Milkshake Murder Read online

  Oh boy. He really did need his job back.

  “Don’t worry, we’re going to prove that you had nothing to do with this,” I said, taking the cap off the pen. All I had to do was figure out who ACTUALLY wanted this guy dead and find that person. Because I knew my brother wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  I saw that I had a message on my phone. It was from my tutor, Maria, reminding me about taking my exam and asking if I had bought the Shakespeare study guide. I just turned off the screen and pretended I hadn’t seen it. I’d dropped the book when I’d fallen off my skateboard and for all I knew, it was still laying there on the sidewalk, abandoned. I doubted anyone who stepped over it would actually want it and pick it up.

  “So, the victim. What do you know about him?” I asked Matt.

  He furrowed his brow in concentration. “I think his name was Arthur.”

  “You think?” I knew he was in shock, but I was going to need a little more information than that. A man had just been poisoned in broad daylight and the town was already freaking out that it could happen again. That there was a milkshake murderer on the loose.

  Matt nodded. “Um, Arthur Hannon, I think.”

  Again with the ‘I think.’ I blinked a few times. The name rang a bell. A distant one.

  I tried to be patient with him as I sat there with my hand hovering above the paper. Maria was trying to call me again. I could only concentrate on one thing at a time. The surfer came out of the waves and waved at us and looked like he wanted to have a chat and introduce himself, specifically to me, but I turned away and snubbed him.

  Concentrate.

  “What did Arthur do? For a living? Or in general?”

  Matt sighed and pulled his knees into his chest. “You’re asking a lot of questions…”

  I knew that I was. That was what being a detecti,ve required. “Just tell me what you can remember about Arthur coming into the restaurant. What did he order? Just a milkshake? Did you see what went into it, exactly? What were you doing?”

  Matt snapped right back at me. “You sound awfully accusing, Alyson. Sounds like you think that I did it!”

  “Wow,” I said. “You’re the one who came begging me for help.”

  Even though we were brother and sister, we usually got along and hadn’t fought with each other since we were teenagers. But right then, he was really starting to get on my nerves.

  He stood up and dusted off his pants. “Well, you’ll have to ask someone who actually knew him,” he said grouchily and stormed off. “Maybe start with an actual suspect.”

  “That’s what I was trying to figure out, Matt!” I shouted after him. “Who the actual suspects are!”

  But he was already up on the sidewalk and off the sand.

  I rolled my eyes and kicked the sand. Urgh. Typical older brother.

  And typical of me to be left behind, picking up all the pieces.

  Maria was ringing so incessantly that I thought I’d better actually answer it in case someone had died. Well, you know, someone else.

  “You may have heard that a Captain Eightball’s customer died drinking a milkshake,” I said, to let her know that I had very important matters to deal with that evening.

  “Two p.m. this Wednesday. For your mock exam, Alyson,” she said, interrupting me. She didn’t care that Arthur Hannon was dead from drinking a milkshake. “That is the last free slot I have. You’ve worked hard to get here. Don’t throw it all away now.”

  I told her that I would get back to her.

  There were other things I had to get to first. Maybe if I’d solved this mystery by Wednesday I could worry about a mock exam. Then again, I’d still have the problem of whether to go and work for someone else and leave the very beach I was standing on behind.

  Right. Arthur Hannon. If Matt couldn’t give me answers, then the internet could. I looked him up on my phone.

  And just when I was hoping to leave the world of politics behind, I got dragged right back in.

  A couple of months earlier, I had decided to run for mayor to set things right in Eden Bay, but in the end, politics was not for me. Too much grey. I was always more of a black and white girl. I thought certain things were right, other things were wrong, and there was rarely any in between.

  But Arthur Hannon, another person who saw things in black and white, had apparently been able to play the game much better than I had. His name had sounded vaguely familiar when Matt had said it, and now I knew why. He was on the local council and had been for almost ten years.

  Interesting. There could have been a lot of people out there that wanted the man dead.

  I wasn’t sure whether this was good or bad news for my brother.

  Rose Cocker had served on the council with Arthur for the last three years. She was someone I had briefly met during my mayoral campaign, even though she was a lot older than me and hadn’t really liked someone younger coming in and thinking they could do better. But the world of Eden Bay politics was relatively small, so we’d attended the same events. Arthur Hannon was someone I had never met in person, though—and I was about to find out why. We weren’t exactly on the same side of politics.

  I knew Rose’s address and I figured she was the best person to start with, since I already had an in with her. She lived in a tiny refurbished cabin not far from the dark side of the beach that practically backed into the ocean.

  Definite prime property these days, but when the cabin was first purchased, it probably went for a steal. They used to sell those things for less than $500 to farmers in the area who were struggling to find property, because back in those days, close to the beach was actually not the place to be.

  Rose Cocker had probably inherited the property. Most likely, it had been in the family for several generations. There were wind chimes on the veranda. and I could see Rose and her loosely-permed hair through the window as I approached. I’d told her I was coming.

  Rose welcomed me in and said she had some scones and jam ready. I wasn’t sure why she was sitting still in the dining room and not getting up to fetch them—was I supposed to? then I realized it was because there was a maid in the kitchen preparing the afternoon snack for us. She walked in and nodded to me, putting down a silver tray between Rose and I.

  I thanked her and sat up straighter.

  Rose told me to help myself and she waited for me. Guests always went before the host. I reached forward and picked up a scone and a fine silver knife.

  It kind of reminded me of being at my parents’ place. They didn’t have a maid—well, there was a housekeeper who came twice a week—but they did have the same expensive furniture that came from another century and there were certain standards they expected in their house as well. Rules and etiquette, like being permanently at finishing school. It was strange that Matt and I had grown up so laidback and hippy-dippy when it came to things like that, but maybe we had just rebelled and gone the opposite way.

  “Are you sad to hear about Arthur’s passing?” I asked Rose. Maybe a little blunt, but I didn’t figure that Rose was one to mince her words. She would tell me what she really thought of Arthur if I asked her outright.

  She paused for a moment. Adjusted her face. Typical politician. “He will be missed by his friends and family.”

  “So I gather you don’t count yourself in either of those groups.”

  There was a thin, knowing smile on her lips, and her eyes told me that I had picked up on the subtext.

  “You were both on the council,” I said. I had my notepad open and my pen hovered above it. Since Matt hadn’t given me anything to fill it with, I might as well use it at Rose’s house instead. “Did you get along in your political views?”

  Rose shook her head and laughed. “Oh heavens no.”

  I nodded. “I didn’t think so. Doesn’t sound I like would have either.”

  But I didn’t know just how extreme Arthur’s views had been. Rose filled me in while I took notes. She didn’t seem fussed by the fact that I was recording everythin
g. In fact, she seemed kind of impressed by how enterprising I was.

  “He was ultra conservative. Believed that the town should have a curfew and everyone should be inside by nine o’clock.”

  I stared at her with my mouth wide open. “What is this, the fifties?”

  Rose shrugged and picked up a scone, smoothly spreading the cream in a swirly fashion, like this was something she did several times a day. To look at her slim figure though, you wouldn’t guess it. “Crazy as his ideas sounded, there were people who agreed with him. He was starting to pick up a lot of support.”

  I knew that there were people in Eden Bay—especially amongst the older population—who were becoming more and more conservative and who longed for the so-called ‘good old days,’ but I was still surprised to hear how close the law had come to being passed.

  “Geez, those laws would have killed some local businesses.” I thought about Troy and his mall and how concerned he would have been. Coming to a small town to open a shopping and entertainment center, spending millions, and then finding that you weren’t allowed to be open past 8:30pm.

  Rose stared at me meaningfully. “Including Captain Eightball’s.”

  3

  Claire

  The jukebox was playing a slow song. Fitting. The mood in Captain Eightball’s was somber, even if they were carrying on business as—almost—usual.

  It was strange to be in there with Matt essentially barred from the place. I felt like I was betraying him. But actually, it was the total opposite—I was there to try and clear his name and get his job back. The blame was only being pinned on Matt because he was the new manager, so he was an easy target. Sure, he’d been in charge, but that didn’t mean that the blame for a murder should fall on him. Maybe there was a staff member below him who wanted the job and felt bitter about being looked over.

  I looked around for the owner, Simpson, who was apparently back in town now that there was no manager. I wasn’t that friendly with him because he came and went, but I had still known him since I was a teenager. I leaned over the bar to see if I could see into the kitchen. I’d been in there plenty of times while Matt was working, but now it felt like a no-go zone—a place I wasn’t allowed.

  I was stunned to see Kate waltz out of the kitchen with a black apron around her waist and a Captain Eightball’s t-shirt on. She was carrying a tray with a jug of lemonade on it, and her long dark hair was swaying from side to side.

  “Oh, hello, Kate. I didn’t know you were back in Eden Bay.”

  Well, this was awkward. Kate was Matt’s ex. She had left Eden Bay two months earlier when the two of them had broken up. And I was hoping I’d never have to run into her again. But here she was, right in front of me.

  “Hello, Claire. Lovely to see you again.” She smiled sweetly at me—you know, a real butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth expression.

  Yeah, right.

  I nodded at her uniform. “You’re working here?”

  “I thought I’d come back here and help out. You know that I used to waitress at Captain’s while Matt and I were dating? The first time.”

  No. I hadn’t known that. Also, great to know that there were multiple times.

  She nodded toward some luggage that was piled up behind the counter. “Came straight here from the train station. They really needed me, you see.”

  She hadn’t even bothered to drop her bags off at home. Guess they really were desperate. She leaned over the counter and whispered, “I just hope that Matt isn’t offended that I took the gig. You know, that he doesn’t feel betrayed or anything.”

  I was secretly hoping that he might, and I couldn’t wait to tell him that Kate had swooped right in to take his job.

  The manager, Simpson Cave, finally made an appearance and eyed me wearily. He had a beer belly that seemed to have grown even bigger since the last time I was in there. He must have known why I was there. He knew that I was Matt’s girlfriend, and he knew that I must have been there to try and clear Matt’s name. Maybe he thought that I was trying to get him to give Matt his job back.

  He quickly looked away to try and pretend that he hadn’t seen me, then hurried toward one of the storage pantries, but I just hurried after him. “Simpson,” I said. “Have you heard from Matt at all?” I just wanted to know if they were in contact. Wanted to see Simpson’s reaction as well.

  “Not for a day or two,” he said warily. “I think it’s better that he keep his distance for a while,” he said meaningfully, to make sure that I understood. Yeah, I got it all right. But that wasn’t why I was there. I mean, of course, getting Matt his job back was part of the long-term plan, but it was more important to make sure that Matt wasn’t accused and tried of murder in the meantime.

  “I’m surprised that you are still open,” I said. Just an open-ended statement so that I could get more info.

  He shrugged. “He died outside on the street, meters away from the place, so we can stay open as long and as late as we want now.”

  Kind of a strange way to put it. Huh.

  “And customers are happy to come in here and eat and drink?”

  He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Well, we haven’t sold a lot of milkshakes, I’ll put it that way. But they are happy enough that justice has been done and we have gotten rid of the guilty party.”

  So, Matt had been the sacrificial lamb. The scapegoat.

  “Matt didn’t even know Arthur Hannon. He had no grudge with him! And he wouldn’t even kill a spider…you know that. He always caught them and took them outside.”

  Simpson hung his head a little and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. People think that Matt is guilty, and we have to keep the customers happy.”

  Yep. Appearances were everything. And Matt appeared guilty.

  Kate smiled at me as I left. Smugly.

  Hmm. I wouldn’t hurt Matt’s feelings by telling him that she was back there working, not just yet, but Kate had better be careful where she flashed that smiled of hers from now on.

  4

  Alyson

  Rachael Beckham was looking flash. Good. She’d had something of a makeover since the last time I saw her. Her once lank and sad-looking hair had been cut into a mid-length bob, highlighted, and the layers not only gave her hair bounce, it made her face look younger and more vibrant. Especially with the touch of mascara and blush she was also wearing on that day. Even through the window, I could see that something had changed with her.

  I waltzed in through the doors of the Eden Bay Journal with confidence. I hadn’t always been so confident in that office. I’d been timid and nervous, unsure of myself, but I had done a lot of growing up since then.

  I shot Rachael a knowing smile. We had history. But we were more or less on good terms at that point. Well, as good of terms as I could with anyone who worked in the media. I had an awful habit of getting myself into trouble, and the press had an awful habit of picking up on it and reporting it.

  “I hope you broke up with that jerk Alex that you were seeing.”

  She nodded and rolled her eyes a little. “I did. But something tells me that you didn’t come in here today to ask about my love life.” She placed one hand on her hip and waited.

  Good guess. I only had a very passing interest in the love life of Rachael Beckham.

  “I’m here to ask you about Arthur Hannon.”

  She looked at me with amused eyes. And a sort of smug, knowing look.

  “I thought you withdrew from the race. Retired from your brief political career.”

  “I wish,” I said. “But I am once more back into the fray.” I didn’t really know what that saying meant, but I had heard Claire say it before.

  Rachael had definitely heard the name Arthur Hannon before. She showed me some recent news articles that had been printed about him, even before his death, and the letters page where passionate locals had written in, either in strong support of the proposed lockout laws and curfews or strongly against them. Basically, no in-between. It wasn�
��t an issue that people were ambivalent about. “Hmm, I know that pretty much everyone in the Eden Bay hospitality industry disliked the guy. Some of them even hated him.” Rachael set the paper down and looked at me for my reaction.

  Interesting. “Do you have the names of those people?”

  Rachael laughed a little. She flipped her new hairstyle over her shoulder. “Just go into any restaurant in town and speak to the owner.”

  I mean, I got it. There were plenty of people. But I was starting to get impatient. There were high stakes here. Milkshakes were at stake. I needed names.

  “Anyone specific?” I asked her. “Anyone who may have been publicly vocal about Arthur. Someone who spoke to you? Wanted you to write an article?” I knew that people often came to Rachael looking for her to print a particular angle, and sometimes she had a price for doing just that.

  She paused for a moment. “Do you know The VRI?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Not the sort of place I’d go to, but I know it.” Way too trendy for me. Main meals that cost $60.

  “Well, the owner, Reinhold Walker, had made a threat against Arthur in one of the letters to the editor.” She leafed through a stack of old editions and it took her a few minutes to find the issue where she had printed the letter. “Here it is,” she said, reading it over. “He says that if Arthur Hannon keeps pushing the curfew laws then he is going to be sorry, because a lot of people had a lot of money to lose. And that he’d better sleep with the light on and one eye open.”

  She closed the page. “He only signed it as RW. But I knew it was him.” She laughed a little. “Part of me wanted to be cheeky and publish it with his real name. But, you know, journalist integrity and all that.”

  Right.

  I thanked her and asked if I could take a copy. I was going to pay a visit to The VRI and meet this Reinhold Walker in the flesh.

  The opening hours on the door of The VRI were etched into the wood, so faintly that you could hardly see them. Certainly no garish neon signs or anything of that nature. But if I leaned close enough and squinted, I could see that they were open for lunch. I pushed on the door and went inside.