by Dana Mentink
Warren hustled over to the cookie table. He patted his stomach and grinned. “I figure it’s a sin to pass up free baked goods, right? The first one whet my appetite.”
“We’ve got containers of them, so you can refill all you want.” Quinn gestured to the table.
“Thanks very much.” He paused. “So, uh, how’s it going with your store and all?”
Trinidad smiled. “Just fine. We’re ready to open tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. Just a few more things to finish up tonight.”
Warren selected a snickerdoodle and took a bite. “Great. I will be the first in line tomorrow for a Funkshake.”
“A Freakshake, and I’ll make sure it’s extra generous.”
He shoved in another bite and about-faced to return to his seat.
Quinn gave her a sly wink. “Mission accomplished?” he whispered.
“We’ll find out,” she whispered back. “As soon as the chief calls.”
“Meet you at the Shimmy as soon as we finish with our lemonade duties.” He wiped a hand across his apron.
“Bet you never figured when I showed up at your nut farm that you’d be involved in a thing like this.”
He winked. “In for a penny, you know…”
He handed an empty cup to Doug who filled it and gave the drink to Trinidad. Then he slipped a dog biscuit out of his pocket and offered it to Noodles.
The dog accepted the prize with a vigorous swish of his tail instead of his usual slurpy thank you lick. He seemed to know that Doug was not comfortable with that kind of gesture. Smart dog, Noodles.
She headed to the shop with Noodles, sipping her lemonade on the way. Excitement buzzed in her veins. She passed the food truck, where she’d left it parked on the curb, ready to be returned to Orville. One more thing to check off the list. There only remained a few more details to finish up before the grand opening. Visitors had been strolling by all day, peeking into the window and reading the flavor descriptions on the flyer she’d posted. She’d had to stop herself from personally rushing out to greet every one of them. This was it. Her dream would finally be realized on a bright and glorious Fourth of July morning. Maybe the plan she’d cooked up might just catch a killer and Juliette could resume her life in Sprocket, too, if Chief Bigley made an arrest at the theater, completing the third step in their plan. All the wagging tongues would be silenced. It would be an Independence Day for both of them.
Breathing the satisfying sugary smells in deeply, she got to work thawing the brownie stars and slicing wedges of pineapple for the Tropical Twist Freakshakes and decorating the shortbread cookies to top the key lime extravaganzas.
With meticulous care, she polished the glass windows, admiring the way the Shimmy and Shake Shop lettering sparkled in the waning summer sun. After all the self-doubt, the heartache of Gabe’s betrayal, her angst over moving to Sprocket, her anguish at seeing Juliette jailed for murder, it felt like things might actually work out. Her shop filled her with pride she hadn’t felt before, a sense of satisfaction that had been sorely lacking. She fingered the immaculate white aprons hanging from the silver hooks, ready for her, the twins, and one for Papa Luis. How perfect that he had arrived to share in the moment.
“I think we’re actually going to make it,” she said to Noodles.
He sniffed, then cocked his head, alert to a sound she could not hear. She figured it was the clanging and banging of the band scooting chairs together for their concert. Out the front window, she saw the colorful blankets folks had laid out along the sidewalks earlier that morning to reserve the prime parade viewing spots.
“It’s okay, baby. Just some holiday prepping going on out there.”
Noodles barked.
“It’s going to be over soon,” she consoled. “And I’ve got a plan for how to get you through the fireworks, don’t you worry.”
The dog jumped to his feet, ears pricked. He barked again. Had he heard someone shooting off a firecracker? Was he going to freak out again?
He was standing, the scruff on his neck pricked up.
“What is it, boy?” She heard it now. A revving, churning noise like the sound of an oncoming train. She hurried to the window.
“Noodles,” she screamed, grabbing the dog and leaping behind the counter. They hit the floor just as the food truck smashed through the front corner of the store. Glass shards flew in all directions. Chunks of plaster and wood rained down on the counter. The noise sounded like a bomb blast. Noodles yelped and whined and Trinidad did, too. “Help,” she screamed, but the din drowned out her cry. The tiles under her knees shook as the food truck plowed further into the shop, burrowing toward the counter where they sheltered.
She clutched the dog tighter. She was not sure if the trembling was her or him or the onslaught of the truck. Another scream built in her throat. The ice cream clock shot off the wall and smashed to the floor. A piece of plaster struck her shoulder. The counter broke from its foundation and tipped over, caging them underneath. They were going to be crushed as the truck ground forward.
“Help,” she screamed to no one, cradling Noodles to try and somehow shield him from what was coming. Head buried in his fur, she held him close. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered.
When she thought she could not stand the din a millisecond longer, the terrible cacophony began to die away into a soft tinkle of falling glass.
Seconds ticked by, her ears ringing from the crash. Hardly able to breathe, she tried to take stock. She was curled in a ball with a quaking Noodles pressed against her ribs. Somehow the counter was still above them, wedged there. Slowly, she crawled from under the broken slab of Formica that had protected them, Noodles still clutched in her arms.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. He was still whining, but she did not see any wounds on him. Plaster powder covered them both, and he blinked, his lashes dusted white.
In disbelief, she looked at the food truck, which had stopped inches from the counter that had undoubtedly saved their lives. The engine was still revving, no driver behind the wheel. The keys, which she had left tucked under the visor, were in the ignition. Through the flopped-open door, she could see where the accelerator had been wedged down by a stick jammed into position, causing the truck to jump the curb and torpedo her store.
Time seemed to grind to a halt as she realized the truth. She knew exactly who had caused the disaster. The same person who had murdered Kevin Heartly for doing nothing more than buying a pot from the flea market. Her plan to trap a killer had certainly provoked a desperate act—only she’d not anticipated this. No, never would she have imagined it would have come to this.
Papa Luis rushed in.
“Trina,” he yelled, his voice tortured.
“I’m okay,” she said. He began to crunch over the debris, kicking slabs of plaster out of his way.
Mr. Mavis appeared next and turned off the food truck’s engine. “What in the Sam Hill has happened here? Are you hurt?”
Somehow, she summoned a spot of calm as Papa reached her. “Papa, please take Noodles. I don’t want him cut on the glass.” She placed the shivering dog into her grandfather’s arms. Sirens wailed. Quinn showed up at a run, pushing aside fragments of the ruined front wall to get to her.
Stan was there, too, calmly keeping the onlookers away from the broken glass once he’d seen her up and talking. “Please stay back, everyone. Rescuers are on the way.”
Quinn reached out and clasped her around the waist. He swooped her up and began to climb back through the mess. She wanted to protest. I don’t need help. I am not hurt. In reality, she was not sure her legs would hold her up any longer. He carried her out of the store, and she took stock as they progressed.
Her senses were on overload as she absorbed the details. Her beautiful windows were shattered, the front wall buckled in, her charming pink tables were w
recked, the pristine floor a scarred mess. In the middle of it all, the food truck sat on its side like a giant metal marauder, one wheel still spinning.
“My shop,” she choked out as he eased her onto the curb. “My beautiful shop is ruined.”
Quinn knelt alongside and squeezed her hand. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s beyond bad,” she wailed. “Everything is wrecked.”
“I know it looks that way, but we can fix it. All it needs is some repair, a whole lot of elbow grease, and a new coat of paint.” But she could hear the forced cheer in his tone. He knew the truth, too. “It’s fixable,” he insisted. “The important thing is you and Noodles are okay.”
At that moment, the fiberglass sculpture of the bowl of oatmeal slid off the top of the truck and pancaked the lone table that had survived. A puff of plaster powder poofed into the air and dissipated.
Quinn pulled her to his chest as she began to sob.
***
An hour later, the strains of a Sousa march warbled through the night air. Trinidad did not blame the community for continuing on in spite of the mangling of her shop. This was a small complication to them, but to her it was everything.
She moved through the rubble in a daze. She had not listened to the police officer order her to stay back, and he apparently hadn’t had the heart to arrest her for disobeying. Noodles was safely secured outside with Papa who’d moved the intact chairs to a safe corner of the porch. Carlos and Diego carried all the salvageable supplies to the back room before she sent them home with thanks. Quinn and Doug swept up piles of glass from the sidewalk until Officer Chang cordoned the whole area off in yellow tape to keep the onlookers away while he photographed and radioed the chief.
Trinidad accepted another embrace from her grandfather but refused a seat. She was not certain she would be able to get up again. She could hardly bear to look at her ruined shop, her dream destroyed. Tears flowed down her face as Papa handed her a pristine handkerchief from his pocket.
“I am so sorry, Trina. And to think someone did this on purpose.”
She sniffled.
“This town…” He waved a hand. “It isn’t right for you. Come home, to Miami. We’ll open a shop together, if that is what you want.”
Home. She’d thought this place might be her home, but everything had come crashing down in a matter of moments. The shock and despair rose in waves through her body. Maybe Papa was right. This place, these people, weren’t going to be her home. What did she have left here? A ruined shop, which she’d sunk every penny into? A rented house so small you could make a sandwich while taking a shower? Some friends, yes, but more enemies in the people she’d offended the short six weeks she’d been in town.
She cried onto Papa’s shoulder until Officer Chang interrupted with a tactful clearing of the throat.
“We’ll take a look at the prints,” Chang said. “I’ve photographed, and the chief will come before we get Mr. Mavis to call his cousin to haul the truck out.” He grimaced. “That big old honking thing is almost unscathed except for the oatmeal bowl, but your shop…” He sighed. “You aren’t going to be opening up tomorrow.”
“Or anytime soon,” she added with a wobble in her voice.
“Awww. It’s crummy. I’m real sorry.”
Trinidad stopped him with a shake of her head. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to stay now that you’ve taped it off and Officer Oliver is here. I know you have to get to the theater. Is there any word from the chief?”
“Not yet, ma’am, but I am on my way. Oliver will keep your shop secure.” He about-faced and hurried off. She surveyed the wreckage again from the outside. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as she first thought. That notion lasted as long as it took her to blink. The Shimmy and Shake Shop, without a doubt, was a total disaster.
This secondhand shop, with her secondhand dog by her side…It was supposed to have been her chance at a do-over. Every teeny detail represented a decision she’d made, a risk she’d accepted. Gone, in the space of a moment.
Quinn watched her in silence. “It can all be fixed,” he said again.
But did she want that? Did she have the energy and funds and, most of all, the will?
She felt only defeat at first until a tiny edge of anger began to carve its way through. Someone had intentionally ruined her new life. And she knew exactly who had done it. The anger cemented itself into a rigid mass in her belly. There would be justice this time, for her and for Juliette.
With every ounce of energy remaining in her body, she stood. “Papa, I will meet you back at the house. Can you take Noodles home and keep an eye on him?”
Papa frowned. “Yes, but where will you be?”
“There’s something I need to do.” One last thing. She looked to Quinn. “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven.” His quirked eyebrow said it all. “Do you want to…?”
“Yes,” she said. “I am going to the theater. The person who ruined my shop and sent Juliette to jail is going to be caught tonight, and I want to see it, if it’s the last thing I do in this town.”
And it would be, she decided just then. She would deal with the insurance company, pack her things, roll up her dream, and return to Miami.
Quinn took off the heavy work gloves. Doug looked from his brother to Trinidad. “We’re right by your side,” Quinn said. “Let’s go to the theater and see if the trap worked.”
Throat still thick with grief, she ducked under the yellow tape, refusing to look back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Quinn and Doug and Trinidad walked to the theater. The music from the concert accompanied them.
“I’m so sorry,” Quinn said. “I can’t believe this happened. All for some crummy pot.”
She felt her eyes well up again, and she moved a step away as they took up position in the deep shade of the massive elm tree. Focus now on Juliette. Chief Bigley and Chang must be inside, though their vehicles were out of sight. They would have called if the culprit had already shown.
Were you wrong about this, too, Trinidad? About everything?
As the music of the exuberant drumline swelled and echoed from the faraway gazebo, a light snapped on inside the theater.
Her breath caught. It was time.
“Police,” she heard Bigley shout.
“Hands where we can see them,” Chang added.
“They must have got him,” Quinn whispered, gripping her elbow. She clutched his strong fingers in her own.
Sixty long seconds later, the front door shot open. Trinidad jumped. The chief beckoned them. “After what happened to your shop, Trinidad, you have the right to be in on this. Come.”
The three of them hurried through the lobby. Trinidad’s legs wobbled, but she forced herself onward. The stage lights were on, and Vince Jr. stood blinking as Officer Chang grasped his shoulder. Vince took in the gathered group. His face was stark, pale as tapioca.
Quinn gasped. “Him?”
Vince’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he shook his head with emphasis. “I don’t know what’s going on here. I just came here to pick up something I left.”
“A Qianlong vase, maybe?” Trinidad said.
Vince’s mouth snapped shut. He looked from her to the chief before his gaze settled on the floor of the old theater.
“You…” She could hardly get the words out. “You ruined my store.”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer at first. Then he exhaled, long and slow. “I didn’t mean to. I heard you at the picnic. I wanted to keep you out of here for a few hours. That’s all.”
He was almost cringing, moisture in his eyes when he finally looked up. She might have felt sorry for him under different circumstances. Fury outweighed any pity at the moment.
Quinn was still gaping. “Vince…you killed Kevin?” He looked at Trinidad, eyes wid
e with astonishment. “How in the heck did you figure that out?”
In spite of her spent emotions, his bare admiration made her blush. He was so boyishly handsome, standing there, not smooth or glib, like Gabe. So very different. She pulled in a shaky breath. “He said he’d never been in Lupin’s storage space, but he described the candy machine as being red. Cora bought it before it was fully unpacked and she promptly painted it yellow. The only way he could have seen it red was when he was in the storage unit. Once I knew he was a liar, everything else made sense. He bragged about being an art expert, probably the only one who would have known the pottery’s worth, mixed up in the junk that Sonny bought.”
The weak light aged Vince, added shadow and lines to his young face. “I saw it the first time in one of the boxes when we prepared to auction Lupin’s stuff. Can you believe the guy was so out of it he didn’t even know what he had?” Vince closed his eyes, pained. “If only I’d have figured out a way to get it before Sonny bought it, none of this would have happened.”
“How can you justify what you’ve done?” Trinidad’s voice caught. “I thought you loved Juliette, but you let her go to jail.”
He groaned. “That wasn’t my fault. Everything went wrong. I plotted for days about how to swipe the key from the office and get into the unit myself before the auction, but I couldn’t manage it. She almost caught me snooping and changed all the locks. Then Sonny bought the contents, that jerk, parading around like a big shot. Of course he wouldn’t know a valuable piece if it bit him. He scavenged everything he thought was worth a buck, and the pot wound up at the flea market. I didn’t get there fast enough to beat Kevin. None of this was supposed to happen. I was going to take it from the storage unit and say I bought it at a garage sale or something. I could have helped Juliette with the money. She’d see me differently, so would my folks.” He began to rock back and forth, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Oh, they’ll see you differently all right,” Quinn said darkly. “Everyone in this town will know you’re a liar and a murderer in a matter of hours. You killed a man.”
