“Oh my lord,” D’ante said.
The little parlor-sized Ben & Jerry’s was all but abandoned; October, even in Virginia, was not exactly ice cream weather. It was nice enough, though, and there were a few tables outside where they could catch some of the afternoon sun.
The waitress brought out Kat’s order; she’d been downright mysterious about it and refused to tell anyone what she’d done. The waitress set down a shallow bowl in the center of the table, somewhat larger than a pizza pan and about four inches deep. The blue-glazed dish was piled high with ice cream, covered with nuts and cherries, and drowning in whipped cream and caramel syrup.
“Vermonster,” Kat announced. “Twenty scoops.” She wielded her spoon like a sword.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Scooter said before she started in on the desser
