When the driver dropped me back at Udderly, I was more confused than ever but I had no time to think about what Angelica had said. A line stretched from the door into the parking lot.
I ran in, washed my hands, and threw on an apron. For the next few hours I scooped ice cream, built sundaes and banana splits, and made milkshakes nonstop. Flo heard my stomach rumble and mixed me a chocolate milkshake that I sipped when I could. I could tell Flo and Gerri were dying to hear what Angelica told me, but we didn’t have a spare minute. It was all hands on deck.
With every swipe of the eraser on the flavors board, my anxiety rose. I had gallons of ice cream to make. When would that repairman get here? It was almost two o’clock. I vowed to learn how to fix an ice-cream chiller.
“We’re out of cookies and cream. There may be a riot,” Flo said.
The shop’s old wall air conditioner droned, but still I wiped sweat from my brow as I baked the chocolate chip cookies for the cookies-and-cream recipe. On one side of the room was the dormant ice-cream chiller and a worktable, on the other was a stove, a double wall oven, a regular refrigerator, and a prep sink. Pantry shelves ran along the hall facing the large walk-in freezers where we stored the ice cream as it hardened to the right consistency. Ice cream was all about keeping the product cold, and Buzzy’s electric bills proved it.
A half hour later, a cheer burst from the shop. Flo led the repairman into the kitchen and struck a Vanna White pose. “He’s here!”
His cheeks reddened behind his bushy black beard as he blushed at the welcome. He was slight with tattooed arms, a keychain swinging from the pocket of his jeans, and Tony embroidered on the pocket of his shirt.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” I showed him the problem and he set to work. As I pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven, he sniffed appreciatively and I set aside a plate for him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I need a part, but luckily I have one in the truck.”
A few moments later he was back, fitting the new part and running the machine. “Should be fine now. Here’s the invoice.”
The cost made me gulp. “It wasn’t under warranty?” I said.
“Just expired.”
“Thanks,” I squeaked. “Can I pay later?”
“We’ll bill you. Thanks for the cookies.” He waved as he left.
Caroline came into the kitchen balancing a tinfoil covered tray. “I brought you some leftover pizza. Sorry my meeting went over.”
I grabbed a slice. I was dying to tell Caroline about my interview with Angelica.
Pru joined us and gave me a tired smile as she switched places with Flo. Flo took a piece of pizza and said, “I heard you want to return your rental car. I’ll take you as soon as I finish this.”
“Thank you, Flo.” I pulled Pru aside. “Are you okay?”
She shrugged and forced a smile. “The police have been interviewing us since, you know. Everyone. All the interns. They’re digging.” She bit her lip. She didn’t have to tell me what they were digging for—evidence against Darwin.
Caroline gave me the key to Sadie then Flo followed me to the airport in Hartford in her cute yellow compact car. At the car rental, I bid the Mustang a wistful goodbye. With longing, I watched a plane roar into the sky. How permanent would my move be? I’d cut ties with work. So many changes, so fast. Get through the summer; heck, Riley, just get through the Sunflower Festival.
Flo and I talked about Angelica on the drive back from the airport.
“Everyone’s saying she can buy her way off with all the money she has,” Flo said as she gunned onto the highway and cut off a semi. “Everyone’s saying she killed Mike in a fit of passion, but I don’t buy it. She was a good girl. I could tell.” Flo drove like a bat out of hell, but seemed a good judge of character.
I gripped my seat belt. “She liked you too.”
“Some people have good hearts, even if they don’t look that way on the outside.”
I remembered the customer Flo called Stretch, the contradiction between his ragged clothes and manicured hands, his expensive watch and dirty cap, and the way people stood clear of him. “That guy, Stretch. What do you know about him?”
“Boy, does he love ice cream. I call him the cone-noisseur.” She chuckled. “He’s been coming in since just before Buzzy passed. He never talks about himself, but he talks about ice cream in detail, always asking us about things like fat content and flavorings.”
“Has he mentioned where he lives?” I squeezed my eyes shut as Flo took the exit ramp at double the speed limit.
She shook her head. “It’s been too busy in the shop to have a real conversation.”
I wondered where Stretch was now.