Hot Fudge Sundae & Murder Read online

  “You asked them here,” Mr. Rankle said.

  “Well, I had to do something,” Ethel said. “You were raving about a crime happening.”

  Mr. Rankle crossed his arms, looking thoroughly displeased with the whole situation. Heather and Amy were standing in his living room, and it was a strange reason to have been summoned there.

  They had never been in his home before. The house had a classic feel to it like it had weathered many storms and housed generations of his family before him. It was also decorated with knick-knacks, like the ones that were found at Sun and Fun Novelties.

  The house was generally tidy, but there were some elements of disarray to it. Furniture pieces had been pushed aside to make room for Mr. Rankle’s new wheelchair. Many of his personal items were also now being kept at a lower level to be more easily reached.

  “Mr. Rankle, we’re just here to help,” Heather said. “But if you don’t want us to, we can leave. If you’d rather deal with the police…”

  “No,” Mr. Rankle sighed. “After what Ethel told me, I’m afraid they’d think I’m crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy,” Ethel said. “Well, maybe a little stir-crazy, but not crazy-crazy.”

  “How very reassuring.”

  “These women are very good at what they do,” Ethel said. “They have solved many cases before. Maybe they can figure out what you really saw.”

  “I know what I saw!” Mr. Rankle said, angrily.

  “Why don’t you tell us?” Heather suggested.

  Ethel gestured for them to take a seat on the orange patterned couch and they obliged. She began pouring lemonade as Mr. Rankle edged closer to them.

  “None of this would have happened if I didn’t break my leg,” he grumbled. “I really have the worst luck. I have a bum leg to begin with, and then it breaks. And there are irritating donut bakers from Texas who set up shop on my street.”

  “Your luck can’t be all bad, can it?” Ethel asked sweetly.

  Mr. Rankle seemed to come out of his grumpiness for a moment and allowed a slight smile to cross his face. “No, not all of it. But today it was sure bad.”

  “What happened?” asked Heather.

  “I was here alone after lunch. Ethel had somewhere to be.”

  “I was at a bingo game at the senior center. I’ve been playing there more as I’m trying to stop betting so much on the ponies.”

  “I was bored, and there’s never anything on TV,” Mr. Rankle continued. “So, I picked up my binoculars, and I was looking out the window. Ethel has tried to convince me that bird watching is fun, but all I ever see is seagulls.”

  “You were the one who suggested bird watching,” Ethel said. “And so, I got you binoculars.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Well, sometimes your sarcastic comments sound an awful lot like your serious ones, dear.”

  “What did you see when you were birdwatching?” Amy asked. “I’m guessing it wasn’t a seagull today.”

  “No,” Mr. Rankle said. “I saw a murder.”

  “A murder?” Heather said, rising to her feet. “We have to call the police then, and we need to start investigating immediately.”

  “Why don’t you let him finish telling you everything that happened?” Ethel suggested.

  Feeling wary, Heather sat back down. Ethel refilled her glass of lemonade.

  “I was in my bedroom and looking down towards the ocean,” Mr. Rankle continued. “Seeing the stupid seagulls flap around. And then I saw these two men meet each other by the sand dunes. One was carrying a shovel, and the other had a bag of some sort. They seemed to be having a fight, and I thought, well, this is more interesting than the birds. But then the man with the shovel got really angry and hit the other man with it. I saw blood, and he fell down hard. I knew it was murder, but I was so surprised by what I saw that I tried to leap to my feet – and instead, I fell over. I had gotten myself stuck so I couldn’t call for help, either for the dead guy or for me.”

  “I came over and helped him back into his chair, and he didn’t seem to be making any sense,” Ethel said. “All I could make out was that something happened at the beach, so I hurried over there to check it out.”

  “I couldn’t stop her,” Mr. Rankle said. “If I weren’t so upset about seeing a murder and in pain from hitting my leg, I would have warned her not to go.”

  “But once I got there, well, there was nothing to be worried about.”

  “Meaning the killer was gone?” asked Heather.

  “Meaning that there was no trace of anything happening there,” said Ethel. “No body. No blood. Not even any footprints.”

  “So, she thinks I made the whole thing up,” said Mr. Rankle.

  “It might have been a nightmare,” Ethel suggested. “Or imagination due to boredom. When you were watching the birds, you told me that you thought they were plotting the assassination of a squirrel.”

  “It sure looked like it.”

  Heather frowned. It was possible that Mr. Rankle was imagining things because he wasn’t able to do what he usually did. It was also possible that someone had been cruelly murdered.

  “Could you see what happened after the attack?” Heather asked.

  “No. I fell right after, and I wasn’t able to see what happened.”

  “I think we should call Ryan.”

  “But there might not have been anything that happened,” said Ethel.

  “Or,” Heather said slowly. “The man used the shovel in another way too.”

  The Crime Scene?

  What do you think about that job?” Amy asked. “Would Dave like it? It might be helpful to have a dog with that skill on our team.”

  “I think Dave would rather sniff out donuts than dead bodies,” Heather said.

  They were at the beach where Mr. Rankle said he saw a murder take place. Ryan and Detective Peters had treated the call seriously and had even called in a cadaver dog to assist with the case. However, they were beginning to come to the same conclusion that Ethel did. There was no evidence that a crime had happened.

  While waiting for the dog and his handler to arrive from the mainland, Ryan and his team had begun searching the potential crime scene. There were no fresh prints in the sand and no traces of blood.

  It was a clean stretch of beach, and the only thing they could find besides a few seashells were a few strands of blue plastic. They weren’t quite sure what they were, but also couldn’t see how they related to the nonexistent murderer.

  Heather and Amy watched the hound sniff the ground. She paused at one area and smelled it thoroughly for a while, but then continued sniffing and searching.

  Heather tried to imagine her own beloved mixed-breed dog as a cadaver dog and just couldn’t do it. Dave had a nose that had sniffed out danger before, but not quite in the same way.

  “What do you think about training Miss Marshmallow to do it?” Heather suggested.

  Amy let out a big burst of laughter as she considered the prissy dog that she was fostering for the job. Miss Marshmallow refused to walk outside if her paws would get muddy. It was impossible to imagine her doing this dirty job.

  Ryan and Detective Peters joined them.

  “What’s so funny?” Ryan asked.

  “Just imagining Miss Marshmallow on the police force,” said Heather.

  “Oh,” Ryan said. “I was afraid that you figured out that Mr. Rankle had pranked us. Though I wouldn’t understand why he would want to waste police resources on this.”

  “Mr. Rankle sounded very sincere,” Heather replied. “He believes that he saw what he saw.”

  “Unfortunately, no evidence is backing this up,” said Ryan.

  “It’s a break from watching all the security footage at the jewelry store,” Peters said. “So, I’m not complaining.”

  The cadaver dog finished her job, and the handler approached the investigators.

  “Doesn’t look like there’s any sign of a body on the beach. Bess here would
have gotten a whiff of something if there was.”

  “It did look like she paused in one area in particular,” said Heather.

  “That’s true, ma’am, but she didn’t do her signal that there was a body nearby. There might have been a human scent that she needed to check on. Like blood.”

  “Blood?” said Heather. “That could match what Mr. Rankle said happened.”

  “Or someone could have cut their foot a different day,” Amy said.

  “I don’t know,” the handler said. “But there’s definitely no corpse here.”

  Ryan thanked him and the dog for all their work. Then he asked Peters to collect some of the sand where there was potential for blood, just in case.

  “I can have the lab analyze it,” Ryan said. “But this is looking a lot like Mr. Rankle imagined things. And if there’s nothing to investigate here, then Peters and I need to get back to figuring out who robbed the jewelry store.”

  “Why don’t you speak to Mr. Rankle again?” Heather asked. “He sounded very certain.”

  Ryan agreed, and the trio headed back to Mr. Rankle’s house.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t come down to the beach with you,” Ethel said. “We don’t have a chair with the large wheels that can travel on the sand.”

  “That’s all right,” Ryan said. “I’m afraid that what we saw at the scene was similar to Ms. Thornbrush’s description. We didn’t find any evidence of a murder.”

  “But you brought in that dog, didn’t you?” Mr. Rankle asked.

  “That’s right,” said Ryan. “We had a cadaver dog come in from the mainland, and she didn’t find any evidence of a body.”

  “Maybe you should find a dog that’s from Key West to do the sniffing. It might be more reliable.”

  Heather and Amy exchanged a look. Apparently, Mr. Rankle’s distrust of those from outside of the island extended to dogs.

  “We do thank you for reporting what you believe you saw,” said Ryan.

  “I did see it,” Mr. Rankle protested. “There were two men fighting and one killed the other with a shovel. The dead man had dark hair and a red bandanna.”

  “Could you have confused the red bandanna with blood?” asked Amy.

  “I saw him murdered. He was short and skinny. And dead.”

  “Again, thank you,” Ryan said. “I’m afraid I have to get back to the station.”

  Heather and Amy stayed behind as he left.

  “I can’t believe this,” Mr. Rankle said. “There was a murder on the beach, and no one wants to take it seriously.”

  “They did take it seriously,” Ethel said. “They searched and used a dog and everything.”

  “A dog from the mainland,” Mr. Rankle scoffed.

  “Sweetheart, there’s no evidence to support what you saw.”

  “So, you think I’m just a crazy old man now. Is that it?”

  “No,” Ethel protested. “Just someone who isn’t used to sitting around for days.”

  “Do you believe me?” Mr. Rankle asked, facing Heather and Amy.

  “I’m afraid I’m with the dog,” said Amy. “No evidence of foul play.”

  Heather wasn’t quite sure. The dog did hesitate at one area on the beach. Was that important? There was no body at the scene, but could something have happened after Mr. Rankle was unable to keep a watchful eye on events?

  “I don’t know,” Heather said, finally.

  “Then, what use are you?” Mr. Rankle asked.

  He wheeled away from them, looking upset. Ethel sighed. Heather followed Amy outside. She didn’t like that she didn’t have a firm handle on events. She did feel a bit useless.

  Late Night Snacks

  We can have another donut each as long as you stop that joke about screaming for the ice cream flavor,” Heather told her bestie. “Lilly is asleep.”

  “I will not scream if it lets me have another donut,” Amy agreed.

  “We better be careful about saying the word d-o-n-u-t too,” said Heather. “Or the animals might start begging loudly.”

  She was too late with this announcement though, because Dave must have heard his favorite snack being mentioned. He raced into the room with a happy look on his face. He was followed at a more leisurely pace by Cupcake the kitten and Miss Marshmallow.

  “Leader of the pack,” Heather sighed.

  However, she had trouble resisting the puppy dog looks on their faces (even on Cupcake!) and relented. She gave them each a piece of donut, and they all looked very happy.

  Cupcake batted her piece around before pouncing on it. Miss Marshmallow took dainty bites of hers, while Dave ate his in one big bite.

  Heather was taking her time with her snack. Her mind was wandering. It had been such a strange day. Usually, when she was called to a case, there was a murder that she needed to begin investigating at once. This time it seemed like the witness had been mistaken.

  “Are you still thinking about Mr. Rankle?” Amy asked.

  Heather nodded. “I don’t think he would have called us unless he really thought he saw a murder. He doesn’t like dealing with us any more than he has to.”

  “I did notice that,” said Amy. “But he was wrong. There was no body on the beach, and that means that nobody was murdered.”

  “Something just feels wrong about this.”

  “Mr. Rankle was either messing with us, or he’s gone crazy. He’s been stuck in his house, and he’s starting to see things.”

  “It’s like that Hitchcock movie,” said Heather.

  “Yeah,” Amy agreed. “But Mr. Rankle is no Cary Grant.”

  “But what if he’s right and we keep ignoring it?”

  “What if we spent all our time on a wild goose chase because we believe a daydream story from a guy that hates us?”

  Heather sighed and finished her donut. “I guess you’re right. I should let it go.”

  Now that there were no donuts left to beg for, Dave allowed himself to be pet on the head. Miss Marshmallow sat down at Amy’s feet, while Cupcake slunk out of the room, most likely to take a catnap next to Lilly.

  “Mr. Rankle isn’t the only one who is acting weird,” Amy said.

  “Who else is?”

  “Jamie.”

  “Weird in what way?” asked Heather.

  “I feel like our conversations the past few days have been a little impersonal. I get the sense he’s avoiding a certain topic. Waiting for the right time to bring it up.”

  “Do you think it’s something bad?”

  Amy shook her head. “There’s no tension behind it. More apprehension.”

  “Do you have some inkling of what it is?”

  “I think I do now,” said Amy. “When I was talking about our day today, he got agitated. I told him about how Miss Marshmallow would make a terrible cadaver dog and about the jewelry store. He made up some excuse about work to leave, but I think he’s going to check something else out.”

  “Ames, I know that you have a theory about what’s going on. What is it?”

  “Well, it’s because we were talking about the jewelry store and the diamonds getting robbed and, well, I was thinking…what if he bought me a ring?”

  “An engagement ring?”

  “Maybe he ordered it, but didn’t pick it up? And that’s why he was upset that the store was robbed.”

  “It could be that. Or he was nervous that the subject of wedding rings might come up when you talked about jewelry. He didn’t want to let it slip what he was planning. And I’m sure he’d want a perfect proposal.”

  Amy nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  Heather noticed that her friend wasn’t bubbly with anticipation. She had the same look on her face that Heather got when she was analyzing the different parts of a case. She pet Miss Marshmallow’s ears absent-mindedly.

  “Do you want him to propose?” Heather asked, gently.

  “You know that I don’t like to rush into things romantically,” Amy said. “Remember how long it took us to f
ind a house to move into after we decided that we would move in together?”

  Heather nodded. “You wanted it to be just right.”

  “And, yes, I love Jamie. He can always make me smile, even when I’m upset. And he appreciates my sense of humor, even when I tease him. He supports my artistic endeavors and had me hang up my paintings in our living room. I have a lot of fun going out with him, and even when we stay in and do nothing. He’s loving and kind. He’s also smart and ambitious. He started his own business. And he is someone I could see myself growing old with. I think we’d always be happy together.”

  Amy paused.

  “What is it?” Heather asked.

  “There’s no but,” said Amy. “I said all those wonderful things, expecting that I would end with a but there’s a problem. Only there’s not. I love him. And I do want to marry him. Yes, I want him to propose!”

  Amy was also giddy with this realization. Heather hugged her friend.

  “You’ll let me know right after he proposes?”

  “Of course! I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but you know that you’d be my maid of honor, right?”

  “I think this realization of yours calls for more celebratory donuts,” said Heather.

  “We didn’t eat them all? You have a secret stash?”

  “Of course I do,” said Heather, fetching the donuts from inside a decorative cookie jar.

  “I’m pro-donuts,” Amy said. “But be careful how many you feed me.”

  “Worried about a wedding dress?”

  “Worried that I’ll go into a sugar coma and need to be dragged home in a blanket,” Amy joked.

  However, those words triggered something in Heather’s mind.

  “Dragged in a blanket? Or maybe a blue tarp?”

  “What’s that?” asked Amy.

  “Something we’ll deal with first thing in the morning,” Heather said, presenting her friend with the hidden donuts and starting a fresh round of begging from the canines.

  Waves

  Can we ever just go to the beach and relax?” Amy complained.

  “Sure,” said Heather. “When we’re not in the middle of a murder investigation.”