When it came to food, Bubba’s Pumpkin Patch was not messing around. And although there were snack shacks and dining halls and ice cream barns scattered throughout the park, the biggest concentration of culinary offerings was along Apple Donut Lane. What Rodeo Drive is to haute couture, Apple Donut Lane is to unhealthy and delicious festival food.
Iron Mike’s Turkey Legs and Aunt Kitty’s Kettle Corn were on the left. Fantastic Funnel Cones and Chuck’s Chicken and Waffles were on the right. There was homemade fudge, caramel apples, chili dogs, and snow cones. If you were to die and go to a heavenly place where the food was incredible and just might kill you again, Apple Donut Lane was the spot. And the star of the show was, of course, Lucinda’s Famous Apple Donuts.
The fact that the simple and humble apple donut could be first chair for this symphony of smells and tastes was no small feat, and I was excited to meet the woman behind it all.
“Is Lucinda around?” I asked the older woman with light brown hair who was working the counter.
She smiled. “Not right now, but I’m happy to take your order.”
“Do you know where she is?” I asked.
“I know where apple donuts are, and I’m willing to sell you some.”
“I get the hint. Three donuts please.”
I handed her five bucks, and she handed me three warm donuts in a paper tray.
“And Lucinda’s driving the train right now,” the woman said.
“Lucinda drives trains? I thought she was a baker.”
“Lucinda does a little bit of everything around here.”
I bit into the first donut and made a fairly indecent noise. Then I looked back at the woman, who was smiling as if she’d seen this happen a million times. “Can you just tell me what the secret is to these donuts?”
“Sure thing.” She stepped aside and pointed to the sign behind her:
Lucinda’s Famous Apple Donuts… where the secret ingredient is love.
“I bet another ingredient is apples,” I said.
“And donuts,” she said. “But those ingredients aren’t very secret.”
“Well, you wrote ‘love’ right there on a sign, so it’s not exactly a secret anymore either.”
She laughed. “Touché.”
I sat down at a picnic table to eat my donuts. I supposed my investigation could wait while I enjoyed my fried rings of love. I was polishing off my second donut of the day, still trying to understand how something so simple could taste so good, when my phone buzzed. It was Mr. Clowder.
“How’d everything go with April?” I asked.
“She’s sort of a temperamental thing, isn’t she?”
“That’s why Stank calls her Little Miss Sunshine.”
“I’d call her ornery, like my bucks.”
“Well, the difference is, she does not like rolling around in her pee.”
Mr. Clowder chuckled. “You remembered.”
“It’s the kinda thing a girl doesn’t soon forget.”
“You were right, though, she’s quite the artist.”
“So it worked?”
“Heck yes. The illustration she came up with scared me it’s so good. I told her to take a photo and text it to you.”
I opened up my text messages, and sure enough, I had one from April. It was a photo of her drawing, with a simple message underneath: Now we’re even.
I texted back: Not even close.
Then I opened up the image. “Looking at it now, Mr. Clowder. I see what you were talking about. Beautiful but scary all at the same time.”
“Then I take it you’ve never seen her?”
“No,” I said. “I would definitely remember someone like this. Listen, I’m sure you’ve heard about the body found down at the pumpkin patch.”
“It’s the talk of the town.”
“I’m a little distracted with that right now. I hope you—”
“I understand, Hope. I may be sentimental about my goats, but I’m no fool. People murder is bigger than goat murder any day. All I’d ask is that you keep your eyes open, maybe show the picture around when you’ve got a few extra minutes, and maybe we get lucky.”
Mr. Clowder hung up and I studied the picture of our Ms. Jones while enjoying every morsel of my third donut. She had the high cheekbones of a model, but her eyes looked like they were made of stone. I thought of that psycho note left by the tree line. Bang Bang. Then I thought of Percy lying there in the pasture.
Did this woman do that? And if so, did that mean Mayor Wilma Jenkins was really mixed up in it?
I heard the familiar chug and whistle of the train and turned to see it coming out of the trees and slowing down to its spot at the little train depot down the street. And there was Lucinda, sitting in the engineer’s seat, grinning broadly. When everyone got off, a different driver took her place, and she strode toward her shop.
I still had one bite of donut left, so I didn’t get up. But when she got to the shop, the woman at the counter said something to her and pointed my way. Lucinda turned and looked at me, then her eyes widened with understanding and she walked over to me.
I stood up to shake her hand, but instead, she opened her arms wide and gave me a big hug.
“I remember you from yesterday. Sheriff Kramer said you might be stopping by.”
When she released me I backed up. “The name’s Hope Walker. And did the sheriff really say I would be coming by?”
Lucinda smiled. “He did, and he said I should answer any questions that you have.”
“He really said that?”
Lucinda sat down and nodded. “So how can I help?”
“First of all, why on earth do those donuts taste so good? And don’t tell me the secret ingredient is love.”
Lucinda cackled. “Well, although we do put an awful lot of love into our food, you’re right, there is more to it than that. But all I can say is, it took a lot of tinkering to get the recipe just right.”
“I was actually hoping the secret ingredient was love,” I said wistfully. “Or possibly rainbows.”
Lucinda cackled again and tapped my hand with hers. “Although I can’t tell you the secret recipe, I could show you around in the back if you’d like.”
“Are there sometimes extra donut pieces lying around that nobody will ever eat?”
“Plenty of those.”
I popped up from the picnic table. “Then I would definitely like.”
Lucinda led me through the front of her shop toward the production kitchen in the back.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said, “with all of this going on, why do you drive the train?”
“Because driving the train is fun! I like to do a little bit of everything around the patch. I designed the corn maze the last two years. Bubba lets me run the pumpkin catapult every once in a while, and working that haunted mine is a hoot. I learned a long time ago that the better I understand every aspect of the park, the better I understand the people coming here… which helps me put together the best food experience possible. I know I’m biased, but I think you’d be hard pressed to find a better food experience than what we have here at Bubba’s.”
In the back of the shop, a row of women in white hair nets and purple aprons were rolling out dough by hand. They all waved to us, and Lucinda smiled and waved back. And on a wall to one side were several framed newspaper and magazine articles, and even a few awards. The largest plaque stood out. America’s Best Donut. 2014.
I turned to Lucinda, who was beaming with pride. “You won the award for best donut in America?”
She gave me a funny look. “You didn’t know?”
“You’ll have to forgive me. I grew up in Hopeless, but I moved away a long time ago.”
“But you’re back now?”
“For a little while. And it’s a good thing, or I might never have found your donuts. They’re unbelievable. But how on earth did donuts from Hopeless, Idaho, get chosen as the best donut in America?”
“Simple. It was a c
ontest. And we won.”
“Now how about the more complex version?”
Lucinda laughed. “It really is that simple. But… it was also really hard. I’d heard about this contest for best food in America, and I decided that if I could make that list, it would really help put Bubba’s on the map. So I worked on that donut recipe until I had it perfect. Lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into that award.”
“Sounds like love really is the secret ingredient,” I said.
She winked. “And it sounds more appetizing than saying the secret ingredients are blood, sweat, and tears.”
Lucinda spent a few minutes taking me through the donut-making process, and yes, along the way I was able to gobble up some leftover pieces from the island of misfit donuts.
Finally, she and I sat down at her desk in a tiny back office.
“Don’t suppose you know who killed Wanda Wegman,” I said.
Lucinda frowned. “It’s all anyone around here can talk about. It’s just terrible.”
“Anybody come up with a good theory?”
“It’s all just guessing.”
“Any guesses better than others?”
Lucinda looked toward the door, then leaned forward. “The body was found in the pumpkin patch, so naturally people are thinking it may have been Kip.”
“Body’s found in a farm field, so it must have been the farmer?”
“That’s what people are saying. I see you’re not buying it.”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s just not a lot to go on to accuse someone of murder. People don’t just murder other people. You need a reason to murder someone.”
“You mean motive?”
I nodded. “What are people saying about a possible motive?”
“They’re not.” But Lucinda hesitated, like she was holding something back.
“But do you think there’s a possible motive?”
She glanced at the door again and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Love.”
“We still talking donuts?”
“I’m talking about Wanda and Kip.”
“They were in love?”
“Once upon a time, yes. Well, I don’t know if it was love or not. But they dated. A long time ago.”
“Who broke it off?” I asked.
“Wanda.”
“And you know this how?”
“She told me. Girl talk.”
“And what, you think Kip killed her in a lover’s rage?”
“I don’t think that, I’m just saying, it could have happened that way. I’ve known Kip Granger an awfully long time. I don’t think he killed her.”
“Anybody else have a reason to kill her?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I’ve heard Wanda wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with.”
“That’s true. That woman could argue with a mirror.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Bubba, Mary, Johnny, me… we all argued with Wanda.”
“About?”
“You name it. Wanda was a smart woman, I’ll give her that. The problem is, she thought she was the smartest woman on earth.”
“She liked to give her opinion about things?”
“She’d tell Bubba what exhibit to build next, she’d tell Mary how to merchandise the goods, and she’d tell me how to improve my food.”
“What did she and Johnny argue about?”
“Mostly which was better: Wanda’s World or Johnny’s Corner.”
“They were rivals?”
“In a way. Wanda’s World is full of old-school animatronics and hydraulics. Johnny’s Corner is all computerized. Jazz versus rock and roll. Different generations, different styles.”
“So Johnny was a rival…”
Lucinda shook her head. “But not a killer.” She stood up and checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes to close and I still have lots to do.”
“You’re closing? But it’s still early.”
“Sunday’s the only day during the season that we close early. Bubba and Mary want people to get home for supper on Sunday.” She winked. “I’ll tell Beatrice to pack up a few donuts that you can have for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“Or dessert tonight.”
“Ha!” Lucinda hesitated. “Listen, Hope. I just have a real hard time imagining anybody around here killing Wanda, no matter how mad she made them. You want to know what I really think happened? Probably some drifter. Some psycho. A person who came and went. And if that’s the case, then I don’t think we’ll ever really know the truth.”
Chapter Fifteen
After a five-minute walk through a dirt-and-gravel parking lot full of strollers and red wagons and crying children, I found a tall, good-looking sheriff pacing beside my car.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For encouraging people to cooperate.”
“I thought you’d be chomping at the bit to come out here and ask some questions.”
“You’ve been here all day?”
“I talked to as many people as I possibly could. You?”
“Only talked to a couple,” I said.
“Care to exchange notes over margaritas?”
“What are you thinking?”
“You want to have dinner at the Taco House and talk about the case?”
“Tonight?”
He shook his head. “Now.”
“Now? Alex, I’m a total mess.”
He smiled an easy smile. “You look fine.”
In this situation, “fine” was the same as a total mess. If I was going to dinner with Alex Kramer, I didn’t want to look just fine.
“No, seriously, I’m a mess.”
“I understand. Maybe some other time.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I want to… can you give me an hour?”
“My stomach’s going to be really hungry in an hour.”
I grabbed a donut out of my to-go tray and stuffed it in his mouth. “One hour.”
You know the movies where the woman takes a shower, does her hair and nails, and tries out fifty outfits all in a one-minute montage set to music? That was pretty much me. And when I got to the Taco House, I took one last look in the rearview mirror. Not bad.
If Alex said I looked “fine,” I would punch him in the throat.
I found him already seated at a pub table hugging the far side of the restaurant near the old jukebox. A pitcher of margaritas and two glasses sat in front of him.
When he saw me, he did a double take. And on the second look, his eyes widened and he stood. He didn’t say “fine.” Instead, I could see his mouth forming a different word.
Wow.
“Wow” was more what I was looking for.
He fumbled awkwardly around to pull out my barstool for me, then pushed it back as I sat back down.
I was nervous, so I downed half a margarita right away. He laughed. Then he looked at me again. And not the way a sheriff looks at the annoying reporter who’s always getting in his way. As he fixed his brilliant green eyes on my face, he looked at me that other way.
Finally he smiled and shook his head.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. I’m just glad we’re… doing this.”
“And by this, you mean comparing notes.”
He blushed. Which made me blush.
“Naturally,” he said.
“So did you solve the murder yet?”
He made a face and sipped his margarita. “Who do you think I am?”
“A guy buying a girl dinner so he can cheat off of her investigation.”
“You thought I was buying?”
We both laughed at that one.
“Any progress on your end?” he asked.
“I barely got started. To be honest, Alex, I’m not sure we’re going to solve this one.”
“A three-year-old murder with almost no physical evidence? This one’s a layup.” He shook his head. “Okay, not so much.”
“But only if you can blame the mayor in the process.” He smiled. “The Hope Walker Dictum: No matter what happens, always blame the mayor.”
“The Hope Walker Dictum. I like it. Is there an Alex Kramer Dictum I should know about?”
“Certainly. ’Tis better to work with a brilliant investigator than against.”
“You think I’m brilliant?”
He didn’t answer. He just smiled. Which I guess was his answer. “So, who’d you speak with?”
“Mary Riley, then I looked through Wanda’s cottage and had a good chat with Lucinda Meadows. Oh, and I ate several of her famous apple donuts.”
“Speaking of, don’t ever give me just one of those donuts again.”
“The first donut almost disappears, doesn’t it?”
“And then all I kept thinking about was where’s the second donut?”
“It’s cruel. You’re right. I apologize.”
“Get anything good from Mary or Lucinda?”
“Did you?”
“I asked you first. Plus, you’re better at this than me, remember?”
“So this is your new tactic? Flattery? Well, Alex Kramer, I’m happy to say it’s working.”
We both took big drinks of our margaritas. It was quiet. It reminded me of the night before. On the couch. And suddenly, the quiet made me nervous. And when I get nervous, I talk.
“Both Mary and Lucinda agree on the basics. Wanda Wegman was hard to get along with, but neither of them could imagine someone around here killing her.”
“Received that same message,” Alex said.
“Mary did say that Wanda argued most heatedly with Johnny Driscoll and Kip Granger. Lucinda says Wanda got in arguments with everybody. Bubba, Mary, Johnny, even her. But when I asked Lucinda if she could think of anybody who might have a reason to kill Wanda, I think I got some information.”
Alex’s eyes flickered. He was curious.
I leaned over the table and lowered my voice. “Apparently, once upon a time, Wanda and Kip dated. And at some point, Wanda broke it off.”
A Hopeless Discovery Page 9