Pint of No Return Read online

  Mr. Mavis appeared next at the window.

  “Hi, Mr. Mavis. How are your cousin’s chickens?” Trinidad called out.

  “Doing well, thanks to you and Quinn,” he said. “And your dog. Sure do appreciate that.”

  “Are you here to see the house?”

  He grinned. “Nah. Mostly just came over ’cause I heard there was free food. No business at the gas station right now since everyone’s here.”

  “What can we get you?” Diego repeated the flavor options.

  “Well, that’s a lot to consider.” Mr. Mavis scratched his chin. “The strawberry must be real good because summer is berry season. Local berries?”

  “Yes, sir. I bought them at the farmers market right here in town,” Trinidad said.

  “Flavor should be pretty zippy.”

  “Oh, yes.” The succulent berries had produced a rich, jewel-toned puree that made her mouth water while she was cooking it.

  Mr. Mavis mused. “’Course, you can’t go wrong with chocolate. And vanilla…is that the kind with the black specks in there?” He pointed to the vat. “Not sure I trust the specks.”

  “Those are bits of the vanilla pod.”

  “Vanilla comes from a pod?” His eyes went round. “You gotta be joshing me.”

  She smiled. “A pod,” she assured him. “Actually, vanilla comes from an orchid. It’s a tropical flower. My grandfather’s been experimenting with growing some in his greenhouse in Miami. It has to be hand-pollinated because, in the wild, only certain bees and hummingbirds can get the job done. Explains why it’s such an expensive spice. It’s a tricky business. Very finicky.”

  “And I read that vanilla pods don’t have any smell or taste until after they’re cured,” Diego put in.

  “True,” she said.

  “Weird,” Mr. Mavis said.

  Trinidad smiled. “Also true.”

  “Huh. I’ll have to tell the missus that. She’s sort of a botanical whiz kid.” He rocked back on his heels. Two more people joined the line behind him.

  “What flavor would you like?” Diego said, trying to keep the Mavis train on the track.

  “Huh. Well, that’s pretty interesting about the vanilla, but I mean a good strawberry is hard to pass up. You know…”

  “How about we put a half scoop of all three in a waffle cone for you?” Trinidad suggested.

  “Which type of waffle cone?” Diego started.

  “Let’s go with the regular,” Trinidad said quickly before Mavis’s train could leave the station again. When Mr. Mavis and the folks behind him were served, Trinidad finally remembered to check her phone. She found a text message from Quinn sent two hours prior:

  Truck had a flat. No spare. Had to stop in town for a replacement and then go do the nut delivery. On my way to pick up photos now. See you soon.

  Relieved, she pictured him in his worn jeans and faded green T-shirt with his untied shoelace trailing behind him. There was something quiet and deep and sincere about Quinn Logan that made her want to smile. At that very moment, he was probably hustling back to Sprocket with the precious pack of photos in his hand. She’d make sure to save some vanilla for him and Doug to enjoy.

  They were about halfway through their ice cream supplies, and the heat of the day was beginning to thin out the open house visitors.

  “Hey, since it’s slow now, can we go check out that hot rod car?” Carlos asked. “We never see sweet rides like that in Sprocket.”

  She laughed. “All right. Take a picture for me of this set of wheels in case it’s gone when I climb out of here,” Trinidad said.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  She was wiping down the counter and counting the remaining waffle cones when the boys returned.

  “Awww, man,” Diego said. “What a machine. It makes the Plymouth we want to buy look like a tin can.”

  “A squashed tin can,” Carlos agreed.

  “What kind of car is it?” Trinidad said. “Let me see.”

  Diego offered his cell phone screen.

  Trinidad squinted at the photo.

  A sky-blue vehicle with a convertible white top and sparkling whitewall tires.

  Her heart thudded.

  Diego’s comments came back to her.

  Some guy phoned for you; couldn’t understand him.

  He was filling his pockets from the candy bowl.

  Carlos peered at the screen. “I think it’s a Buick.”

  “No,” she said slowly. “It’s a 1954 Chevy Bel Air.”

  Diego whistled. “Wow, Miss Jones. I didn’t know you were into cars.”

  “I’m not, but I know someone who is.” Her breath caught as she left the two boys in charge of the truck and hustled down the steep steps. Without even bothering to remove her apron, she hurried toward the house.

  Papa Luis. There could be no other person driving that car and matching the description. But it couldn’t be. He lived 2,000 miles away on the opposite coast. What in the world was he doing in Sprocket?

  Edging past a few straggling visitors, she made it to the front door just as Candy opened it and ushered out none other than her grandfather. Papa Luis was his usual tidy self, from the thick thatch of glossy dark hair, neat button-up shirt and trousers cinched around his stocky waist with a leather belt. His glasses glinted in the sunlight, and he blinked.

  “Papa,” she said at the very same moment he recognized her.

  “My girl,” he cried, throwing his arms around her and squeezing tight.

  She was not sure whether to laugh or cry, but, for a moment, all she felt was the rush of love, wrapped in the embrace of the man dearest in the world to her. He smelled of that familiar pine soap, and his wide shoulders were the same sturdy set that had absorbed so many of her tears.

  When he released her, he gestured to Candy, his brown eyes sparkling with a mixture of intelligence and good humor. “This is my granddaughter, Trinidad.”

  Candy was rendered momentarily speechless, her gaze darting between them.

  “I know,” Candy said, confusion written on her smooth brow. “Trinidad and I have a partnership. She’s scooping ice cream for me.”

  “Yes, I asked in town, where to find you,” Papa said. “A fellow at the coffee shop told me my Trina would be here serving her treats. That’s why I came.”

  Candy’s eyes narrowed. “So, you’re not here to see the house?”

  He took Candy’s hand and patted it. “I have seen it, but there isn’t enough sun here. Living in the shade like that all the time?” He sniffed. “No good.”

  Candy rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Papa Luis did not seem to notice her dismay. He gave her a slight bow, pumped her hand and released it. “Thank you for your time, Miss Simon. I would suggest some cutting back of branches to let the sun in. Too much gloom. Bad for the soul.” He took Trinidad by the arm, and they walked toward the sidewalk.

  “What are you doing here, Papa?”

  He lifted a careless shoulder. “Your mother is off on a luxurious cruise for a month, and Yolo is concocting some sort of business plan involving aquariums that keeps him busy. You never saw such fascination with fish filters in your life. My plants are happy for now, and I wanted to see this town where you’ve settled with my own eyes.”

  She goggled. “So, you drove here? All the way from Miami? With no GPS?”

  “What’s a GPS?”

  “Never mind. How did you find your way?”

  “With maps and a slew of kind strangers who helped me when I needed it. The world is full of helpers, just like I tell you. I got addresses so we can correspond.”

  No, there would be no strangers around Papa Luis. He’d saunter into any cafe in the world, sip strong coffee, and immediately launch into a lengthy conversation with the nearest patron. The ima
ge made her smile and gather him up for another hug. “I am so glad you arrived safely. And you called to tell me you were coming, didn’t you? I’m sorry, but my teen employees could not understand you.”

  “Answering machines,” he said. “Who can understand anyone on those things? Makes everyone sound like they are speaking from the bottom of a well.”

  Of course he would never believe it had anything to do with his accent. As far as he was concerned, he had no accent. He frowned as he took in the street. “It is much smaller than I pictured.”

  “It’s nice, quiet. I am getting used to it.”

  “I thought you said it was near the water.”

  “There’s a lake, Three Egg Lake. I haven’t had time to see much of it, but you can fish there, I’ve heard.”

  He squeezed her arm and got down to the main point. “Fishing and quiet are fine, but it’s so far away from your people.”

  Her people. She sighed. “I miss you and Mother and Yolo.”

  “And Len, the seafood man. He’s disappointed that you didn’t come visit so we can introduce you. You would like him, I think, and you would never lack for fresh scallops.”

  “Len is a great guy, no doubt, but I’m doing really well here,” she said. “The shop is going to open on Thursday, and there’s been a lot of interest already.”

  “But here it’s…” He lifted a shoulder. “So close together. Small towns can be funny places.” He turned a sober gaze on her. “I saw in the paper, when I was looking for you, there’s been a murder, a young man killed in his store, close to yours.”

  She sucked in a breath. Wait until he finds out that you discovered the body and you’re trying to unearth the real killer. “Yes, but that was a freak thing. Sprocket is a safe town.”

  They’d arrived at his shimmering Bel Air. Not a speck of dust anywhere on that vehicle. Two of the wheels were indeed perched on the sidewalk. Her heart leapt when she noticed Quinn’s truck parked right behind. He’d finally made it, she thought with a sigh of relief. He was probably at the food truck searching for her.

  Papa was frowning, his thick slash of brows drawn together into a single line. “If Sprocket is a safe town like you say…” He looked down at the curb. “Then how do you explain that?”

  She followed Papa’s pointed finger down to the street. Wedged between the truck and the curb was a limp bundle. She could not decipher what it was at first, until she caught a glimpse of fingers outstretched and still and an arm protruding from a familiar faded green T-shirt.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Quinn!” Trinidad dropped to her knees and clutched at his wrist. Fingers trembling, she sought for a pulse. Nothing. Horror robbed her of breath.

  “Oh, please don’t let him be dead,” she silently prayed. Repositioning her fingers, she tried again and felt the strong thud of the pulse in his wrist. The relief almost made her pass out.

  “Oh, man,” Carlos said as the boys arrived at full speed. “Is it another body? I should have brought the video cam.”

  “Uh-oh,” Diego breathed. “It’s Quinn.”

  Candy hurried up. “What now?” She paused. “What is Quinn doing there?”

  “He’s been hurt,” Trinidad half sobbed. “Call an ambulance.”

  “We already did,” Diego said. Carlos peered around his shoulder. “The chief and the ambulance are on their way. Maybe you should pull him onto the sidewalk.”

  Trinidad nodded, taking hold of his wrist.

  “Hang on,” Carlos interrupted. “I don’t think you’re supposed to move people when they’re injured.”

  “Yeah, but if he’s been shot, he could die if we don’t stop the bleeding,” his brother said.

  Bleeding? Trinidad fought for breath. “We didn’t hear any shots,” she managed.

  “Silencer?” Carlos suggested.

  “Silencers don’t completely deaden the noise, just muffle it,” Diego said. “They’re more appropriately called suppressors rather than silencers, so we probably would have heard something.”

  Carlos nodded. “Okay. What about a knife? Could have been stabbed.”

  Trinidad felt like screaming. “Stop helping. Both of you.”

  Carlos cocked his head. “I was just gonna say we should put him on his back in case his heart stops, and then we could do, like, CPR.”

  “It might work,” Diego said, “but statistically nine of ten people who suffer cardiac arrest outside the home die anyway.”

  Stabbing. CPR. Survival. Trinidad’s head spun, and she clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming at the twins. Her grandfather gripped her arm.

  Carlos looked from Trinidad to his brother. “Uh…we should stop helping now.”

  With her grandfather’s assistance, Trinidad grasped Quinn’s arm, and they lifted him as gently as they could onto the sidewalk. She frantically scanned for blood but didn’t see any signs of injury other than the fact that he wasn’t conscious. As she monitored his pulse, he began to stir.

  She put a quaking hand on his cheek. “Quinn? Can you hear me? What happened?”

  One of his eyes fluttered open. “Owww.”

  Pure, sweet relief coursed through her body. He was alive and talking. One by one, her muscles seemed to shakily resume their functioning. She placed her palm on his chest and grimaced along with him. “Where does it hurt?”

  His face tightened in pain. “The spot where someone clobbered me on the back of the head,” he groaned. He pried his other eye open and tried to sit up.

  “You should stay still,” Papa Luis advised.

  “Hello, sir,” Quinn said, extending a palm from his prone position. “We haven’t met.”

  “Luis,” Papa said. “I am Trinidad’s grandfather.”

  “Honored.”

  Trinidad would have laughed at the formal greeting, the handshake extended from Quinn on his back to her grandfather, if she wasn’t so worried.

  Quinn cleared his throat. “Not to alarm anyone, but I am going to sit up now.”

  “Bad idea,” Carlos said. “We had a cousin who got a concussion from running into a doorknob, and he…”

  Diego held up a finger. “We’re not helping anymore, remember?”

  Quinn sat up anyway. He braced himself with one shoulder against the driver’s side door of his truck. His lips thinned in a grim line. “Owww,” he said again.

  Trinidad stayed on her knees by his side, checking to be sure she’d not missed any oozing blood or stab wounds. “Ambulance is on its way. Can you tell us what happened?”

  Before he could get the story out, a siren echoed along the street. Chief Bigley jerked her squad car to a halt and leapt out. “Quinn, are you all right?”

  He nodded, which made him wince. “Don’t worry. I’m not on death’s door. I have an extremely thick skull, just ask my high school English teacher.”

  She exhaled. “What happened?”

  “I was getting out of my truck, and someone hit me on the back of the head with something.”

  “Probably that,” Diego said, pointing to a hamburger-sized rock lying near the car. “Awww, man. A news crew would be all over this. There’s some of Quinn’s hair stuck to the rock.”

  Bigley looked closer. “And a trace of blood. Did they steal your wallet? Was it a possible carjacking?”

  “No,” he said, “I’ve got my wallet, and no one on earth would want my truck but…” His eyes widened, and he patted his front pocket and groaned, locking eyes with Trinidad. “They took the photos. I’m so sorry. They’re gone.”

  Trinidad tried to keep the crushing disappointment from showing on her face. She pasted on a bright smile. “The important thing is that you’re okay. You could have been killed.”

  “What photos?” the chief demanded as the ambulance screamed up.

  The medics took over and assessed Quinn, edg
ing away the bystanders. The chief grabbed Trinidad by the elbow and steered her a few feet from the action.

  “What photos?” she repeated.

  Trinidad took a fortifying breath. “Juliette took pictures of the contents of Lupin’s storage unit. They were at the photo shop in Scotch Corners ready to be picked up. I started to tell you about it when you came to my shop but…”

  Chief tensed. “But you didn’t, and you didn’t feel like sharing the info with me earlier, either, like say, giving me a phone call to inform me?”

  “We were going to tell you if we found anything.”

  “You should have told me regardless. I’m the law.”

  She felt a flicker of anger. “I don’t think you’re exactly on Juliette’s side. You sent her to jail.”

  The chief’s eyes were cold. “The evidence sent her to jail, and you shutting me out might have just cost us information that could have cleared her. Did you think of that while you were playing detective?”

  Trinidad felt like wailing aloud. She kept her lips tightly together to keep from making things worse.

  The chief blew out a breath. “If you want to help Juliette, you need to trust me to do my job. If you’re going to withhold information, then you look just as guilty as she does.”

  “I…”

  “And what would you have done with the photos if they incriminated Juliette in some way? Destroyed them?”

  “I… No, I wouldn’t have, I mean…”

  Bigley shook her head. “I should have known. Juliette didn’t come clean about everything in my first interview with her, either. She conveniently forgot to mention her fight with Kevin and the threat she left on his cell phone. Looks like you’re both pretty skilled with the sins of omission.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m trying to protect my friend.”

  “And I’m trying to put away a killer,” Bigley snapped.

  “But you put the wrong person in jail.”

  Both women stared at each other.