Ice Creamed
a Three Scoops Ice Cream Shop short cozy
Lisbeth Reade
PUBLISHED BY:
Lisbeth Reade
Copyright © 2015
LisbethReade.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Table of Contents appears at the end
CHAPTER ONE
A funny thing happens when you’re accused of murder or, at the very least, suspected of murder. You suddenly become a tourist attraction in and of yourself. That happened to me when Dana Mason dropped dead after drinking a poison milk shake right in the middle of my ice cream parlor, The Three Scoops.
I didn’t poison her, but I admit, it did look suspicious. She was sleeping with my (now deceased) husband after all.
I just found out about the affair and then — wham! — she drops dead. I would have suspected me too. I don’t blame anyone for jumping to conclusions.
Like I said, I would have totally done the same thing if it was someone else standing behind the counter at The Three Scoops. Really.
Having someone die right then and there was also, surprisingly, good for business, at least once my name got cleared.
Everyone in town wanted to stop by and order the ‘poison shake special.’ People took pictures and selfies of themselves sipping the shakes. They posted them on Instragram with captions like ‘anyone up for a game of Russian roulette?’
It was good for business, yeah, but it was not quite the notoriety I wanted. I wanted people to beat down the shop door because they couldn’t get enough of my shakes and ice cream — not because they wanted to test fate or had a so-called death wish.
“Seriously, I thought all the gawkers would have found something else to gawk at by now.” My sister Becka elbows her way to the counter. She slaps her briefcase down on an empty stool before sitting down in the stool next to it. “I’ll slip some arsenic in their shakes myself if I see one more kid posting some lame food shot on Instagram.”
“What can I say?” I slide her favorite double chocolate mocha crunch shake across the counter to her. “Small town people love a scandal. So far, that scandal is still me.”
“Remind me to do something about that,” Becka says around a mouthful of thick milk shake.
“People talking is good for business. And if you recall correctly, you were the one who told me that first.” She sticks her tongue out at me and I shrug. “I plan to ride this gravy train for all its worth.”
“A lot of things are good for business,” Becka reminds me. “A wet t-shirt contest is good for business. Are you going to sponsor one of those?”
“Becka, this is a family establishment.”
“Nothing says ‘family’ like cheering on your cousin in a wet t-shirt contest.”
“So says the lawyer with her quote-unquote office in a milk shake shop.”
“So says the lawyer who makes sure she keeps your name in the news.” Becka takes another long slurp from her double chocolate mocha crunch shake. “Don’t think Emma and her Happy Mornings bed and breakfast wouldn’t throw you under the bus it if meant getting exposure for her local small town business instead of yours.”
I snap my dishrag at Becka, hitting her on the arm. “Becka! Emma is like 85-years-old. She’s a sweet, little grandma, not some cutthroat businesswoman.”
“That’s what they all say.” Becka raises both eyebrows at me as if to telepathically say ‘do you want my expert advice or not?’
“Emma is darling, Becka. She’s like the least intimidating person I know. In fact, we’ve been talking about running a joint special. A free scoop for her bed and breakfast customers.”
“What does that get you besides giving stuff away for free?” Becka asks.
“It gets me potential clients. That’s what every business wants, right? Not so mention that I’ll make money on toppings and special cones and second scoops and everything else they’ll be drooling for once they walk in.”
I wipe down the counter top so I have something to do with my hands. I can never figure out how to calm my fidgety hands. Maybe that’s why I’m always wiping the counters, ringing the dishcloth out, or restocking straws and napkins. I need something to do with my hands to keep myself from over-thinking. All that’s happened in the last months hasn’t made my mind a fun place to be.
“It sounds like Emma has the better end of the deal with that so-called joint special.” Becka opens her briefcase and pulls out a manila folder. I don’t know exactly what’s in it since, as far as I know, I’m one of Becka’s only clients.
“I’ve been running some intel on Granny Emma and, seriously, Maddy, she is one sharp businesswoman. Don’t underestimate sweet, little grandmas, Maddy. They’re just as crafty as the rest of us — they’ve just had a lot more years to perfect their art. Emma could make a killing in the small town tourism industry if she gets and stays in the media spotlight. I mean, who doesn’t love renting a room from someone who reminds you of your grandma? She’s a diamond, I tell you. An absolute diamond. Emma is marketing gold waiting to be discovered.”
“Why don’t you go represent her and build her tourism empire then?”
I meant it to be teasing, but it might have come out a little snarky. Becka is an entertainment and public relations lawyer, which doesn’t really translate well in our small town. She added a healthy dose of general practice in there to keep the bills paid, but her first love is media promotion and public relations statements. She’s the ‘statement from the lawyer’ person that’s all over the news when something big happens.
Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately — the only big thing to ever happen in town is Dana Mason dropping dead on the floor of The Three Scoops. Becka is doing her best to keep the public relations train rolling, but, at the end of the day, I miss my quiet life.
I miss just being Maddy the ice cream parlor owner. I’d even take Maddy the widow over Maddy the still-sort-of-murder-suspect.
I look up when the door chimes, signaling someone’s entrance. Three someones, actually. I’m a bit surprised, since it’s not our busiest time of day, but I’ll take bursts of business whenever they come.
First in line is a Chinese lady I’ve seen at the Asian Dragon restaurant. Behind her is a delivery guy I haven’t seen before, but wearing the Delivery Plus uniform, followed by Jamie Bells, the secretary from the local veterinarian.
“Can I help you?” I ask the Asian Dragon lady.
“Do you have Green Tea Ice Cream?” Instead of looking at me she fiddles with a black ornate chopstick stuck into her hair.
“We sure do.” I smile to try and ease her nerves but she still doesn’t look at me. “One scoop or two?”
“Two.”
I scoop the ice cream and hand it over. She still doesn’t make eye contact, which is weird. Maybe that’s why I never see very many customers in Asian Dragon if this is how their staff acts.
She bows her head slightly. I think it’s to thank me, but I also think you should give service with a smile, which seems to contradict Asian Dragon’s code of conduct.
“Have a nice day!” I call as she hurries out the door.
�
�Well, someone’s in a rush today,” the delivery guy says as he steps up to the counter. He’s tall and very good-looking, with black wavy hair, a chiseled jaw and deep green eyes with long lashes. I can sense Becka perking up behind me, even without turning around.
“Are you in a rush… Mike?” she asks, reading his nametag.
He smiles at her. Yep, Becka has that guy-magnet thing going all right, always has.
“Unfortunately, I am. Got some big business things to take care of this morning. But if I finish up in time, I might be able to stop by for some more ice cream later on. I always say that one ice cream a day just isn’t enough.”
Becka giggles. “Sounds great. The next one is on the house.”
I shoot her a glare. “On your tab, you mean,” I mutter.
He orders a chocolate vanilla twist soft serve and jogs out, turning around to wink at Becka before disappearing through the door.
Jamie giggles as she steps up to the counter. “Pretty busy this morning, huh,” she says.
“Yes, though since you aren’t tall, dark, and handsome, I don’t think Becka’s going to be offering you any free ice cream.”
“Hey!” Becka pulls a stance, hands fisted on her hips. “It’s the first time he’s been here. It’s called drumming up business.”
“You didn’t seem to think giving away freebies was good for business earlier this morning,” I say as I snap the lid on Jamie’s French vanilla milkshake.
“It all depends on the marketing plan,” Becka says, sticking her nose in the air. “This one has potential.”
“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Potential for your love life.”
Jamie looks like she’s struggling to keep a straight face, but even as she turns to go I can see her cheeks widening from behind.
I give Becka a friendly swat on the back of her head with the dishtowel.
“What?” she deadpans.
The bell jingles again. This time it’s Ralph, my usual restaurant supplies delivery driver, looking a little worse for wear with his dark hair plastered against his head in sweaty clumps and his hands shaking like he drank one too many cups of coffee this morning.
I wonder what’s up with that. Ralph has always been very laid back and cool as ice. Something must be going on to get such an extreme reaction from him…but what?
I smile to put Ralph at ease. I hope he’s not acting like a tweaker because he’s nervous about delivering to The Three Scoops because of the murder, but if that’s what it is I do understand. Having someone die in your store will hop up just about anyone — especially your regular delivery people.
“Hey, Ralph, what do you got for me today?”
“Hey, Maddy.” He holds out his clipboard. “I got those napkins you ordered. Sorry it’s not any more exciting than that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I manage to sign and initial where I need on despite the clipboard jumping around in Ralph’s hand. “Everyone spills here at some point, so the more napkins the better.” I smile again but it doesn’t seem to have any calming effect on Ralph. “Do you want me to help you get them off the truck?”
He nods and pushes his sweaty hair away from his face. “Sure but, well, just watch yourself, okay? I don’t want you or anyone else to get hurt.”
What a weird thing to say. Still, when it comes down to it, I’ve heard a lot of weird things lately so what’s one more to add to the list? I follow Ralph out to his delivery truck and stand by as he unloads two over-sized boxes of napkins.
“Is everything okay?” I ask when Ralph forks a shaking hand through his dark, sweaty hair. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look like you could use some yoga fire breaths right about now.” I demonstrate in the hopes of making him smile. “Deep breathe in, hold it, feel the breathe, let it out.”
He cracks a smile but his hands are still shaking overtime. “Don’t worry about me, Maddy. Its nothing a little time off can’t fix. I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
He bites down on his bottom lip and nods. “You bet. I better head on down the road to the next delivery. Paper towels this time. Lots and lots and paper towels.”
I wave and head back into the shop with my boxes of napkins.
“What was that all about?” Becka asks. “It looked like someone slipped ol’ Ralph a caffeine IV. I mean, seriously, if he was going for the most suspicious delivery driver award, he wins hands down.”
“What’s so suspicious about his behavior?” I wipe down the already spotless counter because it gives me something to do. “Maybe he’s just stressed out.”
“Or strung out.”
“Very funny, Becka.”
“I’m not trying to funny. I’m trying to point out the obvious.” She slurps the last remaining bits of her shake up from the bottom of the mug. “That’s what lawyers do.”
“It’s also what annoying little sisters do.”
She scrunches up her nose in her patented ha-ha-not-funny gesture that she always does when I remind her that she can never escape the fact that she’s my little sister. Sometimes I think Becka wishes she was born two years older so she’d get big sister street cred instead of me.
“Hey, is Ralph still out front?” Becka motions at the clipboard sitting on the counter. “It looks like he forgot something.”
I grab the clipboard and pivot toward the back door in one fluid motion. “I better run this out to him. Maybe I can catch him before he leaves for his next delivery.”
I jog out to the front street. I’m in luck. Ralph’s truck is still parked right where I left him. His back is to me with one hand on the steering wheel and one hand reaching down like he’s trying to pick something up.
“Hey, Ralph! Ralph, you forgot your clipboard!” When he doesn’t turn, I climb up to the driver’s side. “Ralph?”
There’s still no answer.
I shake his shoulder. Geez, he’s feeling heavy. It‘s like he’s dead to the world. Dead. That’s not an image I want to think about…especially so close to the Dana Mason incident two months ago.
“Okay, Ralph, this isn’t funny.” I shake his shoulder again. “Stop playing dead. You know what I went through with Dana. I can get another delivery driver, you know.”
I shake him a third time. Still nothing. “If you think you’re being funny, you’re not. I really mean it, Ralph. Stop playing around.”
I shake him one more time. His body flops over like a rag doll. That’s when I notice the fountain pen sticking out of his chest. Ralph isn’t playing dead.
He is dead.
CHAPTER TWO
“It’s a good thing you’re dating a cop, Maddy, ‘cause even a PR queen like me can’t spin two deaths on your property within two months,” Becka leans over and stage whispers close to my ear.
“Hush.” I swat at her to get her to sit up straight and put some distance between us. “Kyle isn’t going to do us any favors just because I’m dating him.”
“He would if you were sleeping with him.”
“How do you know we’re not sleeping together?”
“Please, Maddy.” Becka rolls her eyes. “If you were, Kyle would have answered the call about Dead Ralph and made sure they didn’t take us in to the police station for questioning. He’d want you comfortable, not sitting in really cold, metal chairs at the station like we’re about to be called in to the principal’s office. If you were sleeping with him, he’d show you some favoritism already and let us get on with our lives.”
“Well, hate to disappoint you, but I’m not sleeping with anyone just to keep your bottom from getting cold.”
“It’s not my cold bottom you should be concerned abo—”
Just as I smack her, Kyle comes out of the interrogation room. My heart goes all dipping roller coaster feeling like it always does at the sight of him.
Tall, dark, and handsome is an understatement when it comes to Kyle. His dark, slightly messy hair and piercing blue eyes are enough to stop anyone in their tracks — in
cluding me. I used to just be happy admiring him from afar and calling him “Detective Hotness.”
Now that we’re actually dating, I get to admire him up close and personal all the time. I’m a lucky, lucky girl.
“You’re up first, Maddy.” Kyle taps the manila file folder he’s holding against his left palm.
“I insist on her having her lawyer present,” Becka says. “Namely…me.”
“We’re just taking a statement, not doing a full-on interrogation,” Kyle says. “Besides, you’re needed next door, Becka. Steve is going to take your statement.”
“Steve?” Becka crosses her arms over her chest. “Who’s Steve? I bet he’s some rookie wannabe that can barely see over the steering wheel of the squad car. No thank you. I’d rather wait ti—”
“I’m Steve,” a deep voice says. “Are you Becka? If so, I’ll take you into the room to get your statement now.”
Becka turns her head one second before her mouth drops open at the sight of Steve. If Kyle — gorgeous, gorgeous Kyle — had an equally gorgeous, gorgeous blonde brother, he would be Steve.
“See ya, Maddy, you’re on your own.” Becka gives me a cursory wave before flouncing off to give her statement to Steve.
Kyle laughs before turning and holding the door open for me. “Shall we?”
“We really need to stop meeting like his, Officer Armstrong,” I tease as I walk past him into the interrogation room.
Kyle grins. “Any reason to see you more is a good reason. Well, minus Ralph being murdered. Maybe I should come by the shop after work more.”
“I’d like that.”
We stand around grinning at each other like lovestruck teenagers before Kyle snaps out of it and remembers he’s supposed to be getting my statement.
“Um, yes, well, let’s begin.” He motions at a chair across the table from the chair he quickly sits down in. “Let’s go back to the beginning. How long have you known the deceased?”
“I’ve known Ralph around six months,” I say. “That’s when he started making the restaurant supply delivers for The Three Scoops.”
“In that time, how would you describe his demeanor?” Kyle asks. “Did he ever seem nervous or like he was afraid of something or someone?”
Ice Creamed: A Three Scoops Ice Cream Shop Short Story (Three Scoops Ice Cream Shop Cozy Short Stories Book 2) Page 1
