Pint of No Return Page 25

  The whites of his eyes shone with fear. “I…” His voice pinched off in a squeak. “Kevin saw me going through his boxes. I had gloves on because I didn’t want to touch a Qianlong with my bare hands. Do you know how much money it’s worth?”

  “Not more than a man’s life,” Bigley said. “Or a woman’s freedom.”

  “Oh, please.” Vince yanked his hands from his pockets and stabbed a forefinger at them. “Don’t be so sanctimonious. Any one of you would have done the same thing to snag a fortune like that.”

  His comment was met with stony silence.

  He shifted. “I told you I didn’t mean to kill Kevin. I’m not some cold-blooded murderer. I wanted to wait until nighttime, but I heard Kevin at the pizza place talking on the phone to someone about his plans to give Tanya a potted rose. That idiot. He was actually going to stick some crummy plant in a priceless Qianlong. I couldn’t wait any longer, so I tied a bandanna over my face and wore a hat and gloves, just in case. Good thing, too, because he saw me out the window, poking through his boxes. I charged into the shop and hit him before he could call the police. He sort of half-folded over the rim of the pot, so I helped him in the rest of the way. Figured he wouldn’t be found for a while. I was sneaking around the back of the store when I heard Trinidad coming inside. I panicked.”

  “And stuck it inside the van. You must have been surprised when Warren drove off and unloaded it into the storage room,” Bigley said.

  His eyes rolled. “I looked in his van the moment I had the chance, and I couldn’t find it. I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out what happened to it.”

  “And to keep others from connecting the dots,” Quinn said. “You clobbered me.”

  “I was at the coffee shop, and I heard the plans to get Juliette’s photos. I didn’t even know she’d taken those. I couldn’t risk you seeing the Qianlong in the photographs.”

  “And you went after the video tapes at my house, too.”

  “Yeah, but man. You went nuclear with all that screaming. You’re tougher than you look. I ran for the woods.”

  Trinidad recalled her motive list…greed, love gone wrong, power. Sonny and Candy may have been motivated by greed into taking a few items from Lupin’s belongings, but that was as far as it went. In the love category, Tanya was indeed the “jealous woman,” but she really was devoted to Kevin. So, was this pathetic killer acting solely out of greed? She didn’t think so, not entirely, anyway.

  “Oh Vince,” she said. “You thought you’d finally be the big man, didn’t you?”

  He jerked as if she’d slapped him. “I just wanted people to notice me.”

  She sighed. Be careful what you wish for.

  Quinn shook his head. “And all for a pot. I still can’t believe that.”

  “Not a pot, a vase, a Qianlong vase,” Vince said, swiveling a look at the chief. “So where is it?”

  She folded her arms. “I have no idea.”

  “It must be here. It has to be. I tried to break in earlier, but Warren was messing around. It’s not at the flea market, not at Kevin’s, and not at Lupin’s house.” He was sweating now, breathing hard through his nose. “So where is it?” There was an edge of hysteria in his voice.

  Bigley’s cell phone rang, and she stepped away to answer.

  Trinidad stared at the young man who’d become a murderer. Part of her could not believe that she had actually done it, ferreted out a killer. Ice cream scooper, paralegal, sleuth. At least she’d got one thing right, but it did not lift the weight in her heart.

  “Well,” Bigley said, clicking off her phone. She whispered something to Officer Chang who disappeared. “I finally heard back from Cora. She’s a real independent lady, not to mention a creative type.” Chang returned a moment later with the white plaster pot Trinidad had knocked over when she’d run into Tanya. Vince read the ABSOLUTELY NO CELL PHONES stenciled on the side. His face went slack with horror. “Oh no. She didn’t.”

  “Yes, she did,” Bigley said. “Cora plastered and spray painted your Qianlong and stuck it in the lobby to collect cell phones. She had no idea it was priceless.”

  Vince shuddered as if he would faint. “No,” he moaned. “Maybe we can save it. Maybe it can be restored.” He lurched forward. Bigley caught him quickly, but the movement startled Officer Chang who jerked, the pot slipping out of his grip.

  The vessel hit the floor and smashed into a half dozen pieces, revealing a lustrous, satiny finish. Inside was a lone cell phone that someone had forgotten to retrieve.

  “Would you look at that?” Bigley said. “I guess Cora’s craft project really did work. There’s one lonely cell phone in there.”

  Vince took on the pallor of a perfectly churned vanilla ice cream before he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  ***

  Trinidad’s heart wasn’t really into the Fourth of July cookout at the tiny house the next day, but it would have been an unforgivable sin against her heritage to rescind an invitation. After her shop was left in ruins and Vince Jr. arrested, she’d slunk away, ignoring phone calls and texts. She’d not even been able to sift through the wreckage of her store, since the police still hadn’t finished their tasks. Though she’d tried to hide from the world, her spirit would not allow her to stand by and let Papa host the party solo.

  Giving in, she’d helped Papa with the dinner preparations. He didn’t prod her to talk, as she prepared the plantains for frying. She didn’t ask him where he’d gotten the tropical bananas, grateful simply to have him there, a quiet and steady balm to her frazzled nerves. The kitchen chores did not quite keep her mind off the ruined Shimmy and Shake Shop.

  But Juliette will go free, she reminded herself. The thought did not completely erase the sadness, but it was all she had to cling to. The day passed in a blur of chores and more voicemails that she did not return.

  At almost seven o’clock, she was dead tired and wanted nothing more than a snuggle with Noodles and the comfort of her bed, but it was time to plaster on a smile and greet the guests. How she would navigate the inevitable prying questions, she had no idea. All the drama was probably just more proof that Trinidad, a Bigley babe, did not belong in their quiet town.

  Quinn caught her in the kitchen. “I’ve been trying to call.”

  She forced a smile. “We’ve been up to our ears in party planning around here.”

  He nodded, but she knew she hadn’t fooled him.

  The aroma of garlic and roasted pork filled the air as Papa and Quinn put platters of meat and a massive bowl of black beans and rice on the tables Quinn had brought. Plates piled high with fried tostones completed the offering as well as the obligatory bowls of sliced mango. Stan brought containers of sweets, and the arriving townspeople did as well, hauling their own lawn chairs and arranging them around the bonfire Papa had constructed inside a ring of stones.

  Sprocketerians filled the tiny yard and spilled over onto the surrounding expanse of grass. It should have been a glorious evening, an event heralding her assimilation into Sprocket. Instead, she could hardly keep from sobbing.

  Diego and Carlos arrived, whispering between themselves. When they saw her, they straightened. “We’re gonna help, Miss Jones. Mom is, too. She said she’s gonna come to the shop and clean up the moment we can get in there.”

  “Thank you,” Trinidad said. She didn’t think it was a good time to tell them she’d decided not to reopen. Let them enjoy the festivities without having to worry about losing their jobs. They wasted no time zeroing in on the food and began to load up their plates.

  Warren was shaking his head in astonishment as he talked animatedly with Cora. “I can’t believe Vince Jr. would do such a thing. I thought he was kinda a wimp, to be honest. Who would guess he was a bona fide killer?” He put a hand to his heart. “And I can’t believe you ruined a bazillion-dollar vase, either.”

  Cora shr
ugged. “C’est la vie.”

  Warren began to laugh so hard he almost dropped his dinner. “Only you would react that way, Cora…only you.”

  Chief Bigley showed up carrying a container of peanuts. “I don’t cook,” she explained, and then, in a louder voice, added, “Just so you know, Juliette’s release is being processed right now. She’ll be free in a couple of hours.”

  A few of the nearby guests let out a cheer, and there was a ripple of applause.

  The chief had made it public. She had been wrong. Juliette was not a killer. Trinidad heaved a sigh. “Thank you.”

  “Ditto. I am not too proud to say I don’t think I would have put the pieces together without your help.” She hesitated. “And I’m truly sorry about your shop. So is everyone in town. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this really is a nice place to live, murderers and secrets notwithstanding.”

  Very nice sentiment, but it did not ease Trinidad’s ache. She nodded anyway. The guests settled into lively conversations interspersed with lavish praise for the food. Papa Luis went for modesty, but Trinidad could see he was pleased.

  Pastor Phil waved a fork with a tostone speared on it. “Almost as good as mine,” he said.

  Papa laughed and sat beside him. Friends. How had Papa Luis managed to make them so quickly?

  A flicker of movement caught her eye. Tanya stood by herself, just outside the circle of firelight. Trinidad went to her.

  “I didn’t know you were here. I’m glad you came.”

  Tanya shrugged. “Your grandfather invited everyone in town. I don’t think he realized you and I haven’t always gotten along.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. Can I get you a plate of food?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not very hungry.” She toyed with a balled-up napkin. “Thank you for figuring out it was Vince. I was so sure Juliette had killed him. I mean…Vince didn’t even know Kevin that well.”

  “Vince was desperate to be important, to be a big shot, and his greed overrode everything else. I feel sorry for his parents.”

  “I don’t. They raised a killer who took Kevin away from me. Ruined your shop, too.” Her tone was acid.

  She wondered how the Dempseys would handle the knowledge that their son was a murderer. He’d destroyed their lives as well as his own, and Kevin’s and Tanya’s… The ripples from his decision had turned into tidal waves.

  “Lots of people were hurt. You most of all. I’m just glad the truth came out.”

  “That’s a small comfort. Nothing is going to bring him back.” Her face was bleak.

  Trinidad took her hand and squeezed. “Please come to the fire. Sit and have a bite to eat.”

  “Thanks, but no. I don’t belong here.” She turned to go.

  “Tanya, wait.”

  She swiped at the tears staining her cheek. “What?”

  “Come with me.”

  Tanya followed her around to the backyard of the tiny house. Noodles sidled up and greeted her with a lick. She smiled and returned his greeting with a chin rub. “I think I need a dog,” she said.

  “The best friend you’ll ever have, but you have to keep a sharp eye on your snacks.” Trinidad led Tanya to a bucket in which a desiccated rosebush was sitting. The leaves were dried and mostly gone, but a few clung stubbornly to the thorny branches. Papa had suggested soaking it might inject some life back in the sorry plant.

  Trinidad felt suddenly uncertain. “I, um, I think Kevin bought this for you. It’s a…”

  “Pink Princess,” she whispered. “I know the variety.”

  “It was really dry by the time the police released the crime scene. I couldn’t stand to see it there dying every time I drove by, so Chief Bigley said I could take it.” Trinidad paused. “It was meant for you.”

  Tanya hid her face in her hands and cried. Trinidad wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She held on until Tanya’s sobs subsided and she blew her nose with a pink tissue.

  “Thank you,” Tanya said. “I will never forget this.”

  “Let’s load it in your car.”

  Though Trinidad tried one more time to convince Tanya to stay, she left after giving Trinidad a tight hug, her rosebush nestled in its bucket behind her driver’s seat. For a moment, Trinidad wished she could drive away, too, leave the cheerful chatter and wildfire gossip behind her. Instead, she heaved in a breath and returned to the party.

  Officer Chang stood wolfing down his second plate of food as the chief sipped a glass of root beer. “So, Miss Jones, what are your plans now that you’ve solved your first case?” Bigley said. “Going back to scooping or setting up shop as a sleuth? What’s your heart telling you?”

  Her heart still lay among the splinters of her sweet Shimmy and Shake Shop. She was searching for something to say when a horn sounded, a familiar ahooga splitting the air. She stared in disbelief as the food truck rumbled up, Mr. Mavis behind the wheel and tapping on the horn to clear the way. It had been cleaned up and looked good as new, minus the fiberglass bowl of oatmeal and not counting the dent in the front fender. The side sported lettering that still smelled of fresh paint. THE SHIMMY AND SHAKE SHOP. Her mouth fell open as Quinn sidled close.

  “It’s a mobile unit, until you get your shop fixed up. Orville insisted. We fixed it as best we could so you can fire it up tomorrow, for opening day. Your ice cream survived, right? So you’ve got product to sell.”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “Everyone’s on board to help you fix the shop, too. Mr. Mavis’s cousin’s nephew has a construction business, and he’ll do the work cheap. The twins took the ice cream clock home, and their mom is doing some tricky gluing, but she thinks she can save it. Doug and I will help as much as we can until you’re back on your feet again. Sonny volunteered to paint the place gratis, if you’re not picky about the shade of pink.”

  She gaped. “Sonny would do that?”

  “Yep. Apparently, he’s not holding a grudge about being a possible murder suspect.” Shyly, Quinn took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. His fingers caressed her arms, sending little pinpricks of warmth dancing through her body. “Like I said, there are lots of good people here in town.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lips soft. “Give Sprocket one more chance, okay? Please?” he whispered.

  Now her eyes filled for a different reason. Mr. Mavis climbed down, gave her a nod, and headed for a plate of food. She stared at the shined-up truck, struck dumb. Papa finally dragged over a folding chair nearer the bonfire. “Sit, Trina,” he said, “sit here with your friends.”

  She saw in his smile that he understood she was not going back to Miami.

  He hugged her and whispered in her ear, “Too bad for Len the fishmonger.”

  She laughed. The Shimmy and Shake Shop would be reborn in all its pink and sugary glory. Gratefully, she took the food Papa had lovingly prepared and settled down among the crowd of chattering Sprocketerians. Quinn and Doug sat next to her, the firelight making their faces glow.

  It was a long, lingering meal, as was every family gathering she’d ever experienced. As the sky darkened, people turned their attention to the dessert table, shoring up for the fireworks display. Quinn shifted on his folding chair.

  “I think maybe Doug and I should go,” he said. “I would rather stay here, truly I would, but I don’t want to embarrass myself by screaming like a toddler when the fireworks go off.”

  “Wait just a minute. I had an idea. Hold on.” She fetched the bag she’d gotten from the thrift store. First, she put a set of earmuffs on Noodles. He cocked his head quizzically but accepted her zany idea.

  She handed another set to Quinn, one to Doug, and, so they wouldn’t feel odd, held up a fuzzy pink set for herself. “What do you think?”

  Quinn’s face split into a wide grin as he snapped on the plaid earmuffs. “Brilliant,” he said. “What would I do without y
ou?”

  Cheeks warm and heart full, she covered her own ears and settled back to enjoy the festive light show. The sky over Sprocket glittered with showers of golden sparks.

  After the fireworks show ended, the visitors scattered, some helping to clean up and others heading to their cars. Trinidad retrieved paper plates, stopping to admire the behemoth truck that she would pilot in the morning. A soft opening to her shop, so to speak.

  Papa yawned and stretched. “Morning will come early, Trin,” he said.

  “I’m ready for it,” she said, giving him a hug.

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you have enjoyed this first installment of the Shake Shop Mysteries as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I have already fallen in love with the little town of Upper Sprocket and the tantalizing adventures that await. The story features Papa Luis, inspired by my own grandfather, an engineer in the sugar mills and copper mines in Cuba before the Revolution. He was a brilliant man, passionately curious, who would gleefully retell the same jokes about Grant’s tomb every time we saw him. But, perhaps, my fictional Papa Luis is more like my father who grew up in Cuba and absorbed all the generosity and friendliness the island had to offer and greets everyone with warmth and geniality. I hope you get a taste of their love and devotion right along with Trinidad. She’s going to need all the help she can get to solve all the mysteries awaiting her!

  If you’d like to know more about me or my books, you can message me through my website at danamentink.com. There is also a physical address there if you are a fan of snail mail!

  With love and hugs, Dana

  Excerpt from the next Shake Shop Mystery

  Chapter One

  Trinidad Jones had never before realized how much her dog, Noodles, appreciated yodeling. Some primal instinct prompted her elderly Labrador/failed service dog rescue to chime in with abandon when the bearded visitor took the stage. Not a stage, actually, but the stump of a Douglas fir that sat just to the side of the charming train car bed and breakfast. A couple dozen visitors sat grouped around on card chairs, tapping fingers and toes along with the music. Was it actually music? Trinidad was not convinced.