Jealousy Filled Donuts

by Ginger Bolton

  “They’d be stale.”

  “Then I don’t know who would want them after all this time.”

  I glanced at the appointment book lying open on the counter. Reading upside down, I saw a scratched-out name and my name scrawled in the margin beside it.

  Felicia turned her head and called to the woman under the hair dryer, “I’ll be right with you!”

  I quickly asked, “Could one of your other customers have picked up the bag of donuts that day?”

  Felicia made a slightly disgusted face. “Why would anyone do that?” She dumped change into my hand. In those lime green shoes, she hurried toward the other woman.

  I walked out feeling almost light-headed. I’d probably lost a pound of hair. Maybe that was an exaggeration.

  Felicia hadn’t really solved my problem. By now, Brent had probably figured out who the birthday boy’s family was, and he might have questioned them and found out other places where they might have “losted” the birthday cake.

  Meanwhile, who had taken that bag of donuts to the fireworks?

  Chapter 20

  Walking north, I brainstormed ways of sneaking peeks at the page for July fourth in Felicia’s appointment book, but my ideas weren’t subtle enough to keep me out of possible danger if Felicia, not one of her clients, had found those donuts and taken them to the fireworks.

  Mama Freeze and Felicia could both have been angry at Taylor for insulting Felicia, and the two old friends could have worked together. They could have lied to give each other alibis. It was hard to imagine, but nearly everything about Taylor’s murder was.

  On the patio in front of Deputy Donut, Jocelyn was chatting with customers. She obviously noticed me walking up the other side of the street. Smiling, she called out, “Checking up on us?”

  “Yep! How are you doing?”

  “Perfect! Enjoy your day off!”

  “I am!” I kept going.

  Farther north, I took one of the diagonal pathways across the sunny and neatly landscaped village square. Since it wasn’t yet lunchtime, very few people were on Frisky Pomegranate’s patio.

  I went inside and stopped to let my eyes adjust from the bright sunlight. I didn’t expect to find a bag containing six stale donuts and a slightly melted birthday candle, but what if I did? A lot of my theories would unravel and I’d have to rethink how some of our donuts got from the picnic to the fireworks.

  In her ruby-red minidress, Gabrielle appeared right beside me. “Hey, welcome! Sit wherever you want.”

  “Actually, I came to apologize. I think someone might have accidentally left donuts they got from us at the picnic on the Fourth of July in your coatroom, and the donuts might be attracting ants or something. I could clean it up for you, if you like.” Right, there I was, with no cleaning supplies. Maybe Gabrielle would think they were in my backpack with my wallet and phone. I probably did have some tissues....

  Gabrielle gazed off toward my left. “Ugh. I hope not. Let’s go check.”

  I followed her into a small wood-paneled room lined in closet rods. Most of the hangers were empty, but a raincoat and a droopy sweater hung from two of them. The birthday boy’s older brother had been right that only big people could see what was on the shelves. In hopes of seeing as much as a taller person might, I backed up as far as I could. My shoulder bumped hangers. They clattered.

  Gabrielle jumped. “You scared me.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” If Gabrielle hadn’t killed Taylor, she might think that I had, and being alone in this tiny room with me was making her edgy. Her possible nervousness wasn’t proof that she was innocent, however.

  Pointing at a short folded ladder in a corner behind a couple of umbrellas, I asked, “Mind if I climb up on that to look?”

  Gabrielle shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ve got to go see if any patrons have arrived on the patio. How come you’re not working today?”

  “It’s my day off.”

  “Lucky you.”

  I asked, “Do you work long hours?”

  “Very. But that’s how you advance, right? By doing a good job and impressing the boss.”

  Could she have been at work when the birthday boy’s family left the skyrocket birthday cake here? I quickly asked, “Didn’t you have the Fourth of July off?”

  “I had to work as soon as my duties at the picnic finished so I could have that night off.” She lowered her voice. “I told my boss that another of my duties as duchess was going to the fireworks.” She spoke normally again. “While I was working here that afternoon, though, I could barely hear what people were ordering over kids screaming in the bouncy castles.”

  “Did you get a chance to eat the donut we gave you at the picnic?”

  “Too fattening.” She turned to go. “Let me know if you need help, but if there are bugs or dust bunnies up there, I don’t want to hear about them.”

  “Okay.” She was gone before I could ask her what she’d done with the donut from the picnic. Or perhaps more important, what she’d done with the bag we’d put it in. That bag was the same size as the one we’d later given to the birthday boy with his skyrocket cake inside it. I also hadn’t asked her why the donut from the picnic had been too fattening when the one she’d eaten at Deputy Donut must not have been. Maybe it had something to do with her wanting to sit near police officers in Deputy Donut so they could hear her proclaim that she’d loved Taylor and was devastated by her loss. Maybe I was being cynical.

  I opened the ladder and climbed up it. Frisky Pomegranate was too new for dust bunnies. Except for the abandoned clothing and umbrellas, the coatroom was spotless. No donut crumbs, no forgotten bag of donuts pushed to the back. No ants. No bugs.

  Bracing myself with one hand after checking the final shelf, I wondered if someone had taken the bag of six donuts from one of these shelves and, if they had, if they’d left fingerprints. And if the fingerprints would still be there . . .

  I hadn’t seen any fingerprint powder, which didn’t prove that the police hadn’t already dusted the room for prints. Someone could have cleaned.

  I hoped the police weren’t about to check that room for prints. Now they’d find quite a few of mine. I wasn’t about to try to wipe them away, though. If Gabrielle came back and found me doing that, she’d be certain the room was full of crumbs and critters. Deciding to take my chances on having to explain to the police why my prints were in that room, I folded the ladder and tucked it back where I’d found it.

  Gabrielle was on the patio. “Find anything?”

  “Nothing. Sorry for bothering you.”

  “No problem. We’ve got lunch specials today. The soup’s French onion, and the meat pie is steak and stout.”

  “Sounds good, but I’d better get home to my cat. Another time.”

  “Hey, did you just get your hair done? Who did it?”

  “Felicia.”

  “Felicia’s good. Too bad Taylor didn’t appreciate her talents.”

  I agreed and crossed the street. I was about a quarter of the way down the kitty-corner path on the square when I turned and looked back. In that red dress and apron, Gabrielle was standing still, just about where I’d last seen her, and she was watching me.

  Like she’d seen through my story about donuts still being in the coatroom and attracting ants. After the picnic on the Fourth, Gabrielle could have carried her one donut inside its bag into Frisky Pomegranate. Then, after the birthday boy’s family left their bag of donuts in the coatroom, Gabrielle could have taken it with her and no one noticed, especially if she’d tossed out the first bag.

  I’d seen her leaving the fireworks shortly before the skyrocket cake exploded. If she was the one who had taken the bag of six donuts to the fireworks, she might have figured out why I’d been asking questions about her one donut, the family’s bag of donuts, and the hours she’d worked on the Fourth. If Gabrielle was a killer, I could have put myself in danger.

  Maybe she had never seen that bag of six donuts. She could have been watching me walk
away because she didn’t have anything else to do at the moment. Or maybe she’d merely been watching those two squirrels chase each other around the trunk of a huge oak tree.

  I had told Brent that the birthday boy’s family thought they might have left the donuts at Felicia’s or Frisky Pomegranate. Brent or another investigator could have already asked at those two places about the bag of donuts. That could explain Felicia’s avoiding giving me direct answers and Gabrielle’s possibly watching me walk away. Both Gabrielle and Felicia could be innocent of harming Taylor. Or, I reminded myself, either of them could be guilty. I walked faster.

  At home, I made a sandwich of Gouda, avocado slices, and bean sprouts on thick multi-grain bread and ate it outside underneath the pergola while Dep padded through the grass searching for anything that might creep, crawl, or slither. After lunch, I took Dep inside, grabbed the key for the padlock on my parents’ shed, went out to the driveway, and got into my bright red sports car.

  I thought about Brent’s offer to go to the campground with me. Company would have been nice, but he probably needed to work long hours to figure out—under Detective Rex Clobar’s direction—who had intentionally harmed Taylor. Besides, it wasn’t like going to my parents’ campground was difficult or painful.

  Unlike the morning of the Fourth of July, I had time to take County Road G, my once-favorite scenic route. However, I’d been avoiding it for nearly seven years, ever since the body of the man who’d owned my favorite gourmet grocery store had been found near that road. And then, five years later on that same isolated road, I’d had a chilling encounter with a murderer. The memory still gave me nightmares.

  I took the quicker way. About a half mile before the parking lot for Fallingbrook Falls, I turned down a wooded lane and into the Fallingbrook Falls Campground. It had been carved out of the forest when my grandparents were in their twenties. Underneath a shady canopy, narrow roads looped through the campground. The campsites were separated by thickets of trees and shrubs, which made them cozy and private, but the campground was also a sociable place. Whenever campers wanted to be neighborly, they could stroll along dirt roads and stop to chat with new folks and old friends. At this time of year, the campground was a green glen. RVs and trailers occupied most of the sites. I spotted only one tent. People waved as I passed, and I waved back.

  Except that the grass had grown, my parents’ site looked exactly like it had when I’d last cut their minuscule lawn. The concrete pad for the RV was still bare.

  My parents had rented the same site since before I was born. When I was a kid, we’d spent summer weekends and vacations in a series of ever-larger tents, tent trailers, and camping trailers. Misty, Samantha, and I had clambered over every inch of the trails, including the ones we weren’t supposed to, the dangerous and slippery ones next to the falls and close to the quickly flowing river above them.

  I wrestled the push mower out of the shed and rolled it through the grass. Shaded by birches and white pines, the lawn wasn’t particularly lush. The smell of cut grass and the sounds of the mower’s quiet blades and of neighboring children’s laughter brought back happy memories.

  Although the lawn was small, the site was large, hedged in by cedars and junipers, and there was a pit big enough for the bonfires that my parents loved to host, with lots of room around the fire for other amateur musicians and their instruments. A huge boulder had been my favorite climbing structure and perch until I was old enough to explore the campground and the trails around it by myself or with Misty and Samantha.

  I slotted the mower between garden tools and lawn furniture in the shed, closed the door, and padlocked it.

  On the dirt road beside the campsite, a vehicle slowed.

  I turned around.

  Spraying gravel, a small black car sped up and disappeared beyond cedars, but not before I caught a glimpse of the driver.

  I was almost certain he was that photographer, Philip Landsdowner.

  Chapter 21

  The small black car went out of sight. The driver had not been, as far as I could tell, taking photos.

  I wasn’t sure whether I should rush away, stay where I was, or drive slowly around the campground in case the man I’d seen was Philip Landsdowner and he was living here. If I saw him in a campsite—maybe the one with the tent?—I might learn which part of the campground to avoid.

  Searching for him would be creepy, though, and I wasn’t sure about hanging around, either, in case he returned.

  After a swift check to assure myself that my parents wouldn’t have much to do when they arrived besides park their rig, level it, and connect everything, I jumped into my car and drove away.

  Halfway back to Fallingbrook, I noticed a black car keeping pace behind me.

  Other vehicles got between us, but no matter how many vans, trucks, and cars came and went, the black car maintained its two-block distance behind me all the way to the outskirts of Fallingbrook.

  I loved my bright red sports car, but I was beginning to regret having chosen that color. It was easy to spot.

  And easy to follow.

  Maybe I had no reason to be alarmed. Still, I wasn’t about to lead that black car to Dep’s and my home. I continued north through downtown Fallingbrook. Patios in front of Deputy Donut and the Fireplug Pub were crowded.

  The black car was still two blocks behind me.

  It was time for some diversionary tactics. I drove up the west side of the village square and turned right at the north end of the square. Lots of people were enjoying a break on Frisky Pomegranate’s patio. I didn’t see Gabrielle. I turned right again and drove down the east side of the square.

  The black car made both of those right turns. Not only that, it had moved up and was only about a block behind me, and no vehicles were between us.

  I figured I could drive around the square again and again, and the black car would probably stop following me.

  I had a better idea.

  I continued beyond the south end of the square, made a sharp right, zoomed past a sign that said AUTHORIZED VEHICLES ONLY, and stopped in the police department’s parking lot.

  My back was to the street I’d just left. I looked at my sideview mirror. The black car sped past. I craned my neck around to see out. Tires squealing, the black car turned east at the next street.

  I hadn’t been able to see the driver.

  Slowly, I released my grip on the steering wheel.

  Maybe the driver had not been Philip Landsdowner. Small black cars were not exactly unusual. However, if the unknown driver had wanted to go east, he hadn’t needed to drive around three sides of the square. He could have turned east at the south end of the square and driven past the fronts of the fire and police stations.

  Reminding myself that the driver could have been daydreaming and temporarily lost his way, I backed out of the police department’s lot, parked near Freeze, phoned Misty, and asked if I could bring ice cream to the evening’s barbecue at her place.

  “Sure. Samantha, Hooligan, and Scott are definitely coming.”

  “Great!” My matchmaking was progressing nicely.

  She added, “I’m not sure about Brent.”

  As if I didn’t know him, I asked, “Brent?” Hadn’t we discussed a get-together that included only Misty, Samantha, Hooligan, Scott, and me? But Misty was hosting the dinner. She could invite anyone she wanted.

  She explained, “I thought even numbers would be nice.”

  It could have been worse. Brent was better than some random person she might have found for me. Brent understood my reluctance to become attached to anyone, except as a friend.

  Misty and I said our goodbyes. I tucked my phone into my backpack and checked my windows and mirrors. No small black cars seemed to be hanging around. I headed to Freeze.

  On the Fourth, Kelsey had seemed critical of Taylor’s sometimes being late. I’d caught a glimpse of Kelsey in the crowd leaving the fireworks display before the stack of donuts exploded. How could I get Kelsey t
o discuss Taylor?

  I didn’t have to. As soon as I went into the cute shop, Kelsey asked me quietly, “Did you hear about Taylor?” Her eyes were red.

  “It was horrible.” I meant it.

  There must have been a bell or buzzer in the kitchen that alerted workers that the front door had opened. Again, Mama Freeze backed in from the kitchen with a cardboard tub of ice cream. “What was horrible?” she asked. “Not our ice cream, I hope.”

  I didn’t feel like joking about her ice cream, which she had to know I loved. I said, “What happened to Taylor.”

  Mama Freeze set the barrel down and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. “Such a terrible tragedy. And to think, I was there only minutes before she was hit. If I’d only known, I’d have done something to prevent it.”

  “Me, too,” Kelsey said.

  Unsure whether or not these two knew Gabrielle, I didn’t tell them that Gabrielle had said the same thing. Instead, I clumsily changed the subject. “Felicia told me she was at the fireworks with you, Mama Freeze.”

  The ice cream shop owner had a wonderful belly laugh. “Felicia always complains that she hates fireworks, but she always goes with me.”

  Kelsey’s smile was wan. “That’s because you bring ice cream.”

  Mama Freeze waggled her eyebrows. “Bribery will get you nearly anywhere.”

  I asked, “Doesn’t it melt, even in a cooler?”

  “Bribery?” Mama Freeze demanded.

  I could tell she was teasing, but I clarified my question anyway. “Ice cream.”

  “Not if the cooler has dry ice in it,” she explained. “Wonderful invention.”

  Kelsey sniffled.

  I felt a little guilty. Our bantering was obviously making Kelsey feel worse, but I needed more answers, so I continued the joking, with a hidden agenda that I hoped I could keep hidden. “I see why Felicia likes to go places with you, Mama Freeze, even if they give her headaches.”

  Mama Freeze raised her chin and opened her eyes wide. “There’s my wonderful personality, too, don’t forget.”

  I smiled back at her. “Who could forget that? Felicia didn’t tell me what she brings.” Keeping my agenda hidden wasn’t exactly easy.