had already come around the side.

  “Hi, Althea,” I said. It was the woman from Molta’s.

  “Hi,” she said, and smiled warmly. “I just saw you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m Win Crewse.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “My family owns the ice cream shop.”

  “You guys open in the winter?”

  “Yes, they are,” Mrs. Cro said. “And you’ll want what they make all year round.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m cold, I’m going back in. Are you coming?” She looked at Althea. “Do you want flowers?”

  “I do,” Althea said. “And I’ll just go back around and go through the front.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you inside,” Mrs. Cro said to her. “Bye, Win. I’ll come over for some ice cream soon.”

  Mrs. Cro left, Althea headed to the front and I finished pushing the trash into the dumpster.

  “You know,” Althea said, coming back my way. “Ari’s not so bad. He’s really a nice guy.”

  “Why would you think I’d think anything differently?” I asked.

  Althea gave a chuckle. The kind characters give in 1930s movies. The kind where the woman throws her head back and her eyes twinkle. “You just had to take one look at Maisie, it was easy to see. I didn’t want you feeling like that, too.” She shrugged. “You should give him the benefit of the doubt befo
re you pass judgment. Plus,” she said, “I was with him that night.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “All night.”

  This woman acted as if she knew what we’d been up to. What Maisie and I suspected—or rather were trying to suspect Ari of doing. And not only did she know, she was his alibi.

  “I do,” I said. “Make my own judgment, that is. And I don’t think Ari isn’t nice.”

  That wasn’t exactly a lie. Maisie didn’t like him, but other than micromanage her, I hadn’t heard of anything bad he’d done. Although keeping an eye on Maisie wasn’t a bad idea.

  “Good.” She looked at me for a moment, then said, “I guess I better let you get back to your trash.” She jabbed a finger at it. “And I better get my flowers.”

  Hmmm, I thought as I watched her leave. I pulled my hat down over my ears. I wonder why she cares what I think of Ari.

  I went back inside, swiped my feet, shook the cold from my hands and hung my coat and hat back on the rack.

  Everyone was up front, but before I had a chance to join them, the phone rang.

  “Crewse Creamery,” I said, picking up the landline that had been in the store since my grandparents ran it. “May I help you?”

  “May I speak to Win Crewse, please?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Hi, Win. It’s Clara.”

  “Hi, Clara.” I tried to sound chipper, but my stomach was in a lurch. I was hoping she hadn’t called to cancel.

  “I just wanted to follow up with you and see when we can get together to sign the contracts for the two events we talked about.”

  “We just wrapped up discussions on what we wanted to serve this afternoon,” I said. “I can draw up the contracts—one for the banquet, one for the ice cream social—tonight and come by tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

  “Could you do that?” she asked.

  “Yes. No problem,” I said. “I’d be happy to do it.”

  “That would be so awesome. Can you come around three?”

  “Sure can,” I said. “I’ll see you at three tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh, Win,” she said, catching me right before I hung up.

  “Yes?”

  “I heard that there was a murder just around the corner from your shop. Did you hear about that?”

  My mouth went dry, and I had to swallow and lick my lips before I could speak. “Yes, I did,” I said. “Isn’t it awful? I don’t know that we’ve ever had anything so awful happen this close to home before.”

  “No, I can’t recall anything so bad either.” She paused. “I just wondered if you knew anything.”

  “No, Clara,” I lied. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  I hung up feeling bad that I’d lied to her. But talking about it seemed too much like gossip. And what exactly was I going to say? Oh sure, I heard about it, and the police think my father did it . . .

  “Win,” my mother called, bringing me back from my reverie. “You’ve got a customer.”

  “A customer?” I mumbled. The three of them couldn’t take care of one customer? Once I washed my hands and went out front, I saw why.

  “Hi, O,” I said.

  “Hi, Win,” he said. “I see you have some new ice cream out. I can’t wait to try some.”

  I looked at my mother, Riya and Maisie all staring at me with stupid grins on their faces, as was O. They were playing Cupid.

  “O, I don’t think you even ate any ice cream when you were here yesterday.”

  “I guess I got wrapped up playing backgammon with your grandfather.” He glanced over to where PopPop had been sitting the day before. “He’s not here today.”

  “He already left,” my mother offered. “You’ll have to come earlier tomorrow.” The size of the grin on her face was ridiculous.

  “Do you want any ice cream today?” I asked.

  “I was thinking about a sundae. Do you have sundaes?”

  I pointed up to the board.

  “We have lots of sundaes,” Maisie said. “And Win makes the best ones.”

  “I bet,” he said. “Uhm, I think I’ll just go with a hot fudge sundae. With vanilla ice cream and nuts. Can I get extra nuts?”

  “You can have whatever you want,” my mother said. I hoped she wasn’t talking about me.

  I started dipping ice cream and he walked over to where my mother stood behind the register. He reached inside of his coat and into his back pants pocket, pulling out a wallet.

  “This one is on the house,” my mother said, pushing his hand away. “We know you sent Clara over to us.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Recommending us without ever tasting our wares.”

  “I remembered how good the ice cream here was.”

  “And we appreciate that,” my mother said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Crewse.”

  “Call me Ailbhe,” she said. “And go wait at the table for your sundae. I’ll have Win bring it over.” I looked at her and shook my head. “You are eating it here, aren’t you?”

  O looked at me before he answered. I stood perfectly still.

  “Yes. That would be nice,” he said.

  I didn’t know what the crew at Crewse Creamery was up to, but I wasn’t letting them push me into anything. I had a shop to run and it came first.

  “I’ll make the sundae,” Riya whispered. “You go and keep him company.”

  “I can make the sundae,” I protested.

  “We got this,” my mother said, coming over. “Go!” She pushed me to the end of the counter.

  I shook my head and ambled over to where he’d sat. “They’re making your sundae,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said, glancing at them. “I thought you made the best sundaes.”

  “Apparently, my job right now is keeping you company.”

  “That’s a good job,” he said.

  “Is it?”

  “I like it.” He smiled. “Did you and your friend find what you were looking for online?”

  “Maisie,” I said. “My friend’s name is Maisie, and no, not yet.”

  “Let me know what you find out,” he said. “Or if you need more help.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “My PopPop tells me that you used to be a police officer.”

  “I did,” he said. “Didn’t see much justice there. Thought I’d try it from a different perspective.”

  “Do you practice law?” I asked.

  “No. I teach it.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, too, that you’re a law professor.”

  “I am.”

  “I have a question for you.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Ask away.”

  “Say someone lay in wait and poisoned someone with something that isn’t readily available, the person died and the killer got caught.”

  “Which they should.”

  I looked at him a moment before I finished. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “What kind of sentence would they get?”

  “Is this someone you know?” he asked.

  My heart did a flip-flop and I had to take a moment to breathe. “No,” I said. “No one I know. It’s hypothetical.”

  He nodded. “Because I heard about that body you found, and then the two of you”—he nodded toward Maisie—“were trying to find out information.”

  “No one I know has done anything like this. Trust me.”

  “I can help,” he said earnestly.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Helping me right now would be telling me what would happen. You know, if someone did those things.”

  “Well,” he said, studying my face. “That’s premeditated murder, which is a capital offense everywhere in this country. In Ohio, though, we have the death penalty for those kinds of crimes. And that’s probably what they’d get.”


  “The death penalty?” I asked, fear darkening my being.

  “Yes,” he said. “Death by lethal injection.”

  chapter

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I didn’t see how the day could get worse.

  I was so sad. I felt like getting in my little blue Toyota Corolla and driving to a parking lot. Several parking lots. They must’ve had some kind of therapeutic effect considering how much time my mother spent sitting in them.

  But I had to keep busy. Thank goodness a steady stream of customers came in.

  “Hello.” It was my new employee, Candy Cook. She’d arrived for her five o’clock shift at four thirty, minutes after my mother and Riya had left. She pulled her earbuds out and took her book bag off her back.

  “Hi, Candy,” I said, glancing up at the clock. Her first day and she was half an hour early. I liked that. She had been scheduled for opening day, but as it turned out, I hadn’t needed her help.

  Candy Cook was nineteen, and, per her own words, a serial foster kid. While she’d aged out of the foster care system, her last foster mom loved her like her own and she’d opted to stay even though there were no legal ties. She’d been transferred around so much she hadn’t finished high school, and was presently working on getting her diploma.

  “I came early,” she said. “Didn’t know if there’d be a change in anything. Wanted to be prepared, just in case.”

  “Things are usually pretty routine around here,” I said, and smiled. “You can count on that.” Candy was short and round, and smart. When she interviewed, and today, she held on to her iPhone like it was an additional appendage. She had shortish ginger-colored hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her black-rimmed glasses had neon-green arms, and she wore jeans that she’d rolled up at the bottoms and gray canvas sneakers with no socks. Her cotton top fit snug around her belly rolls.

  “You ready to get started?” I asked Candy.

  “Yep. And my mom”—she looked down at her feet—“I mean, you know, my foster mom, told me to be sure to tell you thank you for this opportunity.”

  “I’m glad to have you,” I said. “And super glad you came early, because Maisie”—I pointed to her—“and I have an errand to run.”