Boston Scream Murder

by Ginger Bolton

  At the road, a marked cruiser was now supporting the crime scene tape where the unmarked cruiser had been, and the unmarked cruiser was in front of the dried-up mud puddle. Gartborg was in the driver’s seat. She appeared to be focusing on the car’s computer screen.

  A rookie female police officer I’d seen at Deputy Donut only a few times was leaning against the marked cruiser.

  Brent waved at her, put the tape into the trunk of Gartborg’s cruiser, and got into the passenger seat. Beside his open door, I heard him ask, “Any luck?”

  I couldn’t catch what she said, but I thought she mentioned a BOLO.

  Brent closed the car door.

  I was not a police officer, but I would also be on the lookout for Terri Estable.

  Chapter 15

  Speeding away, Gartborg sprayed gravel behind the unmarked cruiser. A small stone landed beside one of my damp sneakers. I couldn’t help a startled exclamation.

  The police officer guarding the scene asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. I was surprised that she did that so close to us.”

  “Maybe she didn’t mean to.”

  “Is that how they teach you to drive in the police academy?”

  She must have noticed that I was teasing. “Yes, and watch out unless you’re bringing me donuts and coffee. I was an A student.”

  I laughed. “I’m getting out of here.” I walked to my car and drove past her at about three miles per hour. She smiled. Warmed by the camaraderie that our donut shop had spread through our community, I waved.

  I hoped that the police would find Terri Estable quickly, and that they would also find sufficient evidence to charge someone with Rich’s murder. If they did, maybe Brent could make it to Samantha’s potluck dinner the next night and to my party on Halloween. Social gatherings that included any of the six of us—Samantha and Hooligan, Misty and Scott, and Brent and me—were always fun, even though the other four had paired off in couples and Brent and I were not attached like the others were, no matter what Misty and Samantha liked to pretend.

  Investigators’ vehicles, including one like the unmarked cruiser that Gartborg had been driving only minutes before, were in Rich’s driveway, but I didn’t see either Gartborg or Brent as I drove past.

  At home, I left the kayak on the car and went inside. Dep sniffed my mud-splashed pant legs. Despite the mud, which undoubtedly had its own odors, she could probably tell that I’d spent time around Brent without her. “He says he’s coming to the Halloween party, Dep. How would you like to dress as a cat for the party?”

  “Meow.”

  “I know, you wear that costume all the time, and it’s perfect.”

  With a sniff, she turned away.

  I won her over with a nicely fishy dinner and an invitation to cuddle on my lap while I read until bedtime.

  Upstairs later, I crawled underneath the covers. Dep landed purring on my feet. I carefully did not mention Brent’s name aloud, and Dep stayed with me. The next thing I knew, she and my alarm were both announcing that it was morning.

  I dressed in my black pants and white shirt and made a spinach and Havarti omelette for my breakfast. Dep pushed kibble around her bowl, selected a piece, and nibbled at it.

  The air outside was crisp. Walking to work, Dep showed her enthusiasm by holding her tail straight up and leading the way.

  Thanks to Nina or Tom, the gas fireplace in our office had already made Dep’s playroom toasty. I hung up my jacket and stowed the backpack I carried as a purse next to Nina’s tote in a large, lockable desk drawer that Tom and I had designed especially for valuables in case our guard cat wasn’t ferocious enough.

  Nina and Tom were in the kitchen. I teased, “Did you two miss me yesterday?”

  Nina moaned. “Terribly.” She was smiling.

  “What?” Tom demanded, straight-faced. “Were you gone?”

  “I think so.” I told them about finding a canoe that could have been the one that Nina and I had seen on Rich’s cottage dock on Monday evening, the canoe that had been gone on Tuesday evening.

  Tom commented, “It sounds like you were going places you shouldn’t have been.”

  I pulled on my donut-decorated hat. “Brent didn’t seem concerned.”

  Tom turned on an exaggerated glower. “Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, Emily Westhill.”

  Nina stepped between us. “While you were gone, a police officer dropped off the coffee urn you left at the crime scene and thanked us for the coffee and donuts. Also, we dreamed up more kinds of Halloween donuts.” The creations she showed me included fritter critters with googly sugar eyes; cat donuts with ears, whiskers, and bright green eyes; and witch-hat donuts with large licorice gumdrops on top. I particularly liked the ghost-shaped donuts with their chocolate chip eyes. Because they were the kind of donuts with holes cut out of them, some of their mouths gaped as if the ghosts were about to yell Boo! Other ghosts’ mouths were puckered and nearly closed, as if those ghosts were on the verge of moaning piteously.

  I gave Nina a new title. “You’re our artistic director. Show me how you made these.”

  She muttered that Tom, Jocelyn, and I had made artistic triumphs before she came to work with us, but I could tell she was pleased. “This is more about taste than appearance, but I think Rich was wrong about the fudge frosting. When we double it, the chocolate almost overwhelms the delicate vanilla in the custard. What do you two think?”

  Tom suggested, “Let’s try putting about one and a half times as much fudge frosting on one.”

  I did that. Without bothering to etch the Boston scream face on the donut, we divided it and tasted it.

  I held my hand up with the tips of my forefinger and thumb touching. “Perfect.”

  The other two agreed, and the three of us turned out scary-cute donuts and fritters at a rapid rate.

  None of us expected many takers for the licorice gumdrop–topped witch’s hats, but we had several among the Knitpickers and the retired men.

  Apparently, they had discussed Rich and his death the day before when I hadn’t been there and were happy to switch to a less somber topic and tease Cheryl. They told her to bring Steve to their morning meetings and teach him to knit.

  Virginia, one of the Knitpickers, had qualms. “Bad idea. Cheryl’s knitting basket is full of UFOs. She could teach him to knit, but then he would never finish objects, either.”

  Cheryl teased them right back. “If I finished mine, I wouldn’t know what to do next.”

  “Choose another one to finish,” Virginia suggested.

  A Knitpicker waved a knitting needle, showing off the red-and-green-striped Christmas bell ornament she was knitting. “I can make these in silver and white or whatever color combination you’d like for wedding bells, you know.”

  Cheryl nearly choked on her coffee. “I like my single life just fine, thank you. I’m having fun and meeting new people while I’m at it, that’s all.”

  The bell knitter raised her eyebrows. “People?”

  Cheryl blushed. “Well, only one, so far, not including the late Rich Royalson.” She frowned, but being Cheryl, she couldn’t maintain a sad look for long. “I like Steve, but I can’t see it ever going further than that. For one thing, he’s a freelance writer, and he’s here doing research, then he’ll probably go back to Ohio and we’ll both date other people. Or maybe not, in my case. A permanent man would mess up my life.” She attempted a stern face, a nearly impossible feat for her. “Stop laughing!”

  The Knitpickers and retired men continued their teasing chatter, and I went back to helping make imaginatively decorated and tasty donuts. We had extra orders to fill for Halloween parties. I had already invited Tom and Cindy to mine. I invited Nina, who was almost speechless with excitement about meeting Cindy Westhill, but she quickly recovered and started talking about which cute Halloween donuts I should serve at the party. “Besides the ones we’ve been serving here, let’s decorate Long John donuts as zombies and make carrot-cake
donuts, but we’ll call the carrot-cake donuts scare-it cake donuts. I can’t wait to help you make them.”

  “Why wait?” I asked. “Let’s make some for here, but I think you’d better decorate the zombies, Nina.”

  She laughed. “They don’t have to be pretty!”

  I countered, “They need to be recognizable as zombies and not be mistaken for people with bad cases of seasickness.”

  Tom asked me, “Is Brent coming to your party?”

  “I hope so. I promised him apple-cider donuts. It depends on how the investigation is going.”

  Tom’s attentive look reminded me that he had been a detective before he was police chief, and he still had a lively interest and lots of friends in the Fallingbrook Police Department and in other police services. “Who’s the DCI agent directing this one?”

  “Her last name’s Gartborg. Brent called her Kim.”

  “I’ve never heard of her,” Tom said.

  Grinning diabolically at me, Nina opened her eyes wide and flexed her fingers in a clawing motion.

  I pursed my lips and wrinkled my forehead in an attempt to look disapproving.

  Nina laughed.

  Still teasing each other, the Knitpickers and the retired men left at noon as usual. With a sly grin, Tom suggested, “Maybe we should order a table big enough for all of them to sit together instead of leaning out of their chairs until they almost fall over trying to give one another a hard time.”

  I guessed, “If they sat together, they’d probably clam up.”

  “Besides,” Nina pointed out, “they want to sit next to the front windows, and one large table would block the entryway more than they do when they’re leaning out into the aisle.”

  After our lunch crowd left, a big, gray-haired man came in by himself. It took me a few seconds to recognize Rich’s neighbor, Hank, the man who had witnessed Terri’s and Rich’s wills, the man who had been particularly solicitous of Terri when I was guarding the party tent and waiting for the police to arrive. Hank was old enough to be Terri’s father, but Rich had been, also. Maybe, if Terri was interested only in men’s money and possessions and killed them after she was certain she was their heir, their ages didn’t matter to her.

  Sighing, Hank sat down heavily on one of the stools at the counter between the dining area and the kitchen. He was wearing a suit and tie.

  I asked what he’d like.

  He flexed his fingers. “A nice hot mug of coffee. I see you have daily specials from different parts of the world. I don’t care for strong, dark coffee, but I do like to try new things.”

  “Today’s is from Brazil. It’s a light medium roast with hints of chocolate and fruit.”

  “I’ll try that, and I’d also like a pumpkin spice donut with cream cheese icing.”

  I brought them to him. He picked up the mug in both hands. “Ah, that’s better.”

  I glanced toward our front windows. “Is it still cool outside?” The temperature had been predicted to rise.

  “No, but these old fingers don’t hit the piano keys as easily as they used to unless I warm them up. I’m giving a concert at Happy Times Retirement Home in an hour.”

  “Then I wish we had a piano here. You could warm up playing for us.”

  Hank’s sudden smile seemed genuine. “That would be great.”

  I asked him, “Don’t you live next to Rich Royalson’s house?”

  His face cloudy, he nodded. “I didn’t get to talk to you there, much, I’m afraid. That poor man. He was happy again, but hardly had any time to enjoy it.”

  I thought I knew what Hank meant, but I asked, “Happy?”

  “With that woman, Terri, who you prevented from going into the tent, not that I blame you. That was the right call under the circumstances.”

  “Thanks,” I said drily. “Rich and Terri were in here the day before the party. Rich said that Terri was the love of his life, and they’d recently reconnected.”

  “That’s how I understand it, although I didn’t know about Rich’s relationship with Terri until after Rich’s wife, Patty, died. Your donut is delicious, by the way.”

  I thanked him and pretended ignorance. “Rich was married to someone besides the love of his life?” I hadn’t meant to sound catty but was afraid that I had.

  “Yes.” He gulped at the coffee. “Thank you for giving me a new coffee to try. I like it very much. I gather there’s love, and then there’s love. I wouldn’t know, never having been married or even tempted.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better go. Can you put the coffee in a paper cup with a lid, and the rest of the donut in a box?”

  Saying that I could, I turned around. Tom was watching donuts in the fryer, but Nina was staring at me. I went into the storeroom, grabbed a take-out box and a cup and lid, and took them back to Hank.

  He was studying his phone, and he’d left money beside his plate. I boxed the donut and transferred the coffee from the mug to the paper cup. “Thanks,” he said. “I was sure I’d spill half the coffee if I tried to do that. Keep the change.” He picked up the box and the cup and hurried out of Deputy Donut.

  I watched him go. Happy Times Retirement Home was probably less than a five-minute drive away. Hank had given himself about forty minutes to get there. Maybe he needed to arrive early to warm his fingers. Maybe the paper cup of coffee would help.

  Chapter 16

  I returned to the kitchen and told Tom and Nina about the conversation I’d had with Hank. “When we started talking about Terri, Rich, and Rich’s late wife, he realized he had to leave.”

  Tom said, “One of the things I remember about Royalson’s wife’s death is that no one witnessed her canoe capsizing. Also, there were rumors that when his wife died, Royalson was having an affair with an employee at the bank where he worked.”

  Nina groaned. “Terri, I guess.”

  Tom nodded.

  I asked, “Why did Rich wait twenty years to get back together with Terri?”

  Nina guessed, “So he wouldn’t look guilty.”

  “Here’s what I heard,” Tom said. “Terri quit her job at Fallingbrook Mercantile right after Royalson’s wife died. Terri ended up with a lower salary, reduced benefits, and shorter vacations at Gooseleg State Bank. As far as I know, she stopped seeing Royalson after his wife’s death.”

  I arranged Long John donuts on a tray. “I heard the DCI agent say Terri works at a bank. Maybe it’s still Gooseleg State Bank. Maybe Terri was afraid that Rich had killed his wife, and she changed banks to keep him from doing her in, too.”

  Nina piped ragged purple shirts onto the Long Johns. “But she came back and got her boyfriend to rent Royalson’s cottage so she could, as the boyfriend yelled at her on Monday afternoon, seduce Royalson.”

  I stirred orange food coloring into cream cheese frosting. “Maybe Terri killed Patty Royalson but dropped Rich because she wanted to appear innocent. She’s adept in a canoe. She could have gone out after Patty on that icy day and somehow managed to tip over Patty’s canoe without harming herself. Or she didn’t have to do that if she had already punched a hole in the canoe.”

  Tom squelched that idea. “The Royalsons’ canoe was intact when it was found.”

  “Still,” I said, “maybe Terri stayed away from Rich for twenty years until, she hoped, most people forgot her possible role in the murder.” Gooseleg State Bank was the one that had hired Cat’s Catering at the last minute for their Christmas party after Rich had hijacked the Gooseleg bank’s caterer for his own bank’s party. Did Terri have anything to do with that peculiar last-minute swapping of caterers, and if so, could her involvement have been connected to Rich’s murder?

  I asked Tom, “What about the man who was just in here, Hank, who is now Rich’s neighbor? He talked like he knew Rich’s late wife. He called her Patty. Do you know if he lived beside Rich and Patty when Patty died?”

  Tom shook a basket of fried donuts to drain the oil. “No idea, but anyone who lived or was staying out at Lake Fleekom at the time
would have been questioned about what they saw and heard. As I recall, no one admitted being anywhere near the lake when Patty Royalson overturned her canoe. Her husband reported her missing about seven that evening when he got home for dinner and discovered that she and a canoe were gone. It was already dark, but he and the investigators believed it was still light out when she launched her canoe.”

  I turned to Nina. “I wonder if the canoe Patty overturned was the one we saw on Rich’s cottage dock on Monday night, and maybe the one I found yesterday.”

  Nina added vanilla frosting pants to the Long John zombies. “The canoe we saw could have been at least twenty years old.”

  I spread orange icing on baked scare-it cake donuts. “Hank said he didn’t know about Terri twenty years ago, so he might not have known that Rich was having an affair.”

  Nina laughed. “It’s not necessarily something that people tell their neighbors.”

  “You might be surprised,” Tom said. “The things I’ve heard . . .”

  “Tell us!” Nina exclaimed.

  Tom only smiled, shook his head, and handed me a wire basket of mostly cooled donuts.

  Unlike Tom, I had gossip that I was willing to share. “I overheard the DCI agent say that they haven’t been able to locate Terri, either at the bank where she works or at her home.”

  Tom’s frown was grim. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “Ooooh,” Nina said. “Do you think someone did something to her? My bet is on that horrid ex-boyfriend.”

  Tom lowered a basket of cut-out ghosts into the hot oil. “Let me know if he comes in here again. If he does, one of you will take over the frying, please, and let me be his server.”

  We promised we would, but I had thought of another reason why Terri might have killed Rich. I suggested to the other two, “What if Terri killed Rich’s wife? Maybe after she was cozying up to him again, she guessed that he figured out she had murdered his wife, so she killed Rich, not only for his money but also to prevent him from turning her in.”