A Hint of Murder Read online

  A Hint of Murder

  Scoops & Snoops Mysteries / 1

  Mary Maxwell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 Mary Maxwell 02022019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recorded or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 1

  “Lock the door and turn out the lights!” Aunt Dot cried as her hands fluttered in midair. “I can’t be on television looking like the Bride of Frankenstein!”

  It was eight o’clock on a sun-drenched Monday morning. We were in the dining room at Dot’s Big Dipper, the ice cream shop and bakery that she and my Uncle Barney had opened thirty years earlier in our hometown of Crystal Bay, Florida.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked. “You look beautiful!”

  “Hogwash!” Aunt Dot’s mouth puckered into a gloomy scowl. “I look just like her! Two-tone fright wig, kabuki makeup and my outfit needs to be ironed again.”

  She pointed at her hair, face and leopard-print dress; everything looked flawless, so it was obviously a case of runaway nerves. I kept my eyes on Dot as my mother came out of the kitchen, anxiously kneading the hem of her Big Dipper apron.

  “We can’t cancel now, sis!” she said. “The TV crew will be here any minute!”

  My aunt hissed. “And they’ll run right back out the door the instant they get a look at me!”

  My mother and I watched as Dot plopped down in one of the booths near the counter. She was among the final applicants hoping to be on We All Scream for Ice Cream, a new program featuring sweet treats and frozen novelties. The show was being developed by Cuisine TV, a cable channel devoted to food and beverage creations from chefs, bakers and restaurateurs. A group from the network was stopping by that morning to interview my aunt. They also wanted to talk with my mother and me because she worked part-time at the front counter and I helped Dot manage the business.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with how you look,” I said.

  “What about these wrinkles?” she asked. “On my face, my stockings and this DVF knockoff that I bought especially for today! I look like a ghoul!”

  I smiled. “Isn’t that being a little melodramatic?”

  “Not one bit!” my aunt huffed. “I barely slept a wink last night, and woke up feeling dreadful this morning. This is a very big deal, Liz! It can transform the Big Dipper from one store and a food truck into an international powerhouse with a line of frozen treats and hundreds of franchise locations.”

  “I have an idea,” my mother said. “I’ll make a nice pot of tea. That usually calms your jittery nerves.”

  “So does a shot of Johnny Walker,” my aunt quipped, following my mother into the kitchen.

  For the next few minutes, I organized the shelves under the cash register as Aunt Dot’s bubbly laughter filtered in from the back. I’d just finished the task when the front door opened and Maybelle Fletcher strolled into the shop. Maybelle, one of my aunt’s longtime friends, was a vivacious realtor with a reputation for wearing short skirts, flashy heels and hot pink barrettes in her silver pageboy. I couldn’t imagine dressing in a similar manner at the age of sixty-two like Maybelle, but I admired her gumption and zesty persona.

  “We’re not open, May!” Aunt Dot announced, rushing back into the dining room with my mother.

  Maybelle flicked the bangs from her eyes with one red-tipped finger. “Well, the door’s unlocked,” she said brusquely. “That would suggest that you’re open.”

  “You know our business hours,” my aunt replied. “You’ve been coming here for a million years ago!”

  Mrs. Fletcher glowered at my aunt from behind her chunky black glasses. “Thirty years, dear,” she said. “You seem to have confused how old you look with the Big Dipper’s age.”

  My aunt’s face twisted into an angry snarl. “How dare you! This is a very important day for me, May. Why would you come in just to insult me?”

  The other woman rolled her shoulders. “Easy target, I suppose. It’s what we call payback, doll. You told Charlotte and Amelia that I was shacking up with a married man, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “That wasn’t about you!” Aunt Dot protested. “The rumor was about Nadine Pleshette! She’s been acting like a lunatic the past few days. I actually came to your defense when she was trashing you to a bunch of our mutual friends after church last Sunday.”

  Nadine played cards every week with Dot, Maybelle and a few other middle-aged women in town. She worked as a paralegal and was married to a handsome man named Landon who flew charters from Orlando to the Caribbean.

  “Well, I was told that you claimed the rumor was about me!” Maybelle snapped. “And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time you did something childish and hateful!”

  I stepped between them. “Can we please call a truce to whatever the heck you’re arguing about? We’re pressed for time to get the shop neat and tidy before the TV crew gets here.”

  Maybelle glanced around the dining room. “Looks fine to me. What’s the big fuss?”

  “It’s actually more about getting my mother, Aunt Dot and myself ready,” I said. “We need to finish our makeup, brush our hair and—”

  “You’re all going to be on the show?” she asked.

  “That’s what the producers requested,” I said. “They’re coming today to shoot behind-the-scenes footage. You know, dipping ice cream cones, working in the office, having a team meeting. That kind of thing.”

  “Why not film a local legend buying ice cream for her grandchildren?” Maybelle lifted her chin and flashed a mile-wide smile. “That’s a good way to illustrate your keen interest in customer service.”

  Aunt Dot scoffed. “Customers are important, but I don’t think—”

  “You should give it a try,” Maybelle snipped. “Thinking’s an essential building block for success.”

  “I know that,” my aunt replied, stiffening her shoulders. “But the producers made it very clear what they wanted.”

  “Well, it’s your shop,” Maybelle said. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  Aunt Dot narrowed her gaze. “Really? Because it sounds like you’re trying to get me revved up.”

  Maybelle glared at my aunt. “I’m trying to
buy ice cream for my grandchildren,” she said sharply. “But some old goat is refusing to serve me!”

  My aunt grumbled. “Send in the clowns,” she hissed under her breath. “I wonder who let this one out of the nuthouse.”

  “Hey, now,” I said quietly. “Didn’t you tell me that the customer is always right?”

  “Not today,” she replied as her friend walked toward the counter. “There’s clearly a sign on the door that we open at ten. Maybelle’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m pretty sure that the poor thing knows how to tell time.”

  “How can we help you?” I asked my aunt’s friend.

  “Well, duh!” she snapped, gesturing around the shop. “I’m here to get ice cream for my grandchildren.”

  Aunt Dot’s shoulders stiffened. “We open in two hours.”

  “Well, my little munchkins are hungry for ice cream now.”

  “Isn’t it too early for little people to be eating ice cream?” Dot asked. “I’m pretty sure it stunts their growth if they have it before—”

  “Are you telling me that I’m being a bad grandmother?” Maybelle interrupted.

  “Your words, not mine,” my aunt said with a mischievous grin.

  I watched as the woman’s cheeks changed from a faint pink to a bright red.

  “You know what?” Maybelle said. “I don’t like your attitude this morning!”

  Aunt Dot leaned closer. “Well, I don’t like your shoes, but it’s not going to ruin my day.”

  Maybelle frowned. Then her eyes narrowed. And then she whirled around on one of her bedazzled platform stilettos and stomped out of the shop.

  “Aunt Dot!” I said quietly. “We can’t talk to customers like that.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “You know what, cupcake? I’m seventy. I’ve survived three husbands, two heart attacks, raising six kids, running a business practically by myself and realizing that most of my better days are behind me. I’m entitled to talk to Maybelle Fletcher however I like, especially since I know she’s the one spreading all those awful rumors around town about Nadine Pleshette!”

  CHAPTER 2

  It was a few minutes before nine when the Cuisine TV crew finally arrived. I was behind the counter refilling napkin dispensers while my mother prepared the cash register for the business day. Aunt Dot was slumped in her favorite booth beneath the autographed Elvis Presley poster that she won the previous year during an auction to benefit the Crystal Bay Animal Shelter. Besides her family, the Big Dipper and her extensive network of friends, there was nothing my aunt cherished more than her beloved Elvis.

  “Good morning!” called Lucille Larkin, the host of the new television show. “I’m sorry that we’re late. Our rental car had a little hissy fit as we were leaving the motel.”

  “I can translate that for you,” said a woman with a backpack over one shoulder. “It means that someone who shall remain nameless—” She grimaced and pointed at herself. “—hit a light pole backing out of the parking space.”

  “Which is why someone else,” said Lucille, raising her right hand, “had to get behind the wheel after filing an insurance claim.”

  “Sorry to hear about that,” I said, walking out from behind the counter. “I’m Liz Hutton. I help manage my aunt’s ice cream empire.”

  Lucille gave me a little wave. “Pleasure to meet you, Liz.”

  “One location and a food truck is hardly an empire,” Aunt Dot grumbled as she scooted out of the booth and got to her feet.

  The back of her dress was as wrinkled as a Shar-Pei puppy, but I wasn’t about to mention it. If she had a meltdown in front of the television crew, I imagined that her chances of winning a spot on We All Scream for Ice Cream would be even slimmer than her willowy waist.

  “Don’t tell her,” whispered Gina Westover, the part-time baker who made the cakes, cookies, pies and other sweet treats that we sold at the Big Dipper. “She’ll insist on going home to change again.”

  I smiled, but kept quiet and remembered my mother’s recommendation when I told her that I was moving back to Crystal Bay. “One piece of advice,” she’d said. “When it comes to Aunt Dot, don’t poke the bear.”

  While the producer and videographer arranged the camera equipment and lights, I went back behind the counter to finish the last few napkin dispensers. Less than ten minutes later, I heard someone calling my name. When I looked up, Lucille Larkin was waving me over to where Dot stood grinning like The Cheshire Cat.

  “I’m not getting any younger,” my aunt grumbled. “And these nice folks have another contestant to interview down in Sanibel at noon.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” I offered, scrambling across the room. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

  My aunt gave me a wink. “Relax, cupcake. They just finished fiddling with the gear. You’re not delaying anything. But you know how I am.”

  I smiled. “I do,” I said. “Fussy, fearless and focused on excellence.”

  Dot beamed with pride. “Nicely done, Lizzie! I’m glad you actually used the cheat sheets that I prepared for today.”

  Lucille opened a large blue binder and scanned a few pages. Aunt Dot’s fingertips were drumming nervously on the table, so I reached over and gave her hand a little squeeze.

  “You’ll be great,” I whispered.

  “I know that!” she said. “I’m more worried about you flubbing the whole thing by tossing one of those F-bombs that you cherish so much.”

  “Me?” I turned and glared at her. “That’s rich coming from the person that put more dollar bills in the swear jar last week than anyone in the history of the Big Dipper!”

  She giggled. “Just trying to see if you’re paying attention, sweetheart.”

  “Are we ready?” asked Lucille.

  Aunt Dot squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I was born ready!” she said confidently. “When you were still in diapers, I was running this place with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “I know,” said Lucille. “And that’s one of the reasons we’re so excited to have you audition for the show. We’re looking for women with fortitude, chutzpah, creativity, compassion and a zest for entrepreneurial distinction.”

  Dot sighed. “Well, here I am! I don’t see why we have to bother with the audition. I’ve got all those things and so much more!”

  “I know that, too,” Lucille said. “But it’s network policy. Our competition programs are based on an even playing field and parity between contestants.”

  “Sounds like red tape and mumbo-jumbo to me,” Dot said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s your show.”

  Lucille smiled graciously at my aunt. “Okay, then,” she said. “Shall we begin?”

  Aunt Dot sighed. “I thought we did already. Can’t you see the fortitude and chutzpah on my face?”

  “You’re a pistol,” said Lucille. “Our viewers are going to eat you up with a spoon!”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Okay, then,” Lucille said. “Could I ask you three to sit in this booth near the bakery case?”

  My mother headed for the office. “Count me out,” she said. “I’m too shy to be on television.”

  Aunt Dot huffed. “Now she’s shy?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “If you’re selected for the show, we can twist her arm to at least appear in the background of a few shots.”

  “No skin off my nose,” my aunt said, turning to Lucille. “And as far as where we sit for the interview, what about one of the tables out on the sidewalk? Wouldn’t that backdrop tell viewers that we’re here in sunny Florida at the beach?”

  The woman tucked her clipboard under one arm. “It would,” she said, sweeping loose strands of hair from her face. “But I think it’s more important to give them a feel for the Big Dipper interior. We’ll intersperse cutaway shots of Crystal Bay and the beach during our interview with you.”

  My aunt grumbled under her breath before crossing the room and sliding into the booth.

  “And Liz?” Lucille sm
iled warmly. “Why don’t you sit next to your aunt?”

  “Next to me?” Dot pulled a face. “That wouldn’t be very natural.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Lucille. “I’d like you side-by-side so that we can get you in one shot.”

  Dot glanced across the table. “The cameraman is going to sit there?”

  Lucille smiled. “That’s the plan,” she said. “And I’ll stand just over his shoulder so you can talk to the camera when you answer my questions.”

  Before my aunt could say anything more, I slid in beside her. “No need to be nervous,” I said, patting her arm. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I just think it’ll look odd to people watching at home.”

  Lucille shook her head. “Not at all,” she said, motioning for the videographer to sit down and start recording. “We use this two-shot for our standard introductory interviews for all of our contestants.”

  “My point exactly,” said Aunt Dot, arching one eyebrow. “I want to standout from the teeming masses so viewers appreciate the fact that there’s really no contest at all. I read the packet of information that you sent about the other folks. I have no doubt that they’re all simply lovely people, but none of them have been in business as long as I have. My late husband and I opened Dot’s Big Dipper thirty years ago. Three or four of the others look to be barely old enough to drive.”

  Lucille smiled anxiously. “Well, we don’t really consider age when we make our final choices for the show.”

  Dot shrugged. “I also noticed that none of the other contestants have children.”

  “That’s true,” the woman said. “But we don’t select our competitors based on whether or not—”

  “Perhaps you should,” Dot continued. “I raised our three kids while running this place, taking care of our home and supporting my husband when he decided to explore his heart’s desire to be an inventor.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Lucille said. “I can tell that you’re a very self-assured and dynamic woman.”