Glazed Murder

by Jessica Beck

  2½ to 3 cups flour

  ½ cup sour cream

  DIRECTIONS

  Beat the egg, then add the brown sugar and mix well. Stir in the remaining ingredients, except the flour, mixing well again. Then add enough flour to make it into a soft dough. Pull off 4 pieces of dough, each the size of your thumb. Roll half of them into short sticks, and the other half into balls. Drop them immediately into 375-degree oil, and keep turning them until they’re brown on both sides. Drain. You can dip the tops into sugar or a glaze, but I like them best plain.

  Makes 12 “stones” and 4 “sticks”

  CHAPTER 8

  “You look nice,” Jake said as he rang the front doorbell thirty-one minutes later.

  “I’m sure it would surprise most folks in town, but I do own a dress or two,” I said, “though I rarely seem to wear them these days.”

  “Then you should try to make the effort more often. I like your hair, too.”

  I’d curled and styled it after a quick shampoo, something I rarely had time for on a typical day making donuts. Besides, the hairnet would just ruin it anyway, so I’d grown accustomed to putting my hair back into a ponytail and forgetting about it. It felt good dressing up for someone, and I suddenly realized how much I’d missed it.

  “Shall we go?” Jake said, all but offering me his arm.

  “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Since I’m new around here,” Jake said as he escorted me to his car, “I was hoping you could recommend a nice restaurant.”

  I thought about it a second, then asked, “Do you like Italian?”

  He nodded. “That sounds great.”

  “Then you’ll love this place. The owners make all of their pasta by hand, but I should warn you, the ambiance is not what you’d expect.”

  “I think I can handle it,” he said.

  He actually held my car door for me, something that Max had refused to do, even when we’d first started dating. I slid in, and then Jake walked around the car and joined me.

  We sat there a few seconds, then he said, “I need some directions, unless you want me to drive around blindly hoping to find this place by luck. It’s fine by me, but you’re the one with the early bedtime.”

  “It’s in Union Square,” I said.

  “Oh ho, so we’re going out of town to eat. You’re not afraid of being seen with me around town, are you, Suzanne?”

  “Of course not. We can eat around here if you’d like, but I don’t get out much, and this sounds like fun to me.”

  “Then it does to me, too,” he said as he pulled out.

  “So, you don’t need directions now?”

  As he drove, he said, “I think I can find Union Square on my own.”

  We had to drive down Springs Drive to get out of town, and as we passed my store, I saw Max standing in front of Donut Hearts, peering in through the window. What on earth could he want? I kept repeating a silent prayer that he wouldn’t turn around, but as we approached, he pivoted and we made eye contact. It was just for a split second, but I could see his emotions shifting from surprise to disappointment, and before we passed him, I could have sworn I caught a hint of anger.

  Wonderful. My ex had managed to spoil the evening before it had a chance to start.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Jake said as we drove on the highway toward the restaurant. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No, I love Napoli’s,” I said.

  “I’m not talking about the restaurant, and you know it,” he said. “I mean second thoughts about going out with me.”

  “We aren’t eloping,” I said. “It’s just dinner.”

  “Well, when you put it that way . . .” he said.

  “That didn’t come out right. I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Jake nodded. “Your plate’s pretty full at the moment, isn’t it? Between making donuts and conducting your own investigation, it’s amazing you even have time to eat.”

  “I feel like the chief isn’t doing much to help me,” I said.

  “Or me either, right?” There was an edge to his voice, and I could feel that he wanted to clear the air.

  “Just for tonight, can we forget about all of that? I’d love to ignore what’s been happening and have a nice dinner out. Is that possible?”

  The clouds over his expression quickly broke up. “That’s fine with me.” He drove for a few more minutes, then said, “So, tell me about yourself.”

  “You already know all there is to know,” I said. “I’m divorced, I live with my mother, and I own a donut shop.”

  “Come on, Suzanne, there’s more to you than that. What do you like to do in your spare time? What’s your favorite book? Do you have a favorite movie? Do you like going to the theater, or would you rather stay home and watch something on DVD?”

  “My, my, my. Once a cop, always a cop.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As I looked at him, I said, “That sounds more like an interrogation than dating conversation.”

  I wasn’t sure if he’d get mad—I hadn’t meant to be so curt—but he laughed instead. “You got me. What can I say? I’m interested in you.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

  He started smiling, and I asked, “What? What’s so funny?”

  “That’s what I like, a bar set low to impress you.” He drove a little longer, then said, “To be honest with you, I’m a little out of practice.”

  “Come on, it’s hard to believe you don’t date much,” I said.

  He shrugged without really answering.

  I said, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll talk about myself, but that means you have to, as well. What do you say?”

  “Okay, we’ll take turns. You first. Theater or DVD?”

  I thought about it a second. “If it’s something epic and grand, a theater’s worth the trouble, but for romantic comedies, which are my favorite, I’ll take my couch at home and a bowl of popcorn.”

  “I can see how that makes sense. Okay, go ahead. It’s your turn.”

  I asked, “When was the last date you went on?”

  He frowned, and I thought for a second I’d overstepped my bounds.

  Quickly, I added, “You don’t have to answer that. I’m just being nosy.”

  “No, I’ll tell you. I just wasn’t planning to bring it up, at least not tonight.”

  “Then don’t. It’s okay, I promise.”

  He took a deep breath, then said, “I gave you my word. The last date I was on was three years ago, come June tenth.”

  “That must have been some date,” I said.

  “It was. My wife and I were celebrating our tenth-year wedding anniversary, and as we were driving home from the restaurant, a drunk driver blindsided us. She died on the spot.” Tears were carelessly tracking down his cheeks.

  I felt suddenly very small. “Jake, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I’ve got such a big mouth.”

  He wiped at his eyes with his free hand, then he said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil the evening.”

  “You haven’t,” I said.

  We drove on in silence, and I broke it only to give him directions until we arrived at Napoli’s.

  When he stopped the car, I put a hand on his arm and said, “We don’t have to do this tonight. It’s all right. I understand if you’d like to cancel and take me back home.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to have dinner. It’s time I put all of that behind me and got on with my life. That’s why I asked you out in the first place.” He suddenly smiled, giving me the soft whisper of a grin. “Besides, I’m starving.”

  “So am I,” I admitted.

  “Then let’s eat.”

  As we walked across the parking lot to the front door, I marveled that Jake had layers and levels I hadn’t even guessed at. He was taking a big step going out with me tonight, and I was going to make sure it was memorable. I promised myself that I’d be the mos
t charming dinner companion in the history of modern dating. After what he’d been through, the least I could do was try to make this the most positive experience possible.

  “Hey, this is nice,” Jake said as we walked into the restaurant.

  I’d been watching his face to see his reaction, and was pleased with his smile. Napoli’s looked like any other building in a strip mall anywhere in America, at least from the outside. But once we walked through the front door, that all changed. Murals of Italy greeted us as we walked in, and a fountain gurgled pleasantly in one corner of the vestibule. The deep red carpet was lush, and the fixtures were all faded brass. I tried to eat there at least once every few months since my divorce. It was nice to get out of April Springs now and then, just to confirm that there was a world beyond my small town, though some folks would say that Union Square barely qualified as someplace different.

  Maria DeAngelis, one of the owner’s daughters, was working the front tonight, and she offered me a tender smile and a quick hug the second she saw me. Barely into her twenties, she was a real Italian beauty, with jet-black hair, large brown eyes, skin the color of olive oil, and a figure I could only dream about owning myself.

  “Suzanne, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Hi, Maria. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Jake Bishop.”

  She offered Jake her hand, and I could tell he was disappointed he wouldn’t be getting a hug himself. I didn’t blame him one bit.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jake.”

  “Thanks, it’s a pleasure meeting you, too.”

  Maria grabbed a couple of menus, then she led us through the entry into the dining room. It was twice as large as anyone would expect, and the first time I’d been there, I’d asked idly how they had room for a kitchen. That had led to a grand tour, given by the matriarch herself, Angelica DeAngelis, the Angel’s Angel. With four daughters all working shifts at the restaurant at various times, Angelica always managed to smile, even though life had dealt her more than her share of hardships. We’d become friends on that first visit, and it had felt as though we’d known each other for years from the very start, and were just renewing a relationship instead of starting a brand-new one.

  Maria gave us her best table, which wasn’t difficult, since Jake and I were the first ones there. It was something I was used to, but it was pretty clear Jake wasn’t.

  As he held my chair for me, I said, “I know it feels odd at first, but it’s really kind of nice when you eat early. There’s no feeling of being rushed, or crowded by too many other diners.”

  “I can see it has its advantages.”

  After Maria left us with our menus, we were alone all of two minutes before Tianna came by. She was two years older than her sister, and the girls had grown close enough in appearance to look like twins.

  “Suzanne, how nice to see you again,” she said.

  “Tianna, this is Jake.”

  He actually stood this time, and I wondered if he was hoping to capture an elusive hug, but if that was his goal, he was thwarted when she offered a hand, as well.

  After he was reseated, Tianna asked, “Would you like more time to look over the menu? I can start you with something from the bar.”

  “I’ll have water, no lemon,” I said.

  Jake said, “That sounds good.”

  “You don’t drink?” I asked Jake.

  “A little red wine with dinner is all I want, but don’t hold back on my account.”

  I shook my head and laughed gently. “Some wine sounds good.”

  Tianna said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Jake looked at the menu, a heavy affair with thick pages filled with dozens of Italian delights. As he studied the offerings, he asked, “What’s good here?”

  “Everything,” I said.

  “That doesn’t help.” He gestured to my menu, still closed and sitting on the edge of the table. “What are you going to have?”

  “A house salad, and an order of ravioli,” I said.

  He frowned. “I never liked that stuff.”

  “Let me guess. Your only experience with it so far is what you get out of a can, right?”

  He nodded. “Once was enough. I took some camping, and it was a toss-up which was tastier, the ravioli, or the label on the can. No, thanks.”

  “Fine, but when you taste one of mine, don’t you dare ask for more, because I won’t be in the mood to share.”

  He put his hands up. “Trust me, that’s not going to be a problem.”

  Tianna was back with a bottle of red house wine, and after she poured us both glasses, she brought a pair of ice waters, as well. “Are you ready to order, or would you like more time?”

  Jake looked at me, and I said, “I’ll have a house salad and the cheese ravioli.”

  Tianna grinned at me. “I don’t even need to ask anymore, do I?”

  “Hey, why mess with perfection?”

  She looked at Jake, who said, “I believe I’ll have the spaghetti and meatballs, with a house salad, too.”

  Tianna nodded. “I’ll bring some bread and olive oil in a minute,” she said as she departed.

  Jake looked around, soaking up the ambiance of the place, and I spent the time studying him. He hadn’t changed after work, but then again, since he wore a suit instead of a uniform, there had been no need. I’d seen him several times over the past few days, but somehow, this was a different man with me tonight. He was attentive, polite, and appeared to be interested in whatever I had to say. In other words, a perfect date, at least so far. I still couldn’t believe I was going out with a state policeman who was investigating a murder I was involved with, even if it was just around the edges.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, and I realized that he’d been watching me for more than a few moments himself.

  I couldn’t very well tell him. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but that’s not what you were thinking about.”

  I smiled at him softly. “So, you’re a human polygraph all of a sudden?”

  He blushed slightly, something that I found charming. “There’s nothing all of a sudden about it.”

  “Let me guess, you have the power to read people’s thoughts.”

  I’d said it jokingly, but he simply nodded. “It comes from years of training, and experience working in the field. Some people call it good instincts, but I think it’s trainable, and I’ve been honing my skills ever since I first became a cop.”

  I took a sip of wine, then I said, “What made you join the police force?”

  He shrugged. “My dad was a cop, and his dad, too. It seemed like a natural thing to do.”

  I’d been watching his face, and it was obvious there was more to the story than he was willing to share. “But that’s not the only reason, is it?”

  Jake paused a moment or two, then he said, “I’m not the only one who can read people, am I?”

  I laughed out loud at that. “And to think that I haven’t had any training at all.”

  “What can I say? For some people, it’s a natural gift.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I pressed him.

  “No, I didn’t, did I?” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he replied, but no further information was forthcoming, so I let it drop and focused on enjoying this rare treat, a night out with a man who wasn’t just a friend marking time.

  The salads were good, but nothing spectacular, but then our main courses came. My ravioli, white and pristine under a layer of lush red marinara sauce, looked just as good as it always did, but I had to admit, Jake’s dinner looked good, too.

  “Enjoy,” Tianna said.

  “We will,” I replied.

  Jake put some freshly grated parmesan cheese on his spaghetti, and I added a bit to my ravioli, as well. I didn’t take a bite, though. I wanted to see what Jake thought of his meal. I knew Angelica and two of her other daughters were working the kitchen, creating their magic out of the most basic ingredient
s, and I wondered why the place wasn’t even more popular than it was. I supposed too many people let the exterior fool them, and didn’t dig deep enough to find the gem within.

  Jake’s face transformed as he took his first bite. His look of sheer pleasure had been worth delaying my own meal.

  “This is incredible,” he said. “I’ve been to Little Italy in New York, and I’ve never had anything this good.”

  “Angelica is a wizard with pasta,” I said. It was time to take my first bite, as well. I cut one of the hand-formed raviolis, dipped its exposed edge in sauce, then I took a bite. The cheeses inside, melted perfectly, exploded in my mouth, and the pasta shell, lightly enhanced by the marinara, danced across my tongue.

  “That looks good,” Jake admitted reluctantly.

  “It’s cruel, but I’m going to give you one bite, and one bite only,” I said.

  I grabbed a clean fork, speared one of the ravioli squares, and handed it to him.

  As he ate it, I watched him savor the bite before he said, “Okay, I was wrong. Yours is even better than mine.”

  “Too bad, because that’s all you’re getting.”

  “I could always add some to my order,” he said, smiling.

  “If you do, you’ll have to share it with me.”

  Jake said, “I admire that.”

  “What, my ability to eat?”

  “No,” he said, “your willingness to stuff yourself in front of me.”

  That generated a laugh he deserved. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s nothing coy about me. Mind if I snag a bite of yours?”

  “I guess it’s only fair,” he said. I didn’t know if he was feigning his reluctance, or if it was real, but I didn’t care. He had to make up for my lost pasta he’d sampled. The spaghetti and meatball combination was good, but not as good as mine, I was happy to see.

  “You really enjoy your food, don’t you?” he asked.

  “I do when I’m eating here. It makes a great change from donuts, not that I don’t love them, too. It’s a constant battle between my waistline and my appetite.”

  “How’d you happen to get into the donut business?” he asked. “Is it a family tradition like mine?”

  “No,” I said with a smile. “I bought the place as a part of an overhaul of my life. I never had a bit of interest in donuts until the day I bought the shop.”