by Jessica Beck
“You might not want to open with that,” I said, trying to take a little sting out of her mood.
It clearly didn’t work. “If anything, I can only get angrier from here.”
She pulled up in front of city hall and was halfway up the steps before I caught up with her. I put a hand on her shoulder, and somehow managed to slow her down, at least momentarily. “Take a deep breath and count to ten before you go in there,” I said.
“I am in full control of my faculties,” she said. “There is no need for that childish exercise.”
“Humor me,” I said.
She didn’t want to, but I watched as Momma did as I asked. When she was finished, her breathing had slowed a little, and a touch of the fire had gone out of her eyes. “Satisfied?” she asked me.
“We’re good,” I said, knowing that if I continued getting in her way, the ire she was feeling at the moment would be directed toward me, something I had no interest in witnessing.
We got to the mayor’s office, and Polly North was at her station, a retired librarian who worked the desk these days. Like Momma, she was a woman of small stature, but she, too, wasn’t someone worth crossing.
“Dorothy,” Polly said, not even acknowledging me by name, but offering me a quick glance before focusing on my mother.
“Is he in?” Momma asked.
“Why, I’m fine. And you?”
Momma got it. “Sorry. He’s gone too far this time. I need to see him right now.”
Polly pointed to the office door and nodded, all the while saying, “I’m afraid he can’t be disturbed right now.”
Momma shot her a quick smile. “Got it. I’m barging in uninvited.”
With a returning grin, Polly said in a happy voice, “I really must ask you not to go in there,” all the while nodding her head vigorously for us to go right in.
Cam was behind his desk, his feet propped up, and a soda in one hand. There was a hot dog on his desk, and it wasn’t too tough to see why he’d put on weight since he’d played high school football many years before. Only his hair had stayed the same, carefully styled and sprayed, with nothing out of place. “Ladies,” Cam said as he sat up in his chair. “Polly,” he added, nearly bellowing, “I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed.”
“Don’t blame her,” Momma said. “She tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t allow it. What is this nonsense about you making a bid on a county project?”
Cam dabbed at his lips with a napkin and said, “So, you’ve seen the newspaper.”
“Everyone has. It’s wrong, Cam, and you know it.”
He looked as though that last bite of hot dog hadn’t agreed with him. “If you please, I’m happy to be called Cam on the street, but when I’m at my desk here at city hall, I ask that you respect the office. It’s Mr. Mayor.”
I thought Momma might have a stroke just then, but she took a deep breath, and then said almost cordially, “You like that title, don’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s a perfect description of who I am.”
Momma shook her head. “There, you’re wrong. It’s a job description, not a personal one. Whoever is mayor has that title.”
He looked puzzled by her comment. “What’s your point? I’m the mayor.”
“For now, perhaps.”
That clearly got his attention. “What do you mean by that?”
“This is an election year, or have you forgotten? I know you haven’t bothered putting signs up yet, because you’d like folks to forget, but the filing deadline is tomorrow, and the election in a week.”
“No one’s running against me,” he said.
“Are you dead set on taking this project?” Momma asked.
“It’s a done deal, Dorothy. I don’t know what the fuss is about. I deserve the right to earn a living.”
“I’m not saying you don’t,” Momma said. “But this smells bad to everyone who knows about it.”
The mayor shook his head. “I have to give Blake credit for that. He did come up with a catchy headline.”
“I’m deadly serious, Mr. Mayor,” Momma said, managing to put a great deal of scorn into her words.
“You put her up to this, didn’t you?” Cam asked me, acknowledging me for the first time since I’d walked in.
“I’m just along for the ride,” I said, trying my best to smile brightly.
“I’ll bet,” he said.
“I’m perfectly capable of acting on my own,” Momma said. “I will ask you only once more. Will you walk away from this?”
“No, ma’am, respectfully, I won’t.”
“Then I’m going downstairs and filing my name as a candidate for mayor.”
He didn’t look happy about the news, but something must have suddenly occurred to him. “You can’t.”
“What do you mean, she can’t?” I asked. “Do you think you can stop her?”
“The town charter says she needs a hundred signatures, and I doubt she can get them by tomorrow.”
“I’d be glad to wager that you’re wrong,” my mother said as she pivoted and headed for the door.
“Dorothy, you’re biting off more than you can chew this time,” Cam said, as Momma reached the door.
“Is that a threat, Cam?”
“It’s ‘Mayor,’ remember?”
Momma smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “For now,” she said, and then I followed her out, carefully leaving the door open behind us.
Polly was standing just beside it, and it wouldn’t have surprised me a bit to learn that she’d been eavesdropping on our conversation. She clapped a few times and smiled, but then Cam yelled for her, and she disappeared inside.
“What now?” I asked. “If the donut shop were open, I could get you the signatures you need, but where are you going to find a hundred people? Are we going door to door?”
Momma shook her head. “We won’t have to. We’re going to start at the Boxcar Grille and go from there.”
As soon as we walked in, we told Trish, the owner and one of my best friends, what we were up to. When she heard the news, she clapped and whooped with great joy. “Well, all I can say is that it’s about time.”
“I think so, too,” I said.
Momma asked, “Do you mind helping?”
“Are you kidding? I want to be the first one to sign.”
I looked at Momma and said, “We forgot to make up a sheet. Some campaign chair I turned out to be.”
Trish reached into a drawer behind the register and brought out ten sheets of paper. She stapled them together, and then wrote in big letters on the front page, ‘Petition to Put Dorothy Hart on the Ballot for Mayor of April Springs.’ She showed us and asked, “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” Momma said.
“Good.” Trish signed her name bigger than John Hancock’s, and then announced, “Let’s go, folks. Dorothy Hart for mayor; be one of the lucky ones who gets to sign the petition.”
There was a rush up front, whether for my mother or against Cam Hamilton, but it really didn’t matter why.
As people signed, more came in, and I found Trish working her telephone. When she hung up, I asked, “Where are they all coming from?”
“I dialed the ladies on the Disaster Alert call list, and they’re calling everyone else. We’ll have those signatures before the clerk’s office closes.”
“Should you be doing that?” I asked.
“What? The list is strictly volunteer, not associated with any government agency at all.”
“But it’s not really a disaster, is it?”
Trish nodded. “You bet it is. Cam Hamilton has been mayor long enough. If getting your mother elected isn’t a number one priority, I don’t know what is.”
More folks were signing, most likely more than we needed. “You should be the one running her campaign,” I said. “You’ve got a lot of ties to the community, and folks around here respond to you.”
“They respond to you, too,” she replied.
“Maybe if
they’re craving donuts,” I said, “But you’re a natural leader.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I wouldn’t know how to run a mayoral campaign.” She looked around the crowded restaurant, and then added, “I wouldn’t mind being head of PR, though. I can spread the word like nobody’s business.”
I nodded. “With my momma’s approval, you’ve got the job.”
Trish looked pleased by the honor when my best friend, Grace Gauge, walked into the diner. “I didn’t know we were having a party.”
“It’s better than that,” I said. “Momma’s running for mayor.”
“It’s about time,” she said. “Where do I sign the petition?”
“Over there,” I said as I pointed to a crowd midway through the diner. “You’d better hurry, though. Slots are filling up fast.”
“Not without me,” she said as she pushed her way into the mess.
A few minutes later, Momma rejoined us, with Grace close behind her. My mother looked a little surprised by the outpouring.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“We got one hundred twenty-seven signatures,” she said, clearly a little dumbfounded. “I kept telling them we had enough, but people kept insisting that they have the right to sign. It’s a bit overwhelming.”
“You can be stunned tomorrow,” I said. “Right now, we need to get these signatures to the courthouse so we can get you registered. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s still not too late to back out.”
“Is that what you want, Suzanne?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to see you wipe the floor up with that windbag.”
“Even if it makes life a little harder for you?”
“Momma, you need to be mayor of April Springs, and no one else. I’m voting for you twice if I can figure out a way to do it.”
Grace said, “It’s not that tough. First thing you need to do is—”
“I don’t want to hear that,” Momma said. “Let’s go to the courthouse before I change my mind.”
* * *
As Momma and I walked back to the courthouse, I said, “You’re sure you want to do this, right?” Grace had stayed behind to grab a bite at Trish’s, but she’d promised to catch up with us later at the house.
Momma frowned a moment. “There is one thing I’m concerned about. I have my fingers in a great many pies around town,” she said. “It might not be appropriate for me to run for public office. After all, I just chastised Cam for something some might justifiably accuse me of doing myself.”
Even I didn’t have any idea what kind of businesses my mother owned a part of in the April Springs area, and I was her only child, not to mention her roommate since my divorce from Max. She played her cards close to the vest, and I had a hunch she liked it that way. “The difference is, folks already know that about you. No one expects you to stop what you’re doing, but your contacts could make life around here a lot easier. Are you planning on bidding on any jobs that involve city or county government?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
“There’s something else to consider, as well. The job comes with a great many headaches, I’m sure,” Momma said, though I could see that she was beginning to like the idea of being mayor.
“But just think. You’ll be Grand Marshal of the Pageant Parade, and you get to give away keys to the city whenever you feel like it, too.”
She laughed shortly. “Leave it to you to name those two functions of the position. If I were to do this, I would be intent on allowing folks a voice in how they are governed, and not just dictate to them like Cam does.”
I joined her smile with one of my own. “Just picture the expression on his face when we walk in and he learns how fast you got those signatures,” I said. “It’s nearly worth it just to see his face.”
“You’re right,” she said, waving the sheets filled with signatures in the air. “I’m running for mayor.”
“I meant what I said. I’m backing you a thousand percent, and if you’ll have me, I’ll be your campaign manager,” I said, getting into the spirit of her declaration.
Momma looked at me warily. “Does that mean you’ll take orders from me?”
“About the campaign, sure,” I conceded. “Everything else is off limits, though.”
She nodded. “I’ll take whatever you give me.” Momma bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and then said, “I suppose that makes it official. I’m running.”
“Let me get out my jogging shoes, because I’m going to be right beside you.”
ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY JESSICA BECK
Glazed Murder
Fatally Frosted
Sinister Sprinkles
Evil Éclairs
Tragic Toppings
Killer Crullers
Praise for the Donut Shop Mysteries by Jessica Beck
“A delight. Suzanne Hart is a lovable amateur sleuth who has a hilariously protective mother and great donut recipes! Readers will have a blast with this book.”
—Diane Mott Davidson, New York Times bestselling author of Fatally Flaky
“A tribute to comfort food and to the comfort of small-town life. With great donut recipes!”
—Joanna Carl, author of The Chocolate Cupid Killings
“If you like donuts—and who doesn’t?—you’ll love this mystery. It’s like a trip to your favorite coffee shop, but without the calories!”
—Leslie Meier, author of the Lucy Stone mysteries New Year’s Eve Murder and Wedding Day Murder
“The perfect comfort read: a delicious murder, a likeable heroine, quirky Southern characters—and donut recipes!”
—Rhys Bowen, Agatha and Anthony award–winning author of the Molly Murphy and Royal Spyness mysteries
“A yummy new treat in the culinary mystery genre. Skillfully weaving donut recipes throughout a well-plotted story, the author proves that life after divorce can be sweet; all you need are good friends, your own business, and comfort food. Delicious!”
—Tamar Myers, author of Death of a Rug Lord and The Cane Mutiny
“A clever plotted cozy mystery with a wonderful small Southern town … Fatally Frosted is a great follow-up to Glazed Murder. Suzanne is a great heroine. Ms. Beck has a sure-fire winner!”
—Fresh Fiction
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
KILLER CRULLERS
Copyright © 2012 by Jessica Beck.
Excerpt from Drop Dead Chocolate copyright © 2012 by Jessica Beck.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 978-0-312-54231-3
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / January 2012
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 978-1-4299-5089-3