“You are in for a treat,” he told them, eyes shining. “MacKay’s is a tradition.”
And traditions were important in Margie’s family and community.
“I didn’t think you’d know about them,” she told him, glancing at him in surprise as she navigated the highway between the Park and Cochrane. Ice cream was just two kilometers away.
“I took your mother there when she was a little girl,” Moushoom said. “We were just visiting then, I hadn’t moved to Calgary yet, but MacKay’s was there back then, and it was one of our favorite outings.”
Margie’s mother had always loved ice cream. Margie looked at Christina and grinned. It was a family trait.
Jones had told Margie that MacKay’s had dozens of flavors, but she had still not expected the densely-written chalkboard she saw when she got there. She and Christina stared at it with their mouths open, marveling at all of the options.
“Bubblegum,” Christina pointed out almost immediately.
Margie remembered blue stains on many of Christina’s collars when she was a little girl, when blue bubble-gum ice cream had been her favorite treat. So sticky and messy. At least now, as a teenager, Margie wouldn’t have to worry about Christina staining all of her clothes.
“What is ‘barn door’?” Margie asked no one in particular.
A helpful patron described the ice cream concoction that included marshmallows, chocolate chips, chocolate chunks, Reese’s peanut butter cups, fudge brownie bits, cookie dough, nuts, Oreo cookie crumbs, and coconut.
“Oh, my.”
It wasn’t going to be an easy choice. They had the cherry custard and cotton candy, two flavors she had enjoyed as a child when camping by the lake.
“Maple bacon,” Christina murmured reverently.
“I thought you were vegetarian now.”
Christina opened her mouth, considering. “I don’t think maple bacon ice cream counts,” she said finally, without bothering to give an argument as to why that was.
“I know what I am having,” Moushoom announced.
Margie looked at him. She was expecting to have to read the board to him. But either his eyes or his memory was better than she had expected.
“What are you having, Moushoom?”
“Nanaimo bar.”
“Oh…” That was tempting. But if Moushoom was getting it, then she was sure he would allow her to taste a bit of his custard and chocolate concoction. Sharing ice cream during a pandemic might not be such a good idea. She’d get a spoon and have a taste before he started it. That way, neither was contaminating the other.
They were getting to the front of the line, and Margie still hadn’t made up her mind. She skimmed over the board once more.
“What is ‘shark attack’?”
“Blue raspberry ice cream with red raspberry jam ripples,” the young woman at the counter advised. She didn’t have to check. She probably told ten people an hour all day long. Behind her face shield, forehead and temples glistened with sweat despite working with frozen desserts all day.
Margie’s mind went back to Warner attacking her at the park and throwing her into the water, thinking she wouldn’t make it out alive.
No, it wouldn’t be shark attack. Not this time.
Ralph Klein Park
The Ralph Klein Park is much smaller than the previous two parks in the series, but this little place packs a punch with manmade wetland features, public art installations, a community orchard of apple and pear trees, a unique playground with a zip line, and an education center.
Ralph Klein Park is on the east side of Calgary, and like Glenbow Ranch Provincial Park, opened in 2011.
It is named after former Calgary mayor and Alberta premier Ralph Klein, who lived to witness its opening and passed away in 2013.
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Preview of She Wore Mourning
Zachary Goldman Mysteries #1
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More Parks Pat Mysteries are planned.
While you are waiting for them, why not check out
Zachary Goldman Mysteries?
Chapter 1
ZACHARY GOLDMAN STARED DOWN the telephoto lens at the subjects before him. It was one of those days that left tourists gaping over the gorgeous scenery. Dark trees against crisp white snow, with the mountains as a backdrop. Like the picture on a Christmas card.
The thought made Zachary feel sick.
But he wasn’t looking at the scenery. He was looking at the man and the woman in a passionate embrace. The pretty young woman’s cheeks were flushed pink, more likely with her excitement than the cold, since she had barely stepped out of her car to greet the man. He had a swarthier complexion and a thin black beard, and was currently turned away from Zachary’s camera.
Zachary wasn’t much to look at himself. Average height, black hair cut too short, his own three-day growth of beard not hiding how pinched and pale his face was. He’d never considered himself a good catch.
He waited patiently for them to move, to look around at their surroundings so that he could get a good picture of their faces.
They thought they were alone; that no one could see them without being seen. They hadn’t counted on the fact that Zachary had been surveilling them for a couple of weeks and had known where they would go. They gave him lots of warning so that he could park his car out of sight, camouflage himself in the trees, and settle in to wait for their appearance. He was no amateur; he’d been a private investigator since she had been choosing wedding dresses for her Barbie dolls.
He held down the shutter button to take a series of shots as they came up for air and looked around at the magnificent surroundings, smiling at each other, eyes shining.
All the while, he was trying to keep the negative thoughts at bay. Why had he fallen into private detection? It was one of the few ways he could make a living using his skill with a camera. He could have chosen another profession. He didn’t need to spend his whole life following other people, taking pictures of their most private moments. What was the real point of his job? He destroyed lives, something he’d had his fill of long ago. When was the last time he’d brought a smile to a client’s face? A real, genuine smile? He had wanted to make a difference in people’s lives; to exonerate the innocent.
Zachary’s phone started to buzz in his pocket. He lowered the camera and turned around, walking farther into the grove of trees. He had the pictures he needed. Anything else would be overkill.
He pulled out his phone and looked at it. Not recognizing the number, he swiped the screen to answer the call.
“Goldman Investigations.”
“Uh… yes… Is this Mr. Goldman?” a voice inquired. Older, female, with a tentative quaver.
“Yes, this is Zachary,” he confirmed, subtly nudging her away from the ‘mister.’
“Mr. Goldman, my name is Molly Hildebrandt.”
He hoped she wasn’t calling her about her sixty-something-year-old husband and his renewed interest in sex. If it was another infidelity case, he was going to have to turn it down for his own sanity. He would even take a lost dog or wedding ring. As long as the ring wasn’t on someone else’s finger now.
“Mrs. Hildebrandt. How can Goldman Investigations help you?”
Of course, she had probably already guessed that Goldman Investigations consisted of only one employee. Most people seemed to sense that from the size of his advertisements. F
rom the fact that he listed a post office box number instead of a business suite downtown or in one of the newer commercial areas. It wasn’t really a secret.
“I don’t know whether you have been following the news at all about Declan Bond, the little boy who drowned…?”
Zachary frowned. He trudged back toward his car.
“I’m familiar with the basics,” he hedged. A four- or five-year-old boy whose round face and feathery dark hair had been pasted all over the news after a search for a missing child had ended tragically.
“They announced a few weeks ago that it was determined to be an accident.”
Zachary ground his teeth. “Yes…?”
“Mr. Goldman, I was Declan’s grandma.” Her voice cracked. Zachary waited, listening to her sniffles and sobs as she tried to get herself under control. “I’m sorry. This has been very difficult for me. For everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Goldman, I don’t believe that it was an accident. I’m looking for someone who would investigate the matter privately.”
Zachary breathed out. A homicide investigation? Of a child? He’d told himself that he would take anything that wasn’t infidelity, but if there was one thing that was more depressing than couples cheating on each other, it was the death of a child.
“I’m sure there are private investigators that would be more qualified for a homicide case than I am, Mrs. Hildebrandt. My schedule is pretty full right now.”
Which, of course, was a lie. He had the usual infidelities, insurance investigations, liabilities, and odd requests. The dregs of the private investigation business. Nothing substantial like a homicide. It was a high-profile case. A lot of volunteers had shown up to help, expecting to find a child who had wandered out of his own yard, expecting to find him dirty and crying, not floating face down in a pond. A lot of people had mourned the death of a child they hadn’t even known existed before his disappearance.
“I need your help, Mr. Goldman. Zachary. I can’t afford a big name, but you’ve got good references. You’ve investigated deaths before. Can’t you help me?”
He wondered who she had talked to. It wasn’t like there were a lot of people who would give him a bad reference. He was competent and usually got the job done, but he wasn’t a big name.
“I could meet with you,” he finally conceded. “The first consultation is free. We’ll see what kind of a case you have and whether I want to take it. I’m not making any promises at this point. Like I said, my schedule is pretty full already.”
She gave a little half-sob. “Thank you. When are you able to come?”
_____
After he had hung up, Zachary climbed into his car, putting his camera down on the floor in front of the passenger seat where it couldn’t fall, and started the car. For a while, he sat there, staring out the front windshield at the magical, sparkling, Christmas-card scene. Every year, he told himself it would be better. He would get over it and be able to move on and to enjoy the holiday season like everyone else. Who cared about his crappy childhood experiences? People moved on.
And when he had married Bridget, he had thought he was going to achieve it. They would have a fairy-tale Christmas. They would have hot chocolate after skating at the public rink. They would wander down Main Street looking at the lights and the crèche in front of the church. They would open special, meaningful presents from each other.
But they’d fought over Christmas. Maybe it was Zachary’s fault. Maybe he had sabotaged it with his gloom. The season brought with it so much baggage. There had been no skating rink. No hot chocolate, only hot tempers. No walks looking at the lights or the nativity. They had practically thrown their gifts at each other, flouncing off to their respective corners to lick their wounds and pout away the holiday.
He’d still cherished the thought that perhaps the next year there would be a baby. What could be more perfect than Christmas with a baby? It would unite them. Make them a real family. Just like Zachary had longed for since he’d lost his own family. He and Bridget and a baby. Maybe even twins. Their own little family in their own little happy bubble.
But despite a positive pregnancy test, things had gone horribly wrong.
Zachary stared at the bright white scenery and blinked hard, trying to shake off the shadows of the past. The past was past. Over and done. This year he was back to baching it for Christmas. Just him and a beer and It’s a Wonderful Life on TV.
He put the car in reverse and didn’t look into the rear-view mirror as he backed up, even knowing about the precipice behind him. He’d deliberately parked where he’d have to back up toward the cliff when he was done. There was a guardrail, but if he backed up too quickly, the car would go right through it, and who could say whether it had been accidental or deliberate? He had been cold-stone sober and had been out on a job. Mrs. Hildebrandt could testify that he had been calm and sober during their call. It would be ruled an accident.
But his bumper didn’t even touch the guardrail before he shifted into drive and pulled forward onto the road.
He’d meet with the grandmother. Then, assuming he did not take the case, there would always be another opportunity.
Life was full of opportunities.
_____
* * *
She Wore Mourning, book #1 of the Zachary Goldman Mysteries series is available now at pdworkman.com
Also by P.D. Workman
MYSTERY/SUSPENSE:
* * *
Parks Pat Mysteries
Out with the Sunset
Long Climb to the Top
Dark Water Under the Bridge
* * *
Zachary Goldman Mysteries
She Wore Mourning
His Hands Were Quiet
She Was Dying Anyway
He Was Walking Alone
They Thought He was Safe
He Was Not There
Her Work Was Everything
She Told a Lie
He Never Forgot
She Was At Risk
* * *
Kenzie Kirsch Medical Thrillers
Unlawful Harvest
Doctored Death (Coming soon)
Dosed to Death (Coming soon)
Gentle Angel (Coming soon)
* * *
Auntie Clem’s Bakery
Gluten-Free Murder
Dairy-Free Death
Allergen-Free Assignation
Witch-Free Halloween (Halloween Short)
Dog-Free Dinner (Christmas Short)
Stirring Up Murder
Brewing Death
Coup de Glace
Sour Cherry Turnover
Apple-achian Treasure
Vegan Baked Alaska
Muffins Masks Murder
Tai Chi and Chai Tea
Santa Shortbread
Cold as Ice Cream
Changing Fortune Cookies
Hot on the Trail Mix
Recipes from Auntie Clem's Bakery
* * *
Reg Rawlins, Psychic Detective
What the Cat Knew
A Psychic with Catitude
A Catastrophic Theft
Night of Nine Tails
Telepathy of Gardens
Delusions of the Past
Fairy Blade Unmade
Web of Nightmares
A Whisker's Breadth
Skunk Man Swamp (Coming Soon)
Magic Ain't A Game (Coming Soon)
Without Foresight (Coming Soon)
* * *
High-Tech Crime Solvers Series
Virtually Harmless
* * *
Cowritten with D. D. VanDyke
California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series
The Girl in the Morgue
Stand Alone Suspense Novels
Looking Over Your Shoulder
Lion Within
Pursued by the Past
In the Tick of Time
Loose the Dogs
* * *
YOU
NG ADULT FICTION:
* * *
Medical Kidnap Files:
Mito
EDS
Proxy
Toxo
Pain
* * *
Between the Cracks:
Ruby
June and Justin
Michelle
Chloe
Ronnie
June, Into the Light
* * *
Tamara’s Teardrops:
Tattooed Teardrops
Two Teardrops
Tortured Teardrops
Vanishing Teardrops
* * *
Breaking the Pattern:
Deviation
Diversion
By-Pass
* * *
Stand Alone YA novels
Stand Alone
Don’t Forget Steven
Those Who Believe
Cynthia has a Secret
Questing for a Dream
Once Brothers
Intersexion
Making Her Mark
Endless Change
Gem, Himself, Alone
* * *
AND MORE AT PDWORKMAN.COM
About the Author
Award-winning and USA Today bestselling author P.D. (Pamela) Workman writes riveting mystery/suspense and young adult books dealing with mental illness, addiction, abuse, and other real-life issues. For as long as she can remember, the blank page has held an incredible allure and from a very young age she was trying to write her own books.