Scoop to Kill (3 page)

Alice had no trouble choosing sides.

“It’s not fair, Aunt Tally,” she said as she lugged a two-gallon tub of our new Flamin’ Hot Chile-Pineapple ice cream out of the walk-in freezer. “Dr. Clowper didn’t do anything wrong, but she’s being punished anyway.”

We were getting ready to open the Remember the A-la-mode—stocking the freezer, balancing the till, heating the sundae sauces—before Alice headed off to class. “Most people wouldn’t consider a paid vacation ‘punishment,’” I responded as I dropped a metal pot of fudge into the water bath and turned on the heat. I might have had my doubts about Emily’s innocence, but I knew better than to argue the point with Alice.

She heaved the bucket of ice cream into the empty spot in the display freezer with a tiny grunt. Alice didn’t weigh more than a buck ten soaking wet, but she worked like a dray horse. “It’s not a vacation. It’s a banishment. They won’t even let her finish her classes this semester, and she can’t teach the May-term class she was scheduled for.”

“May term?” I asked. “Is that like summer school?”

“Sort of. It’s a little short term in between the regular semester and summer school. Just three weeks, but each class meets for three hours a day, five days a week.”

“That sounds horrible,” I muttered.

Alice laughed. “It’s not fun, either for students or teachers. But Dr. Clowper was going to teach the short term so she could travel the rest of the summer.”

“Must be nice,” Bree said. “Now she can leave even sooner.”

“No, now she probably can’t go at all. She needed the income from the May-term class to fund a research trip to the East Coast later this summer. Massachusetts and Washington.”

Bree, who had been counting out the change drawer under her breath, paused in the middle of a stack of fives. “Massachusetts? She writes about books. Don’t they have books here?”

Alice let the door to the display freezer drop with a thud. “Geez, Mom,” she snapped. “She’s working on a book about the political subtext of Emily Dickinson’s poetry, and she needs access to the collection of her letters and diaries in Amherst and to information about her father’s term in Congress. Without the summer teaching money, she’ll have to get a grant to fund the trip. And grant money is really, really tough to get.”

“Sor-ry,” Bree drawled.

Alice rolled her eyes, but she seemed mollified. “It’s a big deal,” she said. “Dr. Clowper’s up for tenure next year, and she needs this book to be done and published if she wants to keep her job. It’s all about tenure, you know.”

A flicker of wistfulness clouded Bree’s expression. We both wanted Alice to have a good education and all the opportunities that came with it. But the bottom line was that Alice was entering a world Bree and I knew little about. Our little girl was vanishing right before our eyes, being transformed into a sophisticated stranger.

“How do you know so much about the nitty-gritty of Emily Clowper’s job situation? As in her precise situation at this moment?” I asked, sliding a canister of salted caramel sauce in next to the fudge.

Alice’s shoulders jerked, and she turned toward the sink. She cranked on the faucet to wash her hands, and for a second, the hollow roar of water on metal made talking impossible.

I waited until she snatched up a towel and knocked the tap closed with her elbow. “Alice?”

Bree had slid the cash drawer closed and was watching her daughter with narrowed eyes.

Alice sighed. “Okay. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be all crazy about it, but I talked with Dr. Clowper last night.”

“You what?” Bree barked.

“It’s no big deal. I went over so we could talk about my paper—”

Bree cut her off. “ ‘Went over’? You mean to her house?”

“Yeah. It’s
really
no big deal. She’s had us over before, all the students who are doing independent studies with her, so we can workshop our projects. We order pizza and sit around her living room. It’s just more comfortable than meeting in her office and quieter than a coffee shop or whatever.”

“Were these other kids at her house last night?”

Alice looked at her feet for a moment, before raising her chin and facing her mother squarely. “No. I went by myself. Dr. Clowper had sent us a mass e-mail saying she wasn’t allowed to come to campus until everything gets resolved, and I was worried about her.” She tucked her sleek strawberry hair behind her ear. “I tried to get some of the other kids to come with me to show our solidarity.”

“But they were all too smart to say ‘yes,’ huh?” Bree shook her head. “Well, you’re not gonna do that again.”

Alice’s jaw slid to the side, like she was chewing on gristle. “Actually, I am. Dr. Clowper isn’t allowed on campus, and they even put a hold on her account so she can’t access the library or the school computer network from home. So she gave me the key to her office, and I promised her I would stop by a couple of times a week so I can bring her things she needs for her work.”

Bree gasped in outrage, but Alice pressed on. “I want to show her that we don’t
all
think she’s some sort of criminal.” She set her small fists on her hips. “Because she’s not.”

Bree matched her daughter’s belligerent stance, so I sidled up to her, ready to intervene if things got too nasty. After all, I had to unlock the store in a few minutes, and their domestic dispute wouldn’t be good for business.

“She’s not a criminal,” Bree mocked. “And do you have anything other than her word for that?”

“Yes,” Alice said. “I have my own good judgment.”

That took a little of the starch out of Bree’s spine. “I still don’t like it,” she insisted. “Even if she weren’t a suspect—”

“She’s not a suspect.”

Bree raised her hand. “Even if she weren’t a suspect,” she repeated, “I think it’s weird for you to go to a teacher’s house, especially by yourself. If there was any way for you to drop your classes this late in the semester, I wouldn’t even let you on that campus. I sure as heck don’t want you spending one-on-one time with a possible murderer.”

Alice opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. She shook her head as she stripped her apron off. “I have to go to class,” she muttered, holding up a hand to fend off any potential argument, “with hundreds of other students in broad daylight. We can talk about this later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bree insisted.

“Whatever.”

Nothing got under Bree’s skin more than that one dismissive little word. She tensed up again, ready to have it out with her troublesome child.

“Let it go, Bree,” I hissed.

Bree shot me an irritated glance, but Alice was already on her way out the back door, a backpack that probably weighed as much as she did slung over one shoulder.

“Can you believe that?” Bree huffed as the door banged shut.

Bree snorted. “Going to that woman’s house without so much as a by your leave? I thought I raised that child better than that.”

I smothered a laugh. “She’s more like you every day.” Bree shot me a disbelieving look. It killed me that neither mother nor daughter could see how much alike they were. “She’s fiercely loyal, listens to her gut, stubborn as a mule . . . shall I go on?”

I walked to the front door, flipped the OPEN sign, and threw the dead bolt. Late-April weather in north Texas is unpredictable, but the local news promised sun and highs in the eighties for the day. With any luck, the A-la-mode would be jumping by lunch.

“Listen,” I said. “Whether you like it or not, Alice is going to stand by her teacher. And you can’t watch her every minute of every day.”

“Wanna bet?”

I let the laughter escape this time. “For what it’s worth, Finn thinks pretty highly of this lady, and he’s a good judge of character.”

Bree arched an eyebrow, and I knew she was itching to press me about Finn and Emily, but she showed uncharacteristic restraint.

“Why don’t you compromise?” I suggested. “Tell Alice that she can meet with Dr. Clowper, but they have to meet here. On neutral territory.”

Bree snapped a clean apron over her head.

“Not a bad plan. Though I’m not sure either one of us is ‘neutral’ toward that woman.”

M
uch to Bree’s surprise, Alice and Emily both agreed to meet at the A-la-mode. Much to my surprise, Emily brought Finn Harper with her.

I watched through my plate glass storefront as Finn waited patiently on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his rumpled khakis, while Emily locked a pink bicycle to a parking meter. Her short flippy purple skirt and ballet-necked white T-shirt showed off a lithe figure that her long linen dress had concealed when I first met her. With a canvas tote bag slung across her body and a pair of Earth sandals on her feet, she looked like she could be a college student herself.

Finn held the door for both Alice and Emily, and they filed to the back of the store.

“Anyone want ice cream?” I asked as they settled down around one of my wrought-iron café tables. Bree crossed behind them to the door to lock up for the day, and Kyle Mason, my only nonfamily employee, slouched by the restroom door, watching Alice’s every move with a blend of longing and animosity peculiar to moody teenagers. Poor Kyle teetered right on the brink of adulthood, but Alice, his crush, had already entered the grown-up world of college. He chafed at being left behind.

“No, thanks,” Alice said, as she rooted around in her backpack.

“You know I can’t resist your ice cream, Tally,” Finn said with a wink. “Bring me something tasty.”

I looked at Emily. She stared back, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Diabetic. Just water.”

Ah yes, no ice cream for Dr. Emily Clowper. She probably ran marathons, too, or did that hot yoga stuff.

As though he read my mind, Finn piped up. “Don’t let Emily fool you. She has a sweet tooth.”

She glared at him. “I like sweets,” she conceded, “but they’ll kill me. Literally. So I resist temptation.”

“Hmmm. I seem to recall a certain evening at Ciao Bella that involved multiple desserts.”

Emily blushed. “All tiramisu. Every time I’m near a piece of the stuff, I absolutely inhale it, and then spend the evening shooting up extra insulin to compensate.” She lowered her eyes. “Some temptations are simply too great.”

Eww. I really didn’t want to be privy to this conversation.

I ducked behind the counter and dished up two scoops of cherry-vanilla, Finn’s favorite flavor, and topped it with a ladle of warm bittersweet-chocolate fudge and a dollop of whipped cream.

Bree filled a glass with ice water for Emily, popped open a can of Diet Dr Pepper for herself, and slid Alice a can of the full-sugar variety. I handed Finn his ice cream and smiled as he tucked in with gusto.

“Em,” Finn said around a mouthful of my French pot ice cream, “you have no idea what you’re missing.”

I tried to ignore the pang I felt at Finn’s use of Emily’s pet name. It was none of my business how long they’d dated, how serious they’d been, how much tiramisu he’d fed her, or even whether they were back together. I tried to ignore that pang, but if we’re being brutally honest, I failed.

“So what’s the scoop?” Bree asked as she took a swig of her soda.

Alice piped up. “Dr. Landry asked Reggie to cover Dr. Clowper’s May-term American lit class, and Reggie asked me today if I’d be willing to work as a TA.”

Kyle laughed. “T and A?” he scoffed. “Not sure you’re qualified, Ally.”

Alice glared at him. “TA. Teaching assistant. Grading and helping students who are struggling and stuff. Usually, that’s a job for graduate students and sometimes senior undergrads, but the department is a little shorthanded”—she glanced sheepishly at Emily—“and it’s short notice. I mean the class starts the week after next, right after spring finals. I’m local, and I aced the class last fall. Reggie said I’d be a natural.”

Something about the way Alice said Reggie’s name, a smug note of satisfaction in her voice as she repeated his praise, made me wonder whether this Reggie person might be a little bit handsome. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle’s teasing smile turn into a glower, suggesting he’d noticed the very same thing.

“Who’s this Reggie person?” I asked.

“He’s another graduate student,” Alice said. “He and Bryan shared an office.”

“Reggie’s ABD,” Emily added. “All but dissertation,” she clarified. “He’s completed all of his course work and just has to finish his research and defend his dissertation, and then he’ll graduate. He’ll be a great mentor for Alice.”

Bree looked dubious. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she said.

“Come on, Mom,” Alice wheedled. “I can still pull my weight around the shop. It will look great on my résumé, and I’ll even get paid.”

Emily nodded. “It would be a great opportunity for Alice, so I suggested her name to Reggie.” I caught the subtle emphasis Emily put on the word “I,” and by the way she stiffened, I guessed Bree had, too. Everyone in the room knew that Alice had this opportunity because of Emily’s largesse. “Alice will do a wonderful job,” she added more graciously, “and it will free up Reggie to work on his dissertation.”

I knew my cousin well enough to realize that, at this point, if Emily said the earth was round, Bree would cry “flat!” By the time Emily finished her argument, Bree was already shaking her head.

Alice’s face set in a mulish expression, ready to duke it out, but Bree tipped her head toward Emily and Finn. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Alice huffed and rolled her eyes, but Bree didn’t budge.

“What are they saying about Bryan around campus?” Finn asked, trying to bring the conversation back to more neutral territory. Though I suppose talk of a murder shouldn’t really be considered “neutral.”

“Nothing interesting,” Alice reported. “Just that Bryan was a tool, and he was gunning for Dr. Clowper, and no one is really sad about him being dead.”