The Spice of Life

 ‘Fuck. Fuckety fuck!’

Aggie shoved the hardback over the table, hitting Poirot who was curled up on a dining chair. The cat startled, hissed and went back to sleep. Why was the mobile library intent on sending her these bloody crappy cozy crimes? She was fed up reading about old dears solving crimes practically from their chairs. Real life wasn’t like that. Of all people she would know.

She was in what was called the sunroom, an architectural monstrosity built as an extension to the Victorian mansion.  In summer it was sweltering and in winter, it was Baltic.  But it had a good view and as Aggie didn’t feel the cold or the heat it had become a somewhat private space for her. Any resident shuffling in by mistake did not get a friendly welcome.

‘You have a visitor, Ms. McKenna. Your nephew. Shall I show him in?’

On cue, the cat jumped on the table, adamant to be the centre of attention.  Poirot was huge and jet-black. He became even larger if he caught sight of any of his three archenemies: any other cat, any small dog and, strangely enough, the priest.  A glimpse of any of these and he would puff up to twice his size whilst emitting a strange noise, something that resembled a strangled human.  Poirot was a good mouser with a bad breath. He frequently brought Aggie gift of a rat or a large mouse, often still alive.  She would dispatch the poor creature with a whack of the I-pad and take aim at the bin across the room.  She seldom missed.  Staff and other residents were weary of Poirot – he was not a popular cat.  One look at his fangs and people would back off.  Only Aggie was allowed to stroke him.

Aggie had never married and didn’t have any children. Barney was her favourite nephew, and she was his favourite aunt. Not a week passed that he would drop in, take her out for a wander or playing a game of Cluedo. He burst in, bringing the smell of outside in.

‘So what are you up to, Auntie A?’

‘Nothing much, B.C.,’ 

That was their private joke.  His name was Barney Carmichael, but he used to hide the fact that his first name was Barney, especially in Primary School.

‘Apart from the fact that my fellow residents are driving me completely bonkers I am fine.  If I could walk, I would crawl up the walls and run a mile from here’

Barney wasn’t surprised.  Aggie had retired from the Force when a bullet landed her in a wheelchair. With all her mental faculties completely intact, the care home where she was living wasn’t the best for her.  The other residents were older and a lot more sedate.  Some were in the early stages of dementia, and most were engaged in certain television shows, knitting, royalty and the weekly Bingo.  At first Aggie had tried to fit in.

She had asked Barney to bring a large bottle of gin and one of whiskey and during the next Bingo night, she had offered generous measures to all present. An air of general joviality permeated the room but had soon evaporated when Aggie scooped up most of the Bingo prizes.  That, and her use of choice language when dinner wasn’t up to her standards, had not endeared her to her fellow residents or to the staff.

Maria, the only member of staff who dared to joke with Aggie, came into the sunroom, pushing a trolley with teas and coffees.

‘So, Mr Carmichael, are you and your aunt not busy solving crimes today? No juicy murders? There is always the break-in in Esposito’s to be solved. The Police is clueless since you got retired, Ms McKenna. Fancy a cuppa?’

She poured water in the mugs and pushed the jar of instant coffee towards Aggie, who added several spoons to her mug.  When still working, she had practically existed on industrial strength coffee but the five sugars she added didn’t make it any more palatable.  Barney made himself a less toxic brew.  With Poirot fast asleep on the table, they were left alone.

‘A game or a walk?’, Barney asked.

When the weather allowed it, Barney would push Aggie’s wheelchair to the quayside.

‘Let’s go out,’ said Aggie. ‘Aileen is coming to do physical exercise, and I certainly don’t want to be there. It reminds me too much of PE in school. I hated PE.’

Last time Barney dropped in, a small group of residents sat in a circle in the sunroom throwing a large sponge ball to each other.  Nobody was even smiling, apart from Aileen who did her best to encourage a spirited performance. Aggie sat in the corner, arms folded and a murderous expression on her face.

‘I’ve invited her to a game of arm wrestling, but the wain said no.  Scaredy cat, she is.’

On the quayside, they sat for a while.  Aggie got her vaper out and made huge clouds of a sweet-smelling kind. Barney sat on a bench next to her. He was a third-year forensic criminology student. In his first year he had called upon his aunt to get some first-hand material for an essay. It had clicked between the two.

‘Actually, Barney, let’s go for an ice cream. My treat. Let’s go to Esposito’s.’

‘Were not nosey, are we? Nothing to do with the fact that there was a break-in in Esposito’s and the fact nothing was stolen, not even the tipping jar? Sounds a bit too much like a cozy crime for you. Nae murder.’

‘Of course not, Barney. How can you say that?’ Aggie smiled and winked. ‘I just fancy a strawberry ice cream, that’s all. Murders can wait.’

‘Aye, right then.’

There were three old Italian families with a presence on the High Street. The Esposito family had come over in the early 1900s, to start a new life in Scotland as ice cream vendors. Through the generations, they had been very successful. Esposito’s was now an award-winning ice cream parlour, done up in fifties pastel colours and very popular in all seasons. Another Italian business was Zavaroni’s, an ice-cream parlour and day-time restaurant. Their fish-and-chips were sought after. The third Italian family, Fiorini, had an ice-cream take-away and a massive sweetie shop, also in the High Street. They only competed with each other on the ice cream ice cream; although there was enough business for all of them, there was still more than a whiff of animosity between the families.

Barney wheeled Aggie into Esposito’s. Anamaria, one of the daughters of the current owner, served them.

‘Two times one scoop of strawberry, please, Anamaria.’

‘I prefer chocolate, auntie,’ said Barney.

‘You’ll have strawberry. It is award winning.’

Anamaria handed them two cones.

‘So what happened at that break-in?’ asked Aggie.

‘It is very strange,’ said Anamaria, ‘nothing was taken.’ Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying. ‘Not even the jar with tips in it, or the bottles of rum for the rum-and-raisin ice cream. There was no damage either apart from the broken lock. It’s a mystery.’  Other customers came in, and Barney and Aggie left.

‘I’ve heard through the grapevine,’ said Aggie, ‘that the eldest son of Zavaroni wants to marry Anamaria Esposito. He’s not allowed.’

Barney, his ice cream leaking on his trousers, said: ‘Fuck! Oh, not you Auntie A. It is my own stupidity and now I have to wash my trousers again. Why isn’t she allowed to marry a Zavaroni?’

‘There is an old feud between those families. Unfortunately. What better way would there be to bring them together than a wedding? And, mister forensic criminologist, what do you think about the break-in? By the way, you look like a sodding slob. Can’t take you anywhere!’

Swallowing the last of the cone, Barney said: ‘You wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without me, Aunt A. But I was thinking about this break-in. What if they were not taking anything, but bringing something?’

Aggie sat in silence. Then: ‘You know, Barney, you may accidently have stumbled on a gold nugget there. Mind you, usually I have the bright ideas, and you provide the muscle to my brain. But hey-ho, even a dunce can have a flash of brilliance. Right. Onwards. Bring me to Zavaroni’s. We’re going to eat some ice cream.’

‘Again?’ sighed Barney, and wheeled Aggie 150 meter up the street, to Zavaroni’s.

‘Did you like the award-winning strawberry ice cream?’

‘I prefer chocolate, Auntie A, but I must admit it was very nice.’

‘The award is a big one in this industry, so I’m beginning to wonder. Come on Barney, you’re on a live investigation. Chop chop – let’s get some evidence.’

Barney pushed the wheelchair into Zavaroni’s. Mario, the owner, was serving.

‘Bon Giorno, Mr Zavaroni. Come stai?’

‘Ah, bon Giorno, ottimo, signora McKenna, grazie.’

Aggie’s Italian now exhausted, she continued: ‘May we have two small strawberry cones, please?’

Barney, in a stage whisper: ‘I don’t like strawberry. I want chocolate.’

‘Don’t behave like a fucking toddler, Barney. You’ll have strawberry because I say so. And you’ll carefully taste it.’

Barney took the proffered cone in a huff. He pushed Aggie’s chair out on the street and managed to dribble some ice cream on her trousers.

‘Barney! For fuck’s sake, pay attention. Taste the fucking ice cream.’

They sat in a sunny spot, licking their cones.

‘I still don’t like strawberry, Aunt A. This tastes the same as the ice cream from Esposito’s.’

‘Precisely, Barney, nothing wrong with your taste buds.’

They saw a black shadow running towards them. Poirot had followed them from the care home. He gave a squawk, jumped on Aggie’s lap and started to purr so loud that folk looked around where the sound of a running engine came from.

‘Hello, who have we got here?’ said Aggie She gave Poirot a stroke and the rest of her ice cream. The cat made a mess of it. Aggie said that she wanted to go back in the Zavaroni place to get some paper towel.

‘Open the door for me, Barney. And you stay out with His Majesty.’

Aggie gave the black cat to Barney and managed to wheel herself into Zavaroni’s. Poirot now licked Barney’s ice cream. Barney let him. He knew from experience that disaster was imminent if you’d take away the food from Poirot.

When Aggie came out, she was smiling. Poirot jumped back on her lap.

‘Come along, Barney, up to Fiorini’s. You go in and buy two small cones of strawberry ice cream.’

‘Not again, Aunt A. I’m fed up with strawberry. Can I have a chocolate or some sweets, maybe.’

‘Stop moaning, B.C. You are on a live investigation, even if it is only a fucking cozy strawberry ice cream crime. You are collecting evidence, even if it is only fucking ice cream.’

Soon enough they were seated outside of Fiorini’s, licking their strawberry ice creams. Poirot stood on the pavement, looking like a dog begging for a treat. Aggie shoed him away.

‘You have no dignity, Poirot, begging like that. You are no better than an alley-cat. Off you go! So, B.C. what do you think of this ice cream?’

‘Maybe I’ve had too much, Auntie A, but I don’t like it. It misses the depth of flavour of the other two.’

‘That is a very good observation, Barney. We’ll make a criminal investigator out of you.’

‘What did you learn in Zavaroni’s?’

‘Excellent thinking, Barney. I asked him why his son is not allowed to marry Anamaria Esposito.’

‘That is a bit of a nosey question, even for you, Auntie A. Did he reply?’

‘After a fashion, he did. It turned out that he is insanely jealous of Esposito’s. Because of the award-winning ice cream. I told you the award was prestigious. Mario is more than keen to win it too. Apparently, the families come from the same Italian village. There was a feud between them – who made the best olive oil. They took that feud to Scotland and have been sitting on it for the last 70 years. Childish, if you ask me; long memories and long toes. Someone has to knock some heads together and it looks like I am going to have to do that.’

‘So how is that linked to the break-in at Esposito’s?’

‘Your tastebuds should tell you, Barney. Let’s go to Esposito’s again.’

‘Please, Auntie A, no more ice cream. I really don’t want anymore.’

‘If it goes how I think it will go, I’ll treat you to fish-and-chips. In Zavaroni’s.’

They wheeled to Esposito’s again. Aggie told Barney what to look out for when inside. Poirot, having had enough of crime and ice cream slunk away to successfully scare unsuspecting passers-by.

Inside Esposito’s, Aggie asked Anamaria whether Barney could have a look in the ice cream production area, stressing that he was not from the Council or the food hygiene department. As it was, the production area was squeaky clean. Barney did what Aggie asked him to do. When he came back in the parlour, he smiled and nodded.

‘Don’t you worry, Anamaria, I may have good news for you shortly,’ Aggie said when they left.

Barney wasn’t grumbling anymore when he wheeled Aggie back to Zavaroni’s. They sat at a table and ordered fish and chips, with a tea for Barney and a quadruple ristretto for Aggie. Despite all the ice cream, both finished their lunch up to the last chip.

‘Now that is worth an award,’ said Barney. They refused an ice cream for afters but asked whether Zavaroni could join them at the table for a moment. When he was seated, Barney fished something out of his pocket.

‘We found this in Esposito’s,’ said Aggie. ‘I think you put it there.’

Barney put the tiny camera on the table. Mario turned as white as his vanilla ice cream.

‘Please don’t tell the police. I don’t want to be a criminal. I just wanted to know the secret ingredient of Esposito’s award-winning strawberry ice cream.’

‘And?’ Aggie prompted.

‘Have you tasted my ice cream? It is so much better now. There is a depth of flavour that there wasn’t before.’

‘That is no excuse to break in, Mario. Breaking and entering is a criminal offense – even if you don’t steal anything. Your case is one of industrial espionage, do you know?’

‘Oh, please, please don’t tell anyone. I’ll give you two free fish and chips for life if you don’t tell anyone.’

Barney had a dreamy look in his eyes. ‘Free fish suppers…’

‘Offering bribes to police officers is also a crime, Mario. Don’t mention it. I may be retired but I still have excellent contacts with the local force. But I can offer you a way out of all this. If you give your son permission to marry Anamaria and you bury this stupid feud, we’ll keep stumm. After the wedding you’re all part of the same family, and we can forget about all this. No ice cream secrets between family members.’

When Barney and Aggie went to tell Anamaria the good news Barney asked: ‘Tell me, Auntie A, what was this secret ingredient? I did taste the difference between Zavaroni and Esposito on the one hand, and Fiorini on the other hand. But what made that difference?’

‘Something very simple,’ said Aggie, ‘it was black pepper, the spice of life.’