“Standard procedure,” Cate said, watching him carefully for signs of anger or attack. “When exactly did you move to Widow’s?”
“The August after she vanished. People were still talking about it.”
“You own an ice cream shop?”
“Yeah. In Bishopton. Gets good tourist traffic from the ferries in the summer.”
“Did the ice cream shop open that August too?”
He gave her an odd look. “No, opening a business takes time. I came here in August on a whim from South Carolina, with a goal of getting as far away from that state as possible. I had no idea what I was going to do when I arrived, but I knew right away I wanted to stay. I’m close to the end of my ten years, but I’ve wasted too much time feeling sorry for myself. When I realized there wasn’t a decent ice cream shop on the island, I decided to make it happen. Widow’s Ice Creamery didn’t open until last spring.”
Cate knew the ten years referred to the time period that he was required to register as a sex offender. That meant he’d been around twenty-seven when he was convicted. She’d read his history. He’d claimed he hadn’t known the girl was under eighteen; her mother had said otherwise.
She was mostly satisfied that Stan hadn’t been on the island before his permanent move. She’d dig up his rental and employment records to confirm.
“What’s going on?”
Cate turned around to see a young woman tromping up the steps.
Very young.
She wore rubber overalls with boots and a jacket like Stan’s, looking as if she’d been mucking out the barn. Her wavy blonde hair was divided into low ponytails, and her wide-set brown eyes were curious. She had a dirt smudge on one cheek.
“I’m Cate Wilde. I had some questions for Stan about when he started his ice creamery.” The girl’s young appearance made Cate curb her full explanation.
“I’m Clover. The ice creamery has been open since last spring.” The girl moved next to Stan, and the scent of marijuana floated by Cate. “Have you been there?”
“Not yet. I haven’t been to Bishopton in a while.”
Clover nodded in understanding. “It’s for tourists.”
“Do you live here?” Cate asked the girl. Stan was silent, entranced by Clover. He likes them young.
“Yeah. Stan gave me a job when the shop opened. It was love at first sight.” She took his hand and returned the enamored gaze.
She looks young enough to be his daughter.
“I convinced him we needed our own cows so we’d know exactly what went into the ice cream. That’s when we started the dairy.”
“It was a good idea,” Stan agreed. “We actually make more from selling the organic milk than from the ice cream.”
“But the ice cream shop is more fun,” Clover chimed in. She looked at Cate. “I’m working on a tequila-and-lime ice cream recipe. A little salt makes it incredible.”
“Ummm . . . how old are you?” Cate couldn’t hold back the question.
Clover scowled. “I’m twenty. I don’t drink the tequila. I just make stuff with it.”
That wasn’t my point. At least the relationship is legal. Still . . . he’s thirty-six.
“That ice cream sounds . . . interesting.”
Clover’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “I’m trying a whole line of flavors based on cocktails.” She winked. “I’ve tried adding pot, but I can’t get it to work right.”
“Maybe make an extract?” Did I just say that?
She screwed up her face in thought. “Yeah . . .”
“It was nice meeting you. I wish you continued luck with your business,” Cate said to Stan. He could explain her visit to Clover. Cate didn’t have the heart to tell the flower child the real purpose.
On the drive home, she imagined a life where she only worried about ice cream and cows.
It sounded peaceful.
The craving for ice cream was enough to make Cate take a long detour to Bishopton.
Besides, she was curious about a business where someone like Clover took a primary role.
It was almost dark as her vehicle followed the road’s forested switchbacks nearly down to sea level. The little town of Bishopton spread to the east of the ferry station. Clover was right that the town was for tourists. The lucky business owners who had shops close to the ferry station were guaranteed a booming summer business, which helped carry them financially through the slow winter. The islanders who lived along the east coast of the island shopped in Bishopton year-round; otherwise Cate would expect most of the businesses to close for the season.
The ferry dock looked lonely without a huge ferry in port. During the winter the ferry came every other day, and during the summer it made two trips a day, dumping tourists on the island. Cate slowly drove through Bishopton. Admittedly it was a cute and charming town. Wooden sidewalks, homey storefronts, and well-maintained landscaping. She spotted the ice creamery tucked between two larger buildings and easily veered into a street parking spot. An impossible maneuver during the summer high season.
Pleased the store was still open, Cate stepped inside and started as she recognized the waiter and waitress from The Little Garden. They held hands as they peered into the ice cream case. The tall, gaunt man and the smaller, curvy waitress made an amusing sight. Behind the counter, a bored teenage boy waited patiently for the couple to make up their minds. Cate scanned the board of flavors. All the basics were available, but she assumed Clover’s influence added the odd ones. White chocolate curry, buttered popcorn, sweet corn with basil, and avocado mint chip.
“Oh . . . hello!” Naomi had spotted Cate, and her cheeks plumped as she grinned.
“Hi, Naomi . . . Milton,” Cate said and smiled. “I’m Cate, by the way.”
“Cate is the one who asked me about police activity,” Naomi explained to Milton, who nodded solemnly. “I started asking around, and sure enough, it turns out they found bones on Ruby’s Island!” she whispered loudly, gazing from Cate to Milton. “Pam at Shiny Objects had all the details.” Her eyes glowed as she shared the gossip. Milton sighed and gave Cate a one-shouldered shrug, no doubt used to Naomi’s chatter.
“That’s what I heard too,” Cate said, enjoying her incognito role.
“Do you know what they did with the bones?” Naomi asked in the same loud whisper.
The teen employee pulled out his phone and leaned against the back counter, seeing his chatty customers weren’t ready to order.
“Ummm . . . I heard the coroner has them and will get them to the mainland when the ferry is back.” Cate tried to look as excited about the gossip as Naomi. It wasn’t possible. “Have you heard any rumors about who it is or what happened?”
“Well,” Naomi stated with authority. “That author who lives on the island . . . his daughter has been missing for a few years.” She leaned closer to Cate, her eyes animated. “He’s a loner, rarely leaves the island. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done something to her . . . or that nephew of his. I don’t like him at all.”
“What’s wrong with the nephew?” Cate whispered conspiratorially.
“His credit card was declined at the restaurant, and ohhhhh, you should have seen how angry he was. You’d think I’d done it on purpose.”
“He is a spoiled jerk.” Milton spoke for the first time, still sounding as formal as when Cate had met him that afternoon.
Naomi nodded enthusiastically. “Milton had to escort him out.”
“Are you going to order?” the teen asked, still on his phone, his thumbs tapping rapidly.