by Jessica Beck
JESSICA BECK
THE DONUT MYSTERIES, BOOK 32
BOSTON CREAM BRIBERY
Donut Mystery #32 Boston Cream Bribery
Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Beck All rights reserved.
First Edition: June 2017
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Recipes included in this book are to be recreated at the reader’s own risk. The author is not responsible for any damage, medical or otherwise, created as a result of reproducing these recipes. It is the responsibility of the reader to ensure that none of the ingredients are detrimental to their health, and the author will not be held liable in any way for any problems that might arise from following the included recipes.
The First Time Ever Published!
The 32nd Donut Mystery.
Jessica Beck is the New York Times Bestselling Author of the Donut Mysteries, the Classic Diner Mysteries, the Ghost Cat Cozy Mysteries, and the Cast Iron Cooking Mysteries.
For the two people closest to me on earth,
P and E, now and forever!
When head town councilman Van Rayburn is attacked at his home and left for dead, Suzanne and Jake struggle to prove that their friend, Mayor George Morris, is innocent of committing the assault. The only problem is that there is evidence left at the scene that implicates the mayor, and Van can’t seem to remember the attack at all!
Chapter 1
The charity auction was supposed to be for a good cause, but all of our noble intentions didn’t matter in the end.
Bidding during the event turned out to be intense, but I had no idea just how dangerous the whole thing would get before it was all over.
“Your donut-making lessons are already going for over a hundred dollars,” Momma said as she joined Jake and me at our table in the town hall. We were raising money for the soup kitchen, a cause near and dear to my heart. Momma was in charge of the event, and she’d had the brilliant idea of holding a silent auction where folks from town bid on learning new skills and having unique experiences with local experts. We were currently dining on spaghetti and meatballs, all provided for a modest fee that went directly to the charity as well. Momma didn’t miss a beat, and I was surprised she hadn’t set up a liquor station as well.
“You’re kidding,” my husband said before he realized how that must have sounded. “I mean, congratulations.”
“How’s Jake’s storytelling session doing?” I asked. My husband, a former investigator for the state police, was auctioning off a lunch at which he would regale the buyer with tales of his time on the force. I was tempted to bid on it myself, since Jake was usually reticent about sharing information about his time as a police inspector, even with me.
“It’s just below seventy dollars,” she said as she patted her son-in-law’s hand. “Don’t worry, Jake. I’m sure someone will step up.”
“Hey, seventy bucks just to hear me talk sounds like pure profit to me,” my husband said magnanimously.
“You still have to provide the lunch too, you know,” I reminded him.
“I’ve already worked that out,” he said smugly. “I managed to procure a donation.”
“You didn’t talk Trish into feeding you for free, did you?” I asked. Trish Granger, the owner of the Boxcar Grill, was a good friend of mine. She was offering a lesson working the grill with Hilda as her contribution.
“I did one better than that. Barton Gleason agreed to cater it for me last night,” he said smugly.
Momma frowned. “Jake, why am I just hearing about this now?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” my husband said.
“You’re kidding, right? Barton is already catering one meal, and it’s up to two hundred dollars so far. Your lunch just got quite a bit more valuable.” Momma jumped up from the table and went directly to the microphone. “Folks, I’ve just learned that the lunch and story time with Jake Bishop will be catered by Barton Gleason.”
There were quite a few murmurs from the crowd, and I saw a mad dash for Jake’s auction sheet. Barton was dating my assistant, Emma Blake, and he worked at the hospital cafeteria, creating unbelievably great cuisine.
“I’m not thrilled she called it story time,” Jake muttered beside me.
“It’s getting results. That’s what counts,” I said. “It’s all for a good cause, remember?”
“Sure,” Jake said a little sullenly, and then he brightened considerably. “Well, at least it’s a race now between us.”
“I give up,” I said as I waved my white paper napkin in the air. “My donuts are good, but the combination of your tales and Barton’s cooking is going to be impossible to beat.”
Grace joined us, holding a plate and cup. “Is there room for one more?”
“You bet,” I said, scrunching over to make space for her. “How’s your makeover doing?” Grace worked for a large cosmetics company, so it was only natural that she was contributing some of her own wares.
“Gabby Williams keeps outbidding everyone else,” Grace said with a groan. Grace and Gabby weren’t what I’d call close by any definition.
“Seriously? Is there a new man in her life?” I asked.
“Well, I doubt she’s doing it for us,” Grace said. “Your donut lessons seem to be going strong.”
“Who’s leading now?” I asked. I wasn’t sure why anyone would want to work with Emma and me at Donut Hearts. It would take a real fan to be willing to come in at three a.m. just to learn how to make donuts with us.
“Van Rayburn and George Morris are in a bidding war,” Grace said. “They keep trying to one-up each other. It’s hilarious.”
“I’m not sure it’s all that funny,” I said. Van and George were natural-born enemies, and I hated that they were using my donuts to go after each other. George was our mayor, while Van was the most vocal town councilman who seemed to oppose him at every turn.
“It’s all for a good cause, remember?” Jake reminded me.
“Okay. You’re right.” I took a bite of spaghetti. “This isn’t bad, is it?”
“If you don’t mind getting your sauce from a huge can and your pasta being overcooked, it’s absolutely delightful,” Grace said with a grin. She took a bite from her fork, smiled, and then said, “But hey, it’s all for a good cause, right?”
We joined her in her toast, clinking our plastic cups together. “For a good cause,” we echoed, and then the three of us started laughing. It earned us a few odd looks from the folks sitting at our table, but I didn’t care. I loved being with Grace and Jake and, what was more, being a part of our entire community. It was one of the things I loved best about small-town living.
Momma took the stage and tapped on the microphone a few times. It was enough to get everyone’s attention, though I would have had to light the banner on fire to achieve the same result. There was something commanding about my mother that I’d never been able to put my finger on. I certainly hadn’t inherited the gene from her.
“Folks, we’re down to our two-minute warning, so if there’s something you’ve got your eye on, it’s time to make your move.”
It was amazing how the activity around the tables holding the auction sheets suddenly erupted with peo
ple vying for victories.
“Is there anything you want to bid on?” Jake asked me.
“You won’t let me do your lunch. Besides, it’s probably out of my league by now. How about you?”
“I’ve got my eye on something,” he said as he stood. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me,” he said.
“What’s he going to bid on?” Grace asked as Jake left us.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “This is nice, isn’t it?”
Grace looked around and nodded in agreement. “I know I joke a lot about it, but I love April Springs. Events like this bring out the best in us.”
“And the worst, too,” I said as I saw Cynthia Trent and Gabby Williams fighting over an auction sheet, no doubt Grace’s offering. “Looks like you’re very popular,” I said.
“Not as much as Jake is,” she said, pointing at another crowd.
I glanced over at my sheet and saw George hovering over it. It would be fun having him in my shop, and I was glad Van Rayburn had evidently given up.
As Momma started her countdown, Rayburn strolled up to the mayor and laughed. I didn’t know what he said to George, but the mayor looked upset as Momma called out, “Time!”
As she started to collect the sheets, I heard George and Rayburn arguing. Shoot, everyone in Town Hall heard them.
“That’s cheating,” George said loudly.
“I spilled something on the sheet, so I was cleaning it,” Rayburn countered, trying—and failing miserably—to sound innocent.
“Why did you have a dummy list here, then?” George asked.
“I didn’t do that,” Rayburn replied, though it was clear that he’d done exactly that.
“Dot, this isn’t right,” George protested.
Momma spoke softly to both men, who appeared to nod their heads in agreement, however reluctantly. To my surprise, the three of them then headed straight to my table.
I stood as they approached. “What’s going on?”
“Suzanne, would you be willing to teach both of these gentlemen how to make donuts tomorrow morning?” Momma asked.
There was barely going to be enough room for one of them in my kitchen with Emma and me, but I knew better than to cross my mother when she was that determined. “It would be my pleasure,” I said, though it was going to be anything but that, especially if the two men bickered as much as I suspected they would.
“Excellent! Problem solved,” Momma said, and then she moved back to continue to collect auction sheets before they could say anything else.
“What time do I need to be at the shop tomorrow?” George asked, pointedly ignoring his rival.
“Yes, when should we arrive?” Rayburn asked sweetly.
“I start my workday at three a.m.,” I said. “I’ll see you both then.”
“Very well,” Van said, though it was clear he wasn’t exactly thrilled about my working hours. That was just too bad. I wasn’t about to change them just for him.
“Sorry about that, George,” I said after the town councilman was gone.
“No worries,” the mayor and my friend said. “I doubt the old windbag will even bother showing up.”
Given what I’d just seen, I doubted it, but there was no reason to say anything to George. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“If you can call six hours from now morning,” George said with a grumble.
“Hey, I used to come in at one a.m. once upon a time,” I reminded him. “Be thankful for small favors.”
“I am,” he said, and then he was called away by one of his constituents.
As Momma read off the list of winners and the amounts they’d donated, I watched as Grace cringed when Gabby’s name was announced as the winner of her makeover.
“Wonderful,” she said acerbically.
“Sorry,” I said. Jake rejoined us while Momma was still calling out winners. “How did you do?”
“I got outbid at the last second,” he said with a shrug.
“Just out of curiosity, what were you bidding on?” I asked him.
“I wanted to drive one of the town’s snowplows,” he said glumly.
“In July?” I asked.
“You don’t think they’d let me do it in December, do you?” he asked with a grin.
“No, probably not,” I answered. After Momma finished reading off the winners, we all cheered and gave ourselves a round of applause before pitching in and cleaning up. After we were finished, I kissed Jake’s cheek and said, “By the way, who won your lunch?”
“A local business owner,” Jake said. “Well, have a good night.” He was being evasive, which was something unusual for my husband.
“Which local business owner?” I asked, standing firm in my spot.
“Ellie Nolan,” he admitted.
Ellie was young, attractive, and not afraid to go after married men. She’d taken the gym over when its previous owner, Candy Murphy, had committed murder. Candy had hired Ellie originally to be her second-in-command at the gym, so I wasn’t quite sure why it surprised me that the two women were so similar, and in all the wrong ways. “Seriously?”
“She told me she loved Barton’s food,” Jake replied lamely.
“Let’s make sure that’s all she samples during your lunch,” I said.
“Come on. Let’s go home,” he said as he kissed my cheek.
“No, you stay and have fun,” I said. “I can make it back home on my own.”
“Honestly, I didn’t put her up to it or anything,” Jake explained.
“I know that,” I said. “No worries. I just don’t want you to miss out on the fun.”
“The only thing I’ll miss is you when you’re gone,” he said.
Grace laughed beside him. “Wow, that was really smooth, Jake.”
He just shrugged as he took my hand. “Let’s go home, Suzanne.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, pleased that my husband was going with me, not because of Ellie but because I loved his company.
As we made our way home in the warm July night, I watched as lightning bugs danced all around us. The park was full of them, and they were a delight to walk among.
By the time we made it back to the cottage we shared, I’d almost forgotten about Ellie.
Almost, anyway.
I was not at all surprised to find George waiting for me outside Donut Hearts the next morning, as early as it was. As I fumbled for my keys, I asked, “Any sign of Van yet?”
“I told you he wouldn’t show up. He’s probably sleeping in,” George said with a grin. “It looks like you’re stuck with just me.”
“I’d never call that being stuck,” I said as I found the right key and opened the front door. After a moment, something just didn’t feel right about it, though. “You know what we need to do, don’t you?” I asked George as I flipped on the coffeemaker.
“Get busy making donuts?” he asked as he rubbed his hands together.
“Not just yet. We need to go get Van first.”
George’s grimace was all the answer I really needed. “Suzanne, he didn’t pay for a wake-up call, too. After all, I made it in without help.”
“True, but if the roles were reversed, I would have insisted that Van go with me to wake you.”
“That’s the difference between us,” the mayor said. “I wouldn’t have needed it.”
It was clear that the mayor wasn’t all that happy about the prospect of waking up his competition, but I wasn’t about to budge. “If you don’t want to go with me, suit yourself. You can make yourself at home here. I should only be fifteen minutes, and we’ll get started on the first round of cake donuts as soon as I get back.”
George’s expression clouded up. “Are you really going to go fetch him?”
“I am,” I said. “Like I said, you’re free to join me, but one
way or the other, I’m going. He just lives a few blocks away. We can go on foot, if you’d rather.”
“I’ll go, but only if you take your new Jeep. I’ve been waiting for a chance to take a ride in that thing.”
“It’s a deal,” I said, happy that George had folded. I hadn’t been looking forward to waking Van without him. As for the new Jeep, I hadn’t wanted to part with the old one, but an intentional accident had ruined it, and I’d been forced to buy a new one, much to my chagrin. It wasn’t that the new Jeep wasn’t nice. It just wasn’t my old one, if that made any sense. Jake thought I was crazy, but I’d become attached to the one I’d had all those years, and the new one and I hadn’t had any adventures together yet, though I was pretty sure that was going to eventually change. “Hey, think how much fun it will be rousing him from a deep sleep. That’s almost like winning another prize at the silent auction.”
George laughed. “I never thought of it that way. Do you have an old pan and a wooden spoon I can borrow?” The mayor’s expression had gotten suddenly devious.
“Are you really willing to risk irking some of your other constituents by making that kind of racket?” I asked, guessing what he had in mind.
“You bet I am,” he said with a wicked little laugh. “If anyone complains, I can blame it all on Van. So, do you have anything I can use?”
I tried not to laugh as I grabbed an old, worn-out pot that I’d been meaning to donate to the soup kitchen, and then I found a wooden spoon that we never used. “How does this setup look?”
“Perfect,” he said as he took the newly purposed noisemakers from me and gave them a trial bang. The sound was deafening inside my small donut shop. “Let’s go.”
We went out to the Jeep, but not before I carefully double-checked to make sure that I’d locked up. On our way out, I’d grabbed a sign for the front door just in case Van showed up while we were gone, so I hung it in place as we left. It simply said, “Back in fifteen,” and I’d used it on more than one occasion in the past.