Back at Udderly, a party had started without me. Music flowed from the front parking lot, drifting over conversation and laughter from what sounded like a big crowd. I went in the back door of the shop and pulled up short.
Stretch was at the stove, stirring a pot. He was clad in jeans and a pressed denim button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to display colorful sleeves of tattoos. He wore black high-top sneakers in place of his heavy boots but still had his black cap tugged low on his forehead. I took a deep breath. Cadillac Ranch said he was a good cook and I needed help. Plus I wanted answers. Despite Buzzy’s saying that beggars can’t be choosers pinging into my mind, I gave him a smile.
“Hi, Stretch.”
“Hi, Riley. Thanks for letting me help.” Instead of giving off his usual skittish vibe, he now seemed relaxed. “I love making ice cream.”
“Glad to have your help.” As I washed my hands and slipped a plastic glove over my bandaged hand, he moved to the Book of Spells.
“It’s exactly the same!” he marveled.
“What’s the same?”
He looked up, his face open, and I could see his bright hazel eyes, his aquiline nose, his broad smile with slightly crossed front teeth. A curl of red hair escaped from his cap. “Your friend Buzzy’s recipe’s the same as mine. Same with some of the others.” He flipped through the book. “She and I were culinary soul mates. I wish I could’ve met her.”
“Me too.” I looped on my apron and reached for the ties. Before I could tie it, Stretch was there tying it for me. Before I could thank him, he was back with the peaches, holding a knife. Before I could begin to feel uncomfortable, he started cutting peaches.
“Better if you stir, with your finger bandaged. I’ll be okay with the peaches.” His hands flew—I’d never seen anyone slice anything so fast, so deftly, and he cut every piece into uniform size.
I took up the spoon at the stove, stirring a fragrant custard. “Cadillac, er, Jasper tells me you’re a chef.”
He hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. Taking a break.”
I backed off. If he remained comfortable I’d get more information out of him. Applause flowed into the workroom. “How did you and Jasper meet?”
He sliced another peach, tossed a piece into his mouth, and sighed. “I went to Texas to learn how to cook BBQ. Jasper has a ranch where he let me live alongside his cattlemen. I love traveling and trying the local cuisine. He told me he was coming out here to recharge his creative batteries, and I decided to come out too.” His words sparked a memory. I’d seen a cooking show about a chef who traveled in disguise to different parts of the country to learn about regional foods. A chef with red hair.
Then it hit me. This was Chef Zach Coppola. If I mentioned knowing his identity, would he bolt? He had a reputation for being talented, but also quirky and mercurial.
I needed those peaches prepped. I shifted gears. “I know what you mean. When I was in Thailand, I discovered Thai stir-fried ice cream. I became obsessed with making it.”
“Stir-fried?” he said “No way. Tell me more.”
I told him about the street vendors who make ice cream treats on a chilled metal plate, adding different fruit, nuts, and flavorings, then “stir frying” the mixture together across the surface. It looked like stir frying, except the mix was being chilled by the super-cooled metal. When the mix became the consistency of ice cream, the cooks used special spatulas to push the ice cream into pretty rolls, put the rolls into cups, and top them with even more delicious fruits, nuts, candy, and cream.
“Thailand.” His eyes became dreamy.
“Peaches.” I pointed at the peaches.
He met my eyes for the first time and smiled.
After we’d finished the ice cream and cleaned up the kitchen, we sat outside at a picnic table away from the lighted parking lot. The crowd was heading home and a peaceful silence settled around us.
“I couldn’t have done that without you. Thank you, Stretch.” I thought the moment was relaxed enough for the question I was dying to ask. “Do you like being called Stretch? What’s your real name?”
“I kind of like having a nickname. My real name’s Zach. Zach Coppola.” He took off his cap, his trademark curly red hair spilling out. “This thing gets hot.” He scrubbed at his hair. “I like to kind of go undercover when I immerse myself in a place.”
I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to know, but again I approached cautiously. “Where are you staying? At Moy Mull?”
He looked down. “Well, I did some nights.”
“You’ve been camping,” I said.
He took a breath and raised his eyes to mine. “I didn’t start that house fire. You have to believe me.”
“I do believe you. But you have been camping?”
“I want to … live a place fully, right?” he said. “Become part of the landscape, the terroir.”
I’d heard that word before, at a winery. “The earth?”
“The land, the weather, everything that makes a place distinctive. I got interested in local food and then foraging. That’s what I’ve been doing here. Foraging. Living off the land. Wild mushrooms, greens, onions, berries … it’s all there. I even got a wild turkey one day.”
The knives I’d found in Dandy’s yard. “You lost your knives.”
He leaned toward me. “Do you have them?”
“No, the police do.”
“Great,” he raised his hands. “I don’t want to get arrested for trespassing.”
I considered. “You were camping on Caroline’s land. I’m sure she won’t press charges.”
He held his head in his hands. “Yeah, that night I lost my knives, I was off my game. I’d found a great spot by the cemetery but I heard the cops come. I figured that crazy lady I’d seen earlier saw me and reported me.”
Crazy lady? “What crazy lady?”
“I had cleared some ground there at the cemetery a few days before.” He pointed up Farm Lane. “The dead have a great view on the side of that hill.”
I shuddered, but remembered that Chef Zach was known for being eccentric.
“Anyway, it was late at night—not sure what time, but your shop was dark for hours. I saw a lady digging up flowers on a grave. I thought, that’s strange, but what do I know? I’m pretty weird.”
“Do you mean planting flowers?” I’d noticed fresh flowers on Brooke’s grave. I shuddered. Did Dandy plant them at night?
Zach said, “I’m not sure what she was doing exactly. I didn’t stick around.”
“Do you remember what day that was?”
He shrugged. “Last Friday?”
The night of the murder. “Did you hear anything else? See anything else?”
“No, I took off when I saw her. I went back a few days later, but that’s when the cops came and I lost my knives. Then last night … I heard about that fire. But it wasn’t me.” He put his cap on, tucking his hair underneath. “You’ve got to believe me.”
I searched my feelings. I did believe him. “Where were you last night?”
“I stayed at Moy Mull, the art colony. I have a room there, where I keep my stuff. Jasper can vouch for me. We were up till all hours talking. He’s a get-up-late, stay-up-late guy.”
“What time did you guys turn in?” I asked.
“Two-ish? You can ask Jasper.”
Rocky had woken me up at one o’clock. Stretch had an alibi. So who set the fire at Aaron’s house?