Pint of No Return Page 8

  She swallowed her sudden queasiness. “Okay, Noodles. Let’s go back inside.”

  Something cracked through the air, whistling overhead. Reflexively, she ducked. The screech and glare told her it was a firecracker, probably launched by some teens hanging out in the empty lot along Main Street. Another shot up and burst into a shower of sparkles before it screamed back to earth. Noodles stiffened, nostrils quivering, and promptly went bananas, howling and tearing around the yard in a frenzy of fear.

  “It’s okay, Noodles,” she hollered, but the dog would not be placated. She had adopted Noodles in late July the previous year, so she had never experienced the Fourth of July with him. She watched in horror as he careened to the gate. He slammed against the wood so hard it opened. He sprinted outside, howling.

  “Noodles, stop!” Her scream did not seem to register as the terrified dog bolted. She ran after him, shouting at the top of her lungs. The road was dark in both directions, a desolate country lane without the benefit of streetlights. On either side of the roadway were tall trees and thick shrubbery. She stilled herself, trying to calm her panicked breathing so she could hear which way Noodles had taken. She caught only the whisper of leaves.

  What should she do? How could she locate the frantic animal in the dark? With fumbling fingers, she found her cell phone and dialed the only person that came to mind.

  “Quinn…” she panted. “I’m sorry to call, but…but…” She burst into tears.

  “Trinidad? What’s wrong? How can I help?”

  She managed to stumble through the story. “Noodles is lost,” she finished with a wail.

  “I’ll be right there. We’ll find him.”

  Quinn rattled up in his truck less than a half hour later, with Doug in the passenger seat. He had two flashlights tucked in his back pockets. “Which direction did he go?”

  She pointed. “That way, I think, but I’m not sure.”

  “Okay. Not much out that direction but Store Some More and a couple of orchards. There’s a kind of trail down along the creek, so he might have headed there. Doug and I will drive along the bank real slow going south. You take the road northward. Text me if you find him, and we’ll do the same.”

  He handed her a flashlight. “In case you need it.”

  Doug wore a strap-on headlamp around the brim of his baseball hat, which he switched on.

  Grateful to have two willing searchers, Trinidad stopped only long enough to snatch her car keys from the tiny house. Quinn and Doug had already gone when she fired up the engine.

  With the windows cranked down, she drove slowly along the road. Stopping every few minutes, she hollered for Noodles until her voice was raw. What if they didn’t find him? What if he got run over?

  “Stop it,” she told herself. Traffic in Upper Sprocket at this hour of the night had to be next to nil. He was her best friend, her dearest companion. Tears welled up again, but she blinked hard. As she passed another mile, she saw the gleam of headlights as a truck approached.

  “Be careful of my dog,” she wanted to scream. As she neared the other vehicle, the road pinched across a small bridge, allowing only for one-way traffic. She pulled over and let the other driver across. He stopped when he came alongside.

  Warren Wheaton rolled down his window. He looked startled, but then the easygoing smile was back in place. “Trinidad. Out for a midnight drive?”

  “I’m looking for my dog. Have you seen him?”

  “No, did he get out?”

  “He was scared by a firecracker. He took off, and I’m trying to find him.”

  “Oh, gee. That’s too bad. I will keep my eyes peeled.” He started to creep along.

  A question poked through her panic. “What are you doing out so late, Warren?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m just taking a drive. It helps sometimes if I can’t sleep. Chronic insomnia. Darnedest thing.” She noticed a glow from his front shirt pocket, the gleam of a cell phone receiving a message.

  “You got your cell phone back.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure. Left it at the nursery, just like I said. Can’t live without it for long. Crazy how dependent on technology we are, right? Anyway, I’ll let you know if I see any sign of your pooch.”

  “Thank you,” she said faintly as he drove away. Liar. He’d told Cora he would retrieve his cell phone the following day from the nursery in Brighton, and there it was in his pocket. Maybe he was lying about where he’d dropped it? Perhaps it had been him trying to burglarize Lupin’s storage unit when Juliette interrupted him? Cora had said he hadn’t been picking up his calls for several days. Had it been lost at Store Some More all this time?

  He drove past, and she continued over the bridge. Brushing aside thoughts of Warren, she gave her undivided attention to finding Noodles.

  Her dear, dear friend and faithful companion, the one who listened to her burdens, shadowed her every move and brought her jars of pickles from the fridge to cheer her up. There was no sign of him anywhere. Should she turn around? Keep moving forward? The car idled as she spun her mental wheels. Her cell phone buzzed with a text.

  Found him. Taking him back to your place.

  She was so thrilled she hardly managed the reply text. “On my way.” Mumbling a prayer of gratitude, she cranked the Pinto into a U-turn. She zipped back to the tiny house where she found Quinn sitting on the front porch along with Doug and Noodles. Leaping from the car, she ran to them.

  Doug was bent over Noodles, stroking his heaving sides, murmuring softly.

  Tears drenched her face as Noodles caught sight of her and sprinted, taking one giant leap and hurtling into her arms. She almost could not handle the seventy-pound dog and sank to the ground, cooing and crying over him.

  Quinn approached. “He doesn’t seem hurt in any way, just scared. We found him down by the creek, and it took some effort to convince him to come, but Doug just sort of hunkered down and sat until Noodles calmed enough to approach.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much,” Trinidad said, trying unsuccessfully to stop crying. “He’s everything to me.”

  Doug nodded. “Fireworks are scary.”

  She blinked. It was the first time she’d ever heard him speak. “I think so, too.”

  “Yeah,” Quinn added. “I can’t stand them. Ever since I came home from Afghanistan. We usually hide on the Fourth of July and wait for it all to be over.”

  She laughed and hiccupped. “That sounds like a good idea to me. Thank you. Thank you both. Would you like to come inside for some water or something? Coffee?”

  “I’m sure you and Noodles are ready to hit the sack,” Quinn said. “We’ll see you inside safely, and then we’ll take off.”

  As if he’d understood every word Quinn said, Noodles jumped off Trinidad’s lap and galloped to the front door. Trinidad followed. “I ran into Warren driving the opposite direction.”

  Quinn raised an eyebrow. “What was he doing out here at this time of night?”

  “He said he couldn’t sleep—chronic insomnia.”

  “Hmmm. I’ve seen him sleep through town council meetings, church services, and the high school baseball championship game. Do you think he was telling you the truth?”

  “No.” She quickly filled him in on Juliette’s adventure in surprising the burglar, her suspicion about Warren’s participation, and the cell phone in his pocket.

  “I’ll put on my sleuthing hat tomorrow and see what I can find out. I know a guy at the nursery, so I might be able to check out Warren’s story,” Quinn said.

  Trinidad nodded. Quinn patted Noodles. “Take care of your Mama, now, and no more running away, okay?”

  “Thank you again,” she said with only a small hitch in her voice this time.

  Quinn smiled, and it lightened his whole face. “Our pleasure. Anytime.”

  After closing and locking the door, Trinidad
fixed a snack of leftover chicken for Noodles. He scarfed it up, licked his lips, and trotted over to retrieve her cell phone, dropping it into her lap. Sure enough, there was a voicemail waiting. She could never understand how he knew, since she kept her phone on silent.

  “Good to know your spidey senses are still intact, Noodles.” She played back the message.

  “Hello, Trinidad? This is Candy Simon. I own Simon Real Estate here in town. I have a business proposition I’d love to discuss with you. Can you meet me tomorrow at Edward Lupin’s place?” She rattled off an address. “I think it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. I’d like to talk to you about catering an event for me.”

  Excited, Trinidad texted her agreement. She’d been thinking about ways to expand her business venture into some sort of mobile service, and a chat with Candy might be the start of something lucrative. Besides, she’d heard so much about Edward Lupin lately that she was curious to see his place.

  She mused as she tucked herself onto the sofa. Noodles snored on his cushion right beside her, just in case there was another firecracker. Juliette said that someone had been snooping around Store Some More just before Edward Lupin’s storage unit was auctioned off. Maybe the prowler figured there was something inside worth the risk?

  Prowlers? Murder? It was too much for one night.

  The most important thing was that Noodles was home and safe.

  Her suspicions could wait until the morning.

  With one arm slung over the side, Trinidad stroked Noodles’s satin ears and accepted a warm lick in exchange. For the moment, at least, everything was all right. But how long would the moment of peace last?

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning arrived cruelly early, after the nighttime dog retrieval. Noodles dragged, too, but he managed to gobble his morning kibble before they made their way to the shop. Immediately, she set about preparing the brownie batter complete with chopped hazelnuts from Quinn’s farm. Gratitude for the Logan brothers’ dog rescue nearly made her cry again. To think of Quinn and his brother leaping into action to help find her traumatized dog… It gave her the shivers. Something would have to be done to help Noodles through the upcoming fireworks. Hunker in place as Quinn suggested? She was not sure that would be enough, since their tiny house was so near the lake.

  After the brownies were baked, she cut them into star shapes using her antique cutters and adorned them with stripes of red, white, and blue frosting before she set them aside. They would be the perfect final flourish for the Fourth of July Freakshakes. A half dozen brownie stars went in a Tupperware container, a thank-you token for Quinn and Doug, and a couple set aside for the twins.

  Carlos and Diego arrived and accepted their greeting from Noodles before they wolfed down a brownie each in the name of scientific testing.

  The twins took inventory of the walk-in freezer, Diego ticking off items on a clipboard. “Two gallons of chocolate, one vanilla, caramel ripple, and a banana custard,” he announced. “That’s not enough, right?”

  “I sincerely hope not. I’ll work on more vanilla and a citrus variety for the Key Lime Pie Freakshake.”

  “What’s that gonna have on it?” Carlos asked.

  “Graham cracker crumbles, a white chocolate striped shortbread cookie, and a couple of lime-candy twists for drama.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s gonna be a hit.”

  Diego affirmed with a nod. “Mom will love it. Key lime pie is her favorite.”

  “Mine too. I had to substitute for the key limes, which is what we used in Miami when Papa Luis and I used to make it. You gotta squeeze a lot of those teeny limes to get enough juice, let me tell you.”

  Carlos’s eyes flew to the window when a police car rolled past the shop.

  He raced to look out. “Maybe the chief’s gonna make another arrest. Mom says cops always accept the jealous lover angle, and they love to pin things on the lady.” He slouched as the car rolled by with no further action. “Mom’s not a fan of the chief since she got two speeding tickets in one week.”

  “Mom’s a lead foot,” Diego explained. “Just ask my dad.”

  Carlos laughed as he submerged the detachable door of the ice cream machine into a sink full of hot, soapy water and Diego set about cleaning the insides. “Mom says it’s the painter guy for sure, Sonny what’s-his-name.”

  Trinidad jerked. “Petrakis?” That was the name she’d heard from Quinn, the one who might have dated Tanya. “Didn’t he go to school with Kevin Heartly?”

  Carlos extracted the machinery from the water and set it on a clean towel to dry. “Yeah. Sonny and Kevin were playing basketball down at the park last month, and Mom said they got into a brawl.” His expression was gleeful. “Blood and punches and everything. Mom is a Bible school teacher, and she gave them the what for in Old Testament verses until they gave up and begged for mercy.” He laughed some more. “They apologized, said they got caught up in the spirit of the game.”

  Diego rolled his eyes. “Who would get that excited about a sport?”

  “Normal guys who think about points instead of physics,” Carlos said.

  “I play a sport.” Diego appeared offended.

  “Academic Decathlon is not a sport.”

  “We’ve got uniform shirts.”

  “With geek written on them. Do they issue matching pocket protectors?”

  Trinidad held up her palms. “Okay, let’s not get into a brawl here, gentlemen.”

  Carlos shrugged. “Anyway, Mom said Sonny dated Tanya Grant, and she figures maybe Sonny killed Kevin out of jealousy. But Dad says she watches too much television.”

  Trinidad laughed. “I’ve got to go to an appointment now. Will you guys be okay to lock up?”

  “Sure.” Diego dried his hands. “Oh, and some guy phoned for you, but I couldn’t understand him.”

  “Did he leave a number?”

  “Nah. Said he’d see you soon.”

  In a distracted daze, she hung up her apron. So, Sonny and Kevin were angry enough to throw punches. Interesting, she thought as she called to Noodles to load up in her Pinto.

  “Time to focus on our business, Noodles. Murder investigations will have to wait.” She had to go see Candy Simon about the “mutually beneficial arrangement,” as she’d called it. Trinidad’s mind raced. Perhaps she could cater small events for other businesses, earn enough to sock away for the cold weather months when folks weren’t as keen for ice cream. She could use a proverbial shot in the arm instead of a sock in the jaw.

  Any professional person would probably not arrive to meet a business contact toting a recently overwrought dog, but Trinidad wasn’t about to leave her faithful companion alone when the twins had to go. He was still not his normal, sanguine self, evidenced by his dramatic reaction when a broom had fallen over on the shop floor. Noodles whimpered now, his silky head pressed against her thigh as they drove. He had been nothing but comfort in his own odd way, a simple, trusting soul that reminded her what goodness looked like. He would bring her every last condiment in the fridge if he thought it would soothe her. How could she care for him any less? Unprofessional though it might be, she would not leave this dog behind.

  Driving past the fireworks stand again, she noted a tiny vet clinic sharing the same parking lot. She made a mental note to ask the doctor if he could suggest anything to help her quivering dog through the Fourth of July weekend. Noodles was notoriously bad at taking pills, but that was a battle for another moment.

  Passing the stately home belonging to Tanya Grant, she saw the woman in a pair of trendy yoga pants with a matching shirt standing on the stamped concrete walkway that curved gracefully up to the ornate front doors. On either side of the cement were mounds of blooming roses in reds, pinks, and whites. Trinidad couldn’t even maintain a silk plant, let alone a real one, but even her unpracticed eye could see that the roses were immaculately ten
ded and a glory to behold. She thought about the pink rosebush on the front step of Kevin’s shop. Was it a love token that would never be delivered, as she suspected? A Pink Princess rose for the woman who’d starred as the princess to his pirate? Sad, she thought. Would it wither and die there on the deserted porch step of the shuttered shop? Tanya was speaking to a rotund man in overalls…Warren Wheaton. He stood there holding a spade and a bucket.

  “So, Warren’s an employee of Tanya’s?” she mused aloud.

  Warren waved jovially when he caught sight of Trinidad. Tanya crossed her arms over her chest and permitted a brief chin bob. It was not brimming with good cheer. Trinidad’s defense of Juliette had placed her squarely in the enemy camp. How had she landed in Sprocket only a few short weeks ago and already earned the wrath of the town’s most prominent citizen and insulted the police chief? Taking in the luxurious house trimmings, she wondered what Tanya might have in common with Kevin, a guy who popped corn and got into basketball brawls at the park. Or painter Sonny Petrakis?

  Still mulling it over, she continued to Lake Shore Drive. It was a bit removed from the tonier part of town and the Grant mansion. This was a long street, speckled with much older saltbox houses set on large plots of land. Many of the properties were overgrown with tall grasses that tickled the bottoms of rusted cars or tractors. She spotted a rusted, 1950s-era Buick up on blocks in a sprawling driveway. Her grandpa was a passionate devotee of classic cars. He would say proudly that a real Cuban man could keep any worthy car running with no more than a paper clip and a roll of duct tape. His brother Raul, who had not escaped Cuba before it fell under Castro’s control, maintained a gaudy yellow Thunderbird until the day he died. Papa and Raul sent constant streams of letters back and forth, both insisting their vehicle was the superior one.