Give Me Chills

by Tara Lush

  "Scott, Brenda, this is Hadley."

  "Nice to meet you both," I squeaked.

  "A pleasure," Scott said, grinning at me. "Nice van."

  Brenda's eyes flitted across the side of my van. "Give Me Chills. Cute name. Did you come to sell us some ice cream to celebrate?"

  She snickered, and chills didn't just involve my business’s name. They were running up my spine because her low, nasal tone matched what I'd heard that day at Linda's wake.

  "No, I'm not open for business," I said.

  "Too bad." Brenda slid her arm through Scott's. "It would have been nice to have a snack on our way to the airport."

  "Where you headed?" Zander asked affably. He didn't show any nervousness, just an open, earnest curiosity. Give that man an Oscar.

  "Somewhere private," Scott said, revealing a toothpaste-white grin.

  "Somewhere where no one will reach us." Brenda giggled when Scott swatted her butt. From twenty feet away, Lillian scowled in our direction, and she looked like I was feeling inside: filled with rage. We couldn’t let Brenda and Scott get away.

  Brenda gave me a wave and Scott tugged at her waist. I swallowed hard. She and Scott were the killers, and now they were about to escape!

  "Nice meeting you, ice cream girl. Bye, Zander."

  Ice cream girl? Jerk. The two strutted away, down a row of cars, the heels of her yellow shoes clacking efficiently against the asphalt. When I glanced to Zander, he was already on the phone.

  "I'd like to report a murder," he said in a near-whisper. Crap. Was this the best thing to do, report them? Did we have enough to turn them in?

  I stared after Scott and Brenda. They were moving quickly and were almost at the end of the row. We'd have to let the cops gather more evidence, but the important thing was that Scott and Brenda could not leave the country.

  "They're going to get away. We've got to stop them."

  Zander was still talking into the phone, and I knew I had to act before they drove off. If they made it to the airport they'd be gone forever. We couldn't let that happen. Linda needed justice.

  I flew out of the driver's seat and grabbed the only things handy: my heaviest ice cream scoops. My parents had bought them for me as a gift right before I left — they were vintage, from Italy, ten-inch-long, stainless steel beauties.

  They were nestled in the front pocket of my apron, which I'd slung around the back of the passenger seat. I dove out of the side door and ran down the lot as fast as my Converse sneakers would take me, gripping a scoop in each hand.

  Scott and Brenda were already in a car, a dark blue sedan. He was in the driver's seat and had just fired up the engine when I came to a stop inches from the hood. They stared at me in shock for a beat, then he rolled down his window and stuck his hand out, motioning as if he was brushing dirt away.

  "Hey, can you move? We've got a flight to catch."

  "You're not going anywhere," I hollered, and hurled one ice cream scoop straight into the windshield as hard as I could. Then I chucked the other, and the glass splintered.

  Epilogue

  The Florida sun seared our faces, even in the waning hours of the day. Zander led me out of the theme park crowds and into an off-limits area. We slipped through a nondescript gray door in a tall, beige building, and I sighed pleasurably when the air conditioner hit my face.

  "That cold air feels amazing." I took in the cavernous room with surprise. It was nothing like the bland exterior. The walls were decorated in rainbows and unicorns, glitter paint and neon. I started to laugh. It was like a Lisa Frank folder come to life.

  "Doesn't it?" He pulled the door shut behind him. "This part of the ride experience isn't quite finished. It's where people will queue. We're still putting partitions here." He held his arms out in a long span, then turned. "And over here will be the gift shop. Obviously, we'll need a wall. But you can get the overall feeling for the décor."

  My laughter wouldn't stop. "It's like a middle school girl's fantasy. Or like my dream ice cream shop."

  "Funny you say that, because the gift shop will have ice cream. A scoop-your-own bar." He walked to me and stopped. We stared into each other's eyes. "I wanted you to see it before I made my proposal."

  "Proposal? We've been getting along really well this last month, but…" I playfully elbowed him.

  "Not that kind of proposal," he said, then paused. "Not yet, anyway."

  My heart skipped about five beats.

  "So what's your proposal?" I never failed to be mesmerized by his blue eyes. "You want me to scoop ice cream here? I wield a mean scoop."

  He chuckled and kissed my forehead. "I know you do."

  It had been a month since I confronted Scott and Brenda in the parking lot. And my scoop-throwing move had worked; they'd been so temporarily stunned by the cracked windshield that they didn't move an inch. Fortunately, a building security guard, and then Devil’s Beach police, arrived soon after.

  For a few hours, Zander and I thought the detectives wouldn't believe us. But Aunt Linda's attorney gave a statement to detectives saying that something didn't sit well with him, either. Linda had changed her will six weeks before her death. A deeper investigation revealed that both Scott and Brenda had coerced her into naming them as her beneficiaries after a night of drinking. And Scott, who had been with Lillian for more than a year, dumped her for Brenda the day of Linda’s funeral.

  But as the cliché goes, there’s no loyalty among thieves.

  From his jail cell, Scott turned against Brenda and said she was the mastermind of the entire plan to kill Linda to inherit her ample estate. Within a week, both were ratting out the other, and they were behind bars awaiting murder charges. They never made it out of Florida, much less the country.

  Zander and I had been interviewed by a crime podcast, and local reporters were interested in the ice cream van owner who helped solved a crime. I'd sent the newspaper clippings to my parents, and they seemed proud, if not a little puzzled.

  Because of the podcast, Zander and I had spent a lot of time together. And things were just plain fun between us, so we'd been hanging out even more.

  We mostly stuck to low-key dates like coffee and lunch. At night, he'd come by when I closed up my van and we'd talk on a park bench, him eating ice cream, me drinking coffee. But we’d driven two hours to Orlando tonight, and held hands during a private dinner at one of the theme park's restaurants. Our relationship felt different, more serious, and not just because we had a hotel room waiting for us.

  "I brought you here for two reasons, Hadley. I wanted to see if you'd consider ramping up production of your ice cream."

  I frowned. "Why?"

  "So we can sell it here at the gift shop for all the people who ride Tunnel of Love. We like to have exclusive products from Florida for sale after each ride."

  My mouth opened, but the words wouldn't come out. My ice cream? For sale at a huge theme park?

  "Think about it, okay? C'mon. Let me show you the next thing."

  "Yes. I'll do it. I don't know how I'll do it, but I will." My mind raced with thoughts of hiring employees, ramping up production, setting up a small factory back on Devil’s Beach.

  "I thought you might."

  He took my hand and steered me through the color riot of a room. He popped open a door at the far end, and we were in semi-darkness.

  "James?" he called out. "You there?"

  "Hey, Z! I'm here."

  At that moment, the illumination flickered to life, and we were in a neon rainbow wonderland — similar to the entrance, only now in black light. I gaped and grinned at the murals as we walked through a short corridor. The décor went from cartoonish to abstract, and the strains of a sexy, chill-lounge song wafted in the air.

  We came to the end of the corridor, where an Asian man in all black greeted us. He was lithe and bald, probably around Zander's age.

  "Welcome to the Tunnel of Love," the man said, sweeping his arm in the air.

  "This is Ray. He's anoth
er of the ride designers. Tonight he's moonlighting as our ride operator, though."

  I waved. "Nice to meet you."

  I spotted what looked like a bumper car parked near the corridor's edge. It sat in a gently rushing river, neon blue water swirling around its white, sparkly fiberglass body.

  Zander squeezed my hand. I squeezed back and did a little dance.

  "This is your ride. This is what you've been working on. I love it."

  "And tonight, it's our ride. You have the honor of being the first non-park employee to try it out," he said.

  "Right this way," Ray said, holding onto the frame of the car. It seemed to be anchored into place in the water, and I assumed that it ran on some sort of track through the river rapids.

  "This is so cool," I squealed as I eased a sandal into the car. Zander had told me to wear a casual dress tonight, and now I knew why. "We're getting wet, aren't we?"

  Zander laughed and followed me inside. Ray patted the frame. "You two kids have fun, okay?"

  He stepped away and pushed a button on a console. Our little car glided away, and Zander slung his arm around my shoulder. As we passed under a heart-filled sign, I looked to him.

  "Wow," I whispered, enchanted. "Amazing. Thank you for bringing me here."

  "Thank you for all you've done, Hadley. You got justice for my aunt. Not many people would go that extra mile for someone they just met. That's my definition of amazing."

  Our little bumper car floated into a room of almost total darkness. The music had changed and shifted into a jazz song. A woman's smoky, lazy vocals filled the air, and my stomach tightened in the most delicious way.

  "Who is this singer?" I leaned into him.

  "Etta Jones," Zander said in a low voice, pulling me closer. "Now, just look straight ahead."

  When a hologram of a red firework flashed in front of us, I yelped with happiness.

  "You like that?" he murmured.

  "I like you better." And with that, I turned to kiss him as we drifted away.

  * * *

  THE END

  A new mystery on Devil’s Beach

  GROUNDS FOR MURDER, A Coffee Shop Mystery

  Published by Crooked Lane Books

  Dec 08, 2020 | ISBN 9781643856193

  Barista Lana Lewis’s sleuthing may land her in a latte trouble as Tara Lush launches her new Coffee Shop mysteries.

  When Lana Lewis’ best — and most difficult — employee abruptly quits and goes to work for the competition just days before the Sunshine State Barista Championship, her café’s chances of winning the contest are creamed. In front of a gossipy crowd in the small Florida town of Devil’s Beach, Lana’s normally calm demeanor heats to a boil when she runs into the arrogant java slinger. Of course, Fabrizio “Fab” Bellucci has a slick explanation for jumping ship. But when he’s found dead the next morning under a palm tree in the alley behind Lana’s café, she becomes the prime suspect.

  Even the island’s handsome police chief isn’t quite certain of her innocence. But Lana isn’t the only one in town who was angry with Fabrizio. Jilted lovers, a shrimp boat captain, and a surfer with ties to the mob are all suspects as trouble brews on the beach.

  With her stoned, hippie dad, a Shih Tzu named Stanley, and a new, curious barista sporting a punk rock aesthetic at her side, Lana’s prepared to turn up the heat to catch the real killer. After all, she is a former award-winning reporter. As scandal hangs over her beachside café, can Lana clear her name and win the championship — or will she come to a bitter end?

  Pre-order GROUNDS FOR MURDER today!

  About the Author

  Tara Lush is a Florida-based author and journalist. She's an RWA Rita finalist, an Amtrak writing fellow and the winner of the George C. Polk award for environmental journalism.

  Since 2008, she's been a reporter with The Associated Press in Florida, covering crime, alligators, natural disasters and politics. She also writes contemporary romance set in tropical locations under the name Tamara Lush.

  Tara lives on the Gulf Coast with her husband and two dogs.