Baked Books (The Donut Mysteries Book 30)

by Jessica Beck

  “Not even then. She and I don’t have enough at stake to do something so dramatic, anyway. If I were writing this, I’d look hard at Brad Winslow. He had the most to lose, even more than Alexa.”

  “You don’t like him very much, do you?” I asked, remembering their argument the day before.

  “He’s an arrogant blowhole who believes self-promotion is more important than actual work,” Simon said. “I loathe him. If it had been his body found in the bookstore, I would expect to be near the top of the police’s list of suspects, but I had no reason to kill John.”

  “Other than him dropping you, you mean,” I reminded him.

  “Like I said, it’s not enough of a motive for murder,” he said, brushing off my jibe.

  “You could have thought you were killing Brad instead of John, though,” Grace said. “They had a similar build, and if the room was dark, it could have been a mistake.”

  I knew that chances were pretty good that John had been facing his killer when he’d been struck down, but the real question was, did Simon know that? Grace was trying to trap him, and I found myself admiring her even more for it.

  “Was he killed from behind? He must have been, since the two men looked nothing alike from the front. Interesting,” Simon said, looking confused. “I understand some kind of blunt object was used, is that correct?”

  “I’m not entirely positive about that,” I said, lying myself.

  “Well, if he was struck from behind, then mistaken identity might be an avenue to investigate. If not, then it’s just plain old murder.”

  “I’m curious about something. If you were plotting this as a book, how would you have done it so that you could get away with it?” I asked him.

  I wasn’t sure what his reaction might be, but his laugh surprised me. “That’s the thing. I wouldn’t plot it at all.”

  “Because it’s too mundane, or is it just too hard to believe?” I asked.

  “I don’t believe in tying myself down to a rigid format like some of my contemporaries,” Simon said as Bev walked back into the room. She didn’t look particularly pleased as she took her place at the table again. I took the opportunity to grab a bite of the meatloaf I’d gotten. It was good, but Momma’s was better, hands down.

  “Are you okay?” Simon asked her rather solicitously.

  “That was the police chief. He wants to speak with us both, and what’s more, he’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Simon asked. “Of course he’d look at us. Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll be fine,” he said as he patted her hand.

  Bev allowed it for a moment until she realized that we were watching them. Quickly pulling her hand away, she said, “I’m sure you’re right.”

  I was about to say something when Grace kneed me. When I glanced over at her, she shot her glance to the door. I could see Alexa Masters speaking with the clerk at the front desk, and I knew what she had in mind.

  “If you’ll excuse us, we need to go,” Grace said.

  “What about your bill?” Simon asked. “We’re not buying you lunch.”

  Before I could reach for my wallet, Grace threw two twenties down on the table. “That will more than cover it. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again soon.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Bev said, clearly hoping that she was finished with us once and for all. She should be so lucky.

  “Let me pay you back,” I said as we made our way out of the restaurant and into the lobby.

  “Can we talk about it later?” she asked as we approached Alexa. “We have work to do.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Grace and I stood just behind the author, and I couldn’t help listening in to her conversation. “I’m telling you, I need another room. The people next door keep fighting, and I can’t get any work done. I must have quiet! Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with a fresh plot you can’t smell from a mile away? I’ve got to top my first try, and I have no idea how to do it!”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have any vacancies, ma’am,” the clerk told her apologetically. Clearly he wasn’t used to getting such passionate pleas from guests.

  “Then move someone!”

  “Let me see what I can do,” the man said, blanching under the assault.

  “Alexa, do you have a second?” I asked her as she turned toward us.

  “Brad warned me that you two were investigating John’s murder,” she said with a frown. “He told me that I’d be a fool to talk to you.”

  “You can’t let him stop you,” Grace said.

  “Are you kidding? That just made me want to talk to you more. Let’s go outside, though. It’s too stuffy in here. I can’t breathe, let alone think.”

  As we walked outside, I asked, “Are you having trouble with your second book?”

  “Is it that obvious? I had all the time I needed to write the first one, but now I have to deliver the next in six months. Six months! It took me longer than that to plot out the first one, and another sixteen months to write it. I’m a slow writer, and what’s more, John knew it. Why I ever signed that contract is beyond me.”

  “So then, his death gives you an out, doesn’t it?” Grace asked.

  Alexa stopped in her tracks. “Do you honestly believe that I’d murder the man just to escape a book deadline? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

  “If you felt trapped, it might be possible though, wouldn’t it?” I asked, trying to soften her ire.

  “Wouldn’t you feel cornered? Imagine having an impossible deadline, and knowing that if you failed to meet it, you could lose everything you worked so long and so hard for. How would you feel?”

  “I’d be mad enough to kill somebody,” Grace said.

  Alexa’s head swiveled around violently toward her. “That’s ridiculous.”

  I had to take the heat off Grace. “Okay, if you didn’t do it, tell us, how would you go about it?”

  “I don’t know. The murder in my book was a little too intricate for real life.”

  “Forgive me, but I haven’t had a chance to read it yet,” I said. “How did you kill your victim?” It was an odd question, and I hoped no one was walking by who might overhear it. Taken out of context, it could raise quite a few questions in someone’s mind.

  “I used skin cream laced with poison that would interact only with a certain rare soap that the victim used. It was rather clever, actually. There were six people living in the house at the time, but only one of them was ever in real danger, as long as they stuck to their habits and patterns. We’re all just bundles of behaviors, you know.”

  “I’m afraid John Rumsfield’s murder was not nearly as ingenious as that,” I said.

  “Blunt force trauma. I heard.” She looked at me carefully for a moment. “You’re the donut maker, aren’t you? You discovered the body.”

  “Guilty on both counts,” I said.

  Instead of being horrified, she looked delighted, if only for a moment. “You must tell me all about it. You see, I’ve never actually seen a dead body before.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” I told her, surprised by the intensity of her interest.

  “I completely understand. Was there much blood? Was he disfigured by the blow? How much force would you say it took to do him in?”

  “Again, the police have asked me for my discretion,” I said.

  “Fine,” she replied, losing interest in me for the moment.

  “Do you have any idea who might have done it?” Grace asked her.

  “I’m sure you’re speaking with all of my fellow panelists,” she said. “Other than that, I suppose Paige Hill, the bookstore owner, might be a suspect due to her proximity. The only other person it might be is that odd man with his homemade book.
”

  “What book is that?” I asked.

  “The manuscript, I should have said. Precision of language is important, you know.”

  I didn’t remember signing up for the lecture on language. “What happened?”

  “After the signing, I saw a rough-looking brute approach John out in back of the bookstore when he was grabbing a smoke. He had in his hands what must have been a manuscript. I’m guessing he wanted John to read it and give him a critique on the spot. He got that, and more.”

  “What happened?”

  “John read the first page and then flung the entire thing back at him. He said some fairly insulting things, and I thought the man might actually attack him! After a moment though, he gathered the pages up and just slunk away. John laughed at his discomfort, and I thought he was going to regret doing that, but the man just kept going. I tried to tell the police what I’d seen as soon as I heard what happened, but there is a Chief Grant coming out here to interview us all in a few minutes.” She looked over our shoulders and frowned. “In fact, unless I miss my guess, that must be the man himself.”

  Chapter 12

  To no one’s surprise, Chief Grant was not particularly pleased upon finding us interviewing one of his suspects. When he discovered that we’d spoken with all of them already, I knew that he’d be unhappier still.

  “Suzanne. Grace,” he said perfunctorily.

  “Don’t mind us. We were just leaving,” I said.

  “I would expect nothing less,” he replied. “Miss Masters, thank you for calling. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  She looked a little flustered upon seeing the chief, and I wasn’t the only one to notice her quick smile. “It’s quite all right. Shall we go up to my room where we can have some privacy?”

  “Of course,” the chief said, and then added, “Ladies, I’ll speak with you both soon.”

  “You bet you will,” Grace said with an artificial lilt to her words that made me think our police chief was in for a whole lot of hurt later.

  “Did you see that? Can you believe it?” she asked me after they were gone. “That woman was practically salivating over Stephen.”

  “He’s a good-looking guy,” I said. “What did you expect?”

  Grace looked at me long and hard before she spoke. “You’re not taking her side, are you?”

  I knew better than to do anything as foolish and reckless as that. “You know that you have nothing to worry about. Stephen Grant is crazy about you.”

  “I understand that,” she said reluctantly. “I still don’t have to like it though, do I?”

  “No, ma’am. You don’t have anything to explain to me. Now, should we hang around here and wait for him to finish up with everyone so we can have another crack at them, or should we head back to April Springs and speak with Abner Mason before your boyfriend gets to him?”

  “That shouldn’t even be an issue. If I know Stephen, he’s already spoken with him,” Grace said.

  “Then that gives us all the more reason to go back home,” I replied.

  “Sure, why not? I suppose we’ve done all of the damage that we can here.”

  “For now, anyway,” I said. “I’d like to speak with them all again, but not until I have more to go on. Let’s go see what Abner has to say about the confrontation Alexa witnessed last night.”

  “If it really was an argument at all,” Grace said as we got back into my Jeep and headed to April Springs.

  “What do you mean by that? Do you think she made it all up?”

  “Not entirely, but you heard Brad. They all lie. I’m perfectly willing to believe that Alexa saw something last night, but I doubt it was a blow-by-blow account. If Rumsfield had done that to Abner, can you imagine for one second that the mechanic would just slink away, given how he feels about his book?”

  “No, he probably would have strangled him on the spot,” I said.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I certainly can’t see him sneaking back into the bookstore later after hours to clobber him then,” Grace said.

  “So where does that leave us?” I asked her.

  “We should go ahead and talk to Abner anyway, and then we see if we can make heads or tails of this mess,” Grace said.

  It was as good an idea as any, and as we drove back home, we spun out a dozen different scenarios about what might have really happened to the book publisher, but by the time we reached the town limits, we were still no closer to solving the man’s murder than we’d been when we’d left Union Square. At least I knew where to find our suspect.

  “Abner, do you have a minute?” Grace and I asked as we got to the garage where he worked. I was honestly a little surprised to see him still working this late, but it had been worth a try to check, and the hunch had paid off.

  “Is the Jeep giving you problems again?” he asked in an open and friendly manner as he wiped his hands on a rag.

  “No, it’s about the murder last night at the bookstore.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Abner said, suddenly chilling to us both.

  “Has the chief spoken with you yet?” Grace asked.

  “That’s why I’m working when I should be home microwaving my dinner,” the mechanic said. “They find one little piece of paper of mine, and all of a sudden I’m public enemy number one.”

  “There’s a little more to it than that, and you know it,” I said.

  Abner reached into his back pocket absently and pulled out a large crescent wrench. As he stood there, he began slapping the heavy tool in the palm of his hand. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it subconsciously or if it was an attempt to intimidate us. If it was the latter, it was working, at least a little. “So what? I had a conversation with the guy. Why wouldn’t I? He could publish my book. I would have been a fool to miss the chance to pitch him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He told me that he’d like to look at it, but he wasn’t buying any new inventory just now. It was friendly enough.”

  I had to confront him with what Alexa had told us, but I wasn’t all that happy about it, especially with the weighty tool in his hand. “That’s odd. We heard that you two had an argument and that John Rumsfield threw your manuscript back in your face as he laughed at you. That doesn’t sound very friendly to me.”

  I glanced over at Grace, and she nodded in support. It had been the right thing to do, confronting the mechanic with what we’d heard, despite how squeamish I was feeling at the moment. It would be fine.

  At least I hoped so, anyway.

  “So, someone was watching us. Big deal. I’ve been rejected before, and I’m sure it will happen again. Do you know how many times that lady who wrote Larry got turned down? I can take it. I’m a grown man.”

  “But you did have an argument with John Rumsfield. Are you willing to at least admit that?” I asked him.

  “That depends on what you call an argument. Like I said, it was a discussion. That’s it.”

  “When was the last time you saw him, Abner?” Grace asked him.

  “When do you think? It was when we talked,” Abner insisted. “Sure, he tossed some pages back at me, and I was plenty steamed about it for a second, but after I gathered the book back together, I decided he wasn’t worth it.”

  “What did you do next?” Grace asked him.

  “I went home, had a few beers, and then I went to bed. My days start early around here.”

  “Not as early as mine does,” I said with a smile, trying to ease the tension between us a little.

  It didn’t work.

  “Yeah. Whatever. Listen, I didn’t kill him, okay? I’m not the scheming type, you know? I thought about punching him on the snout when he laughed at me, but it was just for a second. I decided he probably had better lawyers than I c
ould afford, so I decided to forget about him altogether. Don’t you worry, though. I’ll see that book published someday, one way or the other.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said, not believing it for a second. “Did John Rumsfield happen to say anything to you that wasn’t about your book?” I’d asked him the question on a whim, but sometimes my gut knew best.

  “Yeah. He said he couldn’t stick around and jabber any more with me. He said that he had a meeting with a real writer.”

  “Did he happen to say who it was?” I asked him.

  “No, that was all that he said,” Abner replied.

  “Do you happen to know where he went after he left you?”

  “He went back into the bookstore, but through the back door instead of the front way in,” Abner said.

  “Wasn’t it locked by then?” I asked him.

  “If it was, he must have had a key, because he walked into the place like he held the lease on it. Listen, I didn’t touch the man, let alone kill him. Now can I please get back to work?”

  “It’s fine by us,” I said, realizing that we’d probably gotten all we were going to out of the man, at least for now. “Thanks for your time.”

  He pulled out a notebook and jotted something down, which piqued my curiosity. “What did you just write down, Abner?”

  The mechanic just smiled at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “What do you think, Suzanne? Was Abner telling the truth?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure why, but I believe him. He could easily have hit John on the spot, but I can’t see him sneaking back and clobbering him with a bookend, can you?”

  “I try not to judge what people will or will not do, but I’m inclined to agree with you. If Rumsfield had gotten a black eye, or even a bloody nose, Abner could have done it, but I see him using his hands, not some nearby blunt instrument.”

  “Unless it was a wrench,” I said, remembering the sound of the metal hitting his palm.