Orange Cream Dreams and Murderous Schemes

By D. M. Grant

Callie Clark's ice cream shack on Chocolate Lake is finally up and ready for business, but a murder and an ominous warning throws her into a decades-old treasure hunt with the brooding groundskeeper who can't seem to keep his hands to himself.

Dean Lowry can't stand Callie's spoiled superiority complex, but that doesn't stop him from admiring her outrageous bikinis from afar. When the promise of a killer's return threatens the woman he loves to hate, the tug of war between heart and mind begins.

Can they put their differences aside, or will status and small-town secrets tear them apart?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jun 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509236572

D. M. Grant

Biography I am a coffee drinking, book loving, Tourette having, tattoo addicted stay at home mom. I am a full time college student pursuing a bachelors degree in psychology for child and adolescent development. I live in a small backwoods town with my husband, our daughter, and two dog who think my furniture is their bed. I started writing at the beginning of the pandemic to stave off the boredom thanks to being quarantined and loved it so much I just never stopped.

Book preview

The sound of an engine coming closer made the killer’s body stiffen against hers. His harsh, ominous words scrambled her thoughts. I’ll be back to get what I came for. He turned her swiftly to face him and smiled through the mouth hole in his ski mask before bolting across the narrow, freshly paved road to the tree line.

Seconds later, a lake truck skidded to a halt in front of her heaving body, and Dean Lowry’s pitch-black, onyx-colored eyes stared into hers. She fell into his solid chest, her body tingling from the lack of oxygen and an overdose of adrenaline.

Callie, are you all right? I heard you screaming down at the dock. Are you hurt? Dean lifted her arms, spinning her around, examining her for injuries.

Dazed, confused, and now dizzy, she lifted a wavering arm, ushering to the motionless body on the black asphalt. I’m f-fine. C-check on Alan.

In a few long strides, Dean made it to the man’s side. He checked for a pulse. Nothing, he said, beginning compressions and tossing her his cell phone. Call 911.

Orange Cream Dreams and Murderous Schemes

by

D. M. Grant

Once Scoop or Two

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Orange Cream Dreams and Murderous Schemes

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Aubrey Grant

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2021

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3657-2

Once Scoop or Two

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For my daughter, Marlo, whose patience and love of ice cream made this book possible.

Prologue

He had no one. His entire life could be categorized as a neglected nightmare. A drug-fueled mom who spent more time disappearing and ignoring him as opposed to the alternative—the loving, attentive moms all his friends had growing up. A father who chose blackjack over his family, dying in a hail of gunfire over a betting dispute.

Yep. His life had been tarnished by the sins of others. Sins he paid for with every breath.

But not anymore.

Steadying his body against the wide pine tree overlooking Chocolate Lake, he shook his head and stared at the brand-new building in jealous awe. Like the Clarks need more money.

Zander Clark owned the lake, the only law firm in town, and the most luxurious home this side of Blackstone. And until his daughter’s damn building interfered with his plans, he’d barely known of their existence. But now it was personal, and he intended on getting to know Callie Clark very well.

A soft click echoing through the quiet air brought him back to the present. He grinned as Alan Garland exited through the back door and tossed a bag of garbage into the Dumpster. For a moment, twinges of guilt over what he was about to do stabbed away at the shard of humanity he had left.

Thank God it was short-lived.

Garland needed to pay for what he’d done, or rather, what he didn’t do. If the old man had just given him what he was owed, the guy would live to struggle the pits of aging another day, and he could be living it up on his own private beach somewhere.

A little late for that now.

As the man shuffled back inside, he cautiously made his way out of the tree line and down the freshly paved path, crouching behind the Dumpsters. When the time was right, he’d pounce.

Alan owed him a debt…and it was about to be paid in full.

Chapter One

Callie! A husky voice called out. You have to try this new ice cream flavor I whipped up.

Callie Clark rolled her baking body over in the lounge chair, tipping her sunglasses down, taking in the sight of the older, overweight gentleman stalking over to her, wildly waving a bowl of ice cream in the air.

Alan kicked sand in every direction before halting at her side.

Streams of orange ice cream trickled down the container’s sides, already beginning to melt in the June heat. What’s the flavor today, Alan?

"I think I’m going to call it Orange Cream Dream. I made up a few batches and wanted to put it out for the opening tomorrow." Alan peered over his shoulder and furrowed his brows, clicking the tips of his shoes together as he handed her the Styrofoam bowl.

What’s the matter?

Hm? What?

You look worried. Callie shot up in her lounge chair. Is something wrong with the equipment? She gritted her teeth and growled. I knew we shouldn’t have bought this stuff secondhand. The ice cream shack was new, but the equipment was less than shiny and definitely didn’t come straight from the showroom floor. Last week the motor on her freezer blew, which cost her two hundred and seventy dollars—almost the same amount she paid for the damn thing. Any more surprises would be another nail in her nervous system. If anything else went wrong, they wouldn’t be able to open.

Lost time meant lost revenue—revenue she couldn’t afford to waste.

Her father paid for the equipment as a gift after she got her business degree, but the money used to front the building’s initial cost was her own. Every penny she earned working the lake over twenty summers went straight to her piggy bank, at least until she was old enough to open a real checking account.

One misstep could break her…literally.

Callie begged her father for a top-of-the-line soft-serve machine, but his words rang continuously in her ears. This is your baby. Grow it from the ground up. Those who start with the best don’t appreciate the journey getting to the top. She scoffed. Her father was the town lawyer. Springing for a new soft-serve machine wouldn’t send him into bankruptcy, especially since they considered the lake money extra income.

Alan cleared his throat, bringing her back to reality. No, Callie. It’s nothing like that. I—I just thought I saw something. He gestured at the container in her hands. It’s starting to melt. Take a bite!

Callie inhaled deeply. It smells heavenly. Scents of citrus and vanilla enveloped her. She lifted the plastic spoon to her lips, allowing the cold cream to slide down her throat. Hairs all over her body stood with delight.

The ice cream tasted better than it smelled.

Give me a few minutes to eat this, and I’ll be right up, Callie mumbled between spoonfuls, further fueling her love of the frozen treat. Although it wasn’t just about the ice cream anymore.

Actually, I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll head out for the day. Without giving her a chance to acknowledge his statement, Alan turned on his heels and speed-walked back toward the building.

Maybe he caught the stomach bug everyone in town was talking about. Callie shrugged, letting the sun warm her chill caused by the ice cream.

Flinging her legs over the side of the lounge chair, dusting clumps of sand off her arms and legs, she wriggled her toes into her brand-new flamingo flip-flops and wrapped the matching towel around her waist.

The sun centered itself in the sky, casting a rusty orange glaze over the murky lake. Callie spread her arms, stretching them toward the sky, delighting in one last moment of solitary peace before the summer chaos consumed her.

A glimpse of the groundskeeper, Dean, working on the dock below, forced her to take one last bite. She prayed it would fizzle out the more primal heat that brewed in her belly every time she caught him without a shirt on. Mm.

She dropped her spoon into the bowl and started up the sidewalk, leaving a sprinkle of sand in her wake. Callie bubbled with pride as she studied the moderately sized building, sided with red Cape Cod shingles and a wraparound porch. Next year she planned to expand into restaurant territory by adding a separate building, keeping the two connected by the porch, allowing customers to move from hot, delicious food to their favorite frozen treat without setting foot on the ground.

Dreams really did come true.

How could something so petite and uncomplicated bring so much joy and excitement? Her thoughts traipsed back to her mother’s famous words. It’s about the little things.

Damn straight.

Callie froze.

The sound of an engine stuck in a continuous rev followed by a pop switched her movements from a breezy meander to full speed ahead.

Her flip-flops clicked and clacked against the cement, echoing loudly in the still air.

Alan, what is going on out here? she shouted, tossing her empty ice cream bowl into the wastebasket as she circled the building to the back parking lot. As the Dumpsters came into view, so did something else.

Alan’s partially bald head rested against the steering wheel with rolled-up windows and some kind of classical music blaring. His bulging belly seemed to be pressing down on his leg, forcing his foot down on the gas pedal.

Callie crept closer.

He said he didn’t feel right. Maybe he passed out.

She made a move for her cell and grunted when she felt nothing but towel and skin. Reaching for the door handle, she paused as her