Murder by Milkshake is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Elizabeth Maria Naranjo
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 979–8882789-84-7
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design
To Alex, still the man of my dreams
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Next in the Sweet Dreams series!
Also by Elizabeth Maria Naranjo
CHAPTER ONE
SCANDALOUS RUMORS AT PINEWOOD HIGH!
Genevieve Winterland scooped a perfect globe of Chocolate Cherry Crush and pressed it expertly onto a dipped sugar cone. “Sprinkles?” she asked the pint-sized customer peering up at her. He nodded and she scattered the rainbow-colored confetti over his ice cream cone before handing it over.
Kids were such an easy upsell.
“Four twenty-five please,” she said to the harried-looking mom, who shrugged one shoulder to anchor her cell phone while fishing a five-dollar bill out of her wallet.
“Keep the change,” the woman said and walked away holding her son’s free hand, which was streaked with chocolate ice cream. Genevieve watched them go with a wistful smile. She plopped three quarters of change into the snow-cone tip jar and wiped down the already sparkling clean counters.
Genevieve loved her job as a fountain girl at Sweet Dreams Ice Cream Parlour, where she spent most of her time when she wasn’t attending classes at Pinewood High School. She took great pride in the shop because one day it would belong to her.
Her father had opened Sweet Dreams on 5th Street ten years ago, shortly after they’d moved to town. At the time, only one ice cream parlour existed in Pinewood, and they only sold soft serve. Genevieve’s mother hadn’t been convinced that opening a frozen-sweets shop in a snowy northern Arizona mountain town was a good investment, but she’d grudgingly gone along with the idea. In the end, her opinion hadn’t mattered much anyway; she’d left the following year to pursue her acting career in Las Vegas. As much as she loved her family, Lauren Starr just wasn’t cut out for small-town life.
Genevieve had practically grown up in Sweet Dreams, sipping her favorite butterscotch malt and swiveling on the alternating pink and mint-green bar stools while her father and his older sister, Aunt Mellie, served customers. She knew every inch of the shop by heart—the retro polka-dot tiled floors, the pink-and-white striped wallpaper, the cozy booths with pink tabletops and mint-green vinyl cushions. Sweet Dreams was bright and cool and always smelled like waffle cones. To a child, it was a little slice of heaven.
The bells over the front door chimed as the first group of Pinewood High students streamed in. Genevieve was a senior and only attended half days, which gave her time to get to the shop and prepare for the afternoon rush before the nearby schools let out. Despite her mother’s misgivings, Sweet Dreams Ice Cream Parlour had flourished.
“Hey, Genevieve!” Carly Jamison, a perky senior with a Southern drawl and a penchant for gossip, slung her oversized leather purse onto the counter. “How’s it feel ditching school every day?”
“Like work,” quipped Genevieve good-naturedly. “Do you want the usual?”
Carly lifted her gaze to study the mounted chalkboard, and Genevieve waited patiently, knowing already that Carly wouldn’t deviate from her peanut-butter fudge shake (no cherry, extra whipped cream).
“Oh, come on, slowpoke, you’re holding up the line.” Samanta Glenn tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and gave her best friend a little shove.
“Fine, okay.” Carly rolled her eyes at Genevieve. “I guess I’ll just have the usual, then.”
“Coming right up.” Genevieve dipped her scoop into the vat of peanut-butter fudge, which was one of the hardest ice creams to work with. Fortunately, after years of practice, her biceps were more than up to the challenge. She plopped two generous scoops into a stainless-steel mixing tin, added milk, and stuck the tin onto the blender.
“Five even.”
Carly dug in her purse and handed Genevieve a debit card. Genevieve swiped the card and swiveled the mounted tablet toward her before moving on to Samanta.
“Two scoops of cinnamon vanilla crunch,” Samanta said, without looking up from her phone.
“Cup or cone?” With Samanta, it was a different order every time.
“Cup.”
