Goodbye Cruller World

by Ginger Bolton

  Brent put his phone in his pocket. “There. An officer is going to seal Deputy Donut’s doors.”

  I thanked him and told him that our cleaning crew had nearly finished their nightly cleaning but were leaving.

  Brent grimaced. “I’ll add them to my list of people to interview.”

  “What about our donut car?”

  “I’ll arrange that when I get back to the office.” He must have picked up on my apprehension about leaving the fun vintage car in an isolated parking lot. He added, “Your car won’t be here long. I have to go back into town soon.”

  “Okay.” We managed to arrive at the foot of the driveway without sliding on pebbles. Lights on the outside of the lodge weren’t plentiful, but they were enough. I turned off my phone’s flashlight.

  Brent asked me, “Do you have any idea why the victim’s pockets were stuffed with crullers?”

  “What? That makes no sense. Crullers were the favorites that Jenn specifically ordered for herself. Roger asked for raised donuts coated in confectioners’ sugar.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Did the crullers in Roger’s pockets have arsenic on them?”

  “That’ll be tested. Obviously, he didn’t ingest those particular crullers.”

  “Maybe someone saw him taking crullers and that’s why they dipped a cruller or two or five in arsenic and put them where he’d find them.”

  “Or . . . ?” He stared into my face.

  “The poison was meant for Jenn,” I concluded.

  We walked toward the lodge’s main doors. Several fire department vehicles were idling in front. Engines rumbled, exhaust fogged the chilly night air, and radios blared mostly unintelligible words and phrases. If I’d heard the Red Cross van and the yellow school bus arriving, I’d assumed they were investigators’ vehicles or fire trucks. Lights were on inside the bus, people were in the seats, and the windows were steaming up. I asked Brent, “When will the hotel guests go back inside?”

  “After the hazmat team gets here. They’ll have to check the area around your donut wall, photograph the white powder, seal it and the saucer and your hat in evidence bags, and test the air in the banquet hall and the rest of the hotel. If they need to, the fire department will ventilate the entire building, and then the overnight guests will be able to go back to their rooms. The guests will probably be on that bus for several hours, at least.”

  In the dimly lit main parking lot just beyond the vehicles clustered outside the lodge’s main doors, Misty and her partner were standing a short distance from each other, interviewing reception guests. Scott glanced over the heads of guests who were probably waiting their turns, met my gaze, and nodded. Neither of us smiled.

  An odd pang jabbed at my midsection. The folks who had attended that reception to celebrate a wedding couldn’t know that the groom had died. Scott wouldn’t know, either, although he could have guessed, both from Roger’s deteriorating condition and from Brent’s and my solemn expressions and our body language. Although I was mostly hidden inside the blanket, my drooping shoulders and stiffer-than-usual gait were probably noticeable. Maybe I wasn’t scowling as much as Brent was.

  Brent opened the passenger door of the cruiser he’d driven to the lodge. “I’ll take you home, Em.”

  “I could call a cab, and Scott’s still here.”

  Brent gave his head a definite shake. “I don’t want you contaminating a cab or Scott’s car.”

  “Only your cruiser?”

  “It’ll be cleaned.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m washable.”

  “Okay, as long as you don’t turn on the cruiser’s fan.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, considering that neither of us is wearing a coat.”

  I clutched the blanket more tightly around myself. “I can get you a deal on the latest style in durable blankets.”

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I fell into the front seat of the cruiser.

  Brent shut the passenger door, got in behind the wheel, turned the cruiser around, set the heat to high without turning on the fan, and drove at a speed rivaling Tom’s. He didn’t slow much on hills and curves.

  I asked, “Are you going to turn on the siren and strobes?”

  He laughed. “You should have gone back to Fallingbrook with Samantha. She was using hers.”

  “You were using yours on the way.”

  “I was in a hurry, then.”

  I wondered what he called this speed, if it wasn’t a hurry. Finally beginning to thaw, I loosened the blanket and asked, “Do you think your chief will bring in the DCI again?” During the previous year’s murder investigation, Fallingbrook’s police chief had called in the Wisconsin Division of Criminal Investigation to take over a case that Brent had been supervising quite competently.

  “I can almost guarantee it.”

  “Maybe this time the DCI will send a different detective.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Last time, they’d sent Detective Yvonne Passenmath. Yvonne had been a patrol cop in the Fallingbrook Police Department when Tom was chief. She had failed the examination to become a detective, while Brent and Alec hadn’t. Tom had promoted his son and his son’s best friend, and now, even though Yvonne had eventually passed the exam and become a DCI agent, she had never forgiven Tom, Alec, or Brent. To make matters worse, although Alec had never been interested in her, Yvonne seemed to believe that I’d stolen him from her. Alec, Misty, and Tom had all told me that Yvonne’s police work was shoddy, and I had discovered that if she saw or imagined evidence linking me to a crime, she focused on that and ignored more pertinent clues, and if she couldn’t pin the blame on me, she rushed to judge others.

  If anything, the thought of Yvonne Passenmath made Brent drive faster. We made it to my place in just over fifteen minutes.

  I got out of the car and started up the walk toward the house and the warm and welcoming light streaming onto the front porch from the living room window. Brent called me back to his cruiser. He opened the trunk and handed me a large brown paper evidence bag with a self-sealing glue strip near the top. “I’ll go in first and take Dep outside so she’ll be safe from any arsenic drifting off you,” he said. “Then you can go inside, shower, put your clothes, shoes, and that blanket in the bag, and seal it. I’ll take them to be analyzed.”

  “These jeans and this shirt are new! Will I get them back?” I knew that evidence could be kept for a long time.

  “Yes, unless they’re covered in arsenic.”

  “They’d better not be!”

  “Hope not.”

  I accompanied him as far as the porch, unlocked the door for him, and took a couple of steps back. It felt a little strange to stay on the porch and watch Brent go inside without me. Meowing, Dep trotted to him. I could tell she expected him to do what he usually did, scoop her into his arms. Instead, he urged, “Come on, Dep,” and strode toward the back of the house. Meowing, her tail up and her feet thumping on the pine plank floor, she followed him.

  Still on the front porch, I heard more kitty exclamations and then encouraging mumbles from Brent. The back door opened and shut, and I heard no more from my cat or my friend.

  Back in the 1890s, the cottage’s original owner had surrounded the entire yard with a smooth brick wall, with no breaks or gates. It was marvelously secure, for both cats and humans, which was one reason my law-enforcement officer husband had wanted to buy this particular house. Dep, who’d been a kitten when we moved in, had quickly discovered that the fun of climbing up trees wasn’t worth the difficulty of attempting to run down headfirst, which, with backward-curling kitty claws, ended in landings that were apparently far too undignified to suit her. Clever cat that she was, she stopped climbing trees and never discovered that those backward-curling kitty claws would actually allow her to back down tree trunks. In addition, the shrubs near the wall hadn’t held her weight then and certainly wouldn’t now.


  However, a cat-sized tunnel had been incorporated in the wall when it was first built. At some point, that tunnel had been blocked with a stone. Just over a year ago, the woman in the house behind mine had moved the stone and Dep had taken the opportunity to pay visits to, and accept treats from, my cat-loving neighbor. That house was now vacant, and I had plugged my end of the tunnel with a couple of bricks. I knew that Dep would be, as always, perfectly secure in my yard. Besides, Brent would keep a watchful eye on her.

  I eased into the living room, set my keys, wallet, and phone down, locked the front door, and went upstairs to the pretty white-tiled bathroom that Alec and I had renovated. I sealed the blanket and my shoes, clothes, and apron into the bag that Brent had given me.

  I might have lingered with shampoo and bath gel if Brent hadn’t needed to return to work. Leaving my hair wet, I threw on flannel pj’s and a thick terry robe the same blue as my eyes. Barefoot, I carried the bag down the stairs to the silent main floor.

  Beside the front door, I gripped the bag by its top. “Brent? Dep?”

  Neither of them answered. I set the bag on the front porch. Brent’s cruiser was still beside the curb, probably causing any neighbors who were awake at a little after two in the morning to fret.

  I padded through the unlit dining room, kitchen, and sunroom, and found Dep and Brent outside underneath the lit timber pergola on the deck. Still not wearing a coat and probably feeling the cold, Brent was sidestepping Dep’s attempts to climb him as if he were a tree, a kindly one that would set her down whenever she demanded. Laughing, I opened the door. “Come on, Dep.”

  She sat down and scrubbed at her whiskers.

  Brent smiled at her, but when he turned toward me, he looked past me into the dark sunroom, and his eyes were shadowed, as if another suspicious death in Fallingbrook worried him. “I’ll leave her to you, now,” he said.

  I held the door open for him. “Thanks for looking after her. The evidence bag is on the front porch.”

  “Great. Thanks, Em.”

  “Do you think you can still make it to dinner tomorrow?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Since Deputy Donut will have to be closed, I’ll have the day off. How about if I cook, and take a raincheck on the pizza and beer?”

  He flashed a quick smile at me. “That’s an offer I can’t resist.” He headed toward the front of the house. “I’ll be in touch. Call if you think of anything. Any time. And take care of yourself, Em. I’ll let myself out.” He headed into the sunroom.

  Now that I was clean, Dep didn’t want the hugs I was ready to give her. She strolled off the deck and pounced on something in the grass. I heard Brent close the front door.

  Leaving the back door open for Dep, I went through the sunroom and turned on lights in the kitchen. I loved my sleek kitchen with its stainless-steel two-oven range and oversized fridge, its granite countertops and the pine cabinets that Alec and I had installed to go with the woodwork in the rest of the Victorian cottage. I opened the lower cabinet where I stored Dep’s food and treats. Outside, the engine of a car thrummed.

  I added kibble to one of the ceramic bowls that Alec’s mom had hand-crafted, chocolatey brown with kitty paw prints and Dep’s full name, Deputy Donut, in white. I refilled another one with water. Dep bounced in and skidded to a stop on the terra-cotta tile floor. Instead of eating or drinking, though, she stared at the bowls as if wondering what kibble and water were. I hurried to close the back door before she could decide to do more wee-hours prowling in our walled-in yard.

  When I walked from the sunroom into the kitchen again, Dep pretended she hadn’t been eating. She strolled toward the front of the house. I turned out the lights, bumbled through the dining room in the semidarkness, and switched off the light in the living room. I peeked out the front window. Brent’s cruiser was gone. I could almost hear him ordering me to lock the door with the dead bolt. I obeyed.

  I never understood why staying up late made it harder, not easier, to fall asleep. However, having seen Roger alive, and then drunk, and then comatose, and finally hearing that he’d died was enough to keep anyone awake.

  More than that, I ached for Jenn.

  I also worried about Brent. If investigating another possible murder was bothering him, maybe I hoped that the police chief would bring in the DCI, even if the lead investigator was Yvonne Passenmath.

  Chapter 10

  I slept in as long as Dep would let me, about five minutes more than most mornings, which meant we were exploring outside in the dark around five fifteen. After breakfast and a mug of delicious Maui coffee, I was almost awake. I made sheets of pasta from scratch and then assembled a couple of lasagnas. I refrigerated one, froze the other, and took the opportunity of an unexpected day off to do some extra housework. And to lounge around with a book and a cup of tea.

  Midway through the afternoon, Brent called. The investigators were ready to search Deputy Donut. I pulled a cheerful red sweater on over my light blue shirt and blue jeans and went outside.

  It was one of those glorious midwestern autumn days, with a bluer-than-blue sky and a tang of dry leaves in the air. Walking to Wisconsin Street without my goofy cat doing her own rather thorough investigations took less than ten minutes.

  The front windows of Dressed to Kill hadn’t changed since Friday afternoon. A sign taped inside the glass front door announced that the store would be closed for two weeks. Jenn had added I’LL BE ON MY HONEYMOON!!! and had surrounded her handwritten note with hearts. I couldn’t help glancing through the door above the sign. The store looked empty and forlorn. Sympathy for Jenn welled in my heart. I wondered if she and Roger had planned an exciting trip.

  Brent was standing on the closer of the two patios flanking Deputy Donut’s front door. Knowing him, he had walked from the police station, which was on the town square, a few blocks up Wisconsin Street. Maybe to some people, Brent would have appeared intimidating in his black jeans, black T-shirt, and black blazer, but I had seen how gentle he was with my cat and with the women he’d brought on double dates with Alec and me. Sunlight glinted gold and auburn in his light brown hair. Although I suspected he’d been up most of the night, he didn’t look as tired as he had when he left Dep and me at our place early that morning.

  Smiling, he walked toward me, and then we both stopped, still an arm’s length apart. When Alec was alive, Brent and I had frequently given each other casual hugs, but after Alec was shot and Brent was grazed, I’d avoided anyone and anything that reminded me of that terrible night. And then, in the courtroom right after the guilty verdict, I’d thanked Brent for helping put Alec’s killer behind bars. He’d again told me to get in touch if I needed anything, and I’d blurted that Brent wasn’t the only person whom others could lean on and that Brent could lean on me. My outburst had shocked me so much that I’d continued avoiding Brent. It must have shocked or at least dismayed him, too, and we’d drifted even further apart.

  Then, just over a year ago, when I’d inadvertently become involved in a murder investigation, I’d realized that Brent and I could become friends again. We’d begun giving each other the kinds of quick hugs that people naturally give friends, mostly when Brent wasn’t on duty.

  Now, although the sunlit afternoon seemed entirely different from the cold, the dark, and the horror of the night before, when I hadn’t known whether or not I was covered with poison and would not have hugged my worst enemy, not that I usually went around hugging enemies, Brent was on duty. I tried to cover the awkwardness of the chasm between us by quickly apologizing for the lack of chairs on the patio and asking, “Are the investigators here?”

  “They’re out back.”

  A neat notice was taped to our door announcing that Deputy Donut was closed for the day. There was no mention of a criminal investigation. I figured that was a good thing. I nodded at the sign. “I should have thought of that. Did you put it there?”

  Brent headed toward the driveway. “Yes, after I left you las
t night. I went to the office and printed it, and then I brought it here and taped it to your door. Doing something like that actually helps me think about whatever problem I’m trying to solve.”

  And he was naturally kind and thoughtful, besides. Walking up the driveway with him, I thanked him. “Did you figure out who killed Roger?”

  He cast a humorously rueful look down at me. “Afraid not.”

  In our parking lot, two officers in hazmat gear were unloading equipment from a sinister-looking windowless black van. Brent waved to them, and they followed us to the door leading into Deputy Donut’s office. Brent removed the seal.

  With him and the two investigators watching my every move, I unlocked the door, stepped inside, disarmed the alarm, and turned on the lights. I couldn’t tell that the Jolly Cops hadn’t finished cleaning. The dining room sparkled. The Jolly Cops had swept and mopped the wood plank floor, taken the chairs off the tables, and scrubbed the tabletops, which were shiny slices of large tree trunks, complete with growth rings and variations in size and shape.

  I went outside and held the door open for the two hazmat-suited officers and their cases of equipment. In their bootie-covered footwear, they shuffled inside. Brent followed in his civilian clothes and no hazmat gear.

  “Sir?” one of the officers asked through his mask.

  Brent was already removing a notebook from an inside pocket in his blazer. “I don’t expect to find noxious substances in here.”

  I thought I saw a shrug inside one of those bulky coveralls. The officers began unsnapping the latches on their cases.

  Brent turned toward me. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

  I walked home. As soon as I went inside, Dep ran from the sunroom and twined herself around my legs. I picked her up, hugged her, and took her outside. I texted Tom that the investigators had arrived at Deputy Donut. Dep rolled in the grass and ended up on her side, blinking in the light. I pruned forsythia in the October sunshine. Dep found a warm spot on the patio and hunkered down to watch me work.