Murder with a Cherry on Top Read online

  Hayley nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “I simply don’t believe it. I feel like I’m just going through the motions.”

  “Were you two still close?”

  She nodded again. “Very close. The best of friends. After high school, we stayed in touch, even when we went away to different colleges. And then, when we both ended up coming back to the area, we simply picked up where we left off.”

  You mean tormenting everyone who wasn’t as pretty and as popular as the two of you? I thought. But then I remembered all the good times Hayley and I had had standing on the sidelines, complaining about how unnatural it was to twist your body into pretzel shapes for no good reason.

  “I’m sure you’re devastated,” I said. And I meant it.

  “It’s tough,” she agreed, swiping at her eyes. She took a deep breath. “But I know that what Ashley would have wanted for me would be to carry on and have a good life.”

  One that included the best haircut possible and plenty of designer accessories, I thought.

  Now who’s the Mean Girl? I immediately reprimanded myself.

  “So what have you been up to?” I asked.

  Hayley brightened. “Believe it or not, I’m now an interior designer!”

  “That’s great!” I told her. “I seem to recall that you had an interest in art in high school.”

  She grinned, as if pleased I’d remembered. “That’s right. I took every art class that was offered, if you recall.”

  I did remember. But I’d always thought it was because they were easy.

  “I took a few art classes in college,” she went on, “but I never took it very seriously because I figured that being a starving artist wasn’t for me. Instead, I majored in communications.”

  “That sounds interesting,” I commented.

  “In theory.” Hayley sighed. “It turns out it’s not a very useful degree. At least not around here. Maybe if I lived in the city or something. But I married my college boyfriend, who also grew up in the Hudson Valley, and we moved back here. The only decent job I could get around here was working in a law office.

  “Then I got divorced. With no warning whatsoever.” She laughed coldly, making a sharp sound that reminded me of Digger’s bark. “Here I’d thought everything was all planned out for me for the rest of my life, that David and I would live happily after with two kids and a nice house and my job at the law firm. But then one day, completely out of the blue, the creep announced that he was running off to Paris to find himself. And then, like two days later, the lawyer I worked for told me he was getting out of law and buying a winery in Napa instead....

  “It was like everything went crazy, all at once. And I decided that since everybody else I knew had decided to do whatever they pleased, maybe I should, too. So I took some classes and switched careers.”

  “Do you enjoy it?” I asked.

  “I love it,” she replied sincerely. “It turned out to be the best decision I ever made.” Another bark. “Certainly better than the ‘I Love David’ tattoo I got on my . . . well, never mind about that.”

  She suddenly looked at me more intently, as if a lightbulb had just gone off in her head. “You just opened a new shop in town, didn’t you? An ice cream parlor?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “It’s called Lickety Splits. It’s—well, it’s right across from Ashley’s bakery.”

  Hayley nodded. “I know. She told me all about it.”

  Did she tell you she was doing her best to drive me out of business, too? I was tempted to ask. But I banished the very thought from my head, reminding myself that it wasn’t nice to speak ill of the dead. Especially when you were an individual the cops had their eyes on as someone who might have had a hand in getting her that way.

  “Maybe I could be of help with that new shop of yours,” Hayley said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “Give me a call sometime. The first consultation is free. You can even call me on a weekend. I see a lot of my clients Saturdays and Sundays, since most of them work seven days a week anyway.”

  “Thanks,” I said, tucking it into my pocket. “I just may do that.”

  Glancing around, I asked, “Do you know many people here? I’ve been away for so long that I don’t think I’d recognize anyone even if I’d sat next to them in math class for two years.”

  “Let’s see.” Frowning, Hayley surveyed the room. She was clearly taking her newly assigned task of social coordinator seriously. “Look over there, by that huge bouquet of flowers. That’s Billy Duffy, Ashley’s ex-husband. He lives in Fishkill.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I hadn’t known there was an ex-husband.

  I looked over in his direction, just in time to see him stuff a handful of cookies into his pocket. He’d wrapped them up in a napkin, as if he’d learned the hard way just how many crumbs a bunch of stolen cookies could generate.

  I wondered if he had eating issues, or if, like me, he was a slave to desserts. But then I noticed that the sports jacket he wore was threadbare. Studying him more carefully, I saw that his shoes looked as if they were about to rip open at the seams.

  And his face looked haggard. Maybe it was just grief, I figured. But it struck me as more likely that this was a man who was being beaten down by life.

  He was actually pretty nice-looking, with green eyes and exceptionally long, thick eyelashes. He had an impressively thick head of straight light brown hair, too. Despite his drawn face, I could imagine someone like Ashley, who prized such superficialities as good looks, falling for him, back in the day.

  “And look over there,” Hayley said, grabbing my arm. “There’s Tad.”

  Was it my imagination, or did she suddenly stand up a little straighter and stick out her chest a little farther? I could practically feel the hormones flying as a man in his late thirties walked into our midst, parting the crowd in a very Moses-like way. But I, too, was mesmerized. This man, whom Hayley had identified as Tad, emanated charisma, even across the room. He was tall, for one thing, probably six foot four, with a well-proportioned body that said he regularly went to the gym but didn’t overdo it.

  He was also handsome. The way Greek gods are handsome, I mean, with dark brown eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and an elegant nose. His perfectly symmetrical facial features were brought into sharp focus by his thick mane of dark brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail that screamed “artsy.” Even his clothes conveyed that he was not your average Joe: a crisp, pale pink shirt, dark pants with funny European styling, and equally exotic forest green loafers that you could just tell had cost more than most people’s monthly car payments.

  “Who is he?” I asked, doing my best to subdue my own hormones.

  “You don’t know?”

  Hayley looked at me as if I’d just spent three years at Modderplaatz High without being able to identify the captain of the Modderplaatz Monsters. Which was probably something I was capable of, back in the olden days.

  “That’s Tad Patrick, the famous chef,” she said, sounding awestruck. “He opened Greenleaf right here in Wolfert’s Roost last year. The New York Times immediately gave it—I don’t know, however many stars that are the most they can give. Thanks to that review, his restaurant was an instant success and the man became the darling of the food world. And isn’t he the handsomest, sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

  I couldn’t exactly disagree.

  “Was he friends with Ashley?” I asked.

  Hayley stiffened. “He was Ashley’s boyfriend.”

  So many red flags instantly began popping up inside my brain that you would have thought today was Chairman Mao’s birthday. Given the fact that drool had practically been dripping out of Hayley’s mouth as she spoke about him, I suspected that she may have entertained, at least once or twice, the fantasy that someday handsome, sexy Tad might become her boyfriend, instead.

  “In fact,” she said, “I should go over and give him my condolences. The poor man must be as distraught as I am.”
r />   Making you the perfect antidote to his sadness, I thought cynically.

  “But seriously, Kate,” Hayley called over her shoulder as she made a beeline for Tad, “call me about me giving you some decorating tips for your little shop. I’m just full of great ideas!”

  Once I was standing by myself, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. This hadn’t exactly been easy, but at least I’d gotten through this ordeal without anyone giving me so much as a funny look.

  Of course, most people probably hadn’t even recognized me, I realized, thanks to the passage of time, a different hairstyle, and no doubt those extra ten pounds I’d put on since high school. There were plenty of people who weren’t thinking about me at all and hadn’t even realized that Kate McKay was back in town. So even if they’d heard something, it wouldn’t have occurred to them that I’d had anything at all to do with Ashley or her demise.

  As I stood there all alone, chastising myself for having made too big a deal about the police questioning me, I suddenly spotted another face that looked vaguely familiar. Someone from my past, someone from high school . . .

  It took me a few seconds to place her. But once I did, there was no mistaking Sue Prinzer. She’d been in my third-grade class, then popped up in a few of my classes in high school. I seemed to recall that she’d been class secretary at some point, too, not exactly one of the popular crowd but someone outgoing enough to nudge her way into the inner circle.

  Sue was hardly a bosom buddy, but at least she was someone I could go over and talk to.

  I made my way through the crowd. But when I was only a couple of feet away from her, I stopped.

  The words coming out of her mouth made me freeze.

  “You heard about Katy McKay, didn’t you?” she said, her eyes widening to the size of saucers.

  “No,” replied the person she was talking to, someone I didn’t recognize. “What happened?”

  Sue glanced around, as if wanting to make sure no one was listening. Fortunately, since by that point I was standing with my back to her, she didn’t realize that I was doing exactly that.

  Lowering her voice, she said, “The police called her in for questioning.”

  Her companion gasped. “Really? You mean they think she’s guilty?”

  Sue didn’t respond, but she must have nodded.

  “Oh, my!” her friend cried. “You know, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if Katy did have something to do with it. She hated poor Ashley from day one. As if Ashley ever did anything bad to anybody!”

  That last comment set my teeth on edge. It took every last ounce of control I possessed to keep from whirling around and setting her straight.

  I quickly reminded myself that I was at the woman’s funeral. And that I was in the position of having to convince everyone I came into contact with that my relationship with Ashley had been as smooth as a dish of melting vanilla ice cream.

  So instead, I moved away as quickly as I could. They’re only two people out of an entire town, I told myself. Who cares what they think?

  But I’d barely walked ten feet before I caught another snippet of conversation. Three people I didn’t recognize were huddled together in a corner, their faces close together.

  “At the very least, they think she knows something,” I heard one of them say.

  They could be talking about anyone, I told myself. But I paused, leaning over in their direction so I could hear them better.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” one of the others said. “That new ice cream shop she just opened is right across the street from the bakery. Kind of makes you wonder if it’s simply a coincidence.”

  “From what I’ve heard,” the third one said, “the two of them have been enemies since elementary school. Somebody told me she even stole one of poor Ashley’s boyfriends away in high school!”

  As if! I wanted to scream.

  But I knew better than to get involved in the pointless task of trying to defend myself. Instead, I needed to get out of there. The sooner, the better.

  I scanned the room, desperately searching for Willow. I was relieved when I spotted her standing near the door. She was involved in a conversation with someone I didn’t know.

  “Willow, we have to get out of here,” I told her in a hoarse whisper.

  “Give me a couple more minutes,” she replied. “I’m explaining some of the controversies about hot yoga to Marilou.”

  But I want to leave now! I thought, glancing at the door as if somehow I could will myself onto the other side of it.

  I jumped when I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder.

  I turned and saw that Jake was standing right behind me, his face inches away from mine.

  “Hey,” he whispered in my ear. “How are you holding up?”

  My first instinct was to shoot back, “Fine, just fine.”

  Instead, tears immediately filled my eyes and my throat was instantly coated with some thick substance that reminded me of peanut butter.

  He grabbed my hand and led me into the back hallway, away from everyone else.

  “What’s going on, Kate?” he asked earnestly.

  “This is really hard,” I replied in a hoarse voice. “I feel terrible about what happened to Ashley. But I also feel bad—maybe even worse—that there are people in this town who actually believe I may have had something to do with it. Some of the comments I’ve overheard today . . .”

  Jake nodded. “This whole thing is pretty surreal. Maybe you’d like to go somewhere else?”

  Do you mean . . . go somewhere else with you? I thought.

  Then hated myself for the fact that when it came to Jake Pratt, I still harbored such a confusing jumble of feelings.

  “I think what I’d like to do right now is just go off somewhere and be by myself,” I told him.

  What I really felt like doing was going back to Lickety Splits and reverting back to my childhood self by stuffing my face with as much Chocolate Mint Chip ice cream as I possibly could without feeling sick. Although on second thought, feeling sick wouldn’t exactly mean I had to stop.

  But one thing had become crystal clear to me. I was going to do everything I could to find out who had really killed Ashley Winthrop.

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep much that night. I was busy picturing the faces of the people I’d seen at Ashley’s funeral.

  I flailed around in my bed, wrestling with the sheets and checking the clock every two minutes.

  I kept picturing Ashley and me, screaming at each other as we stood outside on Hudson Street, and how we must have looked to the people watching. I kept hearing the two conversations I’d overheard at her funeral, juxtaposed with the questions Detective Stoltz had fired at me the day before.

  I couldn’t stop imagining what my life was going to be like until Ashley’s killer had been caught. And I couldn’t stop yearning to be just another shopkeeper, selling ice cream and trying to make people happy.

  I finally got out of bed around five. I figured that if I wasn’t going to get any rest, I might as well put my sleeplessness to good use. Today was Sunday, which was bound to be a busy day at the shop. Wolfert’s Roost would be crawling with day-trippers, and I hoped they’d be anxious to try my irresistible offerings.

  Besides, I was looking forward to spending the day in the company of strangers, people who would never even dream that the person scooping out their Toasted Coconut with Maui Macadamia Nuts was someone her neighbors thought might be a murderer.

  I threw on jeans and a pink shirt that I knew would complement the pink lettering on the Lickety Splits aprons. Then I made a big pot of coffee, figuring Grams would appreciate waking up to a full pot of immediately available caffeine.

  Once I’d had my own hit, I drove into town. I loved being out at that hour of the day. The air felt so clean and so pure at that hour that my head felt equally clean and pure.

  Usually, I would have used that time to decide what new flavors to tackle that morning. I figured the Sunday crowd wo
uld appreciate the chance to try something inventive.

  But I quickly decided on two new flavors I’d been thinking about for the past few days, Brown Sugar-Bourbon with Pralines ice cream and Cannoli ice cream, made with real ricotta and pieces of broken cannoli shell.

  Then I focused on Ashley.

  Who was she, really? I wondered. I mean, I knew who she was in high school. At least I thought I did. But that was a long time ago. A decade and a half, to be exact.

  A lot had happened since then. I thought about all the things that had gone on in my life. Spending four years at college, moving to New York and getting my own apartment, finding a job I was excited about, doing some serious travel . . .

  And of course, meeting lots of new people. People I worked with. New friends I made. And of course, men.

  Suffering setbacks, too. Not getting a promotion I wanted, running into a few dicey situations while globe-trotting, having one relationship after another not work out the way I’d hoped.

  It had changed me. And chances were good that whatever had happened in Ashley’s life had changed her, too.

  As I turned onto Hudson Street, I jumped. Sweet Things Pastry Palace was now cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape. The darkened windows looked bleak, like the windows in a haunted house. The eerie look of the place made me shudder.

  But a second later, I took a deep breath and told myself I needed to put aside all thoughts of Ashley Winthrop—as least, as much as was possible. I wanted to get back to focusing on the one thing that always brought me happiness and peace: ice cream. Besides, I had a business to run.

  I found a fabulous parking space, since I was practically the only person out at that hour. But as I strode along the sidewalk, toward Lickety Splits, I suddenly froze.

  From where I stood, a hundred feet away, I could see a dark shadow in the doorway, something that didn’t make sense.

  Shadows? I wondered. Or garbage bags? Had I been so spaced out yesterday that I left some out front? Or maybe Willow had . . . ?

  But I knew that wasn’t it. Even from where I stood, I could tell that the dark shape on my doorway wasn’t something as innocent as shadows or trash.