by Jessica Beck
“What? No, don’t be silly. I was just calling to see if you were all right.”
Clearly her moment of weakness had disappeared as quickly as it had first appeared. “No worries about me; I’m fine,” I said.
“Then I’ll say good night,” Gabby said, and hung up before I could even reply in kind.
How odd. Desmond had done something I wasn’t exactly certain was even possible; he’d gotten under Gabby’s skin and put a few cracks in her overwhelming armor of confidence.
I wondered what I could do to ease her mind, but every scenario involved me changing out of my grubby clothes and being rebuffed if I dared approach her in person, so I did my best to forget about it. I was tired, and it was late—at least for me—so I did one of the most rational things I could come up with.
I went to bed.
* * *
I woke up just past ten that night, not sure what had brought me out of my deep sleep. I had to get up at one-thirty, and I rarely awoke until then once I managed to nod off. I had been having some serious second thoughts about our hours lately. We were at the donut shop too early, and stayed too late, and I had been thinking about doing something about it. I sat up in bed, looked around in the darkness, but could see no reason why I had awoken. Usually when that happened I had an easy time getting back to sleep, but not now. I tossed and turned, counted sheep, and then began to list the donuts we’d made over the years, starting with plain glazed. By the time I hit variety forty-two, I knew it wasn’t going to work. This was miserable. After suffering through the rest of the night, I finally gave up and just got out of bed a full twenty minutes before I had to, threw on my clothes, and grabbed a power bar on my way out the door.
Driving to the shop, I noticed the flashing lights of a patrol car ahead, and then another, and another. What had happened? As I got closer, I saw that it was near my donut shop! Had we had a break-in? I wasn’t sure why anyone would bother with us given our bottom line, but I felt myself go cold inside as I neared the scene.
The odd thing was, though, they weren’t in front of my shop, or Gabby’s place, either.
Instead, the cars were all pulled up in front of the narrow grass strip of land between them.
* * *
I got out and found Chief Martin standing near his patrol car. He was on the phone, but I didn’t care.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I tried to see what was happening.
He held up a hand, a clear sign that he wanted me to be quiet. There was no way that was happening, and we both knew it. I started to go around him when he shook his head, and then hung the phone up.
“Suzanne, what are you doing here this early?”
“I always open this time of morning,” I said. I refused to call it nighttime, since it was after midnight. Besides, it made me feel better, more normal somehow, if I thought of my hours as closer being in synch with the rest of the world.
He glanced at his watch. “You aren’t due for another fifteen minutes.”
That surprised me. “You know my schedule?”
He said softly, “Take it easy. Whoever is on night patrol can set his watch by you. We all know your hours. I’ll ask you again, why are you so early?”
“Something woke me up around ten, and I couldn’t get back to sleep,” I admitted. “Why does that matter?”
“Was it a gunshot, perhaps?” he asked intently.
“I hope not, but I honestly couldn’t say.” I tried again to look around him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Somebody was shot back there, and from what we know so far, it most likely happened right around ten last night.”
“Was it Gabby? Is she okay?” I started again to go around him, but this time he put an arm out to keep me from looking. Gabby Williams could be a real pain in my life sometimes, but I considered her a friend, albeit a conditional one most days. Nevertheless, I hated the thought of her lifeless body lying back there crumpled up on the ground.
“Gabby’s fine, as far as we know,” he said.
At least that was something. “If it wasn’t Gabby, who was it?”
He shook his head. “I’m not ready to say just yet. Why don’t you go into your shop and get started, and I’ll come by later.” He must have seen my reluctance to leave, because he added, “Suzanne, it’s the only way you’re going to get anything out of me, so you might as well do as I’m asking you.”
I knew he was right. If I cooperated, I actually stood a chance to learn what had happened without waiting for the town grapevine to supply the answers.
“Okay,” I agreed. “I still have to move my Jeep, though.”
He shook his head. “I’ll have one of my people move it for you,” Chief Martin said as he held out his hand for my keys.
I pulled the Jeep key off the chain, and handed it to him. “Be careful with it. It’s a real classic.”
He didn’t even smile. “We will.”
I started to walk next door to my shop when I noticed that he was in step just behind me.
“I don’t need a police escort to Donut Hearts,” I said, pointing to the building a few feet away.
“Sorry, you’re going to get one, anyway.”
I thought about that for a second, and then said, “You want to make sure no one’s hiding inside, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Grant went to get Gabby. Don’t worry; she’s getting the same treatment you are.” He looked at the lock on my shop door, and then said, “Go on, open it. It doesn’t seem to have been tampered with.”
I unlocked it, flipped on the switch near the door, and the chief drew his service revolver as he stepped ahead of me. “Stay right here,” he said softly. I was amazed by how competent he sounded as he said it. I knew I didn’t give our chief of police much credit most days, especially since he’d started dating my mother, but at that moment, I was glad to have him with me.
He did a quick but thorough search of the front, and then went back into the kitchen where I couldn’t see him. I waited and waited, holding my breath as I expected to hear gunfire at any second, but two minutes later he came back out, his weapon now holstered.
“You’re good to go. It’s all clear,” he said.
“Thanks. Do me a favor and knock on the front door when you’re ready to tell me something,” I said.
“Will do.”
Chief Martin waited outside until I locked the front door again, and then he disappeared back into the night.
I stood there for a few seconds trying to figure out who might be dead, but that wasn’t getting me anywhere, and I had donuts to make. I glanced at the clock in the kitchen and saw that despite my early arrival, I was going to get a late start. It was closer to three than I ever wanted to start making donuts, but that would make it a perfect dry run. If Emma and I could manage today, we were officially changing our hours. Three A.M. to eleven might be a brutal schedule for some folks, but it would be a great deal better than one-thirty to noon. If I could swing it, who knew, I might even be able to start having a life. If we opened at six, that would give folks five hours to buy donuts, and if they couldn’t make it by then, I wasn’t going to worry about it.
* * *
Emma came in ten minutes after her usual starting time, unwrapping her scarf as she walked into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, but did you see what was going on next door?”
“It’s hard to miss, what with the squad cars everywhere and their lights flashing,” I said as I measured out ingredients for our cake donuts. “Someone’s been shot.”
Emma looked at me in disbelief. “Seriously? Who was it?”
“Chief Martin wouldn’t tell me, but he said he’d let me know as soon as he could. It’s not Gabby; that’s all I know.”
“Why would someone kill Gabby?” she asked. Emma suddenly frowned. “You don’t mean that crazy cruller guy, do you?”
“Why not? He threatened both of us,” I said. “Who knows who else he might have threatened? Anyway, we don’t
have to worry about him at the moment. The chief checked the place out, and we’re safe here.” I looked at my lone employee and said, “Coming in late has clarified something for me. I’ve made an executive decision, Emma.”
She looked worried. “Suzanne, I honestly couldn’t get through the police cars so I could park. You’re not going to fire me for being a little late, are you?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You know that I would never fire you.”
The relief in her face was obvious. She asked with a grin, “Never? Not even for burning the coffee or dropping a tray of donuts on a customer’s head?”
“I guess that would depend on the customer,” I said, answering her grin. “Emma, think about it. Why would I fire you? If I did that, I’d have no way of giving you a hard time about what you’d done if you pulled anything like that.” Getting serious, I said, “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but as long as you want to work here, you’ve got a job with me.”
“That’s a relief,” she said. “If that’s not it then, what’s your big executive decision?”
“We’re changing our hours, as of right now,” I said.
She groaned, and I asked her, “What’s wrong?”
Emma was obviously upset as she explained, “I swear, I love working here—you know that I do—but I’m not sure I can work any more time every day than I already do.”
I laughed. “Would you mind working fewer hours, then?”
“Are you kidding? If I could sleep another hour every morning, I’d be in heaven.” She paused, and then frowned as she asked, “Hang on a second. That means less pay, too, doesn’t it?”
I hadn’t even thought about that ramification of my decision for her, financially. On a rash impulse, I asked, “How about if I split the difference with you between what you make now and the hours you work? You’ll take a smaller cut, and in exchange, you’ll get more free time.”
Emma looked at me shrewdly, and then asked, “Do I get a new title with my raise?”
“Who said you were getting a raise?” I asked as I continued mixing the batter for our basic cake donuts.
“I’m making more per hour than I did, according to your plan,” she said with a grin. “That sounds like a raise to me. If I had a new title to go with it, Dad might get off my back about quitting and going to school.”
I knew Emma’s father wasn’t all that pleased with his daughter working for me in the donut shop, but I hadn’t realized he’d been putting pressure on her to quit. “Is it that bad?”
“Not really,” she said evasively. “Forget I said anything.”
“Okay, how does ‘Assistant Manager’ sound to you?” I asked.
“You don’t have to give me a title, seriously,” she answered.
“Why not? You are, you know. You’re second in command around here.”
Emma laughed. “I’m also the lowest one on the totem pole,” she replied, “but who knows? It might just make him happy.”
I had a sudden thought. “I know how to make him happier.”
“How?”
“Tell him about the shooting,” I said. “He can write it up for the paper, and I have a hunch he won’t mind your crazy hours so much if you can feed him a story every now and then.”
“That’s brilliant,” Emma said as she grabbed her phone. She made a hurried call, and then beamed at me. “He actually thanked me, can you believe it?”
“Does he still pay for phone tips?” I asked. “You should collect from him.”
“Even I’m not willing to push my luck that much,” she said. “He’s on his way. I wonder if he’ll be able get anything out of the chief.”
I shrugged, and as I prepared to drop the first batter into the hot oil, there was a loud knocking up front.
I put the dropper down and said, “Unless I miss my guess, we’re about to find out what happened.”
APPLE CIDER DONUTS
These donuts are very good, with a hint of cider in every bite. I tried substituting apple juice once when I didn’t have any cider on hand, but it was bland, and I won’t do them again unless I have real cider available.
INGREDIENTS
Mixed
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 1 cup fresh apple cider
• ¼ cup brown sugar, light
• ¼ cup sugar, white granulated
Sifted
• 4 cups all-purpose flour, unbleached
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon baking powder
• ½ teaspoon cinnamon
• ½ teaspoon nutmeg
• Pinch of salt
Added
• 2 tablespoons butter, melted
DIRECTIONS
In one bowl, beat the eggs thoroughly, then add the cider. In a different bowl, combine the brown sugar and granulated sugar together, and then add that to the mix. After that’s incorporated, take another bowl and sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Add the melted butter last. If the dough is still sticky, add flour until it can be worked easily. Roll the dough out to ½ to ¼ inch thick, then cut out donuts using a donut cutter (round with a hole in the center), a Bismarck cutter (log-type donut), or use your imagination! Fry in hot canola oil (360 to 370 degrees F) 3 to 4 minutes, turning halfway through. Dry on paper towels, and then serve dusted with confectioner’s sugar or glaze.
Yield: Depending on shapes, from 6–16 donuts
CHAPTER 4
“Stay here,” I said to Emma.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I want to hear, too,” she protested.
I didn’t have time for open mutiny. “He’s more likely to talk to me if it’s just one-on-one. Don’t worry; I’ll leave the door propped open. You won’t miss a thing.”
“Fine,” she said. “But be sure to keep your voice loud enough for me to hear.”
I pointed to the dropper. “In the meantime, you can get started on those, Assistant Manager.”
“I knew that title was going to end up biting me sooner or later,” she said with a grin.
The chief was waiting patiently for me as I walked up front and opened the door.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee, on the house?” I asked him.
“That would be great,” he said as he took a seat at the bar. I poured him some in a to-go cup, and then asked, “How many of your people are still here?”
“There are three left,” he said.
I got more cups and started to fill them.
“You don’t have to do that,” the chief said.
As I put the lids on and placed them into a cardboard carrier, I said, “It’s no trouble, honestly.”
“They’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.” He took a long sip of his coffee, and then added, “I just spoke with the victim’s next of kin, so I can tell you who was shot, but I have a question for you first.”
“Fire away,” I said, then immediately realized that it hadn’t been the best choice of words, given what had just happened.
“Were you with Grace tonight, by any chance? Your mother was with me when it happened, so that rules her out. Jake’s in Asheville, right?”
Apparently the police chief and my mother had been talking about me on their date. I thought about making a crack about them not having anything better to discuss than my life, but I decided to keep it to myself. “He is, and as for Grace, she had a blind date, so I was alone,” I said.
“And you didn’t speak with anyone, or see someone all evening?”
“The pizza guy came by, but he was gone by six.” I finally understood why he was questioning me. “Chief, are you asking me for an alibi?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like calling it that, but okay. Is there any chance you can help me out here?”
“Sorry, but I was alone. Who exactly was killed that you’d need an alibi from me?”
“It was Desmond Ray,” he said simply, and I suddenly knew why he was asking me.
As I refilled his coffee mu
g, I explained, “I wasn’t exactly thrilled about him using my donuts to attack Gabby’s shop, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see him dead.”
Chief Martin looked older just then, as if the weight of his job was pushing him down. I didn’t envy him the questions he had to ask sometimes, but that didn’t mean I was okay with being on his suspect list, either. “To tell you the truth, you’re not the main one I’m worried about,” he admitted.
I didn’t need ESP to realize who he was talking about. “I forgot to tell you. Gabby called me at home last night.”
That got a flash of anger from him. “Suzanne, don’t get yourself in trouble by lying to protect your friend.”
“I’m telling the truth. You can check our phone records. She called the house around seven,” I said.
“That hardly alibis her for ten o’clock,” the chief said. As he drew out his notebook and jotted the information down, he asked me, “Just out of curiosity, what did you two talk about?”
I suddenly realized that I’d probably just done Gabby more harm than good. “It’s not important,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“Suzanne,” he prodded, “you might as well tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”
I had no choice, and I knew it. “She was worried about Desmond stalking her,” I said, feeling like a traitor as I spoke.
“Go on,” the chief said.
I recounted what Gabby had told me, and then added, “That doesn’t mean she shot him.”
“It doesn’t exactly clear her of suspicion, either. She’s next on my list.” He took another sip, and then put his cup down. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
“Don’t forget these,” I said as I handed him the other cups.
“I won’t,” he said. “Sorry about everything tonight.”
“I’m not blaming you. You’re just doing your job,” I said as I let him out.
* * *
When I got back in the kitchen, Emma had taken care of nearly all of the cake donuts, and she was just finishing up the small run of the new Orange Crush donuts I was trying out, using the sweet soda instead of milk in the batter. So far it was an epic failure, but if I didn’t continue to experiment, how was I going to keep my customers coming in for new treats? I’d get it sooner or later, I was sure of it.