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Lucien sputtered with laughter. “In other words, a typical record producer. We’re not doing this for him. But we’ll gladly take his hundred grand and do this for the Rescher family.”
“Good. We should pay them a visit first—the Reschers. You know, they still live in the same house they did when their boy went missing. We should introduce ourselves and explain what we’re doing. We don’t want them hearing rumors when we start poking around.”
“First thing tomorrow,” he said between bites, sneaking a doggie treat under the table to Stella first, then Poppy.
“You’re not very good at that,” she charged. “Every time you do that, I hear them licking their chops plain as day afterward.”
“They expect me to spoil them. You suggested I stop giving them table food. I did. Doggie treats should therefore be allowed.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re gonna sit there and deny giving Poppy scrambled eggs just this morning at breakfast?”
He gave her his best sheepish smile. “I didn’t think breakfast counted.”
“I guess I’m not the hard-ass I want to be about giving them table food.” Her eyes wandered over to the dogs who were smacking their lips. “Okay, okay, I get it. I heard the new ice cream shop in town opened last week. The owner offers pup cups. Let’s start a nightly tradition after dinner and take them for a walk along the beach into town to get them one. Ice cream for us too. I’m craving peaches and cream.”
“A walk after dinner sounds great. What’s the owner’s name? Do you know?”
She shook her head. “Without Maeve here to pick up all the local gossip while she’s at Murphy’s Market, I’m in the dark. However, Drea told me that Zach and Troy helped the owner rehab inside that tiny narrow space next to the bait shop. They had it finished in under a month. I think she said his name is Daniel. Daniel Cardiff. I think.”
Lucien pushed back from the table, gathered their plates, and started the kitchen clean-up. “Then we’ll just pop in and introduce ourselves. Let Daniel know we support the local economy.”
“It’s still tourist season. Drea did say that he had a line out the door on his first day open for business—a good sign. And once school starts, I’m sure the kids will hang out there to grab a cone after school. Who doesn’t love ice cream? This guy shouldn’t have too much trouble staying in business as long as his product tastes good.”
“What’s the name of this place?”
“Vanilla Bean Machine. But the store creates more flavors than that.”
Lucien punched in the settings for the dishwasher and crossed his arms over his chest. “By the time we get to town, I’ll have worked up an appetite for dessert. Let’s hope this place isn’t a big disappointment.”
“Think of it this way the dogs won’t know the difference.”
“Yeah, but I will. I want my ice cream to be flavorful and made with real cream, not taste artificial.”
Brogan handed him a towel to dry his hands. “I forgot how picky you are about ice cream. None of that yogurt crap for you.”
“Or custard. Is it too much to ask that ice cream be ice cream? Forget that non-fat stuff. Healthy ice cream is just wrong and, in my opinion, a total waste of money.”
“Jeez, I didn’t realize you’d bring out your soapbox over this. At least try it before you knock it.”
“Okay, but I won’t eat anything that isn’t real ice cream. Just sayin’. No phony ‘frozen dairy desserts’ that don’t taste real. It’s like drinking coffee. You wouldn’t want fake coffee, right?”
“I don’t think this guy opened a store to sell fake ice cream,” Brogan murmured, getting annoyed with the whole idea. “Drea said Daniel uses an old family recipe from his grandmother.”
“Yeah, well, it better taste like the real thing using real milkfat. That’s all I’m saying.”
She rolled her eyes, swatted him on the arm, and gave him a little push toward the French doors. “You don’t have to eat it. You can watch me, and the dogs devour ours. Now get moving before I change my mind and leave you here to grumble to yourself.”
Once they reached the beach, the dogs led the way along the dirt path toward the pier. The tree-lined trail twisted and turned just enough to ensure you paid attention to the chunks of sandstone that littered the terrain.
Brogan decided they couldn’t have chosen a better evening for a walk. The gentle sound of the waves worked as a backdrop while the salty breeze floated through the lofty cypress. They passed patches of yellow flowers—beach primrose and sand verbena—flourishing in the coastal soil. Thriving among the dunes were cordgrass and pickleweed.
When they reached Sandpiper Marsh, they stopped to admire the gangly stems of the newly planted kelp beds waving in the wind.
“Sometimes I forget how beautiful the area is,” Brogan muttered. “We’re so lucky to live here.”
Lucien agreed as Smugglers Bay came into view. “The first time I set eyes on this place, I thought it would be like having a nature preserve in my backyard.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Brogan said, pointing to the ice cream shop and the line outside on the sidewalk. “Looks like we weren’t the only people hungry for ice cream tonight.”
