Double Scoop of Murder, page 6
I held out a hand to stop Eli from moving and grabbed the rag he'd used on his shirt. "I'll get it. You just finish that thing before it's a puddle."
Gwen scrunched up her nose. "How is it, anyway?"
"It is sooo good. Want a bite?"
She shrugged, grabbed a spoon, and dug in. "Hm. You know, it's not half bad. Maybe you should put it on the menu."
"Yes!" Eli pumped a fist.
"By the time I get it made, half the ice cream would be melted." I wiped the ice cream from where it had landed on the table behind me and tossed the dirty rag in a bus bin beneath the counter.
"I think that's what makes it so good. It's kind of like…" Gwen took another bite, swallowed. "Gooey and chewy, but in a good way."
"Yeah?" I was still hesitant, considering it looked less than appealing, but if there was one thing Gwen knew, it was ice cream. "What am I going to call it? The City Dump?"
"Ha-ha." Eli finally lowered his spoon to a napkin on the counter and laid his hand over his flat belly. "I think most places just call it the Kitchen Sink or something like that."
"Well, we can think of a name for it later. Right now, I just want to get—"
The front door opened, and Meghan strode in. "Hey, guys. I figured I'd walk down on my lunch break and see what's going on. Mind if I sit down and eat at the counter?"
Eli yanked the remainder of his concoction off the counter and dumped it into a bin then wiped down the space with a clean rag. "Here you go. Actually, you're just in time."
She sat and opened her lunchbox then pulled out a tuna sandwich on rye. One of the perks of living at home—Mom still packed her lunch every morning, as she had since kindergarten. "In time for what?"
"We were just discussing names for… Well, we were talking about names, but not for us, for my ice cream creation, but I was about to suggest it, and now I can because you're here, and we're all present and accounted for." Twin red patches flared on his cheeks, infusing his olive complexion with color.
"Eli." I held up a hand. "Take a breath."
"Right. Uh-huh. Got it." He did as instructed and managed to get himself back under control. If this kept up, I was going to have to ban Meghan from the shop when Eli was present. Either that, or I'd have to talk her into asking him out. One evening with her should probably cure his infatuation. "All right. What I'm trying to say is, we need a name for our team."
"What do you mean?" The last thing on my mind, knowing I was being accused of murder—again—was the treasure hunt. Of course, that's what had started this whole thing anyway, so maybe it would be best to follow it through. If for no other reason than to stick close to the players.
"Well, you saw Ike and Francine wearing those cool matching shirts that said Team Adventure. And Storm, Wyatt, and Kirk are Team Storm." He frowned. "At least, they are in my mind. I don't know if they actually call themselves that. But either way. And I just call the Crumbholtz brothers Team Crumb."
"And how do you think of Athena and Caleb?" Team Blabbermouth? Team Killers? Team Pain In My… Probably better to just keep my opinions to myself.
Eli grinned. "I think of those two as Team Prima Dona."
A laugh blurted out. "Okay, I can live with that."
"So?" Meghan grabbed a water from the refrigerator case. No wonder she had such an athletic figure. "What do you think we should call ourselves?"
"Hmm." For the first time I could remember, that was all Eli said. He opened his phone and pulled up a notepad app.
Gwen and Meghan looked back and forth between us, but no one offered any brilliant ideas. We were saved from any more awkward staring by the front door opening.
Uncle Jimmie and Harry walked in, and I took a quick look at the clock.
In all the chaos, I hadn't realized Harry had missed his usual ten a.m. coffee. I kissed Uncle Jimmie hello then hugged Harry. "Where were you this morning, Harry?"
"We were following up a lead on the first clue." He sat at his usual spot at the counter.
Uncle Jimmie took his customary stool next to Harry's.
Once we went through our usual routine, I got each of them a mug of coffee then rested my elbows on the counter to chat. "Did you guys find the first clue at the football field? Because we didn't find anything."
Eli, Gwen, and Meghan all leaned in closer, Meghan's lunch all but forgotten.
After some sort of silent communication between the two men, Uncle Jimmie finally answered. "We may as well tell you since it didn't pan out anyway. We don't think the first clue was at the football field."
Eli's brows winged up. "You don't?"
"What makes you think that?" Because it seemed to me almost everyone else did. Including Preston Sanders, who, if the Crumbholtz brothers were to be believed, may have been the only person with any sort of knowledge about where the treasure was. And if he didn't know, he certainly had an advantage, having been so close with Maxwell and knowing him so well for so long. "And if the first clue wasn't buried there, what was Preston even doing there?"
"Unless he was telling the truth and he really didn't know any more than the rest of us." Eli tapped his notepad with the stylus he always kept in his shirt pocket then jotted something down.
Uncle Jimmie shook his head. "We just thought it was too easy all along."
"Like a red herring?" Meghan scooted to the edge of the stool.
"Exactly." Uncle Jimmie turned more toward her, as if to puzzle it out together. "The first line, As you first embark on your search for treasure, is obvious. We think."
"Right. It's just like the starting line in a race." Eli shrugged as he pulled the clue up on his phone. "More or less."
"Yes. But after that, we think it gets more cryptic. The word coastal always bothered me. Not only the word itself, but the positioning of it." He took a page from his pocket, unfolded it on the counter, and tapped the word. "While football, especially high school and college, is huge in small towns all across the country, it's not specific to the coast. And it just seems this is."
We all studied the page. I'd had the same hang up when I'd first read the clue. "And the third line, Then, once you begin the hunt, once again, seems not that important—"
"Except for that it comes after the pleasure line. So, maybe you're supposed to do something else before you get to the digging part." Meghan tapped her fingers against the counter. "But what?"
"That's when you come to the last line. Dig right where you'd take the punt." Harry pointed to the page. "It seems everyone assumed taking the punt meant kicking a football."
"But the word punt can have other meanings." Gwen lay her phone on the counter, opened a tab, and typed punt into the search engine.
"We were thinking maybe it was slang, which could mean to give up, but why would you give up before you started. Or in British slang, to take a risk," Uncle Jimmie said, growing more excited by the moment. "Which kind of makes sense, if the clue was buried somewhere dangerous. But—"
"But…" Gwen slid the phone across the counter so everyone could see the screen. "It can also be a boat."
"Ding, ding, ding." Uncle Jimmie held up a finger. "Give the lady a prize. Because if it's a boat, the coastal part then makes sense. People think of Long Island as part of New York, and they forget it's an actual island, and what more fitting thing to do on an island than go boating?"
"But there are docks and marinas all over the coastline. How do we find the right one?"
Uncle Jimmie grinned. "Now isn't that the four-billion-dollar question."
"You know, we could work together if you want to. We could even call ourselves Team Jimmie or Team Harry." Since I couldn't figure a cutesy way to combine their names, like Olicity or Brangelina. Jimmry or Harmie just didn't work.
"Thanks anyway. But we already have a name." Uncle Jimmie took a blue baseball cap from his back pocket and slapped it onto his crop of white hair. Bold white letters across the front proclaimed them Team Old Timers.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, that works."
Looked like we were once again on our own. But now we at least had a direction to search in. If we felt like searching through the probably hundreds of thousands of boats registered on Long Island. Or maybe we just had to search Watchogue.
Wait a minute, though. We weren't searching for just any boat. I looked at the picture Gwen had pulled up. A long, narrow flat-bottomed boat, square on both ends and propelled with a pole. Not the average boat you'd find at the marina. More like something you'd find at a private dock, something used to go out on the bay and fish in peace or something kids might take out to one of the sandbars or little islands dotting the wetlands. Deserted places, where anyone could lie in wait to bury someone like they had Preston Sanders.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Another rush during the afternoon and into the evening, plus the fact that Gwen, Meghan, and Eli had all gone back to work, kept us from hunting for any further clues. But I was excited about the idea of the boat and had been racking my brain for the past few hours trying to figure out where it could be. I only came up with two options—on the grounds of the Crumbholtz mansion, which did have a dock (I looked it up between customers) but wouldn't be easily accessible to anyone but the Crumbholtz brothers, or down at the dock where the registration had taken place. Since the beach down the road had lots of marshy areas filled with reeds that towered over my head, a small wooden punt would be easily concealed.
It didn't matter either way. At least not tonight. I was too exhausted to even think about searching for anything. But, if everyone agreed to get up early tomorrow morning, we could do a quick run to the dock.
I finished loading the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher in the kitchen then returned to the main dining room to slide clean bins under the counter. I should really make more banana ice cream, since I was down to half a container, but I didn't have the energy left to even think about doing another thing. The only thoughts on my mind, as I double checked that everything was ready for morning, were scooping up Patches and falling face first onto my bed for about six hours. Neither of which was going to happen, since Jake knocked on the front door before I could make my escape.
I unlocked the door, held it open for him, and had a moment of pity. He looked even more exhausted than I felt. Of course, my exhausted looked like Little Orphan Annie needs a nap, while he somehow managed to pull off Miami Vice's Sonny Crockett, sexy stubble and all. And the more beat up he got, the better he looked. Life was so unfair. Plus, I really needed to find something better to do with my nights than streaming old TV shows. "Want coffee?"
He aimed those hypnotic brown eyes at me. "I'd love some."
I locked the door behind him and gestured toward a couch. "You know the drill."
His laughter followed me behind the counter, where I started one of the coffee pots. It seemed Detective Barlow was beginning to make a habit of stopping by after hours. Not that I minded. It wasn't like Miami Vice wouldn't wait for me. "Do you want something to eat?"
"Nah, thanks. I had a sandwich a few hours ago."
"No room for dessert?"
"I don't know." His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "I might be tempted, if you're serving something especially sweet."
"I mean…" Heat flamed so hot in my cheeks, I was surprised the fire alarm didn't go off. Bringing Luca on the run from the firehouse out back. That was the last thing I needed. "I mean… I didn't mean…uh…"
He just laughed and shook his head. "That's one of your more endearing qualities, you know—how easily flustered you are."
I had no idea how to respond to that, so I simply set his coffee on the low table and flopped into an armchair across from him.
He sat up straighter, pinned me with the full intensity of his stare. "One of these days, you're going to take me up on one of those offers."
He might be right, if I could ever figure out for sure if he was serious or just kidding. "But today is not that day."
He grinned and lifted his coffee. "No, I can see that it's not. So, instead of veiled innuendoes, I supposed we should just talk murder."
"Sounds like a plan." But warmth settled in my gut. Seemed this investigation hadn't driven a wedge between us. At least, not yet.
He sipped his coffee then set it aside on the table and took out his notebook and pen. "So, what do you know?"
I blinked a few times, unsure what he was asking. Usually, he asked the questions, I hedged because I was probably somewhere I shouldn't have been, then I grudgingly answered. At which point he warned me to stay out of his investigation and the fun flirtation stopped for a while. I knew how to do that dance. This new Jake had me suspicious. "What do I know about what?"
"Come on." He winked. "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."
"Wow." I grinned. Even if I didn't ever take him up on anything, I had to admit the innuendos were both fun and kind of flattering. "You must really have nothing if you're looking to me for help."
"Nope, nada. Honestly, I'm kind of desperate."
No way was I touching that one. "Sorry, but I've got nothing either. I haven't left the café all day."
"Since when does that matter?" He stared at me for a moment then laughed out loud. A deep, full-on belly laugh.
I glanced over my shoulder to see if maybe someone else had come in, but nope. I narrowed my eyes at him to let him know I wasn't playing at whatever this new game was. "Are you okay?"
He sighed and waved me off. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. But I just lost twenty bucks to Luca."
"Lu…huh?"
"I saw him in the deli earlier, and then we stepped outside so I could ask if he'd seen anything last night."
"And did he?"
Jake smoothed a hand over his five o'clock shadow and shook his head. "No. No more than anyone else, but he asked if I'd questioned you yet, since rumor at the deli already had you caught and cooked."
I wasn't sure what to think about that or the fact that my two potential love interests seemed to be buddies now. Somehow I had a feeling both of these relationships were doomed to end in friendship—par for the course for me. Except, of course, for Carl Lannister, who'd cheated on me with Mary Ellen Carter, thus precipitating my hurried move back to Long Island. Him I hadn't stayed friends with. Although, maybe I should ring him up and thank him, since this move had so far turned out to be one of the best decisions I'd ever made. Minus the murders, of course.
I sighed, resigned to our relationship's fate. "What was the bet?"
"I told Luca I was going to try a new approach this time, simply ask you what you knew since somehow you seem to learn things before the police do."
A smile tugged at me, and I was feeling all warm and smug.
"And Luca laughed right in my face. He said I didn't know you at all if I thought you'd blurt anything without me asking a specific, direct question. And even then, I'd be lucky to get anything more than a roundabout answer."
That smacked the smug right out of me—the fact that Luca seemed to know me better than Jake did. Of course, I'd dated Luca for years in high school. Jake and I had only known each other for a matter of months. Months that had so far been clouded by two murders. Three, if you counted Preston Sanders, which I didn't, since I had no idea how that investigation might play out yet.
Jake stood, walked around the coffee table, slid his coffee out of the way, and sat knee to knee with me. He traced the side of my face with a finger as he slid a few strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear. "Trust me. I have every intention of getting to know you better than the firefighter does."
Flames erupted in my stomach, shot up through my face, and probably poured smoke out of my ears.
He opened his hand to cup my cheek and leaned closer, the woodsy scent of his aftershave enveloping me. Heat radiated from him as his gaze lingered on my eyes. He pulled me even closer. Then… He jerked back and looked up at a knock on the door.
If that was Eli, he was so fired.
But when I turned, I found Officer Marty peeking in and waving. Accepting that any chance of romance had just gone up in flames, I unlocked the door. Maybe it was for the best. "Hey, Officer Marty. Come on in."
He gripped his cap in his hands. "Thank you. Sorry to bother you, but I saw Jake's car out front and thought you might have coffee on. Everything else on Main Street is already closed."
"I sure do. Go ahead and sit with Jake while I get you a mug." Preparing Marty's coffee gave me a few minutes to collect myself and put my priorities into perspective. Right now, the top priority for Jake was this murder investigation. And there would always be a case for him. That was part of who he was. Could I accept that? Him having to drop everything and run out at a moment's notice, no matter what we were in the middle of? Being in danger every day when he went off to work? Then again, Luca was a volunteer firefighter, so that was no different. Maybe I should make a profile on one of those dating apps and specifically look for an accountant or a banker. Of course, banks could get robbed. And when they did, Jake would get the call.
Ugh.
When my brain felt like it was about to explode, I shook off all thoughts of a future with any man and focused on something easier to deal with—murder.
I brought Marty his coffee and topped off Jake's, disappointed to see he'd moved back to his spot on the couch, and resumed my seat. "What did I miss?"
Jake scooted to the edge of the couch, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands. "I'm sure you've already heard the rumors that Athena Owens is saying she saw you at the high school before Preston was killed."
And it still rankled. "I don't know what she's talking about. When I left the registration event, I came straight back here and went to bed. I'd barely fallen asleep when Eli called and dragged me out of bed to go to the high school."
He pursed his lips, nodded.
Officer Marty scratched his head. "Are you sure her accusations aren't some kind of publicity stunt?"
If only he was thirty years younger, I might just give up on Jake and Luca, jump up, and give him a big, fat kiss on the lips. "Thank you."
