Pint of No Return

by Dana Mentink

  She had a feeling Papa would think any arrangement that resulted in her not living alone on the opposite coast would be fortuitous. The answering machine picked up. “Leave a message, unless you’re the tax man,” her grandpa said in heavily accented English. She waited for the beep.

  “I…I just wanted to say I love you, Papa, and I miss you. I hope Yolo is taking good care of you while Mother is on her cruise.” Maybe she should tell him about the murder and Juliette and the food truck and the combination of fear and elation and panic and pleasure that she’d felt since moving to Sprocket. Perhaps she could somehow explain that she was doing her best to play detective, when she wasn’t scooping ice cream and pretending to be a paralegal. But these things would only make him worry, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She knew her wrecked marriage had caused him plenty of consternation already, on the heels of losing his son. “See you soon,” she added brightly before she disconnected.

  “All right, feet,” she commanded. “There’s more ice cream to churn and supplies to be stocked.”

  Noodles offered another encouraging lick to her knee cap as she struggled to a standing position. “Why didn’t I start this entrepreneurial stuff years ago?”

  The time passed in a blur, and, when she finally stopped work, she was surprised to find that it was almost eight o’clock. As the street quieted and the vacationers headed back to their campsites by the lake, Trinidad felt suddenly restless in spite of her fatigue. Besides, she owed the dog a walk, and there appeared to be a refreshing breeze building.

  “Should we take a stroll before we head home, Noodles, as if we hadn’t a care in the world?”

  Noodles sprang to attention and fell into step at her side. They crossed the street and passed Full of Beans, which was quiet. All the other businesses except for Pizza Heaven were already closed. Turning the corner onto Little Bit Road, Trinidad savored the breeze and the view. The sidewalk was overhung by mature trees interspersed with wooden benches and planters brimming with red, white, and purple petunias, twisted closed to await the morning sunshine. American flags poked from every planter.

  A display in the Off the Rack secondhand clothing store caught her attention. “Clearance” was a word that attracted her with a magnetic pull—reasonable, since she’d sunk every meager penny into the Shimmy and Shake Shop. Again, she felt the thrill of fear. What if her grand plan failed?

  Thoughts of bankruptcy prodded her.

  “Then I’ll get back up again like I did after Gabe,” she muttered to herself. “One foot in front of the other, right, Noodles?”

  He waggled his tail and peered with her through the glass window.

  The secondhand shop was closed, but the display featured a mannequin dressed in red, white, and blue clothes, backpack slung over her shoulder and a used sleeping bag rolled up at her feet. A small sign proclaimed a FOURTH OF JULY HIT THE TRAIL SALE. Clever, she thought, her gaze wandering back to the clearance items: mostly winter hats, gloves, earmuffs, and snow boots. An idea popped into her head, a way to improve the Fourth of July experience for dear Noodles, and she made a mental note to return when the shop was open.

  It was another few feet to the end of the block. Since Trinidad hated to leave things partly finished, she kept going. “We’ll turn back at the curb, okay, Noodles?” She wondered if she was beginning to have too many conversations with her dog. All she needed was to add “nutty dog lady” to her title of “ex–Bigley wife” and whatever other monikers the townspeople had given her. Then again, Noodles was the truest friend she’d ever had, so maybe it was okay to chat with him as long as he didn’t start talking back or giving her stock market tips.

  They made it to the curb with only a few more stops for Noodles to sniff. She figured the extra exercise had earned her another late-night peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich for sure. The last business on the block was a neat one-story building with the obligatory flag-festooned planter in front.

  “Simon’s Real Estate,” she read. She’d found Candy Simon’s lair. It was sleek and professional-looking, like the woman herself. Inside, a lamp glowed, but the place was obviously closed for the evening. There was a plastic cup of what looked like iced tea or chilled coffee on the desk with the Full of Beans logo stamped on it. The cup’s sides were beaded with moisture. Something moved inside the shop, and Trinidad jumped back so quickly she stepped on Noodles’s foot.

  He let out a yelp.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the dog. Two figures appeared inside the office, oblivious to Trinidad and Noodles. One was tall, bulky, male. Sonny Petrakis, she finally realized. The other was smaller, and the shine of neatly coiffed hair identified her as Candy Simon. She wore a sleeveless dress as if she was outfitted for a party.

  Trinidad hadn’t even straightened from comforting Noodles when Sonny seized Candy by the shoulders. Trinidad’s breath caught at his intensity. His fingers pressed into her flesh.

  Panic prickled her skin. He’s hurting her. Call the police. She scrambled for her cell phone and dialed.

  “Police. What is your emergency?”

  She spoke in a hushed whisper. “There’s a woman being attacked…”

  “What is your name, ma’am?”

  “Trinidad Jones. Candy Simon is being attacked at her office by…” Trinidad’s voice trailed off as it dawned on her that something had changed. Candy’s arms had snaked around the back of Sonny’s neck, and what she’d thought was an attack had turned into a kiss. Her face went warm. “Oh, um, my mistake. It’s not an attack.”

  “Miss Jones? Please explain. Is Miss Simon in danger? Are you?”

  “Uh, no, um, actually Candy’s, er, kissing the man I thought was attacking her.”

  There was a pause. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I’m certain.” Though it had been a long while since she’d been a participant in such a thing, she still recognized a passionate smooch when she saw one. “I apologize for bothering you.”

  She disconnected, shoving the phone back in her pocket. The only course of action now was to make a covert escape as fast as humanly possible. She began to edge away before she could be spotted by Candy or Sonny, and the dog followed. “Good job, Noodles,” she whispered. “Stealth mode.” She was almost in the clear when she banged her shin into the cement planter and cried out.

  Clapping her hand to her mouth, she knew it was too late. There was movement inside the shop as Sonny rushed to the window.

  “Come on, Noodles.” She galloped as fast as she could down the block, Noodles keeping pace right at her side. Behind her the shop door banged open.

  “Who’s there?” Sonny thundered. His footsteps scuffled along the sidewalk.

  The right thing to do, the brave and ethical action, would have been to stop, turn around and explain what had happened with plenty of apologies sprinkled in. Instead, her nerves propelled her to hobble even faster until she and Noodles were practically sprinting. Lungs heaving, they flew around the corner.

  ***

  Finally, when her limbs screamed at her, she stopped, back pressed to the stucco wall of what passed for the local post office. Had Sonny spotted her? Was he pursuing? Ears strained, she listened for the sound of feet pounding along the cement. At first her breathing was so loud she could hear nothing else. Forcing her lungs to cooperate, she listened some more. Nothing. Sonny, it seemed, had given up his pursuit.

  Mortification juddered through her nerves. She’d probably made things 100 percent more dramatic than they had to be with her ridiculous sprint. What had she been thinking?

  Noodles followed as they started up again, his tongue lolling from the unexpected exercise. “Well, that was embarrassing. I wonder what Chief Bigley will think when she gets wind of that call?”

  Her cheeks were still warm when they made it back to the shop and loaded up into the Pinto. The
muscles in the back of her thighs quivered as she hit the gas. Driving slowly, she mused about what she’d seen. Clearly Candy and Sonny had more of a connection than just a business arrangement. In small towns, everybody was supposed to know everything, yet it seemed to Trinidad that there were secrets around every corner. Someone should write a book…The Secret Life of Sprocket.

  The coffee cup on Candy’s desk popped into her head, the one from Full of Beans. One of them had been at Stan’s recently, or the cold drink would not still be sweating moisture as the ice melted. Could it have been Candy or Sonny listening outside the door of Stan’s office? Meg might not have remembered either of them lingering after their drink purchase.

  Or maybe Trinidad was letting her imagination run amok.

  When she got to the tiny house, she hurried out of the Pinto and dashed inside. Washing her hands, she stared out the quaint window. She noticed for the first time how lonely the road was that led to her place, the empty fields and the crowded patch of woods. Not a single soul around. A troop of bats swarmed across the sky on silent wings in search of their insect dinner. Her nerves prickled as she stared out into the night, the same feeling she might have if someone was watching her from behind the trees.

  “Knock it off, Trin. You have no time for paranoia.” She tried to pull herself together. She had a full schedule ahead with the open house and only days before the shop opened. In the meantime, Juliette was incarcerated, not eating properly, and likely close to despair.

  The photos. They just had to reveal something that would help. If there had been a treasure in Lupin’s unit, Juliette must have captured it on film.

  In a matter of hours, Quinn would be retrieving the photos.

  Would they break the case wide open or prove to be another dead end?

  Bad choice of words, she thought, as she remembered what she’d found in that horrible iron kettle.

  Very bad.

  Chapter Twelve

  Of course, the morning of the Monday open house was a true sizzler with temperatures expected to crack the hundred mark. Trinidad chose to consider the bright side. There was no better weather to promote the finest ice cream than a scorcher of a summer day.

  The food truck had been connected via a long electric cord to a plug behind the Shimmy and Shake Shop since the previous evening to ensure the chest freezer was properly cooled. The generator was ready to be fired up as soon as they reached their destination.

  Carlos and Diego were doing their newscaster bit. “We’re ready to go mobile this morning in Sprocket,” Carlos announced into an ink pen while his brother pretended to film him. “Though everything appears to be calm and controlled here in this tranquil place, looks can be deceiving. What fresh horrors await in a town where there’s a murderer on the loose? Only time will tell.”

  Trinidad almost dropped the box she was carrying. “Maybe we don’t need to bring that up right now, huh, guys?”

  Carlos did not miss a beat. “We will keep you posted, America. I’m Carlos Martin, Channel Ten News.”

  Diego zoomed in the lens. “And…we’re out.”

  Quinn pushed through the back door of the shop. He was wearing a pair of brown denim jeans and a faded T-shirt that might have once been green but had come to roost somewhere far duller than its original hue. There was something that looked like a spaghetti stain around the belly button area. The obligatory unopened cigarette box was in his back pocket. One shoe was untied. Trinidad recalled how snappy-dresser Gabe would never be caught dead in a faded or stained anything. Somehow the disheveled look suited Quinn just fine.

  “Everything’s cold as a frosted frog, as my CO used to say,” Quinn announced.

  Diego put down the camera on the nearest pink table. “What’s a frosted frog?”

  Quinn chuckled. “I asked about that saying, too. According to Captain Clevers, some frogs actually hibernate by burrowing in the mud, and whatever is sticking out gets frozen.”

  Diego nodded. “We can add that to our news broadcast for some local color. I already got some footage of the monster truck ready for its inaugural voyage.”

  “Frozen frog butts will be a real crowd-pleaser.” Carlos worked up a good stream of laughter until Trinidad stuck a box into his hands.

  “Put this in the truck, okay?”

  Quinn fished his car keys from his pocket. “I have to drop a load of nuts on my way out of town, but I’ll be by the open house with those photos as soon as I can, and we can take a look when you’re done.”

  She saluted him with an ice cream scoop. “Safe travels, Farmer Quinn.”

  He snapped off a smart salute of his own. “Ditto, Scooper Jones.”

  Next, she put Diego in charge of setting up a cozy cushion in the passenger seat of the food truck and installing Noodles with his water bowl and a container of biscuits. While she was once again reviewing her mental checklist, there was a tap on the door. Heart sinking, she shooed Carlos out to help his brother before she ushered in Chief Bigley.

  “Hi, Chief.”

  “Hi, Miss Jones. I understand you called dispatch last night.”

  “I, er, misunderstood what I was seeing.”

  “When you were looking through the window of Candy Simon’s closed real estate office?”

  Trinidad smoothed her Shimmy and Shake T-shirt. “Well, yes, but it wasn’t like I was stalking or anything. I know you won’t believe this, but I was out walking my dog, that’s all, and I thought Candy was being hurt. I didn’t intend to spy on anyone.”

  She quirked a smile. “Actually, I do believe that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. For two reasons. First off, it’s too ridiculous a story to have been made up.”

  “Thanks, I think. What’s the second reason?”

  She hesitated. “My brother, ironically. He spoke highly of your integrity in a phone call one time.”

  She flat-out gaped. “He did?”

  The chief continued. “He said someone left their credit card in a vending machine, and you researched their address and drove halfway across town to return it.”

  “But, I mean, well…” The floor felt like it had jerked a few inches to the left as the words tumbled out. “I…I’m surprised he mentioned it.”

  “Ironic he values integrity when he can lie like a rug?” Bigley sighed. “People can be many things, can’t they?”

  She swallowed. “I suppose they can.”

  “For the record, I don’t like what my brother did, but I love him and I will support him no matter what. He’s blood.”

  Gabe didn’t deserve such a loyal sister. Still, she was moved by the chief’s revelation. “I just wish he could have been honest with me and Juliette and Bonnie.”

  The silence expanded. Chief Bigley shifted a millimeter. “For what it’s worth, I think maybe he saw in you ladies things he wished he had in himself.”

  “Not exactly enough to keep a marriage alive.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so, though I’ve never been married myself. But he loved you three. He wasn’t lying about that part.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She was relieved when the chief changed tact. “So you mistakenly assumed that Candy and Sonny were arguing—before they lip-locked, I mean. ”

  “It sure looked that way.”

  “It’s possible they were. Any idea what it would have been about?”

  “No.” She cocked her head. “Wait a minute. Why would you be interested in Sonny and Candy?”

  Bigley didn’t answer.

  Trinidad ogled. “Are you are starting to think there’s someone else involved in Kevin’s death?”

  She held up a palm. “Not necessarily. I like cases to be tied up as neatly as possible, and this one seems to be cut-and-dried. But, since we’re a small town here, I’m doubly committed to making sure the police handle things profession
ally. I don’t want anyone accusing us of being incompetent bumpkins.”

  “So, you’re just dotting i’s?”

  “And crossing t’s. It’s bugged me from the moment you said you heard someone in Kevin’s rear storage area. The ground was too dry to pick up prints, but some of the boxes were open, as if they’d been gone through. Kevin was a tidy guy from what I knew. When he provided the popcorn for the senior class prom, everything was ordered and meticulous. I was there to keep an eye out for any high school shenanigans. Kevin wore plastic gloves and an apron. All his popcorn was sorted into tubs, and he doled it out using a plastic scoop. Type A didn’t really cover it. Which has me pondering: Why would a guy like that leave open boxes in his yard?”

  Trinidad grinned. “So, you do think there’s a possibility that Juliette is innocent?”

  Bigley sighed. “Don’t leap to any wild conclusions. I didn’t say that. The preponderance of evidence is clearly against her. I’m just making sure I consider all the possibilities. Sonny and Kevin had disagreements in the past, so I’m following that trail. Do you have any information about a motive for Sonny?”

  “He said Tanya used him to make Kevin jealous. She dumped Sonny. That could make a man see red.”

  “Yeah, I got that rumor from Virginia already.”

  “At the pizza shop?”

  “Uh huh,” the chief said with a smile. “Virginia’s a talker.”

  That she was. “Sonny thought Edward Lupin had some sort of valuable item in his collection, something he misplaced.”

  “I’ve heard the rumors about Lupin, too. The whole town has. That’s why Sonny bought the storage unit, but there’s nothing shady about that. It was all aboveboard as far as I can tell.”

  Trinidad hesitated, weighing whether or not to share her suspicion. “I think Candy was letting Sonny look through Lupin’s belongings when he didn’t find what he was looking for in the storage unit. Most of the items went to the flea market, and Kevin Heartly made a purchase there the day before he was killed.”