Jealousy Filled Donuts

by Ginger Bolton

  “We’ll check with Jocelyn,” Rex said. “I know you’ve already gone over all of this with Brent, but can you refresh my memory about who you gave the other two bags to?”

  I held up one finger. “One went to the deceased, with only one donut in it, and that one was decorated with dark blue sugar stars. She very likely didn’t aim a firework at herself and light it, but she could have given that donut and the bag to someone else, like her boyfriend, Nicholas, whose hand had been close to where the lighter ended up.” I held up another finger. “Another bag, also containing only one star-decorated donut, went to Gabrielle, who was the duchess on the Fourth. The two women were supposedly best friends, but they didn’t speak about each other the way best friends usually do.”

  Rex asked, “How did they speak about each other?”

  “Nastily. Gabrielle was in my car in the parade the morning of the Fourth. She seemed jealous of Taylor, who had made spiteful remarks about Gabrielle over a megaphone before the parade began.”

  Brent stopped scratching in his notebook. “Would either of the bags that you gave Taylor and her best friend have contained pieces of red icing, Emily?”

  “It’s possible that some came off one of the other donuts before or during the picnic. However, I definitely saw part of a red-striped donut at the base of that burnt-out firework.”

  Rex asked if I could tell him anything else about the birthday boy and his family.

  “The smallest boy had his fifth birthday on the Fourth of July. All four kids were blond, but he was the blondest. There was a girl about nine, a boy about eight, another girl about six, and the boy who was turning five.”

  Rex looked at Brent.

  “We’ll try to find that family,” Brent offered, “from birth records from five years ago.”

  For the sake of the officers who would be assigned that task, I hoped the blond boy had been born in or near Falling-brook.

  Rex showed me another photo.

  Before he could ask if I recognized the object in it, I told him, “That dark blue birthday candle is either the one I stuck into the boy’s stack of donuts or one just like it. It had been in the glove compartment of our 1950 Ford and must have gotten too warm and melted slightly. It was curved like the one in your photo. If it is the same one, it will have my fingerprints on it. My fingerprints should be on file from when I was a 911 dispatcher.”

  Rex set the picture down. “Okay, we’ve got pieces of donuts that you admit came from your shop, a bag that someone claims you threw out, and a candle that you admit probably has your fingerprints on it. It’s fortunate that you have very loyal friends.”

  I had a feeling I was supposed to smile at this. I didn’t.

  Rex explained, “They all say, independently, that you would never knowingly harm anyone. And they’re honest. Want to know how I know?”

  Not really. Guessing he was about to tell me anyway, I shrugged.

  “The four friends who attended the fireworks with you have told us that you left them after the fireworks display had been going for some time and returned to them a few minutes later, only moments before the firework behind Ms. Wishbard exploded. If they’d been trying to cover up your activities, they wouldn’t have said that.”

  I objected. “None of those four would ever lie to cover a friend’s activities. They spoke the truth. I did leave them for a few minutes. I went back to my car for my sweater.”

  “And that’s all you did?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t expect me to explain all the details of unlocking, opening, closing, and relocking car doors, did he?

  “You didn’t plant a lit firework behind the victim before returning to your friends?”

  “Certainly not. Did they tell you which direction I came from when I returned?”

  “From the hill above them, from the direction of the parking lot.”

  I just looked at him.

  Apparently, I couldn’t intimidate him with my calm stare. He pointed out, “That doesn’t rule out your lighting the firework, going up the hill, and then returning.”

  I ran my fingers through my curls, undoubtedly messing them up. “How long was that fuse?”

  “Different materials burn at different rates.” Rex nodded toward Brent. “My colleague here says he’s known you for a long time and he also does not believe you would knowingly harm anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Brent added, “And all four of your friends who were at the fireworks with you have confirmed that you weren’t carrying anything besides your backpack and a bag of donuts when you arrived at the fireworks that night and that they ate all of those donuts. They also say you didn’t have a sweater with you when you left them, but when you returned after a minute or two, you were wearing one. When I got there, you were wearing a red sweater. And your backpack, which you’ve already told me is big enough to hold the bag of six donuts plus the birthday candle.”

  I gave him a wan smile. “It is, but I didn’t take the birthday boy’s stack of donuts to the fireworks. Someone else did.”

  Brent nodded. Rex’s expression was inscrutable.

  Although I’d already told Brent about everyone I’d seen leaving the fireworks before the explosion, Rex had me describe them again. I pointed out that whoever injured Taylor might have gone down the hill afterward, not up to the parking lot. “There are other routes into and out of the fairgrounds.”

  Rex reminded me that the smaller Deputy Donut bag containing blue sugar stars, donut crumbs, bits of red icing, and a slightly melted birthday candle had been found in a trash can near my donut car in the parking lot. “It seems likely that whoever lit the firework that injured Ms. Wishbard did go up to the parking lot afterward.”

  I nodded. Thinking about Philip Landsdowner lurking in the parking lot after nearly everyone else had left for the night, I pointed out, “That bag could have been thrown into the can near where my car had been after I drove away. The person who fatally injured Taylor could have hung out on the hill looking innocent after he lit the fuse. He wouldn’t have to have been among the people I saw leaving the fireworks when I was returning with my sweater.”

  “Granted,” Rex said. “Are you positive that you did not throw out the bag in the photo, the one that you say is smaller than the one you admit to discarding?”

  “Absolutely,” I said firmly. “I’m guessing that the person who reported seeing me throw out that smaller bag also told you that he saw me light the firework. He couldn’t have, because I didn’t. Either he mistook someone else for me, or he’s making things up.” I glanced toward Brent. “I know I’m not the only person who was wearing blue pants and a red top on Thursday night. Probably about three-quarters of the people on that hill were dressed like that. And I’m betting that Philip Landsdowner, the man who claims he saw me light that firework and throw out that bag, also said I was wearing a hood. My red sweater doesn’t have a hood.”

  Rex had perfected a stare that could make people doubt their own stories.

  I had facts, sort of, to support mine. “There’s a picture of me in yesterday’s paper that was taken after the explosion. It shows me holding the larger paper bag before I scrunched it up and shoved it into my pocket. I had a blanket around my shoulders, so you might not be able to see that the sweater I was wearing didn’t have a hood, but I was definitely not wearing a hood when the picture was taken.”

  Brent looked up from his notes. “I don’t remember seeing a hood on her sweater that night.”

  I suggested, “If you haven’t already, you should search the trash can that was closest to the unmarked cruiser that Brent parked in that lot. I put a larger bag than the one in your picture in that can. When I brought that larger bag, it did not contain any dark blue sugar stars. The donuts I brought to the fireworks to share with friends were decorated with tiny light blue sugar balls. Some of them might have fallen off into that larger bag.”

  Rex glanced at Brent but didn’t confirm or deny that investigators had found
that bag and that it had contained a tiny light blue ball or two and was maybe smeared with blueberry jelly.

  I added, “If your forensics lab tests the smaller bag, the one that I did not take to or have at the fireworks, they might find traces of gunpowder or black powder or whatever was inside the thing that killed Taylor. But they won’t find any in the larger bag, the one I brought and threw out near Brent’s cruiser.”

  Rex asked me, “When the explosion occurred, had you already scrunched the bag you brought into your pocket?”

  “No. Could traces of gunpowder or whatever have landed on that bag, on people’s clothes, and in their hair during the explosion?”

  Rex threw the question back at me. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s possible.”

  Rex nodded.

  I told him, “I have copies of the papers with pictures of the Fourth of July activities in it. They might show that my sweater didn’t have a hood, and they might show that the bag I was holding was bigger than the one you found near the car I drove to the fireworks on the Fourth. You could come to Deputy Donut to see the pictures.”

  Rex said, “We have those newspapers.”

  “And I hope you have any other pictures that Philip Landsdowner took, including one of someone lighting that firework, because whoever it was, it wasn’t me.”

  “We have this.” Rex pulled another photo out of his folder.

  The picture was clearly of me. I was standing immediately behind Taylor Wishbard at the fireworks, and I was holding a stack of jelly-filled donuts, carefully, using both hands.

  A dark sticklike thing was poking out of the top donut, a sticklike thing that was also a fuse-like thing....

  Chapter 14

  I scooted forward on the faux leather for a better look at the photo Rex was holding. “I never stood right there behind Taylor before the explosion,” I said. “And I did not carry a stack of donuts like that when I was at the fireworks.” I glanced over at Brent.

  His face was almost expressionless, but I thought I glimpsed a touch of warmth in the gray depths of his eyes.

  I gave Detective Rex Clobar the full force of my most earnest expression. “Someone tampered with that photo. He cut me out of a different picture and pasted it into the image with Taylor in it. He even drew a fuse over the birthday candle. The original of that picture is in today’s paper and was taken at the picnic that started around noon on the Fourth. I’m wearing food handlers’ gloves and carrying that stack of donuts. I’m sure that if your forensic investigators enlarge the original image, they’ll see that the object sticking out of the top is a birthday candle, probably the one you found in the Deputy Donut bag, and not the fuse of a homemade firework. In both pictures where I’m carrying the stack of donuts, I’m wearing my Deputy Donut uniform. They’re only from the waist up, so you can’t see my black shorts.” I touched my collar. “But you can see my white polo shirt.” I folded my hands on my lap. “And you can see a Deputy Donut apron and hat.” I took a deep breath that wavered only slightly. “But if you look at photos taken during and after the fireworks and published in both yesterday’s and today’s papers, you’ll see that in the evening I was wearing blue pants and a red and white striped blouse, which was later covered by a red sweater. I did not instantly change into my Deputy Donut uniform, carry donuts behind Taylor, and then change back into my long pants and blouse while the fireworks were going on.” Maybe I was being too vehement. I added more calmly, “I’m guessing that Philip Landsdowner doctored the photo to make it look like I brought a stack of jelly-filled donuts to the fireworks display.”

  Rex asked me, “If that’s true, how did he know that the firework was inserted in a stack of donuts? That’s not general knowledge.”

  “He could have put the firework into the donuts himself, or he could have seen the bulky thing after it was lit, like I did. Having photographed that stack of donuts earlier in the day, he could have recognized it the next time he saw it or one like it. He must have been hanging around that hill. Also, after the explosion, there was a fair amount of chaos and people running all over the place. My two police officer friends who were assigned to the event were understandably more concerned at first about injured people than about keeping the crime scene pristine. When none of us were paying attention, Landsdowner could have looked at the burst tube, seen parts of donuts around it, and guessed the rest.”

  Rex said, “If the photo was taken during the afternoon, the colors would be bright and the sun would be shining.”

  “Whoever tampered with that photo made it look like night, but he didn’t quite hide the highlights where the sun was shining on me.”

  Rex suggested, “Those highlights could be from the fireworks overhead.”

  I argued, “This photo and the one that was in today’s newspaper are exactly the same except that this one has been flipped left to right and darkened, and a fuse was added.” I pressed on with conclusions that should have been obvious. “The perspective is wrong. Nicholas and Taylor are sitting on the ground. My picture was scaled down to approximately their size, so you’d think I was close to them, but if I was that close, my feet, or at least my knees, would be in the picture. However, I’m shown only from the waist up, like in the picture of me holding a stack of donuts at the picnic. I’m sure that the experts in Forensics will be able to determine that the picture of me was added to the one of Taylor and Nicholas.”

  “Could be.” Rex didn’t sound quite convinced.

  I plunged on in my own defense. “When Landsdowner took two of the pictures from earlier on the Fourth that are in today’s pictorial essay, Jocelyn, our assistant at Deputy Donut, was near me. Landsdowner cut her out and pasted in different backgrounds where she had been.”

  “Why would he do that?” Rex seemed genuinely interested.

  “I don’t know, but by removing her from the pictures, he has shown that he can use photo-editing software.”

  Rex looked receptive.

  I admitted, “If the bag you found in a trash can near my car is the one I gave to the birthday boy, my fingerprints will be on it.”

  Rex slipped the photos he’d shown me into the folder. “I see what you mean about your image looking pasted into the photo of the two people who were later injured.”

  Even though he was obviously very close to agreeing with me, I wasn’t quite ready to stop pleading my case. “I think you’ll also find that this photo showing the backs of Taylor and Nicholas is the same as the one in today’s paper. In that one, I’m sitting a little uphill and to the left of them and I’m wearing dark blue pants and a red and white striped blouse. I’m leaning back, and the larger paper bag was empty and on my lap. I could not have been sitting to their left and standing behind them at the same time.”

  Rex pointed out that Taylor and Nicholas might have been in the same positions in pictures taken at different times, but I could have moved.

  Frustrated, I reminded him of the discrepancies in the perspective and my clothing.

  I might have convinced him. He told me I could leave.

  I slid forward on the cold vinyl couch and stood up.

  Brent offered, “I have copies of those newspapers in my office. Shall we go look at them now?”

  “Later,” Rex said. “You’ll show Ms. Westhill out?”

  Brent opened the room’s door. “Yes.” Out in the hallway, he touched my elbow. “You and I can go look at those newspapers.”

  Chapter 15

  I had not, after all, avoided going into Brent’s office. Alec’s old office.

  “Okay,” I breathed.

  Brent tossed a quick look down at me. No one else was in the hallway. He said quietly, “That night was the worst night of my life, too.”

  At first, I thought he meant Thursday night, the Fourth of July.

  Then I realized that Brent fully understood my dread about going into his office. He meant the night that Alec was shot.

  I hadn’t thought about it exactly tha
t way, that the worst night in my life was also the worst night in Brent’s, but I should have known it, should have been less wrapped up in my own pain and empathized more with his. “I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “I know you miss him, too.”

  He guided me through another turn in the maze of corridors. “Terribly, and like you, I go over and over that night and think that if only we’d gone this way and not that, gone sooner, gone later, if only I’d moved in front of Alec or could have gotten him behind cover, he’d still be with you.”

  Again, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’d dwelt on my own guilt and never considered that Brent might feel guilt of his own. “You did everything you could.”

  “After the shots, yes, but could I have prevented his being hit? I’ll never know, but I’ll always think, ‘If only . . .’”

  I took a deep breath. “We can’t revise the past, no matter how hard we might want to try.”

  “And I know it’s not the same. I lost one of the best friends I’m ever likely to have, but you lost the love of your life.”