Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3)

by Janel Gradowski

  The awkward sprint back to her car left her panting and sweating as she emerged from the alley and bolted around the front of the Mini. She fumbled the key fob, almost dropped it, but finally unlocked the doors and made it into the safety of her car. She gulped in air as she started the engine and slammed the gearshift into drive. The car lurched to the corner. She felt as if she was riding with Carla, who seemed to channel a race-car driver whenever she got behind the wheel. Unfortunately Amy's less-tuned driving skills were in charge of the Mini. It was not a good time to get in an accident. She checked for oncoming cars then rolled around the corner onto Main Street.

  The Man in Black had entered the seventh door. Amy tapped the brakes as she neared the shop. At least half a dozen cars were parked in the spaces in front of The Inkwell. The store was ablaze with lights. She could see people perusing the bookshelves inside. A blue, electronic Open sign blinked in the front window. If the back room was being ransacked, the perpetrator would have to be extremely quiet to evade detection in a shop filled with customers.

  Amy stomped on the brake pedal. She had almost driven through the intersection. Overhead the stoplight was still blinking red. Stop. Check for other vehicles—then proceed with caution. The light didn't start its usual green, yellow, red sequence until 6:00 a.m. Why was a bookstore open and full of customers when most people were still slamming the snooze button on their alarm clocks?

  Sophie's car sat behind the café when Amy whipped into the parking spot beside it. Dawn was rolling in. The sky had lightened to a medium blue. She could see Sophie staring at her from the driver's seat of her car. They emerged from their vehicles simultaneously.

  Sophie called over the top of the Mini, "Oh my God. I thought something had happened when I saw your car wasn't here. Are you okay?"

  Amy nodded as she strode around the front of the Mini Cooper to join Sophie. "I'm fine. I didn't mean to worry you. After everything that's happened, I didn't feel comfortable sitting back here in my car, so I took a drive around the neighborhood. Sorry, I lost track of time."

  "Since it's dark, I'm guessing you didn't see much."

  "The different light can give you an interesting perspective."

  Sophie raised an eyebrow at Amy's attempt at a philosophical musing. Hopefully the odd remark threw her off, because the truth would only upset her even more. Amy sighed with relief after Sophie turned on the kitchen lights to reveal that everything was once again untouched. Before she could even tie on her apron, one of Sophie's assistants arrived for work. They were officially running extremely late.

  Had Amy's ambitious imagination gotten the best of her after being left alone to play in the dark? The customers she could see through The Inkwell's front window were all calmly studying bookshelves. So it seemed very likely that the scary man in the alley was an employee reporting to work. The biggest question was why did the business have such unconventional hours? Maybe because it was a front for a band of night owl computer hackers.

  As soon as Amy had a spare moment to take a break, she called Shepler. She described both the Superman shirt-wearing man she and Bridget had observed going into the front door of The Inkwell, along with the more disturbing, stealthy back door caller to the same business. Both men seemed suspicious to her. Even though she and Shepler were both talking on cell phones, she could clearly hear him snort when she suggested he check out the store as being either a victim or, more likely, a haven for the hacker. Because it was a new business, the owner could've gotten creative with financing the venture.

  "I'm sorry," he said after doing his pig imitation. "I need a more solid reason to look into the store than you thinking fashion-challenged comic book fans look scary. Since the place turned out to be open and none of the customers that you could see through the window were reacting to a disturbance, I think the guy in the alley was an employee, like you said. If you can find something more substantial, I'll check the place out."

  * * *

  Amy had vacated the parking spot behind the café to make room for the workers that were arriving for the evening shifts. As she waited at the stoplight to cross to the other side of Main Street, Amy thought about the excuse she had come up with to explain why she was shopping at a comic book store. She would say she wanted a book for a niece training to be a chef. It would be interesting to see what the bookshop employees would recommend for the fictional relative. Heck, if she was going to pretend to look for a present for a pretend relative, the book might as well be one she might be interested in too.

  When the stoplight turned green, Amy continued driving toward the neighborhood where the mysterious man had emerged the previous morning. There was a tiny public parking lot between an insurance agency and a dance studio on the back side of the block where a building had burned close to a dozen years earlier.

  She pulled into the lot. Woohoo! Her luck was at the buy-a-lottery-ticket level. There was an open space in the usually full lot. Her Mini fit tidily into the miraculously available narrow spot being squeezed by SUVs parked on the lines on both sides. She had to do a sideways shimmy after crawling out of her car like a contortionist, but it was worth it. The lot opened into the alley she had hidden in the previous morning. In broad daylight, she could easily stroll through, pretending it was a shortcut but really looking for clues. What exactly a clue would be, she hadn't a clue.

  Amy's fingers closed around the cylinder of pepper spray that was now living in the front pocket of her pink paisley-patterned purse. It was the middle of the day. Most of the shadows were gone, but there were still plenty of hiding places for bad guys behind dumpsters and employee vehicles. She strolled through the passageway, glancing up at the name placards above the doors. A slightly lighter spot of tan paint on the wall beside The Inkwell's door drew her attention.

  She stopped. A shadow of dark paint showed through the drippy latex patch. It looked like a dollar sign. As she moved down the alley toward the next street there was one more discolored patch of paint on the door of a candy store. Garbage bags overflowed from the nearby dumpster and spilled over into the alley. Near the end of the row of businesses, on the wall next to a vegetarian restaurant's back entrance, there was a dollar sign drawn with red spray paint.

  She grabbed a ballpoint pen and a crumpled receipt out of her purse then scribbled the names of the businesses marked with the dollar signs on the back of the wrinkled strip of paper. Shepler might not think there was a hive of evil geniuses congregating at The Inkwell, but he couldn't deny that businesses were being marked. Could the vertical line on the back of Riverbend be the start of a dollar sign that wasn't completed because Sophie had arrived for work? Amy came out the end of the alley. She took a deep breath. The restaurant's dumpster had become even more fragrant after being cooked for over a day in higher than normal summer temperatures.

  After stashing the note back in her purse, she rounded the corner onto the sidewalk along Main Street. There was a Closed sign in the front window of the marked restaurant that was usually bustling with the late lunch crowd at that time of day. The dining room was dark, but she caught a glimpse of someone pushing a mop through the propped-open doorway to the brightly lit kitchen. Amy continued on. She stopped to admire the display in the front window of the candy shop with the overflowing dumpster. Large glass jars were filled with hard candies that looked like edible jewels. In the background, a clerk slid a credit card through the terminal next to the cash register over and over. The marked stores both seemed to be having problems. What would she find at The Inkwell?

  Curiosity ratcheted up her pace. She stopped in front of the comic book store. There was no fancy display, such as a house built entirely of books, just All The Secrets Of The World Are Contained In Books written on the window with silver paint. Understated for the usual elaborate window displays that were prevalent downtown, but eye-catching in its simplicity.

  The floorboards creaked when Amy entered the store. No need to put annoying bells or beepers on a door when the floor effe
ctively announced the arrival of customers. The flooring may have been old, but it was incredible. Flat black paint coated the boards. A constellation of silver stars painted on the floor swirled around the bookcases and tables.

  "Can I help you?" The woman asking the question slipped around the end of a tall bookcase. She had dark purple hair that hung in tight curls to her shoulders. Her high cheekbones, almost-black eyes, and luminous cinnamon-colored skin added to the exotic look. To Amy, the woman looked as if she had stepped out of the pages of one of the comic books, especially since she was wearing a skirt that's fabric was printed with depictions of galaxies and swirling black holes.

  "I'm looking for some books for my niece. She's a cooking school student who is also an artist. I've never been in a bookstore like this before, so I'm not sure if you would have something you think she'd be interested in. I know you just opened a few months ago, so this is the first time I've been here." Amy forced herself to pause and take a big breath. The words were coming out of her mouth like popcorn kernels exploding in a hot pan. Slow down. "I stopped in because I would like a unique gift for her."

  "You've come to the right place." She pointed at a row of shelves near the back of the store. The walls were lined with magazine racks full of comic books. The brightly colored covers were a bold collage. Silver-painted bookcases, both tall and short, were positioned randomly around the space, filled with thick books that Amy assumed were graphic novels. As they neared the back of the store, she could see a side room filled with drafting tables. All of the tops were tilted at different angles. The purple-haired woman stopped and pointed at a section in one of the waist-high bookcases. "I have an area just for books that feature food. Most are Japanese manga, which a student might like, but there are also some memoirs and even a few cookbooks that are all hand drawn. Let me know if you have any questions."

  "Thank you for your help," Amy looked at the woman's name tag, which was written in fancy calligraphic script, "Aubergine. I love that name. It matches your hair."

  "You're the first customer who has figured that out!" She tugged on one of the springy, purple curls. "Most people have no idea that aubergine is a color."

  Amy grinned. Aubergine had an easygoing personality that made her seem instantly like an old friend. But what if she was the female mastermind Amy had hypothesized to Shepler?

  "The British call eggplants aubergines. I'm a bit of a foodie, so I made the connection. Your hair color is exactly the same as a globe eggplant."

  "You're right about the eggplant. It's so funny that they call a vegetable by its color. That would be like us calling a zucchini a green, you know?" She rolled her eyes. "My mom was sort of a hippie, so she actually named me after her favorite color. My name is odd, but I totally appreciate that she didn't name me Purple."

  Amy giggled at the thought of being saddled with that name. "I agree, she made the more elegant choice."

  Aubergine pointed to the side room full of drafting tables. Her fingers were mottled with black smudges. "I'm working on a calligraphy job in there. Just stick your head in if you need any more help. I curated the food books. My husband didn't think we needed them, so I'm thrilled you're interested in my little project."

  When she was alone, Amy took a few seconds to look around the shop more. She seemed to be the only customer perusing the shelves at the time. How weird that the store was busier when most places weren't open, but quiet when other downtown businesses were rushing to keep up with the midday customer surge. The shop was more artsy and eclectic than what she had expected to find. She had judged the store by the look of a single, superhero T-shirt-wearing customer.

  The foodie graphic novel selection was fascinating. She had no idea that there was a food graphic memoir book genre. First, she selected one of the manga books about a sushi restaurant, which would appeal to her made-up niece. Then Amy chose several more books for herself, a memoir and a fictional story about a restaurant in New York City. When she turned to make her way to the checkout, her breath caught in her throat. A massive man in a black hoodie was behind the counter. A skinny ponytail of midnight black hair disappeared into the triangular hood hanging between his wide shoulders.

  He hadn't been there when Aubergine escorted her to the back of the room. On their journey through the store, the floor creaked and groaned with every step. Amy hadn't heard a sound while she studied the shelves. How did he get to the counter without her noticing him? He was built and dressed the same as the mysterious man she had followed to the back door of the store. With his superior quietness, he could've trashed the stockroom the day before and now was going to hack into the store's computers while Aubergine was occupied in the other room. Luckily, his back was turned to Amy, so she had a few seconds to come up with an action plan.

  "Ready to check out?" he asked the computer screen he was staring at. There were three huge monitors arranged side-by-side on a long desk sitting against the wall behind the counter. Was he talking to her?

  "Ummm…yes?"

  There was a long squeak as he swiveled on the stool he was sitting on. The sound gave Amy involuntary shivers, even though it was quite warm in the store. He met her gaze and cocked one eyebrow.

  "It's okay. He won't bite," Aubergine said as she appeared in the doorway of the side room. She rolled her eyes. "My husband's just a big, scary-looking teddy bear."

  The case of nervous tremors retreated, sinking down through Amy's body as if a drain had been opened in the bottom of her feet. She watched as Aubergine slipped through the counter opening and wrapped her arms around the man's shoulders. He gently kissed her cheek. The muscle man being affectionate toward his beautiful hacker wife? Then both of them turned to look at Amy. They weren't going to come get the books from her, so it would be a good idea if she coaxed her legs to move.

  "I'm Chuck, by the way," Gigantic Man said as he scanned the bar codes on the back covers of the books. He pointed at a stack of papers on the counter. "I'm not sure if you're interested, but we also teach classes in things like comic drawing and calligraphy. Aubergine is a master calligrapher, and I draw an online comic. We also do custom work like posters and cards."

  The professional, completely business-like response tamped down the dregs of Amy's fears. Why would they work so hard, teaching classes and accepting art commissions, if they were getting money through computer manipulation? She had judged Chuck by his looks when he was going to work at his own business then almost convinced Shepler to look into him based on his hulking frame and all-black outfit. Passion fruit looked like a shriveled, wrinkled ball that was filled with orange slime and beady eyeballs. But the fruit tasted like heaven. So Chuck looked like a thug and acted like a gentlemanly businessman. Amy picked up one of the fliers. As she scanned the list of art classes and services, one of Aubergine's special services caught her eye—custom wedding invitations. Too bad there wasn't enough time for Carla to commission a set.

  "Would you like to see some of our work?" the calligraphy artist asked as Amy handed Chuck her credit card. "I'm addressing envelopes for retirement party invitations right now, but there are other examples hanging on the walls in the classroom."

  Amy oohed and aahed her way around the desk-filled room. Chuck's cartoon character posters were interesting, often with funny speech bubbles, but Aubergine's quote posters were what fascinated her the most. They were drawn in bright ink in elaborate, whimsical fonts. Some of the quotes were serious while others were witty. The pieces turned words into art.

  "I love your work," Amy said as she examined a wedding invitation sample. The letters were written in metallic gold ink and crowned with swirls and curlicues. "I don't think I could ever draw like you two do, but it might be fun to try."

  "You're welcome to come in and play with the pens for a bit to see if it's something you'd enjoy before signing up for a class," Aubergine said as she walked with Amy back to the checkout counter.

  "Thank you. I have a lot of things on my plate right now, but I may tak
e you up on that offer when I get some time. I work at Riverbend Café, one block away, so it's easy for me to stop in."

  "I love eating there. The brownies are insanely delicious."

  Aubergine was smiling about the café's food, but Chuck was engrossed with something on one of the computer screens. Amy grabbed her bag full of books and bid farewell to the fascinating couple. As she opened the front door to leave, she overheard Chuck say, "I got another message."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It looked as if a poltergeist had invaded Carla's loft when she swung open the door. A faint green light spread from the living room area to the entryway as she slipped off her shoes on the welcome mat. Bruce sat on the couch. He appeared to be radioactive from the glow. The screen of his laptop was the only light in the dark apartment. He had spent the night while she was at work, but the extra bit of sleep he had gained from skipping the drive across town was being canceled out by the predawn work session.

  She turned on the under-cabinet lights in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of fresh-pressed orange and kale juice. Or at least it had been freshly made when she bought it a couple days earlier. The half a dozen bottles of the vitamin-packed juices residing in the refrigerator were her contribution to keeping herself healthy. While Amy constructed fresh salads, Carla bought herself expensive vegetable juices at the health food store. Same intent, different style. Green juice wasn't exactly delicious, but she wasn't exactly leading a healthy, stress-free life at the moment. She power chugged half of the grassy-tasting beverage on her way from the kitchen to the living room.