Genevieve poured their shakes and proceeded to tell the retired detective everything she knew, with the exception of Principal Mattison’s relationship with Miss Love. He listened intently, without interrupting, his eyes clouding over at the mention of Detective Christie. When she was finished, he took a long swig of his malt and folded his hands on the counter in front of him, eyeing her shrewdly.
“Now tell me the part you left out, the part that’s really troubling you,” he said.
Genevieve scolded herself for thinking she could withhold information without the detective knowing. She took a deep breath and revealed the principal’s secret, then braced herself as she waited for him to admonish her for not going to the police. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he shook his head and said, “It always comes down to a woman.”
“Now that’s a sexist thing to say,” snapped Mellie’s voice from the back, and both of them jumped. Aunt Mellie strode in from the kitchen, her hands planted firmly on her hips and her cheeks colored pink. “Detective,” she said coolly, “my niece has had a hard time of late, understandably, as these events affect her on a personal level. However, you should know better than to encourage her. If retired life is boring to you, I suggest you pick up a more useful way to occupy your time. I hear the bookshop is hiring.”
Detective Moran muttered something incomprehensible, jammed his hat back on, and buried his nose in his book.
“Genevieve,” Aunt Mellie said kindly, “why don’t you help me clean up in the kitchen; I’m late getting out as it is.”
When Tyler showed up at a quarter to two, Genevieve had a line of customers stretching all the way to the door. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, and people were out in droves, chasing after a little downtown sunshine. As always, Genevieve was glad for the afternoon rush, not only because they needed the customers, but because she needed to stop her mind from spinning in useless circles.
Tyler nodded at her brusquely as he joined her behind the counter, and she couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, and how bloodshot they were. She let him take over the register and together they worked the line down, albeit slowly as customers continued to stream in.
Genevieve noted with some reluctance that they’d begun to work well together; Tyler really seemed to be getting the hang of the job. Although, she thought critically, he would never have the right demeanor for a lasting career in food service. You had to have a passion for it. She looked out at the happy customers crowding her booths and ogling the ice cream display freezer and smiled proudly.
When the line had finally dwindled down and the shop quieted, they took turns taking breaks, and Genevieve saw her chance to try and needle a bit of information from Tyler.
“So,” she began conversationally, “what do you make of all the drama at the high school?”
Tyler was scrubbing the cast-iron waffle cone maker with a wire brush. At her question, he set the brush down, turned to her, and met her gaze coolly.
“What do you mean?”
A bit defensive, she thought. Hmm.
“Of course, you must have heard about the disappearance of one teacher and the death of another.” He said nothing, and she cleared her throat. “They’re saying that the substitute, Ms. Pierce, didn’t actually kill herself. They’re saying she was murdered.”
His black eyes remained flat and uncaring. “Why would that make a difference to me? She’s dead.”
Genevieve was shocked at his callousness. “But surely you knew her? I mean, didn’t you go to Pinewood High?”
Tyler picked up the wire brush again and turned his back on her. “That was years ago. I barely remember it.”
She watched the powerful flex of his muscles as he finished scrubbing the waffle maker, a little more vigorously than was necessary, and then grabbed a wet washcloth to wipe it down. Apparently, that was all he had to say on the subject.
He had plenty of reason to get rid of both teachers.
Could the principal be telling the truth? Genevieve didn’t know for sure, but what she did know was that Tyler was lying, and that—combined with his turning away from her so rudely—made her feel a bit reckless.
“I heard you got expelled for fighting,” she said evenly.
He spun on her; the washcloth he was holding sprayed a thin arc of soapy water across her apron. “What,” he seethed, “does that have to do with anything?”
Genevieve held his gaze defiantly. “Maybe nothing. Maybe that you obviously had a real temper back then, and you still do.”
Now Tyler’s face paled in anger. He took a threatening step toward her and it took all of her self-restraint not to cower under his glowering stare. She expected him to shout at her, but instead, even more alarmingly, he spoke in a low, measured tone. “Just what,” he said, “exactly, are you implying?”
Mustering up her courage, she stepped toward him as well, closing the remaining distance between them. “Only that two teachers have been murdered in my hometown, the police don’t seem to have any leads, and I’m trying to figure out who may have had a reason to want to kill them.”
Incredibly, Tyler backed off, leaned casually against the counter, and eyed her with dark amusement. “And what, Nancy Drew, have you found?”
The sudden and complete disappearance of his anger startled her, but she maintained her composure. “That it would have to be someone strong enough to throttle a solidly built woman and then string her up with rope, and someone who hated her enough to do it in cold blood.”
Now Tyler began to laugh. “There’s your problem,” he said, resuming his work. “Narrowing down the people of Pinewood who hated Eloise Pierce enough to get rid of her.”
“So you did know her?”
“Of course I knew her. She was a miserable old crone whose sole purpose in life was making everyone else miserable.”
Again, Genevieve was stunned at his heartlessness; she was becoming more and more convinced that he did have it in him, after all.
But what could his motive be?
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she offed that other teacher, you know,” he added. “Pierce would have done anything to get that job.”
Genevieve’s blood roiled at his cruel choice of words describing the death of “that other teacher.”
“Then there would be two murderers, which doesn’t make sense,” she said haughtily. “If I were in charge of the investigation,” she added, “I’d be highly suspicious of anyone new to town, especially if they had a history of violence.”
He threw down the dish towel. “You know what? You’re unbelievable sometimes. Maybe you should stick with what you do best, which is serving up mediocre ice cream to gossipy locals in this crappy little town.”
Genevieve recoiled in shock. “Mediocre?!”
“You don’t even make your own base,” he reminded her contemptuously.
“That is completely beside the point!”
