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

by Nina Post

  “Mmm,” she said in a non-committal response, though she suspected that this was pretty much the opposite of the truth. She finished the mixing. Now they would wait for fermentation. “That must have been hard on her.”

  Stheno shrugged and frowned. “Who knows? Anyway, she regrets leaving United Donuts. She begs me to let her back in, but I’ve managed very well without her. And frankly, my donuts are more light and flavorful.”

  She took the dough and rolled it out to a consistent thickness.

  “Archie probably influenced her to leave,” Stheno added, watching her. “He probably wanted to take that weight off my back.”

  As Kelly cut the donut shapes and placed them on fry screens, she thought about the possibility of finding more of her family. Stheno took bitterness, delusion, and envy to pathological levels, and this probably wasn’t even unusual. Was this what family was? People who should support you tearing you down behind your back, or right to your face? It was disheartening.

  “Do you have any other family?” Kelly asked brightly, while Stheno did absolutely nothing, unless you counted watching a morning ‘news’ show while someone else did all the work.

  She put the cut donuts in a humidified cabinet, a proofer, then left them alone to rise during the final fermentation.

  “Our sister, Euryale. She’s traveling, as usual.” Stheno popped another chocolate in her mouth. “I guess we’re just not good enough for her here.”

  “You mentioned an Archie?”

  Stheno whipped her head around. The snakes murmured and Kelly shivered. She hated those things. That employee couldn’t get back here fast enough. The hell with getting information.

  Stheno smirked and turned her attention back to the show. “We used to work for Archie. I was a flavor scientist.”

  “And Medusa?”

  “She worked for me at the flavor lab as an assistant.”

  This Gorgon was a real piece of work. “And Archie ran the lab?”

  “No, Archie ran the company. He started seeing Medusa after I turned him down.”

  She hadn’t heard anything about this, but wasn’t about to give Stheno any credit for telling the truth.

  “Medusa was Archie’s Barbie doll,” Stheno said, her expression bitter. “He liked to dress her up and take her out.”

  As delusional and envious as Stheno had been this whole time, she had never sounded as envious as she did saying that. Obviously, she resented that no one had done the same for her, resented that a strange but attentive man like Archie had treasured Medusa.

  Kelly checked on the donuts, rising nicely. “They’re not dating anymore?”

  Stheno shrugged.

  She tried another angle. “I can’t believe you weren’t mad at him for doing that.”

  “Why would I be mad? He wasn’t worth it.”

  “Well, I hear from the girls in my―” she tried to think of a game her family played at the cabin―“Texas hold ‘em group that Archie Driscoll is going to make an appearance at Ferris.”

  Sethno’s eyes flashed wide. “When?”

  “Tonight, I think,” Kelly said in an off-hand tone while she checked the donuts again. Perfect. She loaded them into the fryer, carefully. They were fragile, and she didn’t want to bump or jostle them.

  “Oh, hurry up.” Stheno clicked her heels over to the fryer and practically shoved the donuts in. She went back to her chair and her morning show.

  Kelly watched the donuts gas out and go flat. All that work, for nothing. They wouldn’t revive in the fryer, either―they had almost no chance to become plump, airy donuts, and Stheno would totally blame her at the result. But she fired up the Mark 75 anyway, and wondered idly if the machine could make French 75s.

  The fryer made a grinding noise, gurgled, then wheezed. A moment later, the short conveyor belt staggered into motion. Not exactly the Mark 90 Super-Fryer.

  The employee entered from the front, tying on her apron on as she pushed past the saloon doors into the kitchen. Kelly felt a rush of relief.

  “Dana. I thought you were sick.” Stheno couldn’t be any less enthused.

  “I was, but it was coming out of both ends, which was actually pretty efficient, so I feel much better now.”

  “Good luck!” Kelly patted Dana on the shoulder and started to leave, adding in a low voice, “She killed the donuts, by the way.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” Stheno called out after her.

  Kelly was never so relieved to leave a place. Except maybe Af’s periodontist’s office.

  Raum stood in the club room of Amenity Tower and addressed the group.

  “Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the Building Expenses and Assessments Forecast Sub-Committee. More informally known as the Clucking Along Holdings Dry Mix Poisoning Sub-Committee, or, alternately, the Start the Second Apocalypse Sub-Committee.

  “Refreshments are by the window.” Raum gestured grandly to the table of chafing dishes, and Vassago, Imamiah, and Forcas gathered by the scrambled eggs while Raum remained standing.

  “Vassago, tell us what we’re supposed to be working on,” Raum said.

  Vassago piled up his plate with sausage, potatoes, and eggs, set it on the round table, and stood in front of the sofa, where Imamiah sat. Forcas poked around the chafing dishes.

  “Ostensibly, we will be looking at the projected building expenses…” Vassago said.

  Forcas walked right in front of Vassago with a plate of eggs as though he wasn’t talking.

  “Uh, in order to form a projection of how the assessments…”

  Forcas backed up and paused in front of Vassago, blocking his view of the others.

  “Dammit, Forcas, I’m talking here!”

  Forcas waved his fork while he swallowed a mouthful of eggs, and glanced around as though he had no idea he stood right in front of Vassago. “Oh, heh. Sorry.”

  “Of how the assessments will have to change over the following years to make up for increased expenses,” Vassago said, quickly, before anyone else interrupted him.

  “Brilliant!” Raum said, and the five committee members clapped. “Imamiah, why don’t you tell us what we’re really going to do.”

  Vassago took his seat again and Imamiah took his place in front of the sofa next to Raum.

  “We’re going to discuss the special supernatural donut-making machine in Pothole City Donuts,” Raum said, “namely the Mark 90 Super-Fryer. PCD is the most successful and popular donut shop in the city, and it is the only one with a fryer that has, frankly, awe-inspiring processing capability.”

  “I love their donuts!” Gaap said from the adjacent TV room.

  “Gaap, we’ve reserved this room for a committee meeting,” Raum said.

  “I’m watching reruns of What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi.” Gaap turned and ran his finger in a parallel line like a cheesy arena rock singer. “I may be bound here, just like all of you microbe farms, but it’s still a free building.” He dropped his arm. “Aside from the assessments. And the insurance. And the property taxes.” Gaap’s voice trailed off, pensive. “Where does the money come from, anyway?”

  The committee murmured among themselves. “You are now an adjunct committee member,” Forcas announced to Gaap.

  “Does that include donuts?” Gaap said.

  The committee members murmured again.

  “Sure,” Forcas said.

  “I’m in. Unless it involves any actual work.” Gaap adjusted his headphones and turned back to the TV.

  Raum cleared his throat. “We’ve learned from the apocryphal lore that the Super-Fryer can be leveraged, in a time-limited window, for bringing about the Apocalypse.”

  “What apocryphal lore?” Forcas asked.

  “The Journal of the Contemporary Bound Angel, Western Canada Edition.” Raum gestured to Vassago. “Our very own Vassago has snuck into Pothole City Donuts after-hours for dangerous reconnaissance to cross-check the donut-making equipment with the lore. Vassago, why don’t you tell the co
mmittee what you found?”

  Raum pulled out Vassago’s chair and dug into the food he left on the table.

  “Well, uh…” Vassago watched Raum eat his food for a moment, and met eyes with the others at the table. “I found donuts. Delicious, feather-light donuts, with flavors you wouldn’t believe.”

  “What else,” Raum said pointedly.

  “The Mark 90 Super-Fryer is indeed the machine mentioned in the apocryphal lore. I verified the serial number.” Vassago waited by his seat until Raum got up, and brought his plate back to the chafing dishes to refill what Raum took.

  “Thank you for that engrossing, detail-rich account of your extensive reconnaissance.” Raum shot a look at Vassago, and wheeled in the white board. “Don, the Destroying Angel of the Apocalypse, wants us to infiltrate the Clucking Along headquarters and manufacturing plants tonight. Now, obviously this―”

  “Tonight?” Imamiah suspended his fork. “No, tonight’s bad. There’s a show on BBC America I’ve been looking forward to for months, and I’m going to make my own pizza.”

  “Yeah, tonight’s no good for me, either.” Forcas opened his day planner. “I have to catch up on some laundry and paper shredding.”

  “I want to get to sleep early so I’m awake for my early morning swim class,” Vassago said.

  Raum was silent.

  The others fidgeted.

  Raum was silent even longer.

  The others stopped fidgeting and sat still.

  “As I was saying.” Raum said. “Obviously, this situation requires a way of getting out of Amenity Tower. I propose that we have the Ferryman submit a fake invoice with a fake vendor name that’s close enough for his bank to accept it. Then management will pay the invoice from the operating fund. That’s just the deposit―we have to figure out a way to pay him the rest.”

  Gaap laughed from the TV room. “You think Kelly won’t figure that out?”

  “I thought you weren’t listening!” Forcas said.

  “Oh, I’ve seen this What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi episode a hundred times,” Gaap said.

  “How much are the Ferryman’s services?” Imamiah said.

  Raum clasped his hands in front of him. “Perhaps I mentioned that the Ferryman’s liability insurance has skyrocketed after the services he provided to Af nearly led to the apocalypse.”

  “Then Af should pay for the rest of it,” Vassago said. “Shouldn’t he?”

  “Oh, let’s not bother Af with that,” Raum said. “I’m sure we can think of something. Besides, he wasn’t actually responsible.”

  Some residents entered the club room and wandered around as though they expected something to be there.

  Raum shot an irritated glance at the intruders. “So, we pay the deposit for the cart, make the journey from the parking garage to the automat, locate the flour that management said to use for the dessert reception in the lobby, then―”

  The other residents left.

  Raum exhaled in relief and continued at a normal voice level. “We pay the deposit for the Ferryman. All of us go to Clucking Along Holdings. We find the Cluck Snack Dry Mix and add the poison that Don is having delivered today. Then we get out of there. Simple!”

  Forcas scribbled notes on a legal pad. “How are we supposed to get there? Does the Ferryman have a shuttle?”

  “And do we know where they keep the dry mix?” Imamiah said.

  Archie Driscoll’s LLC owned an eclectic collection of assets, including a residence, a canoe, and a bicycle. The LLC was associated with two addresses: one that led to Tecumseh Creed, where he apparently received his mail, and one that led to a real estate office. Neither of which had gotten her anywhere.

  Acting on gut intuition, she called Pothole City Donuts and caught a busy Medusa.

  “Do you know a Tecumseh Creed?” Kelly asked, talking fast.

  Medusa snickered. “Tecumseh? Yeah, she loves my Steak-Flav’r Pudd’n donut. Archie always asks me to bring a box along for her when I visit his house.”

  “You know where his house is?”

  “No idea. Had a blindfold on the whole time. Archie’s funny that way.”

  Kelly brought a baker’s dozen box of Steak-Flav’r Pudd’n donuts from Pothole City Donuts to Tecumseh’s house. She took Tubiel with her, and he caught a small blue and white bird at the entrance to her endless driveway.

  She took the porch steps up to the white screen door and rapped the metal with her knuckles. Tecumseh approached the door and glared at them.

  “My name is Kelly. I spoke with you on the phone.”

  “Whatcha got there, girlie?” Tecumseh opened the door and the hinges screamed. She seized the pink box and took a deep sniff. “Steak-Flav’r Pudd’n donuts?”

  Kelly smiled. She had her.

  “Medusa send ya?” Tecumseh sliced open the tape with her thumbnail and took out one of the donuts with a rapturous expression.

  “No. I just need to find Archie,” Kelly said, watching Tecumseh take a big bite of a Steak-Flav’r Pudd’n donut, her eyes closed as she chewed slowly, savoring.

  Tecumseh flashed a sly grin and sucked the frosting off her fingers. “Quid pro quo, huh? Well. I respect your forthrightness!”

  She leaned back an inch, because Tecumseh tended to talk in a yell. It reminded her of Shanks, the bond agent who hired her to find Archie. Maybe she should set them up.

  Tubiel ran up to the screen door and outstretched his cupped hands.

  “What’s this, now?” Tecumseh pushed open the screen door and Tubiel opened his cupped hands, revealing the small, puffy warbler. The bird stayed perched on Tubiel’s palm as it chirped and ruffled its wings.

  Tecumseh slapped a hand over her wide mouth. “Rockford! Where did you find him?” She cupped the bird in her hands and went inside. The screen door slammed behind her. Kelly wanted to fix the shocks on the door so it soft-closed.

  “You may as well come in,” Tecumseh yelled from inside, so Kelly and Tubiel went in.

  Tecumseh placed the bird in a gigantic cage with enough room for at least five toucans, and gave Tubiel one of the donuts, which he accepted with a wide grin but didn’t eat.

  “What are you, European?” Tecumseh said to Tubiel as he took small bites of the donuts. He shrugged and smiled.

  Kelly rummaged under the kitchen sink for some tools, and went back to the screen door to fix its shocks. While Tubiel occupied Tecumseh, Kelly checked the red mailbox and found a catalog of lab materials addressed to A&A Services. Archie and Annie?

  “Whatcha want Archie for?” Tecumseh yelled.

  “He’s missing and people are worried about him,” she yelled back. “I just want to make sure he’s OK, and get him back to work.”

  “Don’t know how I can help,” Tecumseh yelled, her normal speaking voice.

  Kelly tested the door, and, satisfied, took the tools back to the kitchen. “Tell me where his house is. His real house.”

  Tecumseh tore a chunk out of another Steak-Flav’r Pudd’n donut from the box. She pondered for a moment while chewing. “I’ll draw you a map.”

  The fake president was supposed to dine at Ferris, Pothole City’s hottest new restaurant, that evening. To find out when, and to get a reservation, Kelly had to trade in a few favors.

  After wrapping up her work at Amenity Tower, she biked over to the pier, laptop bag slung over her back. When she reached the pier, she found the operator of the wheel.

  “Do you have any pull with the reservations staff?”

  “Uh, I control the wheel,” the operator said. “The whole reason people want reservations is because it’s on a rotating wheel. I’m the one who makes sure it rotates. Also, I can close any car I want, say it’s out of order.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her as though to say, “How you like me now?”

  She considered this. “I’m pretty good at finding people. Maybe I could find someone for you.”

  The operator crossed his arms. “Haven’t seen my brother in a long time. Wouldn’t
mind knowing what he’s up to these days.”

  She smiled. “Give me all the information you have.”

  The wheel operator gave her enough info on his brother to make the job take about thirty minutes. She found a chair in the Frozen Pastry Museum and opened her laptop. Twenty minutes later, she had more information on the brother than the wheel operator would probably want, and snagged an out-of-order Ferris car that would be put back in operation at the spur of the moment.

  elly’s reservation at Ferris was at eight p.m., three hours after Af’s usual dinnertime and one hour before his usual bedtime―circumstances she planned to exploit.

  Since Kelly suspected that the handsome, dark-haired man she had met in Pothole City Donuts was actually Af, she knew the radical change to his schedule would drive him insane. From what she’d observed, even a ten-minute alteration made him antsy.

  She didn’t know how Af had managed to accomplish the two astonishing feats of completely changing his appearance and leaving Amenity Tower by himself for an extended period, but those questions would have to wait.

  Right now, she didn’t want to let on that she suspected. After itching to get back in an alias, she envied Af for his switch in persona―unless he couldn’t change back, a possibility she didn’t want to consider.

  The Ferris wheel sparkled with thousands of tiny lights against the darkness of Pothole City. The temperature couldn’t have been higher than twenty degrees, but she wanted to hold off on taking a Ferris car until she saw the impostor, the fake Archie Driscoll. She also waited for Stheno to arrive.

  The Gorgon sister’s reaction to the impostor would tell her a lot: If Stheno showed up, it would indicate she knew that the real Archie shouldn’t be out and about―certainly not dining at Ferris.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Af asked.

  “No, I’m fine.”