by Jessica Beck
“Brand spanking new,” she said with a smile.
“Come on, give me more than that.” The shop was empty, and I’d been toying with the idea of closing myself. Our income still wasn’t what it was before Lester’s demise, but I’d begun to adjust my output to match it. We could limp along like we were for a while, but I wasn’t sure how long we would last on our lowered income. I could make the payments I needed to and cover Emma’s salary, but my own pay was on hold until this slump was over. I flipped the sign and locked the door. “I’m not letting you out until you tell me.”
She didn’t need all that much arm-twisting. “His name is Brian, and he lives in Union Square. We met at the outdoor concert in Hickory last weekend.”
“And how would I know young Brian if he walked through that door?”
“By the cuts on his arms and his face, since the door is locked, and he’d have to break in through the glass,” she said with a smile.
“So, he’s short, heavyset, and has a unibrow. One eye is green, one is brown, and neither one points forward at any given moment. Got it.”
“You are so off base,” Emma said. “He’s a little over six feet tall, lean, with the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Excellent. Just try not to let him break your heart.”
“You know me. Risking it all is half the fun,” she said.
Had I ever been that young and naïve? “Go on. You can take off. I can handle what little is left.”
“Thanks, boss,” she said.
After she was gone, I boxed the last donuts, barely over a dozen, and cleaned the racks and trays. I’d just finished the tables when there was a pecking at the glass.
Grace was there with a slight smile on her face.
As I let her in, I asked, “What are you smiling about?”
“I missed cleanup time today,” she said. “I can’t believe what happened to George.”
“How did you hear?”
“Are you kidding? You know April Springs. It’s all over town,” she said. “Is he going to be okay?”
“They don’t know yet,” I answered.
“I’ll go see him later.” After she spotted the box of donuts on the counter, she asked, “Are those for anyone in particular?”
“Help yourself,” I said. “I’ve got a little coffee left in the pot, but I was about to throw it out. You’re welcome to it, if your stomach’s feeling particularly stout today.”
“Could I pass and have chocolate milk instead?”
“Now you’re talking,” I said. “I might even join you.”
“It’s a beautiful day outside,” she answered. “As soon as you finish up, we can have ourselves a little picnic.”
“I can’t think of a reason why not, except for my ever-expanding waistline,” I said. “Give me three minutes, and I’ll be ready to go.”
“I’ll look at the paper while you work.” Someone had left their copy of the April Springs Sentinel, and I’d planned to recycle it. It contained few legitimate news stories, supplemented with lots of advertisements.
I rushed through the last dishes, drained the water, and then rejoined Grace up front, grabbing a pair of milks along the way.
As I approached her, she tapped the paper. “There’s something here we should consider.”
“Did you find an ad for a new dishwasher for your place?”
“If I did, I’d buy one for you instead,” she said. “Mine’s still managing to hold on, but I can’t believe you do dishes by hand in the sink. It’s positively barbaric.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that with my income level at the moment, I could barely afford the soap, let alone a new appliance. “There’s never much here at one time. Emma and I manage just fine.” It was time to change the subject. “So, what’s so fascinating about the Sentinel?”
She showed me the paper. It was an editorial about Lester Moorefield’s murder, of all things.
I started reading it, and Grace said, “Let’s wait until we get outside. If people see us standing in here, they might want some of our donuts.”
“Fine,” I said with a smile. I turned the lights off as we walked out, and soon we found a bench under a maple that was bursting at its seams with vitality.
“Now may I have that?” I asked, pointing to the paper.
“I’ll trade you,” she said as she pointed to the box of donuts.
We made the exchange, and I grabbed an apple-filled donut along with the paper. I wasn’t happy with it just yet, but if the customers didn’t like it, they didn’t say. I was constantly trying to improve my recipes, hoping to one day create the perfect donut. So far I’d come close a few times, but never managed to hit the mark. I suppose it gave me something to shoot for.
I started reading Ray Blake’s editorial. The man could write; I had to give him that. He’d inherited the paper from his father, but it was probably fading even then. To Ray’s credit, he kept hanging on, hoping for better days that I wasn’t at all sure would ever come.
“Murder has come back to our small town, not with guns blasting, but instead perched on butterfly wings. This week, as most of us were safe in our homes with the outside world of danger locked safely away, one of our citizens was taken from us. As more information surfaces about Lester Moorefield, it’s difficult to believe that any of us truly knew him. Though his voice filled our businesses, our cars, our homes, none of us realized how much complexity there was to the man behind it. We may never know the entire truth, but it proves one point with no room for doubt. This life can be gone in an instant, and no one knows who will be next.”
I looked up from the paper, my donut temporarily forgotten. “He knows more than he’s written,” I said.
“I think so, too. What are the odds Ray will talk to us?”
“We’ve had our share of run-ins in the past,” I said, “but I’m willing to bet he’d be happy to crow about his information. It’s clearly not that concrete, or he wouldn’t be writing about it on the op-ed page.”
“We don’t need provable facts,” Grace said as she took another bite of her Bavarian cream donut. “Rumors and innuendo are both good, as far as I’m concerned.”
I was about to agree when an Irish setter came bounding up, snatching my donut out of my hand before I could make a move to protect it.
“Sim, get back here,” I heard a voice cry out. When I looked, I saw that it was one of our suspects, veterinarian and town councilwoman Sherry Lance.
“I’m so sorry,” Sherry said as she caught up with her dog. “Sim has been laid up, and he’s feeling a little rambunctious just now. I’ll gladly pay for that donut I just saw him swallow whole.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I have more. You’re welcome to join us.”
As she slipped the collar back over her dog’s neck, she said, “No, thanks.”
“You say that like they’re poison,” I said, suddenly tired of having my offerings disparaged. “One’s not going to hurt anyone.” Unless it’s Lester, but that really hadn’t killed him anyway.
“One leads to two, two leads to six, and that leads me back to where I refuse to go again.”
“Point taken,” I said. “I promise to never offer you a donut again.”
She looked at me a second, and I could swear I saw tears in her eyes. “I love donuts. Believe me.”
“It’s kind of hard to, the way you’ve been acting.”
Sherry nodded. “I’m sure it is. Suzanne, I’m not from around here, so you’d have no way of knowing it, but I was a heavy kid, and I mean heavy. Donuts were my thing, and I could eat them all day long if I had enough money in my pocket. When I went away to college, I swore I’d change myself. I started exercising, cut out most of the things I loved to eat, and transformed myself into someone no one I’d grown up with even recognized. Since then, it’s been a constant battle for me. I know if I slip just once, it’s all going to be over for me, and I refuse to go back to being that heavy girl.”
I dusted off my hands. “I apologize. I had no idea.”
She grinned at me. “Why do you think I moved so far from home as soon as I graduated? No one knows why, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” I said. “Right, Grace?”
“I swear,” she said as she crossed her heart.
Sherry smiled at us both. “To be honest with you, it feels kind of good getting that off my chest.”
“We’re here anytime,” I said, “and if you don’t want to risk temptation coming by the donut shop, you could always call me at home any time before seven.”
She laughed. “You keep odd hours, don’t you?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Grace said. “How she found a boyfriend willing to put up with that I’ll never know.”
“Some of us are just lucky, I guess,” I said.
Sherry looked uncomfortable with the turn our conversation had just taken, but I couldn’t imagine why. “Is there anyone special in your life at the moment?” I asked her.
“There was,” she admitted, “but he turned out to be a rat. No, that’s not fair; I’ve treated pet rats that were the sweetest things. Scoundrel fits him better.”
“Anyone we know?” Grace asked.
I never would have asked that particular question, and I certainly never dreamed that she’d answer it, but we must have caught her in a moment of weakness. “It’s Cam,” she said so softly I wasn’t sure I heard it right.
“Cam Hamilton?” I asked. “What did he do?”
“He stood me up one too many times,” she said. “I’ll never forget the last time I took that from him. As a matter of fact, it was the night Lester Moorefield was murdered. He and Cam never did get along. I’m sure Cam wishes he’d been with me now. I could have given him an alibi, if anyone asked him for one. I was at a diner in Hudson waiting half the night for him. The waitress can vouch for me, but Cam’s on his own. Good riddance,” she said. “I’m better off without him.”
“I don’t doubt that you are,” Grace said.
“Where exactly were you waiting?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she answered.
“It could help,” I suggested. I had a feeling that Sherry was about to answer when her cell phone rang.
After a hurried conversation, she said, “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. It’s part of the joy of being a vet.”
After she left, with Sim firmly in tow, I asked Grace, “Was it just me, or was that alibi just a little too convenient?”
“It did seem planned. It was almost as though she wanted us to ask her about it. I wonder why she wouldn’t tell us the name of the diner? Maybe she didn’t want us to check it out.”
“Do you believe her?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. How about you?”
“If she’s telling the truth, Jake could track it down in a heartbeat. Who knows? Maybe he already has.”
“What, you two don’t share crime-busting tips on your dates?” Grace asked.
I nodded. “As a matter of fact, he just told me that Vern Yancey’s alibi holds up.”
She looked at me as if she didn’t believe me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, ma’am. He actually opened up and shared.”
“Sweet. Go ahead and sic him on Sherry.”
“Why don’t we hold off on that for now? I don’t want to go to the well too often with him. He might shut me out completely.”
“It’s a fine line you’re dancing,” Grace admitted as she opened the donut box back up. After thirty seconds of consideration, she closed it back without taking a donut.
“Getting full?” I asked.
“Me? Not likely. That’s all I want of these, though. No offense.”
“Trust me, there are days I can’t stand the sight of them. Thank goodness they aren’t all that frequent. We can toss these out and go find Ray.”
“Hang on,” she said as she grabbed my arm before I could toss the donut box into a nearby bin. “There’s no need to be so dramatic. I might want one later.”
“You don’t have to on my account,” I said. “I really do understand.”
“Suzanne, don’t make me get tough with you. Now hand over the donut box and nobody has to get hurt.”
I did as she asked, and smiled. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”
“That’s handy, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Grace stopped to put the donuts in the backseat of her car, and we made our way over to the newspaper office. It was time to speak with Ray and find out how much he knew about Lester Moorefield’s murder, and what he speculated had happened to the man. Hopefully it would allow us to eliminate another suspect or two and make things just a little more manageable.
When we got there, we found a note on the door of the newspaper office.
“Gone to a fire. Back when it’s out.”
I looked around and smelled the air. “Do you smell smoke?”
Grace tried as well, but then shook her head. “Maybe it’s somewhere else.”
“Or it might not be that kind of fire.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” she asked me.
“We could always wait,” I said.
“I’m not particularly good at doing that. We could get in my car and drive around until we come up with a better idea.”
“Fine,” I said. Before we left, I asked, “Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil on you?”
“Will a pen do?” she asked as she handed both items to me.
“That will be great.” I scrawled a note.
“Ray, came to ask you some questions. There could be a story angle in it for you. Eight is too late, so call before that. Suzanne Hart.”
Grace had been reading over my shoulder. “That should get his attention.”
“Did I tease him too much with it?”
She shook her head. “I think it’s exactly the right amount. Let’s go.”
We were back to her car when my cell phone rang. Was it Jake, or maybe an update from the hospital?
I couldn’t wait to answer it either way.
CHAPTER 17
“What’s this story idea you’re pitching, Suzanne?” Ray asked the second I said hello. “Did something happen to George Morris? I just left the hospital and there wasn’t any change in his condition.”
“I haven’t heard anything new about him, either,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
“I’m in my office, so if you can get here in five minutes, I can give you twenty if you need it.”
“We’ll be right there,” I said, and started to hang up.
“Hold on. Who is included in this ‘we’? Is Jake Bishop with you? I’ve been hounding him for a quote all day, and all he’ll say is ‘no comment.’”
“No, it’s Grace Gauge,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll talk to her, too,” he said.
“We’ll be right there.”
We found a spot in front of the newspaper office, and Ray answered on the first knock. “Come in,” he said as he looked up and down the street.
“Who are you looking for?” I asked.
“You can never be too cautious,” he said.
“Paranoid much?” Grace asked softly, but Ray must have caught it.
“Someone’s been following me around; I can feel it. I just haven’t been able to spot them yet. Don’t worry, though, I will.”
Once he was safely behind his desk, Ray started to open up. “The note you left was cryptic, Suzanne. Did you do that on purpose?”
“I wanted to get your attention,” I admitted.
“Well, it worked. What do you have for me?”
“I hate to admit it, but right now, I’ve got more questions than answers,” I said.
His face clouded a little. “I thought you said there was a story angle in it for me. You didn’t lie, did you?”
“If we get the right answers, we’ll let you know what we come up with,” I s
aid, hoping that I wasn’t promising too much.
“Sorry, but that’s the best we can do right now,” Grace added.
It seemed to work, though.
“Fire away,” he said as he leaned back.
“What do you know about Lester Moorefield’s murder that you’re not writing about in the paper?” I asked. That was an easy first question, and it could open the floodgates if Ray felt like sharing what he’d been able to find out.
“More than you or your boyfriend know,” Ray said.
For some reason, he was on the defensive. Maybe sharing didn’t come easily for him. “I’m here asking for your help. You’re sitting on something you think might be big. Do I have to even mention that George felt the same way, and decided not to share his information with me? You don’t want something to happen to you, too, do you?”
At least that made him think.
“You’ve got a point. What I’m going to say here is in confidence, however. If you repeat it, or attribute it to me in any way, shape, or form, I’ll call you both liars to your faces. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” I said, and Grace nodded in agreement, as well.
“Good. Here’s what I’ve got so far. Lacy Newman looks to be my number one suspect. I can’t prove it, but I believe she killed Lester.”
“I don’t get why she’s even a suspect,” I said.
“Are you kidding me? She’d do anything to protect her husband’s memory. Arthur Newman killed himself. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“I heard it was heart failure,” Grace said.
Ray shrugged. “Isn’t that what kills all of us, after all? It’s a pretty sweeping cause of death, and this time, it covered up a suicide. From what I’ve heard, he overdosed on sleeping pills when he heard there was going to be an investigation into his accounts at the bank, and he couldn’t face the disgrace. Old Doc Mooney signed the death certificate the way he did out of respect for Lacy.”
“We can’t exactly ask him, can we?” I asked, since Mooney had died years ago.
“No, but I found his nurse living in Sarasota. She wouldn’t testify to it, but she said there was something odd about the way the whole thing was handled.”