A Curious Affair by Melanie Jackson Page A

glancing at Don as he set about digging out the very solid ice cream, which was layered with ice crystals. I hoped the marshmallow wouldn’t be too unyielding. I like to squish it against the roof of my mouth, sorting out the nuts from the sweet. I’d started doing that when I began losing my baby teeth to the sticky stuff. I have shallow roots on my teeth and it takes very little to knock them out. As a child, I didn’t mind the gap-toothed look, but the tooth fairy only paid up when you had an actual tooth to barter. I had probably been cheated out of maybe a buck twenty-five by unlucky swallowing. That was five weeks’ allowance, or one Little House on the Prairie book. Those hard childhood lessons stuck with you, especially when you were now responsible for your own dental bills.
    “A whim? Yes, I guess you could say that, though I do try to visit every town in the county at least twice a week.”
    Uh-huh, a whim of solid steel. Have I mentioned that I can be stubborn? I hadn’t mentioned it to Tyler either, but he was a smart cop and I knew he had my number. As I had his. As the old taunt goes: It takes one to know one. We were both mules.
    “As long as we’re feeling whimsical, let’s have some show-and-tell,” I suggested.
    “Fair enough. Don, would you get me a scoop of strawberry cheesecake while you’re at it?”
    “Sure, Tyler,” Don answered, puzzled but pleased. There hadn’t been much call for ice cream during the long, long winter. He added conscientiously: “It might have a bit of freezer burn, though. I haven’t restocked lately.”
    “That’s okay. I take my ice cream any way I can get it.”
    Don smiled gratefully. His business—like so many up here—was barely alive, and he couldn’t afford to restock the ice cream in the winter, but that wouldn’t stop some people from complaining. The sheriff was catching on quickly, though, and was capable of compassion. I thought it might turn out that I would like him after all.
    If only he liked me, too. I wouldn’t mind having Tyler twisted around my finger. That would be a useful place for him. However, I suspected that while not unbending, he wasn’t flexible enough—or blind enough—to make himself into a pretzel this morning simply because I wanted him to.
    Jillian, is that you?
    I stiffened involuntarily. A slight scratching came at the door behind the counter. Don and Carol lived above the shop and this was how they reached their living quarters. They had a cat.
    “Go away, Clips. You know you can’t come in here,” Don called. Clips, short for Paperclips and Rubber-bands. Clips had been a true gymnast among kittens. None of the drapes had survived his youth. “That darn cat never learns, and I swear he adores Jillian. He rubs on her like she’s catnip.”
    Yeah, go away, Clips. We don’t want the sheriff thinking I have cats in my belfry , I thought at the restless feline.
    After a second the scratching stopped and we heardthe soft thundering of paws running up a wooden stair. I tried not to react visibly to the reprieve.
    “Shall I start? I happened to be in The Mule this morning,” I said casually to the sheriff. Then, fearing that the cold ice cream might again lock up my jaw before we were done talking, I added: “Don, could you get me a coffee, too?” I wouldn’t drink it, just hold the steaming cup under my chin and keep the joints thawed enough for conversation.
    “Did you now? How unusual.” Tyler’s voice was mild. His gaze was warm, too, not at all sheriff-like. He was inviting me in, willing me to feel safe and confiding. We were just two friends sharing some winter morning ice cream. I wanted to believe that but remained wary.
    “Yes, indeed. And I had a short chat with Molly Gerran—that’s Irv’s old girlfriend.” I was being discreet, not mentioning I’d had this discussion with Molly in front of Don.
    “Uh-huh.” Tyler sipped from his cup, not even flinching as the scorched brew passed his lips.