Death By Ice Cream by Rebecca Douglass

Author:Rebecca Douglass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: high school, ice cream, pta, cozy mysteries women sleuths

The morning went about as I’d expected. We hit the computers at half past eight, and by noon all of three kids were there, talking as much as they were working. By lunchtime I needed to get away for a while, and told Kitty I was taking a half hour off to eat. Too many mediocre pictures had left me unsure which were good enough, and, what was worse, indifferent to the whole question.

“Why don’t you call Maddy?” Kitty suggested. “Ask if she can come. We need all the help we can get, and she is a PTA officer.”

That fit my own plans well enough. With Ron unwilling to confide in me, I felt driven to find things out for myself. I wanted to know if Maddy was at home Thursday afternoon, and to confirm that she’d kept all the records in the account book, not on our computer. Just a couple of simple questions so I could set my mind at ease and concentrate on—well, the Yearbook.

I sat in my nice, quiet, photo-free car and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d packed that morning, considering what I was going to do. My interviews with Ms. Reilly and Ms. Day hadn’t told me much. Still, I’d learned that both women resented the thrusting ways of Letitia LeMoine and her daughter. Or was the daughter not pushy, but pushed? Could Chantal have resented her mother’s approach as much as her other victims? I tossed the idea around a bit, but it seemed unlikely in light of what I knew of the girl. She’d been happy enough to make a splash on the cheer squad, and if she was less enthusiastic about the work involved in being the lead in a play, she liked being the center of attention. But what about the girls she’d pushed out?

None of which answered my questions about Maddy. Letitia LeMoine had made serious accusations against Madeleine Takahira, and someone had wiped out all our computer records. I had to know if there could be a connection, and just how much Maddy resented—or feared—the woman. I’d pooh-poohed the notion to Ron, but I couldn’t shake my own doubts.

I swallowed the last bite of my sandwich and washed it down with the lukewarm dregs of my coffee. Then I spent another minute rummaging in my purse for my ever-elusive cell phone. After fishing up a notepad and my spare glasses, two used tissues, and a package of chewing gum, I found the phone. Flipping it open, I noted that I had plenty of battery power and a full three-bar signal. Such a constellation of unlikely developments had to be a sign.

Feeling encouraged, I looked up Maddy in my contact list and punched “call.” She answered on the second ring, with a cheerful “good afternoon!”

The conversation went downhill from there. I knew what I wanted to ask, but I hadn’t given any thought to how to lead up to the question. I couldn’t just say, “I called to ask where you were when Letitia LeMoine was being murdered.

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