When I brought them to him, his eyes shifted back and forth like he was afraid that someone besides me was looking at him. He mumbled something so quietly that I had to ask him to repeat his question. He did, only slightly louder, but I managed to catch the words.
“I might have done something bad. Can you give me advice?”
Chapter 29
Did this nervous boy know where Jocelyn was?
I sat in the chair next to him. “What do you think you might have done?”
He nodded toward the kitchen. “When I was in grade school, Chief Westhill used to come talk to us.”
“He’s a good man,” I said. “He retired.”
“Were you a police officer, too?”
“No, but I know some. None of them are in here at the moment, but lots of them take their breaks here. Would you like to talk to one?”
“Maybe you can help me. I don’t want to be in trouble.”
I couldn’t guarantee that, but I offered, “I’ll try.”
“I didn’t think it was stealing,” he started. “Friends and I were at this new place to eat, Frisky Pomegranate, on the Fourth of July. My friends left before I did, and I saw this bag that someone left behind in the room where people put their coats and stuff. I peeked inside the bag, and it was full of donuts.”
I managed not to squeak, squirm, leap about, or shout.
The teenager went on with his story. “The bag said it was from your shop. I thought that whoever left the bag behind didn’t want the donuts. I squeezed one, and they were already getting hard, as if they’d been there awhile. But you never know when you’ll be hungry, you know?”
With a little smile, I nodded.
“I shoved them into my backpack. I thought I could share them with friends later that night at the fireworks.”
Although my brain felt like it was buzzing, I tried to keep my face neutral. “And were they good?”
A blush spread across his cherubic face. “I don’t know. I was just leaving that coatroom when this family with little kids came in and took jackets and things off hangers. The dad grabbed a blanket from near where the donuts had been. They didn’t say anything about donuts, but I wondered if they were the ones who’d left the bag there. I was kind of rushing away, and I heard a kid talking about going for ice cream before the fireworks. If the donuts were theirs, I thought I should give them back, but anonymously, you know? I was embarrassed about taking them.”
I said encouragingly, “I get that. What did you do?”
“I went to Freeze and left the bag on a table there, so if that was where they were going, they’d find it.”
“Did they?”
His flush deepened. “I don’t know. The place was really crowded. I kind of stood sideways to a table and put the bag of donuts on it. I was hoping no one would notice me, so I got out of there as fast as I could. See, at first, I didn’t think anyone wanted those donuts. But now I feel bad because if those donuts belonged to those little kids, they probably did want them even if they were going stale, and I don’t know if they found them.” He looked me in the eyes for a second before glancing away. “Do you think I’ll be arrested?”
“No.” I knew that the police would like to hear his story, but I couldn’t tell him why. As far as I knew, the general public, except for Philip Landsdowner and the murderer, who might well be Philip Landsdowner, didn’t know about the donuts surrounding the homemade skyrocket. Besides, telling the teenager to call a detective would probably scare him. Instead, I gave him the number for Crime Stoppers. “You can leave an anonymous tip.”
“They’d know my phone number.”
“That wouldn’t put you in trouble. They don’t give out identifying information.”
“Not even to the police?”
I said firmly, “Not even to the police.”
The teen gazed around the room as if he were hoping to find an escape route through a wall.
I suggested, “How about if I ask my police officer friends if you would be in trouble? I’m sure they’ll say no. If they said anything to you, they’d only remind you about not picking up things that don’t belong to you unless you are certain that someone lost them and you’re trying to return them to the rightful owners.”
He mumbled toward the donut on his plate, “That’s kind of what I did.”
I smiled to show I appreciated his attempts at being polite and respectful. “Kind of. Next time you come in, I’ll tell you what they say.”
“Okay. Thanks for the advice.”
I stood. “Anytime. And you can always ask Chief Westhill or any of the officers you see in here anything you want. They like to help. And think about calling Crime Stoppers. They offer rewards for tips that help solve crimes.”
“But, like, wouldn’t I be, like, reporting myself? I’m the one who took the donuts.”
Oops. Considering that he didn’t know the whole story, he had an excellent point. “Other times.” My explanation probably didn’t make much sense to him.
I went back to waiting on other customers, and the next time I looked, he was gone. He’d left cash on the table, so I wasn’t able to learn his name from a credit card. However, he had been one of the Fabulous Fourth Festivities volunteers. If Brent and Rex wanted to talk to him about people he might have seen at Freeze, they should be able to get a list of the teen volunteers from the committee.
Thanks to the teenager, I was almost positive that the crucial half-dozen donuts had gotten as far as Freeze after the birthday boy and his family had dinner on the Fourth. That family didn’t find the donuts at Freeze, though. Where had that bag gone after the teenager dropped it off?
Had Mama Freeze or Kelsey picked it up? Either one of them could have quickly stowed it in a tote or cooler. Or they could have tossed it in the trash, donuts and all, and someone else could have retrieved it. Maybe Philip Landsdowner had been following Taylor or Kelsey around, also, and had continued spending time in Freeze after Jocelyn stopped working there. Maybe he had stuffed the bag of donuts into the large back pocket of his photographer’s vest.
Maybe Felicia had met Mama Freeze there so they could go to the fireworks together. Gabrielle could have gone to Freeze after she finished her shift at Frisky Pomegranate. Had Taylor, like Gabrielle, gone to work between the picnic and the fireworks, and had Nicholas picked her up at Freeze that night, along with a bag of slightly stale donuts? Even Ian could have dropped in at Freeze that evening before the fireworks.
Any one of them could have taken that bag, along with a homemade skyrocket, to the fireworks.
The first chance I got, I joined Dep in her playroom and called Brent. He always recognized my number when it came up on his screen, but work sometimes prevented him from answering. This must have been one of those times. I left a message for him to call me.
At five, while Tom was putting things away in the storeroom and I was turning chairs upside down on tabletops, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but hoping that the caller might be Jocelyn, her parents, her coach, or even Brent calling from someone else’s phone, I answered.
“Emily honey?” Static clicked through the words.
The only woman who called me Emily honey was my mother.
“Mom! Am I ever glad to hear from you!”
“What?” Her voice faltered. “. . . bad connection.”
I spoke more loudly. “I’m having trouble understanding you, too. Where are you?”
“We’re . . . Click, buzz . . . this evening.”
“What? Did you say you’re coming back this evening?”
“We . . . click, click, buzz, click . . . evening.”
Knowing how much she hated spending more than a few seconds on a long-distance call, I rushed through my next question. “Did you say you are or are not coming back this evening?”
“Sorry. Bad . . . buzz, click . . . bye.”
The call ended. Had she been apologizing for the bad connection, for not having contacted me sooner, or for not
being able to get back to Fallingbrook this evening?
She hadn’t called from the phone she and my father shared. Hoping to get her, I tried the unfamiliar number. No one answered. My mother must have found a pay phone or borrowed a phone from someone she’d met at a rest stop. I could easily see her returning the phone to its owner, rushing to climb on board the RV, and driving off again pell-mell.
I found Tom in the storeroom and told him that my parents had finally touched base, more or less.
“You can go,” he said. “I’ll finish here and lock up.”
“That would be silly. I’m not even sure they’re coming this evening.”
“Are you going out there later, in case they are?”
“Probably.”
He headed toward the kitchen. “What are their favorite donuts?”
I followed him. “Grape jelly–filled.”
“Perfect. We have a couple left. Quince jelly, too. Do they like those?”
“Who doesn’t?” They were among my favorites, but the list of my favorites was about five pages long. Single-spaced.
We packed a half-dozen quince- and grape jelly–filled donuts into a bag and finished tidying, and then Tom left.
In our office, I tucked the bag gently into my backpack. With Dep’s exuberant help, I logged on to the computer and did a reverse lookup of the phone number my mother had called from. All I could find out was that the number belonged to a cell phone issued in the area code for southwest Wisconsin. My parents could be anywhere. However, if they were actually in southwest Wisconsin, were in the northern part of that area code, and stopped only a few times, they could be in Fallingbrook in a couple of hours. If my mother had called from somewhere else, including the south part of that vast area code, though, they probably wouldn’t make it back until tomorrow, if then.
My parents almost never took the straightest route. Those two could spot a sign advertising an attraction they would have to visit. We might as well see it while we’re here, they used to say when I was a kid traveling with them. Back then they’d had jobs they’d needed to return to, and we hadn’t been able to make frequent or long stops. Now that they were retired, those intriguing side trips could last for days.
I tried Brent again. Apparently, he was still very busy, and probably on his phone. My call went immediately to message. “I wondered if you’ve heard anything about Jocelyn,” I said into the phone. “I haven’t. Also, as I mentioned in another message, I found out something more about those donuts, maybe. Call me?”
I disconnected and tapped my fingers on the desk. Surely I could accomplish something useful while I waited for Brent to return my call.
I gazed down at the hopeful kitty sitting at my feet and obviously ready for the fun of pouncing on things all the way home. “I’ll be back for you in a few minutes,” I told her.
I walked quickly to Freeze.
To my surprise, Mama Freeze was at the front counter. “What can I get you, Emily?” she asked.
“Nothing, unfortunately. I can’t keep up with what I buy.”
“It will stay delicious in your freezer.”
I grinned. “My freezer is just about full.”
“Take it to your parents and put it in their freezer. Or aren’t they back yet?”
Felicia must have told her that, on Monday, I’d said they weren’t back. “They might get home tonight.”
“Welcome them with ice cream!” In the kitchen, Kelsey walked past the window in the door, saw me, and waved.
Wondering how she could be warm enough in a tank top in a room where ice cream was being made, I waved back and smiled at Mama Freeze. “I would do that if I was sure they were here.” I lifted one shoulder and turned slightly to display my backpack. “I’ve got donuts for them, just in case. I actually stopped in to apologize. I heard that someone might have left a Deputy Donut bag with some donuts in it here on the Fourth of July.”
“Who?”
I should have been prepared for that question. I didn’t want to cast blame on the teenage boy, but now that I’d said I’d heard that someone had left the bag here, I couldn’t very well pretend I didn’t know who I’d heard it from. I had told Felicia about the family. Even if Felicia had not told Mama Freeze that I’d been asking about a family leaving a bag of donuts behind, she still might. “A family,” I said, finally, “with several little kids, and I thought I should apologize for being the cause of litter that someone had to clean up. Maybe that was one of the last things that Taylor did here.”
Mama Freeze shook her head. “Taylor had that entire day off, thank goodness. I hope that day was absolutely perfect for her until . . .” Mama Freeze wiped her eyes. “But don’t you worry, Emily. Lots of families come in here every day. I don’t think anyone left a bag of donuts here, and if they did, they should do the apologizing, not you.” She gave her head a couple of emphatic nods as if to show me how important it was for whoever abandoned the bag to apologize. “And donuts aren’t all that messy, anyway. Now, if someone had left a bunch of melting ice cream cones in a paper bag in your donut shop, that would be a different story.”
I laughed at the image, thanked her, and turned to go.
“How about a cone to eat on your way home?”
“I’ll stop by for some ice cream to take to my parents when they do show up,” I promised, “but now I have to go get my cat and walk her home. On a leash. That’s easier said than done with an ice cream cone.”
Mama Freeze let out one of her belly laughs. “I guess it would be! Well, you know where we are.”
Three couples came in debating milkshakes versus sundaes or floats. Smiling at them, I went out to the sidewalk. I told myself that if Mama Freeze and Felicia compared notes, Mama Freeze might tell Felicia that I’d only been asking about the stray bag of donuts so I could apologize, and they’d probably think nothing more about it.
In our Deputy Donut office, Dep peered down at me from the upper reaches of her playground. Cooing at her, I removed Jocelyn’s résumé from the filing cabinet again and wrote down the address of the house where she and her parents lived.
Dep trotted down ramps to see what I was doing with a sheet of paper. “Looking for another cat bed, Dep?” I asked.
Meowing, she flopped onto her side on the copies of the Fallingbrook News. I wasn’t sure why I was keeping them. Maybe my parents would like to see this latest evidence of my fame. Or my infamy . . .
Dep wriggled, but I managed to snap her halter around her, and we strolled home in our usual stop-and-go fashion.
In the living room, I set my backpack down carefully to keep it from falling over and squashing the jelly-filled donuts inside it. I followed Dep to the kitchen. She meowed imperiously while I filled clean water and dinner bowls for her. I quickly downed a peanut butter and tomato sandwich and a glass of skimmed milk.
Even this close to the middle of July, the forested Fallingbrook Falls Campground could become chilly at night, and I didn’t know when or even if my parents might arrive. I changed into jeans, a red plaid long-sleeved blouse, socks, and red sneakers. I picked up the red sweater I’d worn the evening of the Fourth of July, ran downstairs, and collected my backpack.
Dep was at the front door, obviously ready to go with me. “Tomorrow morning,” I told her. “I should be back tonight at a reasonable hour.” Unless my parents regale me with all ten-plus months of their adventures since they left Fallingbrook at the end of last August . . . I locked Dep inside and headed out to my car in the driveway.
I gently placed my backpack and sweater on the front passenger seat and then drove about a mile north through my neighborhood to Jocelyn’s parents’ home. It was a charming three-story yellow brick Victorian with a front yard full of varying shades of daylilies, hydrangeas, and rose of Sharon. Like many houses in this vintage neighborhood, this one didn’t have a garage. A long driveway ran up one side of the house.
Three or four cars would have fit, but the driveway was empty. Maybe Jocelyn’s fam
ily’s cars were among the ones parked beside the curb.
Feeling pushy, I marched up to the front porch and knocked on the door. I knocked again. I found a button and pushed it. An old-fashioned ringing that was more like a zinnnng! sounded on the other side of the door.
No one answered. I pushed the bell for a long time. I tried the bronze oak leaf–shaped knocker.
Finally, I gave up, turned around to leave, and noticed a detail I’d missed when I’d gone charging, full of determination to speak to Jocelyn or her parents, up the porch steps.
Behind the porch swing with its cheerful floral chintz cushions, a bike was chained to the porch railing.
A blue bike with coaster brakes.
Jocelyn’s.
Chapter 30
Hovering with one foot about to slide off the top porch step, I gave the bike behind the porch swing a long, slow look. It appeared totally undamaged. Jocelyn must have arrived home safely Tuesday evening.
She had to be fine.
Where was she?
Brent had said he’d tell officers to be on the lookout for her.
No news is good news when people go missing, she’d claimed.
Wasn’t her bike being here a good sign? And no cars in the driveway. Maybe she and her parents had taken a trip on impulse, or maybe Jocelyn had to fill in, at such short notice that she couldn’t call us, for another gymnast at an out-of-town meet.
I called her number. She didn’t answer. I listened for ringtones inside the house but heard nothing.
I returned to my car and sat there trying to work up the nerve to take the long way to Fallingbrook Falls. Even if my parents were coming that night, they would probably be late. I needed to drive down County Road G again, sometime. Maybe I would be able to banish some of the ghosts of horror that occasionally drifted through my mind because of everything that had happened near that road—the shallow grave of my favorite grocer, a murderer returning to the scene of the crime, and me, nearly losing my own life due to trusting the wrong person.
I would brave that road some other time.
Jealousy Filled Donuts Page 18