Black Cat Weekly #50

By Charles Todd, Cynthia Ward, Somtow Sucharitkul and 8 more

This is a special issue—our 50th, as you may have noticed from our cover. To celebrate, all past and present editors were to contribute a story. (It helps that they are also amazingly talented writers.) So we have stories from Michael Bracken, Barb Goffman, Paul Di Filippo, Darrell Schweitzer, and Cynthia Ward in addition to our other fare.

But wait! There’s more!

This issue features four original tales—Elizabeth Zelvin has a fantasy/mystery stories, Phyllis Ann Karr has a weird western, and Cynthia Ward has a gonzo science fiction crowd-funding story. And I have completed a story by the late H.B. Fyfe, who was best known for his science fiction stories, though this one is a revenge tale that most closely fits the mystery genre.

And the good stuff doesn’t stop there. We also have a superhero story from Darrell Schweitzer. Space Opera from Algis Budrys and E.E. “Doc” Smith. A historical mystery novel by western author B.M. Bower. A historical investigation from Charles Todd. A Mallworld story from Somtow Sucharitkul (who also writes as S.P. Somtow). And no issue is complete without a solve-it-yourself mystery by Hal Charles.

All in all, this is an probably our best Black Cat Weekly yet.

Here’s the complete lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

“The Ladies of Wednesday Tea” by Michael Bracken [short story]
“Hidden in Plain Sight” by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]
“Ice Ice Baby” by Barb Goffman [short story]
“Flayed” by H.B. Fyfe and John Gregory Betancourt [short story]
“Blood Money” by Charles Todd [Barb Goffman Presents short story]
“The House of Marble” by Elizabeth Zelvin [Michael Bracken Presents short story]
The Eagle’s Wing, by B.M. Bower [novel]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

“The House of Marble” by Elizabeth Zelvin [Michael Bracken Presents short story]
“The Rise and Fall of Whistle-Pig City” by Paul Di Filippo [short story]
“Rabid in Mallworld” by Somtow Sucharitkul [short story]
“Fighting the Zeppelin Gang” by Darrell Schweitzer [short story]
“Winona of Bleeding Kansas” by Phyllis Ann Karr [short story]
“The Campaign Is Now Officially Complete” by Cynthia Ward [short story]
“Blood on my Jets” by Algis Budrys [short story]
The Skylark of Valeron, by Edward E. Smith, Ph.D. [novel]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Aug 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667659923

Book preview

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

THE CAT’S MEOW

TEAM BLACK CAT

THE LADIES OF WEDNESDAY TEA, by Michael Bracken

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT, by Hal Charles

ICE ICE BABY, by Barb Goffman

FLAYED, by H. B. Fyfe and John Gregory Betancourt

BLOOD MONEY, by Charles Todd

HOUSE OF MARBLE, by Elizabeth Zelvin

THE EAGLE’S WING, by B. M. Bower

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

THE RISE AND FALL OF WHISTLE-PIG CITY, by Paul Di Filippo

RABID IN MALLWORLD, by Somtow Sucharitkil

FIGHTING THE ZEPPELIN GANG, by Darrell Schweitzer

WINONA OF BLEEDING KANSAS, by Phyllis Ann Karr

THE CAMPAIGN IS NOW OFFICIALLY COMPLETE, by Cynthia Ward

BLOOD ON MY JETS, by Algis Budrys

THE SKYLARK OF VALERON, by Edward E. Smith, Ph.D.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2022 by Wildside Press LLC.

Published by Wildside Press, LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

*

The Ladies of Wednesday Tea is copyright © 2021 by Michael Bracken. Originally published in Bullets and Other Hurting Things: A Tribute to Bill Crider. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Hidden in Plain Sight is copyright © 2022 by Hal Blythe and Charlie Sweet. Reprinted by permission of the authors.

Ice Ice Baby is copyright © 2021 by Barb Goffman. Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Sept/Oct 2021. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Flayed is copyright © 2022 by John Gregory Betancourt and appears here for the first time.

Blood Money is copyright © 2019 by Charles Todd. Originally published in Odd Partners. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The House of Marble is copyright © 2022 by Elizabeth Zelvin and appears here for the first time.

The Eagle’s Wing, by B.M. Bower, was originally published in 1924.

The Rise and Fall of Whistle-Pig City is copyright © 2021 by Paul Di Filippo. Originally published in Out of the Ruins. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Rabid in Mallworld is copyright © 1980 by Somtow Sucharitkul. Originally published in Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, June, 1980. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Fighting the Zeppelin Gang is copyright © 2006 by Darrell Schweitzer. Originally published in Postscripts 8. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Winona of Bleeding Kansas is copyright © 2022 Phyllis Ann Karr and appears here for the first time.

The Campaign Is Now Officially Complete is copyright © 2022 by Cynthia Ward and appears here for the first time.

Blood on my Jets by Algis Budrys was originally published in Rocket Stories, July 1953.

The Skylark of Valeron, by Edward E. Smith, Ph.D., was originally published as a 7-part serial in Astounding Stories between August, 1934 and February 1935.

THE CAT’S MEOW

Welcome to Black Cat Weekly.

This is a special issue—our 50th, as you may have noticed from our cover. To celebrate, I invited all past and present editors to contribute a story. (It helps that they are also amazingly talented writers.) So we have stories from Michael Bracken, Barb Goffman, Paul Di Filippo, Darrell Schweitzer, and Cynthia Ward in addition to our other fare.

But wait! There’s more!

This issue features fouroriginal tales—Elizabeth Zelvin has a fantasy/mystery stories, Phyllis Ann Karr has a weird western, and Cynthia Ward has a gonzo science fiction crowd-funding story. And I have completed a story by the late H.B. Fyfe, who was best known for his science fiction stories, though this one is a revenge tale that most closely fits the mystery genre.

And the good stuff doesn’t stop there. We also have a superhero story from Darrell Schweitzer. Space Opera from Algis Budrys and E.E. Doc Smith. A historical mystery novel by western author B.M. Bower. A historical investigation from Charles Todd. A Mallworld story from Somtow Sucharitkul (who also writes as S.P. Somtow). And no issue is complete without a solve-it-yourself mystery by Hal Charles.

All in all, this is an probably our best Black Cat Weekly yet.

Here’s the complete lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

The Ladies of Wednesday Tea by Michael Bracken [short story]

Hidden in Plain Sight by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]

Ice Ice Baby by Barb Goffman [short story]

Flayed, by H.B. Fyfe and John Gregory Betancourt [short story]

Blood Money by Charles Todd [Barb Goffman Presents short story]

The House of Marble by Elizabeth Zelvin [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

The Eagle’s Wing, by B.M. Bower [novel]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

The House of Marble by Elizabeth Zelvin [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

The Rise and Fall of Whistle-Pig City by Paul Di Filippo [short story]

Rabid in Mallworld by Somtow Sucharitkul [short story]

Fighting the Zeppelin Gang by Darrell Schweitzer [short story]

Winona of Bleeding Kansas by Phyllis Ann Karr [short story]

The Campaign Is Now Officially Complete by Cynthia Ward [short story]

Blood on my Jets by Algis Budrys [short story]

The Skylark of Valeron, by Edward E. Smith, Ph.D. [novel]

Until next time, happy reading!

—John Betancourt

Editor, Black Cat Weekly

TEAM BLACK CAT

EDITOR

John Betancourt

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

Barb Goffman

Michael Bracken

Darrell Schweitzer

Cynthia M. Ward

PRODUCTION

Sam Hogan

Karl Wurf

THE LADIES OF WEDNESDAY TEA,

by Michael Bracken

Wednesday evening, after Florence Quigly closed Flo’s Flowers & More—her nursery in Theodore, Texas—she sent her middle-aged grandson home. When she was finally alone, she stood at one of the counters in the back room preparing her special sachets for that evening’s meeting of the Ladies of Wednesday Tea. Veronica, Betty, and Kevin—three tailless Manx cats she’d rescued from a drainpipe when they were just-weaned kittens—lay in various locations around the room watching her. She thought she had locked the front door several minutes earlier when she’d flipped the sign from Open to Closed, so she was surprised when she heard the tinkle of the brass bell affixed to the door.

Flo stopped what she was doing and stepped from the back room onto the dimly lit sales floor, where she found a stocky man staring at a display of seed packets. Broad shoulders and thick chest tapered down to a narrow waist. Muscled arms strained the short sleeves of his navy-blue polo shirt, and tight-fitting jeans hugged his hips and thighs. Dark hair stood up straight in a butch-waxed flat top above a weathered face, and the Confederate flag tattooed on his left forearm caught her attention. She said, May I help you?

He turned with a start, and his eyes narrowed as he took her in.

Though weathered by decades working in the sun, Flo stood ramrod-straight. Wavy gray hair framed her narrow face and her ice-blue eyes tracked his every move. We’re closed, but I would be happy to assist you.

He poked a finger at one of the seed packets. The petunias, he said, his voice deep and low. How much?

Two-seventy-nine.

Kevin had followed Flo from the back room, and he took an interest in the stranger.

You have a nice place here, the man said. Surprised I hadn’t noticed it before.

You from around here?

I pass through now and then.

So would you like me to ring up one of those seed packets?

Another time, the stranger said as Kevin rubbed against his leg. He kicked the cat aside as he turned to leave. Another time.

* * * *

Dee, Charlene, and Twiz were well into their second glasses of wine when Flo finally bustled into Dee’s dining room. As she handed each of them one of her special sachets, she told them about the customer who had delayed her arrival. She described his appearance and repeated everything he said, ending with, He kicked Kevin.

He kicked Kevin? Charlene asked. Why would anyone kick Kevin? Kevin’s the sweetest cat ever!

I had locked the door but had not set the deadbolt, Flo said. When I finally locked up for the night, I double-checked. There were marks around the strike plate. I think he jimmied the lock.

Why would he do that? What do you think he wanted? Twiz asked.

To steal something, obviously.

But what? A rake? A sack of compost? You don’t have anything of value to a non-gardener, Charlene said. Flo’s Flowers & More sold everything a gardener might need—bags of compost and fertilizer, various forms of pest control, drip irrigation systems, gardening tools such as trowels, cultivators, rakes, shovels, and pitchforks. In the greenhouse behind the concrete block building housing the sales floor, checkout counter, and office, were all manner of potted plants suitable for East Texas.

Cash, suggested Twiz.

What cash? Most everybody pays by credit card these days.

They stared at one another and fingered their sachets, small muslin bags filled with dried herbs that would ease Dee’s glaucoma, Twiz’s arthritis, and Charlene’s anxiety.

You don’t think... ?

Flo shook her head. How would he know?

After a moment of silence, Dee said, Well, he’s gone now, and nothing happened. Then she handed Flo a glass of the red she and the other ladies were drinking. You have some catching up to do.

The oldest by only a few months, Flo had been a surprise gift her father gave her mother upon his return from serving in the European theater during WWII, and the other members of the group had likewise been post-war babies. Friends since childhood, they had aged into their seventies with various amounts of grace.

Flo began Flo’s Flowers & More when she was a young mother, supporting her family after her alcoholic husband disappeared. Growing flowers and vegetables to sell at weekend farmers markets slowly developed into a full-time business, and several decades after selling her first pansies, she owned the nursery on the edge of town, where she still worked five or more days each week.

Dee Goldstein, the first female criminal court judge in East Texas, nicknamed Gallows Goldstein by defense attorneys for her harsh punishments, had faced criminals of all stripes across the bench. She had received so many threats that she took to carrying a snub-nosed .38 beneath her judicial robes.

Charlene Whit followed the path of her father, working for him in the only compounding pharmacy in a hundred-mile radius. He berated her almost daily until he died in a hunting accident, and she ran the pharmacy alone until it became obvious she could no longer compete with the chain retailers.

Red-headed Twiz Hanson, the youngest of the four and the only one who still dyed her hair, had married well, never worked a day in her life, and had the misfortune of being exceedingly clumsy, having fallen down stairs and run into open doors throughout the seventeen years of her marriage. When her husband died of a prescription-medicine overdose, she publicly mourned for an appropriate amount of time, and she never again visited the hospital due to an accidental fall.

Twiz changed the subject. How’s that grandson of yours?

Bless his heart, but sometimes I think Dickie’s dumber than a sack of rocks, Flo said. I swear he’ll be the death of me. If he wasn’t blood, I would’ve cut him loose a long time ago.

Men, Charlene said with a weary shake of her head. They’re all the same.

I tried to explain that to my daughter, Flo said, but she was boy crazy just like we were when we were young.

So how is your daughter?

Older and wiser, Flo said, and I’m stuck taking care of her life lesson.

Who needs a man? Dee asked. If I want something to clean up after, I’ll get a dog.

They all laughed.

We’ll never need another man, Twiz said. Over the years each had lost a spouse or a significant male figure, though lost might not be the appropriate term. They knew where the bodies were. As long as we have each other, we have everything we’ll ever need.

They all raised their glasses.

* * * *

Mid-morning the next day, Richard Little Dickie Rhodes worried his red bandanna between his fingers as he stepped into his grandmother’s office. With his hawk nose and weak chin, he resembled his father’s side of the family more than his mother’s, but he had none of his father’s swagger. I was wondering if I could get an advance on my—

Flo stopped petting Veronica and looked up from the seed catalog open on her desk. What now?

I owe a guy some money.

I’ve already advanced your pay into the middle of next month. Veronica jumped from her lap and climbed onto one of the filing cabinets with Betty and Kevin.

Yeah, but—

Isn’t it about time you learned how to manage your money?

Just a couple of hundred, Nana, Little Dickie said. That’s all I need.

That’s all you ever need, she said. You planning to bleed me dry a couple of hundred at a time?

No, I—

Well, that’s what you’re doing, and it’s time to put an end to this, Flo said. I promised your mother I would look after you, but there’s a limit to my generosity.

But, Nana—

Take your ‘but’ out of my office and go help Hector load the Johnsons’ compost order.

Little Dickie opened his mouth to protest yet again but withered under his grandmother’s gaze.

* * * *

A few hours later, Dee brought Flo lunch from the Piney Woods Café. After leaving Hector in charge of the cash register, they brushed cats off of Flo’s desk and opened Styrofoam containers overflowing with chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and purple-hull peas, all smothered in white gravy.

I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, Dee said after she closed the office door, but that tattoo on your visitor the other night is a problem.

How’s that?

He’s Confederate Mafia. The Confederate Mafia controlled much of the illegal activity in East Texas and West Louisiana. I probably put that man’s pappy or grandpappy in Huntsville. Why would they be interested in you?

There’s no reason they should be, Flo said before she scooped potatoes and gravy into her mouth.

I ran your description past a retired cop I know, Dee continued. She reached into her oversized purse and pulled out a stenographer’s notepad upon which she had made notes. She said he sounds like Jace Parker, a top lieutenant for Caden Black. Black was in my court a few times, but never convicted. Apparently, he’s moved up the food chain these past few years.

I still don’t know what this has to do with me.

Kevin jumped into Dee’s lap and tried to stick his nose into her plate. She gently pushed him away. Whatever Jace wanted, you’d best be ready for him to come back for it.

* * * *

Little Dickie did not show up for work Friday morning, and it wasn’t the first time he’d proven unreliable. Flo called his cellphone several times throughout the day, leaving messages to remind her grandson of the tenuousness of his continued employment, but he never showed up and he never returned her calls. Luckily, foot traffic remained slow, so Flo and Hector were able to meet the needs of their few customers that day.

That evening, after Flo sent Hector home and she shut off the lights, she stepped outside. While searching her ring for the correct key to set the deadbolt, a deep male voice behind her said, I think you have a problem.

Startled, Flo dropped everything. She turned to see the man who had visited her two nights earlier. She asked, Change your mind about the petunias, Jace?

He ignored her question. Your grandson owes my boss a good bit of money.

And what’s that to me?

He says you’ll make good.

He does, does he? Why would he think that?

You’ve got a good thing going here, he said. Hate for anything to happen to your side business, or to Little Dickie.

Are you threatening me?

If you ever want to see your grandson again, you’ll meet with my boss tomorrow afternoon. He told her a time and gave her an address. And don’t be late.

He turned, and she watched as he climbed into a black Ford F-150 and drove away.

After she collected her key ring from the ground and locked the deadbolt, Flo used her cellphone to call Dee.

* * * *

Despite glaucoma’s impact on her peripheral vision, Dee drove Saturday afternoon, following directions from the GPS system on Flo’s phone, to a home deep in the Piney Woods an hour north of Theodore. She parked in front of a single-wide mobile home next to a creek that ultimately fed into the Sabine River. No other homes were nearby, and in the side yard lay a twelve-foot-long alligator, a steel collar padlocked around its neck. A thick chain affixed the collar to a steel post driven deep into the ground, and a great length of chain allowed the alligator to soak in the creek if it so desired.

The front door opened at Flo’s knock and Flo led the way into the mobile home to find two men—the man who had twice visited her and a heavyset man with a bulbous nose and a Confederate flag tattooed on his left forearm—standing on either side of Flo’s grandson, holding him upright by gripping his arms. Little Dickie had his hands zip-tied behind his back, and bruises on his face made it clear he had gotten the worst of whatever had happened since Flo had last seen him.

You’re late, the heavyset man said. He nodded at the window overlooking the side yard. We were just about to feed Burt Reynolds. It’s past his lunch time.

Dee stepped around Flo. Hello, Caden.

Good afternoon, Judge, the heavyset man said. He turned to Flo and asked, Why’s she here?

To help me negotiate.

Negotiate? I don’t negotiate. He shook Little Dickie. I get a piece of your business and you get this piece of shit back.

Dee rummaged through her oversized purse. She pulled out a snub-nosed .38, pressed it against Caden’s crotch, and cocked the hammer.

His eyes widened. What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Dee smiled. Now we’re negotiating.

The heavyset man stared into the judge’s eyes and swallowed hard.

Boss?

Step back, Jace.

Without taking her eyes off the heavyset man, Dee instructed Flo to take Jace’s truck keys and leave with Little Dickie.

Flo asked, What about you?

Dee winked at Caden. I’ll be fine.

* * * *

Two hours later, Dee walked into Flo’s Flowers & More.

Surprised, Flo asked, How’d you get away?

I shot him.

Caden’s dead?

I just shot him in the thigh. A flesh wound. He’ll be fine.

But what if the police get involved?

He won’t call the police. He can’t afford to. Then they’ll start looking at him. Dee glanced around. Where’s your grandson?

I sent him to his mother’s in New Mexico. He’s her problem now.

He’s the one who told them about your special sachets, isn’t he?

He said as much when I threatened to give him a few more bruises before I let him go.

* * * *

Flo’s Flowers & More was closed on Sundays but Flo often spent her afternoon in the office catching up on bookkeeping. When she arrived, she discovered that someone had turned her greenhouse into a veritable killing field. All the potted plants had been overturned and dumped on the pea gravel walkways, bits of shattered statuary were scattered throughout the mess, and Veronica, Betty and Kevin were nowhere to be found.

Flo phoned Dee, Twiz, and Charlene and the three women arrived within half an hour. They lined their purses up on the front counter before Flo led them into the greenhouse. As they inspected the destruction, Dee told Twiz and Charlene what had happened.

No man is going to threaten us and get away with it, Charlene said.

Well, then, let’s clean this up.

They’d been at it for almost an hour before Veronica, Betty, and Kevin finally surfaced, and all three cats watched from a safe distance as the women worked. By early evening the women had the greenhouse in some semblance of order, and Flo stepped into the building housing the sales floor to call for a pizza delivery.

She reappeared a moment later with a gun pointed at her head.

Jace eyed the women and said, Looks like you brought the whole gang this time.

He made Flo call her friends into the building, where Caden Black waited. As the women filed in, followed by all three of the inquisitive cats, Caden warned Jace, Keep them away from their purses.

Jaden directed them away from the front counter.

We only expected two of you, Caden said, but it don’t matter. We’re going to make an example of you ladies. Nobody pushes dope around these parts without my permission, and—he waved his gun at the judge—nobody shoots me and gets away with it.

Twiz stepped forward. You can’t—

Jace backhanded her.

Twiz had lived through worse. She rope-a-doped the slap and stood her ground.

Kevin leapt on Jace’s head, digging his claws into the man’s cheeks. Jace spun around and tried to bat the cat away.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Charlene grabbed an aerosol can of bug killer from the shelf and sprayed it into Caden’s eyes.

Dee grabbed a three-pronged cultivator, swung it like a ping-pong paddle, and buried the prongs into Caden’s neck.

Jace finally knocked Kevin free, but as he did, he stumbled backward, squeezed the trigger of his pistol as he fell, and died when the bullet ricocheted off a shovel and buried itself between his eyes.

Caden tried to remove the cultivator from his neck with his free hand while drawing down on Dee. Before he could squeeze the trigger, Flo drove a pitchfork through his lower back.

When the four women caught their breath, Twiz looked at the mess and asked, What do we do now?

Flo smiled. I know where there’s a hungry ’gator.

END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Bracken (CrimeFictionWriter.com) is the Edgar and Shamus Award-nominated author of 1,200-plus short stories published in The Best American Mystery Stories, The Best Mystery Stories of the Year, and elsewhere. He is the editor of Black Cat Mystery Magazine and several anthologies, including Anthony Award-nominated The Eyes of Texas: Private Eyes from the Panhandle to the Piney Woods. He lives and writes in Texas.

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT,

by Hal Charles

Abby Arlington always figured Cappy’s Tailor Shop had been designed by Pavlov. Every time she entered through front door, a bell rang, and Cappy, standing in his open back door, tossed a lit cigarette into the alley and ran to the counter.

I called you yesterday, he said angrily. Didn’t you say your jacket was a rush job?

I apologize, Cappy. I got called out of town to train this rich person up in Lexington, so I came this morning as soon as you opened at 8:00.

So you chose this man over Cappy, he said.

I’ve been told the client is always right.

The tailor handed Abby the high school letter jacket she hadn’t worn in twenty years and asked, Why is this jacket so important?

My mother received it in the 70s when girls’ high school basketball first started up, and I wore it when we won the girls’ Sweet 16.

I see now, Cappy said as they settled the bill. Good thing you didn’t come yesterday. The sheriff and his men were all over town like ants on a fallen ice cream cone.

Woodhole’s too small for a traffic jam. What happened?

You didn’t hear? Just before closing time, Hooper’s Jewelry just down the street was robbed. Thieves got away with many diamonds. He shut his register and smiled. Maybe some time you and Cappy can play a game of H-O-R-S-E.

Outside, Abby folded the jacket into her backpack and hopped on the Honda 65 that had been her dad’s motorcycle in grad school. She turned off Main and onto Three-Mile Road, taking the backroad to Gymtastic. The shortcut would get her to her gym in plenty of time for the eight-thirty session with her client, Barry.

Abby hadn’t gone two blocks before a black pickup passed so closely she could smell the pot in the cab, but then the truck swerved in front of her bike, blocking the road.

Abby leaned back on the cycle, turned right, and lifted up on the front wheels so as to jump the curb. She wheeled through someone’s front yard, cut through their side, and exited into the parking lot of some apartments. There, she pulled into the fenced-off area containing the trash bin and hid between it and the fence.

Somebody was after her. Abby’s best guess was Elton’s ex-wife. Elton, her boyfriend all through high school, had called the day before and asked her to come up to talk about his crazy ex-wife, Lily. The ex must have been camped outside Elton’s Lexington condo the night before and seen her go in. Elton claimed Lily was quite possessive, but Abby hadn’t believed him until now. Through the fence slats she watched the pickup cruise through the parking lot, then disappear.

Abby was still kicking herself for getting involved in an old friend’s love life when she arrived at Gymtastic. As she dismounted her cycle, a familiar voice called, First time I’ve ever known you to be late for a training session, Abs.

Sorry, Barry, Abby apologized with words and a smile to the lawman. After that big robbery yesterday, I wasn’t sure the sheriff of Woodhole would even make it in this morning.

Barry opened the gym’s door for her. This sheriff has a long history of being able to do two things at once.

An idea dawning on her as she came through the door, Abby put her backpack on the counter. So you haven’t solved the jewel robbery yet?

Strangest thing. Mr. Hooper positively identified the Bowser brothers as the thieves, but when we caught up with them yesterday, they were diamond-free. They must have ditched the stones somewhere.

Barry, said Abby, today is your lucky day. You’re going to get both your ten thousand steps in and your diamonds back. The Bowsers still drive a pickup?

SOLUTION

Coming through the gym door, Abby remembered Cappy standing in his open back door, and his tailor’s shop was just down the street from Hooper’s Jewelry. The Bowser brothers must have stolen into the tailor’s through the always-open back door and hidden the jewels in a garment hanging there, her letter jacket. That morning, when Cappy reopened, the Bowsers had come to fetch the jacket and, seeing her leaving with it, pursued her in their pickup truck. After his morning workout, Barry arrested them, and they confessed.

ICE ICE BABY,

by Barb Goffman

Hey there, sugar mama. You got anything sticky and sweet for me?

Standing at the counter of her ice cream truck, Melissa struggled not to roll her eyes. Ryan’s question had come with a smirk and raised eyebrows that would have made Groucho Marx proud, as if Melissa might not have recognized his juvenile come-on otherwise.

We’ve got Popsicles, Push-Up Pops, ice cream bars and sandwiches, Snow Cones, Fudgsicles, Creamsicles, and lots more. They’re all listed on the board, she said in a perky tone, pointing at the colorful illustrations plastered on the side of her truck. She offered enough choices to rot kids’ teeth all summer long. Though sometimes she had adult customers, like now.

Mmmm mmmm. Ryan made a guttural noise while suggestively stroking the heavy brown stubble on his chin. "You make it hard for a man to choose. But I think I might have me a Creamsicle today."

Nice. Melissa found it amazing that this greasy-haired jerk was a forty-something man and not one of the teens she taught at Glendening Middle School. At least she could send them to the principal’s office. With that option unavailable now, Melissa flashed a pleasant smile. After fifteen years as a science teacher, she’d perfected the look. It usually disarmed anxious students and difficult parents, though this Neanderthal was neither.

Ryan, unfortunately, was her landlord.

Here you go. She passed the creamy treat to him as a few kids ran up to the truck. That’ll be four dollars.

Damn, Ryan said, not looking at all upset. When I heard your siren call, I ran out of the house without any cash. Why don’t you drop by later, and I can pay you then? Ashley won’t be home till late, as usual.

Served Melissa right for driving through her own neighborhood. Or I can take it off the June rent check that’s due in a few days. That’ll be easier.

If you say so, baby. He slowly licked his lips.

Oh, she said so.

When Melissa had begun looking for a new place to live last fall, after she and her husband split up, finding the two-bedroom cottage behind Ryan’s McMansion had seemed a godsend. She’d desperately wanted to remain in her school district. Not only was it strong in academics, but it provided amazing services for her son’s learning disability. But finding anything in her price range had seemed impossible. Then the rental cottage came on the market, and Melissa thought her prayers had been answered. She even told Ryan and his wife, Ashley, how grateful she was when she signed the lease. She and ten-year-old Hunter moved in, and for a few months, all had been well. But the springtime weather had awakened all kinds of insects, including Ryan.

Well, all right. He rubbed his crotch. Or I could pay you in trade. More eyebrows.

One of the tween boys who were waiting let out a belly laugh. I want a Big Dipper, lady, and I’ll pay you in trade too!

His friend roared and slapped him on the back, until Melissa gave them her dragon-lady stare. They shut up fast.

Is that how you talk to women? she said.

Ummm, no.

No what?

No, ma’am.

What else?

I’m sorry? the boy said.

That’s better.

As Melissa handed a vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles to the boy, she gave Ryan her dragon-lady stare too. It seemed to amuse him.

This man had way too much time on his hands. Ryan was a carpenter who had injured his back falling off a ladder a decade ago, so he’d stopped working for others. Now he supposedly spent all his time remodeling his own house—when he felt up to it, which must have been never. Instead Ryan was always sniffing around Melissa’s cottage. His workaholic wife seemed clueless that her husband was a leech and predator. Or maybe Ashley did know, and that’s why she worked insane hours at her law firm.

Ryan walked off backward, suggestively licking his treat and smirking at Melissa once more. This was going to be a long summer.

* * * *

A few hours later, Melissa set her burning feet on an ottoman in her friend Shannon’s den. She’d come to pick up Hunter, who was spending most days this summer at Shannon’s, playing with her son, Luke.

Here you go. Shannon handed over a diet Sprite. Melissa wished it were something stronger.

She’d only been running the truck for a week, and already it felt like a year. Her back ached. Her face and arms were lobster red, despite the sunblock she used. She’d thought this truck would be the best way to earn extra income this summer—money she needed since alimony and child support only went so far in her upper middle-class community. But now she was second-guessing herself.

I’m used to standing on my feet all day, she said, but dealing with the supplies, the generator, the bending and leaning. It’s hard.

I bet. Shannon crossed one long leg over the other as she settled on the soft couch. My mom managed a GAP while I was growing up. She dealt with a lot of the same problems. It’s one reason I decided to work with children instead.

Shannon had once been a teacher like Melissa. It’s how they met. But Shannon stopped working outside the home after she had Luke. She was fortunate her husband made a good living and they had a strong marriage.

Sometimes Melissa envied Shannon and wondered if she should have remained married. She’d had a good life with Craig. A nice house. Vacations. Lots of activities for Hunter. And companionship. They’d been happy. She could have kept secret that she’d realized she wasn’t in love with Craig, that they’d been wrong to rush into marriage because she’d gotten pregnant. Wrong to think that love would grow. But ultimately she’d known she owed Craig, and herself, the truth. They both deserved real love, not that Melissa had any time for dating these days. And she didn’t know what Craig was up to. He’d taken a job in Chicago and talked to Melissa as little as possible, despite Facetiming with Hunter every night. She wished Ryan would ignore her the same way.

The kids are the best part of this job, Melissa said. At least they’re nice, most of them. Unlike the cretin. He bought a Creamsicle from me today.

Ryan? Shannon asked.

At Melissa’s nod, Shannon shuddered. She’d met Ryan once and was well aware of how skeevy he was.

He was all coarse double-entendres and gross facial expressions. Set a horrible example for some kids. It’s almost enough to turn you off ice cream.

Never! Shannon laughed. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke.

It’s all right. I simply won’t drive down my street again with the music on.

You shouldn’t have to put up with that. You should tell his wife.

Melissa shook her head, her blond hair skimming her shoulders. Ashley is oblivious. She really thinks Ryan is inside their house doing renovations all day. She has no idea how many times I’ve caught him watching me.

At the risk of repeating myself, tell her.

I tried that. Remember?

Shannon groaned. "You hinted that her husband was around a lot. Once. Over a month ago."

And she said it’s so nice that he’s able to fix things for me at the cottage—which makes her doubly oblivious since the only thing I’ve ever seen Ryan do with tools is make crude jokes about them. Not that I need the help. I’m pretty handy.

Thank God for that.

They clinked their cans.

What’s even more incredible is the few times I actually did need help, Ashley’s the one who did the work. Like last week, when she replaced the cracked light fixture. She left me a sweet note afterward, with a bunch of stickers for Hunter.

So she knows her husband’s a deadbeat, Shannon said. She’s just not ready to admit it.

Melissa knew a thing or two about how long it could take to admit something to yourself, especially when doing so would force you to make hard choices. It made her feel more kindly to Ashley. Then she stopped herself. Ashley was a litigator. She might come across as nice, Melissa thought, but they’re all sharks underneath.

The back door slammed open, and the boys ran inside, laughing and screaming. The best sounds of summer. Looking at Hunter’s smile, Melissa couldn’t be more thankful that Shannon had offered Hunter the equivalent of free camp this summer. Money was so tight, a real camp or sitter was out of the question.

Maybe you should spell things out for Ashley, Shannon said as the boys flopped on the couch. Maybe that will force her to face the truth.

Melissa shook her head again. If I tell her what—she glanced at Hunter—you know who’s been doing, she might blame me and find a way to toss us out. It’s he said/she said. I can’t risk it. I’ll simply have to put up with it. Besides, I’m working so much these days, Hunter and I are hardly home. I’ll just avoid him.

Avoid who? Hunter asked.

No one, Melissa said, tousling his wavy blond hair. No one worth mentioning at all.

* * * *

A few weeks passed, and Melissa kept trying to handle Ryan the same way she’d tell kids at school to deal with bullies. Ignore them. Rise above them. Be your best self. But Ryan wasn’t discouraged. He was there every night when she and Hunter came home, always hanging around his driveway, supposedly polishing his new SUV but clearly really waiting for her. Like now.

Hey, ice cream mama, he called, strutting around the side of his house as Hunter ran inside the cottage.

Melissa cringed. She was in her small driveway, having made sure the truck’s coolers were working properly, and was locking things up for the night. She’d had a long hot day, and all she wanted was a little down time before tackling the books and other bills.

Hello, she said without inflection. She’d read that anytime you engage a stalker they take that as positive reinforcement, and that’s how Ryan was beginning to feel. Like a stalker. But he also was her landlord, so Melissa had to tread lightly.

How about you get me one of them cherry Push-Up Pops? he said, now just a few feet away. I love pushing ’em up and up, while the juice runs all over your fingers.

Angry adrenaline coursed through Melissa, but she forced herself to remain calm. Sorry. I’m closed.

To other people maybe. Ryan stepped closer. But not me. Right?

Melissa shook her head and struggled to keep her voice even. Sorry.

She walked toward her cottage. Ryan grabbed her arm from behind. C’mon. I asked nicely.

She clenched her fists. I said no.

He leaned so close, she could smell his nauseating odor of pot mixed with dried sweat. Don’t ice me out, baby, he whispered in her ear. Won’t take a minute to get me that pop. And after your boy goes to bed, we could get together, and I could use it to pop your cherry. I get the feeling yours has grown back. Don’t ever see no men around here.

Melissa wrenched her arm away and twirled around. Go to hell, you misogynistic son of a bitch!

Hey, watch your language, miss teacher. Ryan sneered. You’re supposed to be so educated, so much better than me, and this is how you talk? I hear words like that coming out of your mouth and it makes me think you don’t deserve to raise that boy in there. Maybe I should call your ex and tell him he should come claim what’s his. You wouldn’t want that, would you?

Mom, is everything all right?

Melissa turned to find Hunter standing at the open cottage door. Lord, how much had he heard? And seen? In the waning light he looked small and helpless. The way Ryan wanted Melissa to feel.

I’m fine, honey. You go back inside. I’ll be along in a minute. When Hunter, appearing unsure, nodded and closed the door, Melissa smiled at Ryan. She needed to disarm him.

Sorry I snapped. I’ve had a long day.

Now he smiled, but his eyes narrowed, like a wolf preparing to pounce. No worries, ice cream mama. I guess I don’t need that Push-Up Pop tonight. But one day soon, you and me, we’re gonna have some real fun.

He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and held them up, jingling them. She knew one of them was for her cottage. He could let himself in whenever he wanted.

Ryan snickered as he walked off backward, and Melissa’s stomach rolled. Rubbing her arm, she hurried inside the cottage and locked the door. For all the good it did.

* * * *

Melissa barely slept that night as her mind raced. She often couldn’t sleep when stressed, and Ryan’s vulgar comments and hints of violence had echoed through her bedroom all night, along with his threat about Hunter’s custody and his jingling keys. She kept peeking out her window at his towering McMansion. The rear of it was a mere twenty yards away. Ryan was a mere twenty yards away. She could almost feel him watching her.

At three a.m. she reviewed her finances again. Dismal. Even with the ice cream truck income, she couldn’t afford to move. Not that there was anywhere to move to. She needed to stay in this school district for Hunter. She’d loved it when she and Craig first moved in, back when they had one household to pay for. Now her income barely kept her afloat, and there was no other affordable housing nearby.

Think, Melissa. You must have other options.

She could change the locks, but that would violate her lease and give them a reason to evict her. She and Hunter could probably move in with Shannon’s family for a few weeks, but it wasn’t a long-term solution.

She’d hate it, but Melissa could send Hunter to live with Craig. Even as she thought it, she realized that was a no-go. Craig’s new school district was nowhere as good as hers at addressing Hunter’s problems. Besides, Craig’s new job involved a lot of travel. It’s why they’d agreed that Hunter would live with Melissa, visiting Craig whenever dad and son had overlapping vacation time, like with the trip coming up next week.

She could go to the police. Report Ryan. But it wasn’t a crime, what he’d done. Was it? Just talk—until he physically attacked her. She couldn’t wait for that.

Anyway, if she reported him, he and Ashley might kick her out. The law might be on Melissa’s side, but that wouldn’t matter if she came home to find herself locked out of the cottage. She couldn’t afford a lawsuit. She couldn’t afford to fight them.

Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. There had to be a way. Some way to keep her home and prevent Ryan from becoming violent with her—which she feared might happen if she rejected him one too many times.

Close your eyes and think of England.

She shivered at the idea, but it might be her best solution.

When the sky turned pink shortly before six a.m., Melissa showered and dressed quietly, made sure Hunter was still asleep, and went out for a walk. She wouldn’t go far. Hunter would be up soon. But she needed some fresh air.

As she headed down the long path past Ryan’s house, she breathed in the calming fragrance of Ashley’s rosebushes and felt better. But only for a minute. Their garage door rumbled open as she passed it. Unbelievable. Ryan had to be spying on her to know she was out at this hour. Then she released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding as Ashley’s car backed out.

Spotting Melissa, Ashley braked and rolled down the Jaguar’s window. Good morning. Ashley smiled, finger combing her strawberry blond hair behind her diamond-studded ears. Her makeup was perfect, but her skin was pale, and she had enough bags under her eyes for a month-long trip.

Good morning, Melissa said. Early day for you.

No rest for the wicked.

Melissa glanced up at Ashley’s house, almost expecting to find Ryan staring down at them. But apparently he did sleep. And why not? He thought he held all the cards.

When Melissa looked back, she found Ashley’s brow furrowed.

How are things? Ashley said. Everything okay with you? And the cottage?

Tell her. But Melissa didn’t know if Ashley was trustworthy. Was she was a good person or did she only look out for number one? Mired in uncertainty, Melissa merely nodded. After a few moments, Ashley nodded back.

I was planning to send you an email today, but this works just as well, Ashley said. I’m going out of town next week for a trial. Ryan may go to our beach house while I’m gone. I’ve been encouraging him to. It’s so lovely. Right at the top of a bluff.

You’ve mentioned it before.

Yes, it’s a wonderful place. So quiet and secluded... Anyway, I’ll be gone for two weeks probably. If you need anything while I’m gone, call my cell. I can always arrange a handyman for you.

Thanks.

Of course. Anything for my favorite tenant.

Ashley gave Melissa a sad smile—so sad that it made Melissa forget her own troubles for a moment.

Are you all right? Melissa asked.

Ashley’s eyes seemed to water. I’m just so glad you and Hunter are living here. I know I’m hardly home, but I love watching him play when I can. I always wanted a baby.

Maybe it’s not too late. Melissa couldn’t believe she was encouraging this woman to procreate with the cretin, but Ashley deserved some happiness.

Sighing, Ashley shook her head. I miscarried falling down the stairs a few years ago, and now I can’t have children.

Oh no. I’m so sorry.

Sometimes things don’t work out as you’d hoped. Ashley blew out a big breath. Sorry I’m getting sentimental. I should go. You have a wonderful day.

You too, Melissa called as Ashley reversed down the driveway.

Melissa walked back to her cottage, not sure if she felt worse for Ashley or her own predicament. At least Melissa had Hunter—and she wasn’t married to Ryan. She winced at the thought.

Maybe if she gave in to him once he’d be satisfied with his conquest and leave her alone. Melissa paused outside her ice cream truck, the sweet goodies inside cold and ready for another day, thanks to the marvels of science.

She curved her neck, staring up at the McMansion, thinking of science and Ryan’s threats and her limited options. Soon she straightened her shoulders, her decision made. It was horrible. But she’d do what she had to, for Hunter.

* * * *

When Melissa and Hunter returned home that evening, the setting sun cast their yard in a wondrous glow. She opened the truck door and breathed in the sweet jasmine scent from her four-o’clock bushes. They comforted her, strengthened her for what would come.

Go take a shower, she told Hunter. I’ll be in soon to make us dinner.

She ran through her routine on the truck, locked up, and right on cue, heard someone swishing through the grass.

Hey, ice cream lady.

Stiffening her spine, Melissa turned. Ryan stood there wearing a faded Metallica T-shirt, baggy beige cargo shorts, and a sickening leer. It’s now or never. She shook her hair, licked her lips slowly, and looked him up and down before grinning. I was hoping to see you tonight.

Ryan’s eyes widened and the edges of his mouth curled up.

Well, here I am, hot mama.

A feeling of revulsion rose from her center, but Melissa figured things would go smoothly if Ryan thought she was into it. Into him. She stretched her back, pushing her chest out. Her T-shirt clung tight, sweaty and dirty from ice cream. He probably liked that.

I know I’ve been giving you a hard time lately, she said, but ever since you grabbed me yesterday, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind. The way you squeezed my arm. Breathed in my ear. She winked at him. I could never tell any of my friends this, but I love a forceful man.

Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

I’ve been thinking all day about us getting together, she continued. But it will have to be somewhere private. I can be... loud.

His mouth quivered. Ashley won’t be home for a couple hours.

She laughed. Oh, that won’t be enough time. When I get really going... Besides, the neighbors are close by. I’d prefer meeting somewhere else so I won’t feel... inhibited.

He clapped his hands. All right. We’ll go somewhere. Next week. Ashley’s leaving Sunday on a business trip.

Perfect. Hunter’s flying to see his dad Tuesday night. After I drop him at the airport we could meet up.

There’s a motel about twenty miles north of here.

That wouldn’t do. How about your beach house?

Nah. The trip’s all back roads. It’s at least a three-hour drive on a good day.

Not if you drive at night. There’ll be a lot less traffic. She eased toward him. Slid a finger slowly down his arm. It’ll be worth it. He looked unconvinced. We’ll have so much fun. Hey, have you ever used food?

His eyes twinkled. You mean while we—

When cold ice cream drips onto sweaty skin. Mmmmm. She bit her lower lip. And I have all kinds of other creamy treats in my truck. I can pack a bunch, along with some real food, so we won’t have to go out when we’re there. So there’s no chance of being caught. Unless we decide to skinny-dip in the ocean at night.

He nodded, breathing harder.

We’ll drive separately, she said. I don’t want to risk any neighbors seeing us in the same car. And you can take all the food too. Your new car is better sealed than my old one, so it’ll keep better. Okay?

Ryan laughed out loud. Whooeee! You have thought of everything. He grabbed her, lifted her up, and spun her around. Who knew under that ice queen persona there’d be this hot mama?

He set her down and leaned in for a kiss. She pulled back.

It’ll be so much better if we wait.

Whatever you say, baby.

Oh, Ryan, promise you won’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold. Besides it’s naughtier if it’s a secret.

He practically drooled. I like that. Anyway, I’ve got to keep it on the down-low too. Can’t let Ashley find out. This will be our little secret. He ogled her again, then walked off with a bounce in his step.

Melissa hurried inside, ran to her bathroom, and dry heaved. She could still feel his hands on her. His hot breath on her face. And the thought of using food as a sex toy with Ryan... She cringed. But it had sealed the deal. He believed she wanted him. He’d wait for their rendezvous. He wouldn’t break in and force her. Hurt her.

She leaned against the wall, clammy, wanting to shower for hours. She hated to even consider what she had to do next, but it would be worth it—for Hunter.

* * * *

On Tuesday night, Melissa took Hunter to the airport. Most kids couldn’t handle flying alone, but her boy, bless him, was a born traveler. He loved to fly, and he was used to following the flight attendants’ instructions, having visited his dad a few times this year already. On the way home, Melissa bought a lot of dry ice. With Independence Day two days away, the store had plenty in stock.

When she returned home, she put on safety gloves and packed some steaks and other perishables, including a lot of ice cream and other treats—different brands than she sold in her truck—in the dry ice. She’d just finished filling the fourth container when she heard Ryan pull up outside. Melissa pasted on a smile and opened her door.

Great timing. I’ve got our treats all ready to go.

Hot damn, he said, leaning against the frame. You look good enough to eat yourself.

Lovely.

Let’s get packing, she said.

Soon she and Ryan had jammed all four containers in the back of his SUV and he’d given her the address and directions.

You head off now, she told him, taking off her gloves. I have a few things to do, and then I’ll be right behind you. Make sure to keep the windows closed and the AC on recycle mode to help the food stay cold. And drive safe. If you get drowsy, pull off the road.

You’re starting to sound like my wife.

She bit her lip. I just want to make sure you’re in one piece when I get there so we can have fun.

No worries, sugar mama. I’ll see you soon.

He climbed into his SUV, with the food in back and the windows closed, gave her one last leer, and zoomed off into the night.

* * * *

By eight o’clock the next night, Melissa was back home in a T-shirt and shorts, exhausted from being up all night. She’d just taken a bath, hoping to wash away her sins. She was relieved it was over. It was over, right? She wished she knew for certain. She was about to turn in early when someone knocked sharply at her door.

Melissa’s breath caught. No. It couldn’t be him. On shaky legs she approached the door, steeled herself, and yanked it open.

It was Ashley. Melissa exhaled deeply. Ashley’s silk blouse and slacks were unusually rumpled, and her eyes looked sad and tired, as they so often did.

What are you doing home? Melissa said. Did this mean... ?

Can I come in?

Of course.

Is Hunter here?

Melissa shook her head. He’s at his father’s.

Right. Good. Ashley set a canvas bag on the coffee table before sitting on the couch and staring expectantly at Melissa.

Did Ashley want a drink? No, something about her demeanor said this wasn’t a social visit. So Melissa sat beside her and waited. After a few moments, Ashley said, I got a call from the police this morning... Ryan died. That’s why I’ve flown home early.

The feeling of dread that had filled Melissa for months lifted, and she smiled. Only for a second, until she realized what she’d done and forced herself to look concerned, but from the spark in Ashley’s eyes, Melissa knew she’d noticed.

I’m so sorry, Melissa said quickly.

Thank you. Ashley paused. Ryan wasn’t the best husband, by far. But he was mine. The man I once had so many dreams with. I appreciate your condolences.

Melissa nodded. Say something comforting. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. She hadn’t really thought about that in advance, had she? The impact her actions would have on Ashley. She’d just thought about herself. No, that wasn’t true. She’d thought about Hunter. This was all for Hunter. Is there anything I can do to help?

No. Ashley looked around, her gaze stopping momentarily at several of Hunter’s school photos on the wall before she turned back to Melissa. You didn’t ask how Ryan died.

Crap. Melissa should have expected this. Ashley was a litigator. She’d spot every mistake.

Seems he was driving to our beach house with four coolers full of food packed in dry ice. He had all the windows up. They found him parked by the side of a country road, dead from carbon dioxide poisoning.

Just as Melissa had planned.

She swallowed hard but kept her mouth shut. Ryan must have pulled onto the side of the road after the dry ice started to vaporize. Exhausted, dizzy, and headachy, he’d have closed his eyes to rest while the carbon dioxide worked its magic, suffocating him in his sleep.

Melissa hated herself for arranging it, but really, Ryan had left her with no good options. Even if she’d taken the easier way out—though submitting to Ryan would have been far from easy—he would have been able to hurt someone else, someway somehow. And he’d have done it, she was sure. He’d been a predator.

The police thought it was odd that he was carrying all that food with him, especially so many desserts, Ashley said. But I told them he had a sweet tooth and often took along the favorites he couldn’t find out by the beach.

Melissa’s mouth nearly fell open. She’d expected the police would think it was an accident, but Ashley’s comment surely sealed the deal. Thank the Lord. Fighting the urge to grin, Melissa sighed instead, hoping Ashley saw her relief as empathy.

Ryan never was a good student, Ashley said. So I’m sure he didn’t realize that driving with dry ice in a sealed car was a big no-no. He should have had the windows open, with fresh air streaming in the whole trip, to prevent the evaporating carbon dioxide from killing him. Isn’t that right?

Ummm... I’m not sure.

Really? I figured it’s the type of thing a science teacher would know.

Melissa could practically feel the color drain from her face, and she looked away. She’d celebrated too soon. Ashley had figured it out. She’d probably told the cops. They knew it wasn’t an accident. But then why weren’t they here? I—

You don’t have to explain anything. You’ve done more than enough... Thank you.

What?

Eyes widening, Melissa glanced back to find Ashley smiling through tears and pulling a bottle of wine, an opener, and two glasses from her canvas bag. Before Melissa could follow what was going on, Ashley had filled both glasses and was handing one to her.

I know merlot can’t make up for everything I’m guessing happened, but I hope you’ll accept it... A toast to you, my favorite tenant. I owe you.

Melissa peered at her. Ashley must have known Ryan had been harassing her. She hadn’t been oblivious. She always looked exhausted—because of her job, Melissa had thought. But maybe Ashley’s real stress had come from home. Melissa had been dealing with Ryan for a few months. Ashley had lived with him for years.

I’d imagined—hoped—it would happen at the beach by the bluff. Ashley sipped her wine. "Him falling accidentally, just like I did. But this worked just as well."

Holy hell. The bastard had pushed his own wife down the stairs.

Ashley made a bigger dent in her wine, while Melissa remembered their prior conversations. All those mentions of the secluded beach house. They’d been hints.

You’d expect an attorney could take care of her own problems, Melissa thought as she set down her glass. But maybe Ashley had been just as afraid of Ryan as Melissa had been. Maybe more, if he’d caused her miscarriage. Who knew what he might have done if Ashley had tried to leave him?

Blinking back her own tears, Melissa hugged Ashley before going to her kitchen. You know what goes really well with merlot? she asked, pulling a carton from the freezer.

What? Ashley said.

Ice cream. After selling it all day, I usually can’t stand the idea of eating it. But this situation calls for an exception.

Ashley smiled. You don’t have any dry ice in there, do you?

Nope. Melissa laughed. As you said, science teachers know better.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Barb Goffman has been a finalist for major short-story crime awards 36 times, twice winning the Agatha and once winning the Macavity, Silver Falchion, and Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine Readers Award. She’s an associate editor of Black Cat Weekly and works as a freelance editor, focusing on cozy and traditional mysteries. In 2023, she’ll be toastmaster at Malice Domestic. Look for her recent story Beauty and the Beyotch in