Free Death by Chocolate Sundae: A Cozy Mystery (Caesars Creek Mystery Series Book 2) by Constance Barker

 
    Georgia summers can be brutal with all the heat and humidity, but that also increases my sales at The Frozen Scoop Ice Cream Shoppe I own. After the tumultuous spring, what with the murder of Miss Greta and the revelation that Trixie’s daughter committed the crime, it was nice to simply serve my customers and enjoy the company of friends.
     
    “This humidity is killing my hair,” Stormi bellowed as she entered the Shoppe. “Not to mention the sweat pouring between my girls.”
     
    Stormi was my best friend from high school and had no problem speaking her mind. She never married, but loved flirting with the opposite sex. She was a little chunky, with a creamy complexion and blond curls that cascaded down her back. She was a beautiful woman and her extra 20 pounds never bothered her. She was my co-worker at the shop and I loved having her here.
     
    My Shoppe was located near the center of town in Caesars Creek, Georgia. I’d only owned it for about five months, buying it from a couple who wanted to retire and move to Arizona. The Shoppe contained around 10 tables with chairs, and a case filled with various ice cream concoctions. I painted the walls of my Shoppe pink and arranged pretty pink flowers in white vases on the tables. Around the walls and in the corners of the store I placed huge planters. No plastic plants for me however. I loved greenery so I decorated the Shoppe with hardy plants such as Ficus, rubber trees and spider plants. I even had a few hanging Boston ferns set in the corners of the Shoppe.
     
    On the back wall was a huge mirror that gave the illusion of a larger store. The previous owners said they erected it 30 years ago when they first opened the ice cream Shoppe. They thought it brought them good luck and I wasn’t about to remove it, lest I bring bad luck to my new venture.
     
    “Come in here where it’s always cool,” I beckoned Stormi as I put money in the register. “I love it when it’s hot because that means more customers.”
     
    “You mean they don’t come in for your scrumptious ice cream concoctions?” Stormi teased.
     
    “Well, that too,” I laughed.
     
    Stormi was mine and my friend Paige’s savior the night Trixie’s daughter went loco in the Shoppe. If it hadn’t been for Stormi, I don’t want to think what would have happened to Paige and me.
     
    Paige is my other close friend who comes in a few times a week to help. Her 16-year-old daughter Sam also helps as well, especially on the weekends. Bruce, Paige’s husband, works out of town a lot so it helps Paige to stay busy at the Shoppe when he’s gone. This evening Paige would be helping as Bruce left for New York on a business trip.
     
    The day went by as expected, busy with the usual lulls, which allowed Stormi and I to sit and discuss the goings on in the town of Caesars Creek, Georgia.
     
    “So are Trixie and Mr. Florez back from their honeymoon yet?” I asked.
     
    Trixie and Mr. Florez became an item soon after Trixie’s daughter was arrested for murder. He was a strong shoulder for her to rely on and after on a few months of courting the two up and eloped. They were spending their honeymoon in the Bahamas where Trixie had always wanted to go but never had a chance to. Now she was living her dream with the man I always thought she was suited for. I was tickled for her. However, I also knew she was sad about her daughter. Trixie tried to visit her but Eileen didn’t want to see her. Maybe it was for the best.
     
    “Yes they are.” Stormi answered as she took a sip of her afternoon coffee. “I saw her at the bank this morning and she’s absolutely glowing. She showed me pictures from their trip…what a beautiful place, so tropical. Trixie wore flowers in her hair in almost all the photos and of course, Mr. F. was beaming. They are just so cute!”
     
    I laughed. It was nice to hear that something good came out of something terrible. As we continued to talk, Paige came in early.
     
    “What