Evil Éclairs

by Jessica Beck

  I looked up and asked, “Because of my looks, my charm, or my general disposition?”

  She laughed. “All of those, actually, but also because you have Jake in your life. It’s been so long since I’ve dated a decent man I bet I’ve forgotten how.”

  “I’m sure it will come back to you. How long has your dry spell lasted? I bet it’s at least two weeks since you went out with anyone.”

  “That wasn’t a real date. It was dinner with Kyle Farrar, and I nearly fell asleep halfway through the appetizers. That man could bore the fleas off a dog.”

  “He picked you up, fed you, and brought you back home. That’s a date in my book.”

  “I still don’t think it counts, but even if it did, do you know how many second or third dates I’ve been on in the past two years?”

  I tried to think of all the men Grace had dated in the past, and while I knew there’d been a healthy number of potential suitors, she hadn’t really connected with anyone in quite some time. “I didn’t realize,” I said. “I’m sorry if I keep throwing Jake in your face.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “All I’m saying is that it must be nice to be you right now.”

  “Besides the whole murder-pointing-to-me situation, you mean?”

  “Besides that,” she acknowledged with a slight smile.

  “It would be even better if Jake lived here in April Springs.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Grace said as she continued to scan her share of the papers we’d retrieved. “If he moved to town, you might get sick of him, seeing him all the time.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” I said.

  “But do you think he ever will?” Grace asked.

  At least a part of my mind heard her. The other segment was focused on the document I’d just pulled out of the stack.

  We might have just caught a break in finding out who killed Lester Moorefield, if the clue in my hand meant what I thought it did.

  APPLE FRITTERS

  These fritters are delightful, especially when they’ve had a chance to cool a little. We have them with a touch of powdered sugar, but some folks like to add a little apple butter for a double whammy!

  INGREDIENTS

  • ¾ cup all purpose flour

  • ¼ cup sugar (white)

  • 1 tablespoon baking powder

  • 1 tablespoon cinnamon

  • 1⁄3 cup milk (2% or whole)

  • ¼ teaspoon salt

  • 1 egg, beaten

  • ½ cup chopped apple (something tart; I like Granny Smiths for this)

  DIRECTIONS

  Heat canola oil for frying to 360 degrees while you mix the batter. Sift the dry ingredients, then stir in milk and beaten egg. Fold in chopped apple, and then take a teaspoon of batter and rake it into the fryer with another spoon. If the dough doesn’t rise soon, gently nudge it with a chopstick, being careful not to splatter oil. After two minutes, check, and then flip, frying for another minute on the other side. These times may vary given too many factors to count, so keep a close eye on the fritters.

  Makes about a dozen small fritters.

  CHAPTER 6

  “What did you find, Suzanne?”

  “What makes you think I uncovered anything?” I asked as I continued staring at the paper in my hand.

  “I know you better than that. You look as though you’ve just been slapped.”

  “Take a look at this,” I said as I handed her the paper I’d found. The document itself had been an internal memo about the station’s next on-air promotion, but it was what Lester had written on the side that had caught my attention.

  “Be careful digging into Lacy Newman’s history. Don’t turn your back on her, and never forget that no matter how sweet she might look, she’s a killer. If she’s done it once, she can do it again.”

  The paper nearly fluttered out of Grace’s hand to the floor. “He finally lost his mind, didn’t he?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Grace looked at me as if I were the one who’d slipped out of my ties to reality. “We’re talking about Lacy Newman, the same woman who volunteers with the Scouts and cooks at the soup kitchen when she’s not working? Do you honestly think under any circumstances that she could be a killer?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. Everything Grace said was true. I knew Lacy pretty well. We’d been assigned as a team in the park cleanup sweep the year before, and I’d found her charming, funny, and the least likely person I’d ever met in my life to be a killer. “Why would he just make this up?”

  “You knew Lester. He loved fabricating stories to get people’s attention.”

  “He did, I know,” I said as I took the paper from her hand, “but you’ve got to admit that no matter how much he embellished what he said, there was always a kernel of truth in it.”

  She frowned at me. “So, donuts really are killers.”

  “If you eat too much of any treat it’s going to have a bad result on your health,” I said. “Don’t put me in the position of defending Lester, because I can’t bring myself to do it. All I’m saying is that there’s a chance there’s more than just smoke here.”

  “Wow, we have quite a list of suspects, don’t we?” Grace asked.

  “Do you have some paper and a pen?” I asked her. “We need to sort things out.”

  She said, “Not out here, but I have something we can use inside.”

  I nodded. “Then I suggest we move this inside.”

  Once we were in her living room, Grace reached into the drawer of a nearby table and pulled out a tablet and a mechanical pencil. “Will this do?”

  “Perfectly. Let’s see, who do we have so far on our suspect list?”

  As we discussed the case, I wrote down the names. In the end, we included: Lacy Newman; Cam Hamilton, the mayor; Nancy Patton, Lester’s ex; Sherry Lance, our only town councilwoman; an unnamed builder from Hudson Creek who had also been maligned by Lester; and Cara, his segment producer.

  “I still don’t think we should put Cara’s name on the list,” I said.

  “Come on, can you imagine working with that blowhard day in and day out and not wanting to spike his coffee with battery acid?”

  “He was strangled, remember,” I said.

  “Even better.”

  I thought about it, and then said, “Okay, she stays in. Wow, this is going to be a logistical nightmare, isn’t it? Grace, we are going to need to talk with an awful lot of people.”

  “Then we should get started,” she said.

  “I agree, but who do we speak with first? We know most of the people on this list. We can’t really keep using our article cover story to get them to talk to us.”

  She shrugged. “We don’t have to. The ones we can’t bribe with donuts, we ask outright.”

  “I didn’t think you approved of that style of inquiry.”

  “What can I say? It seems to be working this time. I’m willing to keep doing it if you are.”

  “Then it’s simple enough; when all else fails, we tell the truth,” I said with a grin.

  There was a pounding at the front door, and I asked Grace, “Are you expecting anyone?”

  She frowned. “Not that I can think of.”

  We walked to the door together, and when Grace opened it, we found George standing there. “Sorry about that, but I couldn’t find your doorbell.”

  Grace stepped outside and pointed to a button that had been painted several times over the years. “It’s right there.”

  “You can’t see it,” George protested.

  “That’s okay. I don’t really like having visitors, anyway,” she answered with a smile.

  I knew Grace could go on for days like that, but George wasn’t that playful on his best day, and this had clearly not been one of those.

  He dismissed her and looked at me. “Got a second?”

  “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  As we all stepped inside, he asked, “Where else would you
be? Besides, I saw your jeep in the driveway.”

  “You could have always called me,” I said.

  “I did. There wasn’t an answer. Check your cell phone.”

  I pulled it out of my pocket, expecting to see that the battery had died again. I was constantly having trouble getting the thing to take a charge, but the display lit up when I opened it. “It’s working just fine. It must be your phone.”

  George pulled his cell out and hit a number speed dial. As he held it to his ear, he said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not ringing on my end.”

  I looked at my phone and finally noticed that I’d accidently turned the ringer off. There was a button on the side to turn it off and on, and it seemed to be getting activated more often lately when I had it in my pocket. Maybe I’d better cut back on my own donut consumption if it was tightening my jeans that much. The next thing I knew, my pants would be calling Switzerland, and I didn’t think I could afford the phone bills.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t apologize. In all honesty, I’m relieved. I thought I was going crazy.”

  Grace smiled at him. “I think it’s sweet you have Suzanne on your speed dial.”

  George shrugged. “As often as she’s in trouble, it’s a good number to have on hand.”

  “I’d like to deny it,” I said, “but I can’t, since it’s true. What’s up?”

  “I finally found out something about Lester,” he said.

  “Is it about his wife?” Grace asked. I’d wanted George to be able to tell us about Nancy, if that was his information, but my friend had just ruined the opportunity for him. Having his contacts with the police department cut off had to hurt him on more than just an investigating level.

  “He’s married?” George asked with a frown. “I didn’t come across that yet.”

  “That’s why there are three of us,” I said. I shot Grace a warning look, which she finally saw. “What did you find out?”

  “Lester went to prison fifteen years ago,” George said.

  “Did he kill someone?” I blurted out.

  George looked surprised by the question. “No, it was some kind of fraud. Lester was an investment broker, and he embezzled funds from a handful of clients. By the time he got caught, most of the money was gone, and he only made partial restitution. From what I heard, when he got out of jail, the only job he could get was at a radio station sweeping floors. He started moving around, and finally worked his way into a time slot here in town.”

  “How much money are we talking about here?” I asked.

  George flipped through his notebook, the same type he’d used when he’d been a cop, he’d told me once. “Two point seven million dollars,” he answered. “They only found a hundred grand of it when they finally figured out what he was up to.”

  “Is there a chance he still had any of it when he was murdered?” That much money could provide two more motives for his murder, by a former client, or another thief looking for a big payday.

  George clearly didn’t believe that. “Have you seen the way he lived? I sincerely doubt he had more than a couple hundred dollars to his name when he died.”

  “It’s something to keep in mind as we’re digging,” I said. I suddenly remembered watching Lester eat once, covering his food with both arms. It had struck me as odd, and now I realized that it must have been prison etiquette, keeping others from stealing from his tray. How did I not know this about Lester? We all lived in a small town. Then again, some folks were better at keeping secrets than others. I got out our list and added two more categories to it: investors and thieves.

  George looked interested. “What have you got there?”

  “It’s what we’ve found out so far,” I said as I handed him the list, “and what we suspect.”

  After we explained what we’d uncovered, George asked, “Should we split this up, or tackle them all together?”

  “I’m not sure what’s the best way to handle it,” I said.

  He tapped the list with his index finger for a minute or two, and then said, “You two should work as one team, and I’ll work as the other.”

  “That’s not much of a team you’ll have there,” Grace said.

  “That’s okay. I can handle myself if there’s trouble.”

  “What about us?” Grace asked with a smile.

  “I figure you two could talk your way out of just about any situation, so I’m not all that worried about you. Let’s divide it up this way. I’ll take the crooks who might want to rip him off and the investors he bilked, and you two take the politicians. The rest we’ll get to when we’re through with the first round. How does that sound?”

  “Like a good plan to me,” I said.

  He nodded. “Good. Let’s say we meet at the donut shop tomorrow at noon and compare notes.”

  “Thanks for your help, George.”

  He tipped a finger toward me as though he were touching the brim of a hat. “Glad to be of service.”

  After he was gone, Grace said, “He really loves doing this, doesn’t he?”

  “It can’t be because of the pay. All the donuts you can eat is not exactly a living wage, is it?”

  Grace laughed. “Your donuts are good, but they’re not that good. So, should we get busy ourselves?”

  “I’m game if you are. Who would you like to tackle first, Mayor Hamilton, or Councilwoman Lance?”

  “Let’s go to city hall and see if either one of them is in,” Grace said.

  “I’m ready if you are.”

  * * *

  Since running our small town wasn’t a full-time job for anyone, it was often difficult catching anyone in city hall except Polly North, a retired school librarian who worked the desk as a volunteer. Polly was petite, barely weighing ninety pounds soaking wet, but there was something about her that made people listen whenever she spoke. To cross her was either brave or foolhardy, and no one escaped unscathed from her wrath.

  “Hey Polly,” I said the second I saw her. It had been a hard habit to break, not calling her Mrs. North, as just about half the town had called her at one point in their lives, but she was insistent, and Polly usually got what she wanted.

  “Well, goodness me. It’s the twin sisters from different mothers,” she said as she looked up from her crossword puzzle. “You two always were thick as thieves. You’ve never given up that bond, have you?”

  “Are you surprised by that?” Grace asked her.

  “With some I would be, but not you two. What brings you to city hall? I’m sure you’re not here just to brighten my day.”

  “Hey, if we can kill two birds,” Grace said.

  “I always disliked that saying,” Polly said, her disapproval evident in her expression. “Who on earth would want to kill one bird, let alone two? It’s a dreadful commentary on the human race that it’s in the common vernacular, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never cared for it myself,” I said with a smile, more for Grace than Polly.

  My “twin” stuck her tongue out at me, and Polly caught it. Her laughter rang through the empty hallway. “Enough foolishness. What can I do for you?”

  “We’re looking for Cam Hamilton and Sherry Lance. Any chance either one of them is hanging around?”

  Polly shook her head. “The mayor is in Charlotte for a meeting, and the councilwoman is most likely at her regular job.”

  “So we can catch her there,” I said.

  “You can always try,” Polly replied, “but I wouldn’t count on it. She spends more time in the field than you could imagine.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” I said.

  “It was good seeing you,” Grace added.

  Polly grinned at us both. “And why shouldn’t it be?”

  We were both laughing as we left city hall.

  Unfortunately, when we got to Sherry’s veterinary office, she was out on a call, and her receptionist wasn’t all that eager to tell us where she was.

  It appeared th
at we’d hit a brick wall, at least for the moment.

  I felt my stomach rumbling, and Grace must have heard it. “That pasta was wonderful, but it didn’t really stick, did it?”

  I glanced at my watch. “If I know my mother, she’s ready to put dinner on the table. Care to join us?”

  “I’d love to, but I have some paperwork at home I have to catch up on.”

  “I thought you were taking a few days off,” I said.

  “I am, but if I don’t do this, it will be hanging over my head until I go back. It’s tough being a supervisor sometimes.”

  “But look at the perks.”

  After I dropped Grace off, I headed home. It had been a long day, and I was looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Living with my mother since my divorce had definitely had its share of downsides, but one of the strongest positives was that I got to eat some of the best meals in town just for the cost of doing dishes.

  It almost made everything else I had to put up with worthwhile.

  Almost.

  * * *

  “Hi, Momma,” I said as I walked into the kitchen of our place. Our cottage might not be grand by most people’s standards, but what it lacked in size it made up for in character. There were beautiful built-in cabinets everywhere, and lots of wood trim that glowed with lustrous coats of varnish. I was thankful for everyone in my family who had lived there that no one had ever decided to paint the wood. The house’s location was another reason I loved living there. We were on the edge of a lovely park, and growing up, I’d been a special kid with her very own playground just outside her front door.

  My mother frowned as she saw me. Instead of a standard greeting, she asked, “Suzanne, you’re at it again, aren’t you?”

  “That depends. I have to know what you’re talking about before I confess to doing anything wrong. Fool me once, shame on you, and all of that.”

  “You know full well that I’m referring to Lester Moorefield,” she said.

  “What about him?” I was going to keep playing dumb as long as I could, and I was willing to keep stringing her along all night if she was game.