The Last Donut Shop of the Apocalypse (Kelly Driscoll Book 2)

by Nina Post

The street van wound around a concrete block, the revolving chicken head on top spinning and clucking, which drove the SPs into a frenzy. They climbed around in the back, angling for a better view, and took turns in the front passenger seat. She inched up as a construction worker waved her through and saw the Cluck Snack van parking at a curb.

  A few minutes later, she pulled the Pacer over behind the van.

  One of the chickens opened the back door and waved, and the SPs plastered themselves against the passenger door.

  “I’m driving a clown car,” she muttered.

  While they were stopped, she reached over and opened the door. The SPs spilled out of the car, some tumbling to the ground, and amassed at the back of the van where they stood in awe in front of the ordered display of Cluck Snack. The back doors remained open, but the SPs had gone far inside the van.

  Kelly chewed on her lip and thought again how she shouldn’t be the SP’s protector, or even their chauffeur. Whatever she was to them, they almost certainly should have chosen anyone else.

  Well, maybe not anyone else, but her? C’mon―she let all of them get into a van with a who-knows-what in a chicken costume, after letting them ride unsecured in the back with the seat down. The van could have been hijacked en route, for all she knew. Hell, she did it herself once, under a totally made-up municipal code for commandeering vehicles.

  It could be anyone in that chicken costume. Murray had killed the angel in charge of audio quality just days before Pothole City’s previous apocalypse, thanks to the hidden track on Grace Zabriskie Sings the Ferret Hits, so she had every reason to be worried.

  Whoever or whatever was ultimately in charge of the SPs should choose a better sitter.

  As her worry reached its apex, the SPs reappeared, each weighed down with boxes of the same Cluck Snack product, and covered in silver paint. She squinted. The SPs waved goodbye to the chicken―who gave Kelly a quick salute―and then opened the passenger door of the Pacer to get back inside. They tossed the boxes into the front and climbed into the back seat.

  “What did you get into?” She examined the paint they got all over the denim upholstery, and picked up one of the boxes. “Cluck Snack Top’n (‘Makes Anything Taste Like Cluck Snack’), Special Promotional Item, in a New Travel-Sized Dispenser,” she read. It was silver.

  “How did you get it all over―” She put up a hand. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll clean you off when we get to the headquarters.”

  Clucking Along Holdings had a government campus vibe with its short white buildings punctuated with narrow windows. It probably had underground levels.

  The SPs waited in the lobby while Kelly approached the receptionist, a brunette Veronica Lake type, at the curved granite desk.

  “I’m doing research for a book about Clucking Along Holdings, and would like to talk to some of your key employees.” Kelly held out a piece of paper. “Hamlet Gonzalez gave me the go-ahead.”

  The receptionist dialed a number, almost whispered into the phone, and hung up. “Whom would you like to see?” she asked. “And who” ―she raised her chin at the SPs―“are they?”

  Kelly smiled. “My kids. Ex couldn’t take them.”

  Several minutes later, Kelly interviewed a CAH vice-president in the family bathroom as she cleaned the silver Cluck Snack Top’n off the SPs.

  “You have eight children?” The vice-president, a wan man in his late forties with tired eyes, was the kind of person who would fret about a typo in a memo for a whole week. He looked at Kelly like she was quite possibly crazy.

  “I’m extremely fertile.”

  “They all look… so different from one another,” the vice-president said.

  “Yeah.” she passed a paper towel under the faucet. “I just can’t stay committed, you know? So many fish in the sea.” She wiped the Cluck Snack Top’n off of the SP’s jumpsuits, making a sound like a DJ spinning a record. “Now, about Archie Driscoll―”

  “Why are they all wearing jumpsuits?” The vice-president awkwardly folded his arms, no doubt wishing he weren’t having a meeting in the family bathroom.

  “They like to dress the same,” she said. “We’re a close family. I would have worn my own jumpsuit if it weren’t at the cleaner’s. So, tell me what you think of Archie Driscoll.”

  The VP shifted position and almost put his hand on a counter, blanched, then scratched his neck and settled on clasping his hands in front of his body. “Uh, he’s crazy. Wait, this is off the record, right?”

  “I’m not a journalist. I’m writing a book that’s mainly historical and traces the rise of CAH from its inception.” She set Kermit’s helmet on the counter and worked on a particularly stubborn area of dried Top’n on Kermit’s neck.

  “Right. Well, Driscoll’s a little crazy,” he said. “He never comes into the office; I haven’t seen him in months. He makes origami chickens in meetings. And I hear he lives in a yurt.”

  Kelly let the SPs loose with the directive of staying as close by as possible. Ilaniel, Qeriel, and Tubiel went outside; Achiel and Kermit headed to the cafeteria; Dave―the only one of the group who talked―chatted up the receptionist; Mefathiel opened a locked door marked ‘Do Not Enter’; and Zack stayed with Kelly, who sat in the cavernous lobby with Ella Drake, operations manager.

  “How would you say you’re treated here at CAH?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m very happy here.” Ella smiled and put her hands on her lap.

  “That includes your relationship with your supervisors?”

  “We have a great working relationship.”

  “What about, specifically, Archie Driscoll, the CAH president? I hear that he doesn’t make an appearance here very often.”

  A long pause. “Archie is brilliant.” Ella pulled herself in and rubbed her arms. “Just a little eccentric.”

  “You’ve slept with him, then.”

  “What? No! What kind of book are you writing?”

  “A damn good one. When did this happen?”

  Ella stood. Zack nudged Kelly and showed her his sketchbook.

  “You were escorted by car, blindfolded, to his… uh, residence,” Kelly said. “Mr. Driscoll made you”―she glanced at the pad as covertly as possible―“soup?”

  Ella recoiled sat back down on the buttery leather sofa. “How do you know that?”

  “I have sources.” Kelly indicated for her to continue.

  “Norwegian wedding soup, after his mother’s side, he said. It had herring and kale in it. I remember that he told me”―Ella smiled, but with a befuddled affect―“that herrings fart to find each other in the dark.” She laughed with a soft breath out her nose. “Archie wasn’t like anyone else. But he wasn’t available. Emotionally.”

  Kelly leaned in. “Wasn’t available? Why not?”

  Ella took out a pack of Cluck Snack Cheezy Snailz and pulled it open. “That Gorgon sister. He wasn’t over her, I could tell.” She ate several Cheezy Snailz at a time with increasing intensity.

  “How did you know?”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “He had photos of her on a wall.”

  “So he had a photo or two. That doesn’t necessarily mean that―”

  “No, more like fifty photos on a wall that had no other photos,” Ella said. “And he told me, ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but I’m still in love with Medusa Gorgon.’”

  That explained the emergency contact number. Archie wasn’t just a dedicated regular at Pothole City Donut’s previous location.

  Zack fell asleep on her arm and started to snore. Outside, the sky darkened, even though it had been a sunny day. Kelly and Ella shifted their eyes to the twenty-foot high window.

  “Oh my,” Ella said. “I hope that’s not some kind of apocalyptic sign. We just replaced the tiling on the patio.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not. Today’s apocalypse forecast was only at thirty percent,” Kelly said. “Would you say that Archie and Ms. Gorgon parted amicably or…”

  Ella absentmindedly scratched her
cheek. “Mm, no. Well, one of them, Medusa, yes. She’s actually a peach. The other one… what was her name? Stella? Sterno? Stretho? A real piece of work. One of those women who is immediately hostile to other women, you know? Sterno is probably a better name for her.”

  “Wait, Archie dated her, too?”

  “Maybe once, before he met Medusa.”

  “He was seeing both Gorgon sisters?”

  “Oh, I don’t know if it was at the same time.”

  “You’ve met the sisters?”

  “Of course,” Ella said. “They used to work here.”

  Kelly rounded up the SPs and had them stay in the lobby while she went down to the lab and spoke to the lead flavorist about the sisters.

  “Medusa and Stheno? Yes, they were flavor scientists here.”

  “Why did they leave?”

  “They wanted to be”―the flavorist made air quotes―“‘closer to the customer.’ At the time, but still today, CAH had no interest in opening retail storefronts; we just want to retain the delivery wagons, the street trucks, and the vending machines for promotion.” He put a beaker on a shelf.

  “Plus, the sisters thought they could create the most amazing donuts using their extensive flavor experience. So they left CAH and started United Donuts Co. Soon after that, Medusa split off to start her own competing chain, Pothole City Donuts. They were both skilled flavorists, but…” He made an equivocating motion with his hand.

  “What?”

  “Well, I’ve been to Medusa’s place. Pothole City Donuts. And her donuts are”―he appeared to swoon, his eyes closed―“truly, manna. The donuts of the gods. She was always the genius flavorist. Stheno’s…” He made a back and forth motion with his hand. “They’re fine.” He stretched out the ‘i’ and wobbled his head as he did it. “But nothing special. Stheno was a competent flavorist, but Medusa was an artist.

  “Now.” The flavorist held up a finger. “Mr. Driscoll allowed only Medusa to license our very special Cluck Snack Dry Mix―the basis for every single Cluck Snack product.”

  “Really?” Kelly said. “Every single product?”

  “Every one.”

  “Cluck Snack Gummi Milk Bott’l with Liquid Center?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cluck Snack P’nut Butt’r Koffee Drink?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cluck Snack Sweet n’ Savory Breakfast Foam Topp’n?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cluck Snack Non-Alcoholic Northr’n Whiskeee (‘Not for Hamsters or Chinchillas’)?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  She thought she had one that would stump him. “Cluck Snack Lem’n Jüc?”

  The flavorist widened his eyes. “That too. Wow, you really know your Cluck Snack.”

  “You have no idea,” Kelly said. “So, even those liquid products are based on the dry mix?”

  He nodded. “That’s right. Every single Cluck Snack product is made from the dry mix.”

  “And Archie Driscoll allowed only Medusa to use it for her donuts. Any idea why?” She knew the answer, but wanted to know if he did, too.

  “I think he was in love with her, which was perfectly understandable,” the flavorist said, with a one-sided smile. “Medusa is creative, generous-hearted, funny. Stheno could seem pleasant enough on the surface, I guess, but scratch that even superficially and you would uncover a bitter, resentful person.”

  “They didn’t get along, the sisters?”

  “Stheno hated Medusa,” the flavorist said. “No, maybe that’s too strong. She envied the living heck out of her.”

  On her way out, Kelly asked, “Was Stheno angry with Archie Driscoll over this dry mix thing?”

  “Apoplectic barely covers it.”

  On her way back to the lobby, a man who resembled a lemur accosted her, invading her personal space. She leaned away from his huge, lidless eyes and fretting hands.

  He smiled, revealing a row of small teeth. “Your diminutive friend fixed that infernal coffee machine in my cafeteria, and the vending machine works like a dream.”

  “Great,” she said, and walked on.

  He followed her. “Do you know how much it would have cost, how much time it would have taken to get that coffee machine fixed again? Please thank him for me. He’s a wizard with small appliances.”

  “That he is.” She didn’t think his eyes could get any wider, but they seemed to expand as he stared at something behind her.

  “It’s the president,” he whispered, and broke into a run toward the lobby.

  A small crowd accreted in front of the reception desk, and increased in mass by the second. By the time she reached the SPs at the opposite side of the room from the crowd, it looked like the entire flock of employees―some in white coats, some in business casual―gathered by the front doors.

  Illaniel, the tallest of the SPs, tapped her on the shoulder and looked to the woodsy field outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. She followed his gaze as he crossed his arms and smiled. The trees were heavy with stone and citrus fruit. She even noticed a grapevine, heavy with hanging clusters of grapes.

  “They definitely needed more fruit trees here.” Kelly gave Illaniel’s arm a squeeze. The crowd parted and a man emerged, followed by a sturdy woman in a long skirt a few feet behind.

  She sprinted across the lounge area and caught up to the man, briskly going down the north hallway.

  “Wait!”

  He halted and turned his head.

  She bypassed the off-putting woman and planted herself right in front of him. He looked completely human, stood about the same height as her, and with a fairly rigid bearing in his suit.

  He had slicked his wavy hair back from his forehead with product, and he gazed at her like a sleepy Komodo dragon digesting a meal.

  “Mr., ah, Driscoll?”

  “Yes.”

  Her skin rippled with goose bumps. Something about him felt off-putting. She had never met Archie Driscoll, and from the one fuzzy-looking photo she’d seen, he looked similar enough, but her instinct made her doubt this was the man she was hired to find.

  “I’m writing a book about the history of Clucking Along Holdings, and would love to speak to you for a few minutes.”

  He lowered his lids even more. “Macarena?” He didn’t take his eyes off Kelly. “What is my schedule for today.”

  The sturdy woman checked a file and spoke in an accented, but affectless voice that made Kelly think of running her hand down the side of a rock face.

  “Preparation and restoration of fossils. Readings on Balkan folklore at the Pothole City children’s library. Nacho cheese flight in the flavor lab. Mix-and-Mingle with the docents at the Frozen Pastry Museum. Reservations at Ferris.”

  The president blinked. “As you can tell, I have very little free time. Call my secretary and we’ll try to fit something in, though I expect I am booked solid for the next two months.” He proceeded down the hall.

  “Medusa Gorgon has a message for you,” Kelly said.

  He paused.

  “You know Medusa, right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Macarena whispered in the president’s ear.

  “A valued employee,” he added. “What is her message?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  Nothing about his expression changed. “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? Macarena, send her a gift card and congratulate Medusa on her new dependent.”

  Kelly watched them continue down the hall and disappear into an office. That was definitely not the missing president. If he really loved Medusa, he would have reacted to her being pregnant, which, as far as she knew, wasn’t true. And he wouldn’t have had someone send a gift card as though she could be any random employee.

  Zack and Tubiel came up behind her, nylon orienteering jumpsuits rustling, and took one hand each. Zack held his label maker and typed something in. The small purple machine churned out a label, which he gave to her.

  “Snack,” Kelly read.

  Tubiel scribb
led something on his sketchpad: a sunglasses-wearing chicken with an X through it.

  “He’s an impostor, all right. Let’s go.”

  elly started her investigation of the Gorgon sisters at Pothole City Donuts, even though she suspected Stheno had taken the missing president.

  But it turned out she had inadvertently saved herself some time, because both sisters were in the kitchen arguing, and going at it like cats in the bath. They didn’t notice her examining the equipment around them in the kitchen.

  Kelly had already seen Medusa when she ordered the half-dozen donuts with Cluck Snack Krispy Baked B’nana Bitz topping.

  Stheno didn’t seem like a relation, aside from the red snakes writhing around her head. She stabbed her finger toward Medusa, who leaned against a refrigerator, one arm folded across her belly, the other one up to examine her wildly painted fingernails.

  Medusa was a grown woman, but her body language―and her intricately painted fangs―made her look like a teenager.

  “They already gave you everything,” Stheno said.

  “I was closer to them,” Medusa said. “You didn’t make the effort.”

  “They didn’t make the effort! You got Dad’s conch shell, Mom’s whalebone reading chair, the pirate’s jewelry―everything that meant anything to them, you got. And now that crazy sonofabitch―”

  Medusa’s pyrite-colored wings stiffened with a sound like dominoes falling and she bared her colorful fangs. “He is not crazy. He’s―”

  “A lunatic. He gave you the exclusive right to use the Cluck Snack Dry Mix? When I’m just as talented a flavorist as you? How fair is that?”

  Kelly realized they were talking about Archie Driscoll.

  Medusa shrugged and flashed her eyes wide.

  “Take the offer,” Stheno said, coming closer.

  “Nope.” Medusa raised her chin and set her jaw.

  “You use their dry mix, but you won’t take their offer?” Stheno said in an incredulous tone.

  “Yep.”

  “We could retire.” Stheno stopped in front of her sister and crossed her arms.

  “I don’t want to retire. Not yet. I want to make these donuts. At least for a while. Maybe then I would consider selling.”