Passenmath stood. “We’re finished here. For now.”
“I would,” Brent said. “I’ll see you out, Yvonne.”
As she left, she told him, “I expect you in the office first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll be there.” He closed and dead-bolted the door.
Dep trotted into the living room and meowed at us.
I informed her, “If you’ve been lacking attention during the past ten minutes, it’s your own fault. You could have stayed in here with us.”
Brent picked up the demanding cat and cuddled her while I went to the kitchen for donuts. Back in the living room, I put a plate of them on the table. Dep and I settled on the couch. She purred.
Brent helped himself to a raised lemon donut with lemon icing. “I’m sure that the forensics team would look at the insides of those gloves as a matter of course, without direction from her, but she thought she had you for wearing gloves on Saturday night. Good for you for pointing out that the murderer might have borrowed a pair of those gloves and worn them. Judging by the look on her face, she hadn’t thought of it.”
“Had you?”
He grinned. “Of course. The murderer might not have put on any of your gloves, however.”
“I would have worn gloves if I were playing with arsenic. To be on the safe side, though, I would have brought my own. And a mask.”
“And you would also be a better detective than Yvonne Passenmath.”
“I hope she’s willing to consider someone other than Jenn as the culprit.”
“She is. You.”
“I’m trying to ignore that.”
He bit into the donut. “Mmmm. Every time I taste one of your donuts, I think it’s my favorite.”
I thanked him and then remembered to ask, “Did you figure out who owned the black sports car that was steamed up in the staff parking lot early Sunday morning?”
He eyed me like he was about to warn me to stay out of police investigations. Then he relented. “I guess it’s not exactly classified information. It belonged to the deceased.”
I sputtered, “But it wasn’t . . . he couldn’t have . . . he’d collapsed about an hour before we saw that car. It probably couldn’t have stayed so steamed up that long.” A thought struck me. “We didn’t check if it was locked.”
“We didn’t touch any of the cars.”
“Who else might have a key? Did he have any family at that reception? They hired all of the attendants besides Jenn’s half-sister.”
“Most of the people at the reception were Jenn’s guests. No one seemed close enough to Roger to be entrusted with car keys.”
“And even the best man was one of the hired teens,” I said. “Didn’t Roger get along with his family?”
“He didn’t have close relatives. His parents died when he was a kid.”
“How did they die?”
“Car crash. His father was intoxicated. Roger survived with minor injuries.”
“Does he have sisters or brothers?”
“No.”
“Who raised him?”
“He was sixteen, just barely. He inherited everything and lived on his own in his parents’ home, finished school, finished college.”
I added, “Drank heavily as an adult.”
Brent thinned his lips. “It can affect people that way.”
“Did he have a roommate?”
“The bride. No one else.”
“So, Jenn might have had a key. I don’t know where she kept it, though. I didn’t see her carrying a bag.”
“That wedding gown had pockets.”
I stared at him. “You’re telling me that you checked her gown for arsenic. Let me guess. It came out negative. And when Passenmath read those results she was disappointed.”
Brent’s smile was so quick and slight that I almost missed it.
I accused in a teasing tone, “I can tell by the look on your face that my guesses are right.”
He didn’t confirm it except by telling me, for about the millionth time, that I should consider becoming a police officer. “But I have to admit that everyone would miss your donuts.” That was quite a concession, coming from the man who had, after Alec was killed and I quit working at 911, tried to get me to stop making donuts and go back to 911. He ate another donut, thanked me for dinner and the information, and stood up to leave.
Dep lifted her head and stared at Brent. “Meow!”
He plucked her off my lap and held her up, her nose to his. “I’ll be back another time.” He hugged her to his chest and turned to me. “In case you didn’t pick up on it, Yvonne is very interested that you and Tom made the donuts for the reception.”
“I’m glad you had our car and our shop tested for arsenic. My clothes, too.”
“It’s too bad that the Jolly Cops made it into your shop and cleaned it before we sealed the doors. Yvonne also zeroed in that you were present when the mysterious powder appeared.”
“I was dancing.”
“But you’re the only one who has told us the time it appeared, so . . .”
“That’s because I’m the only one who saw it, besides the person who put it there, who probably isn’t about to call Yvonne Passenmath and tell her the exact time he did it.” I added crossly, “Don’t they have serious crimes in other corners of Wisconsin that Yvonne Passenmath could investigate?”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her charge you.”
“Poisoning someone with food that everyone knows I made doesn’t make sense.”
“Exactly.”
“Someone that Tom put behind bars could be trying to frame Tom, I suppose. That’s more likely than some random person trying to get revenge on me.” I scrunched my mouth to one side. “On the other hand, Yvonne Passenmath doesn’t always make sense. She goes for the easy answer, like Jenn, or people she doesn’t think much of, like Tom and me.”
“We have other leads.”
“Vanessa Legghaupt and her friend.”
He handed Dep to me and took out his notebook. “Describe that security guard again?”
I cradled the warm, purring cat in my arms. “That means you haven’t contacted him yet.”
“Mmp.” Brent silently read his notes while I again described the man. “You have a good memory,” he said when I was done. He put his notebook away, slung an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me close to his side. “Take care of yourself, Em.” He released me and left.
I shot the dead bolt and then peeked out.
Brent trotted down the stairs. At the sidewalk, he turned toward downtown Fallingbrook.
* * *
The next day at Deputy Donut, I almost expected Yvonne Passenmath to show up again. She didn’t, but midway through the afternoon, Misty did, with the officer who’d been her partner on Saturday night. In daylight, I could read the name tag on his uniform. Houlihan.
Life became even more interesting when Scott came in for his break and sat with them. “What’s your special coffee today, Emily?” he asked.
“A medium roast, full-bodied Rwandan that some folks say has a high level of caffeine and requires extra cream or milk.”
He turned the cream pitcher until the hatted-cat silhouette faced him. “I’ll have that.”
I grinned. “And to eat? Would you like to try our black-and-white?”
He laughed. “I’m a fireman, not a policeman. Do you have anything in red?”
“Unraised cinnamon donuts with red sprinkles.”
“Bring me two.”
Misty lifted a finger. “What’s the black-and-white?”
“An unraised dark chocolate donut, sliced in half and stuffed with a sweet vanilla filling.”
“I’ll try one,” she said.
“We have a black and white coffee, too—espresso with a dollop of whipped cream.”
She made a face. “I’ll make do with an espresso, and no dollops.”
Houlihan wanted two black-and-whites and a mug of drip Colombian.
I brought them their order and asked Scott how he knew Jenn and Roger.
“I never met Roger before Saturday. I knew Jenn in college, and met her again after she opened her shop.”
I feigned a worried face. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Scott asked.
I teased, “The DCI agent in charge of the case is going to think you’re a jealous boyfriend.”
Scott blushed. “I was never Jenn’s boyfriend. Don’t tell me they brought in Yvonne Passenmath again.”
Misty said, “Okay, I won’t tell you that. You’ll find out.”
Scott’s blush receded a little. “I’ll never understand how that woman became a detective at the DCI. Or anywhere else.”
Both Misty and Houlihan managed straight faces.
I told Scott, “Jenn did invite an old boyfriend to the wedding and reception, the guy I was dancing with when you cut in. Do you know Chad?”
The blush returned. “I never saw him before Saturday.”
I prodded, “I guess you don’t know his last name.”
Scott laughed. “I’m sure that Yvonne Passenmath can learn that from Jenn or from Jenn’s guest list.”
Misty twisted her black-and-white donut sandwich apart as if she planned to eat the filling first. “Leave it to Yvonne and Brent, Emily. Or else join the police department.”
Houlihan didn’t say a thing, but he grinned at me. He was cute, with freckles, reddish hair, and greenish eyes. I couldn’t help smiling back. He was not, I noticed, wearing a wedding ring.
Later, the three of them left together and sauntered toward the police and fire stations. Yessssss, I thought. Scott and Misty. And maybe Misty and I could introduce Samantha to Houlihan.
As if they’d been watching for a break when no police officers were inside Deputy Donut, the two Happy Hopers returned and sat at the table they’d used the day before, in the glare of Dep’s watchful eye.
I asked the two women what I could bring them. They ordered only organic green tea. A wistful expression flickered across the brunette’s face.
When I delivered their tea, the blonde pulled a business card from her Happy Hopers tote. “I forgot to give you my contact information,” she said, “in case you’re in the market for a life coach. I’m Vanessa.”
I glanced at the card. Her last name was Legghaupt, just as Brent had told me. I thrust the card into my apron pocket.
The brunette piped up. “And I’m April.”
“I’m Emily Westhill.” I gestured at the brochures on the table. “You can find my contact info in there.” Not that they seemed to have had any trouble contacting me.
“Guess what?” April said. “A handsome detective interviewed us this morning. Both of us!” She opened a newspaper. “Remember Roger, the groom we were talking about yesterday, the one from the reception Saturday night?”
I nodded.
She stabbed a finger down onto the newspaper. “It says here that he died—early the next morning after becoming unconscious at Little Lake Lodge. Were you still at the lodge when he collapsed and was taken away? It says here that an ambulance was called after midnight. They say that police are looking into the matter, and that it’s a suspicious death.” She seemed excited by having known a murder victim. “We left before that, around ten thirty or quarter to eleven.”
I was careful not to give much away. “I was there. They evacuated the lodge.”
The two women exchanged glances. Vanessa stirred her tea. “You know, you shouldn’t be surprised if someone wants to question you.” She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. She also wasn’t meeting my gaze.
“I wouldn’t be,” I told her.
“That detective’s hot,” April chirped, as if committing crimes in order to attract the attention of a hot detective might not be a terrible idea. “He asked us who we saw at that lodge on Saturday, so of course we mentioned you. No harm intended.”
I managed a poker face almost worthy of Brent. “It’s okay. The police know I was there. I gave them a statement that night.” I didn’t feel that I needed to tell the women that the police had followed up several times. Or that I knew the detective.
Vanessa flashed a stern look at April. “We told him about everyone we’d seen. But he already had a list of the people who had attended that multilevel marketing conference. That’s why he contacted us.” She seemed to be watching me carefully. Maybe she’d guessed that I’d told the hot detective about her and April. Did it really matter? Perhaps it did, if she was a murderer.
They didn’t stay long. I wondered if Vanessa still wanted me to give a presentation about being a female entrepreneur, or if she ever had. Maybe she and April had come to Deputy Donut only to learn as much as they could about me. Maybe they had murdered Roger and were trying to figure out how to pin the blame on someone else who’d been at Little Lake Lodge on Saturday night.
Chapter 16
Misty phoned shortly before we closed. “You and Tom can pick up your donut wall now. And I think you have a stainless-steel cart there, too. They’ve been photographed, and the few grains of poison that were on the table have been thoroughly removed.”
“Where can we pick them up?”
“At Little Lake Lodge. The proprietor would like to start using the banquet room again. I’m not on duty tonight, so if you can’t pick them up, I could get them for you.”
“Thanks, but I can go, unless Scott can take you in a fire truck.”
“As if. How come we never noticed Scott in high school?”
“He was older, quiet, and studious. We noticed the jocks.”
“We were stupid.”
“We were young.”
She laughed. “And some of those jocks who still live around here have beer bellies. Scott doesn’t.”
“And he’s probably a lot more fit than they are now, and maybe more fit than they were back then. Go for him, Misty. You two would be perfect together.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind, are you kidding? I’ve been trying to throw you two together.”
“He really likes you,” she said slowly.
“Likes. He likes donuts. We like each other. As friends. Go for him.”
“Maybe I will.”
“He comes in most days around three.”
I heard a breath of a laugh. “Sometimes I think we never got over being young.”
“Who would want to? I’ll see if Tom’s available tonight. If not, I might get you to help me pick up our things. Good luck with Scott.”
“You wish.” She disconnected.
I told Tom that we could pick up the cart and the donut wall.
“I was afraid we might have to build another donut wall.”
“We might,” I suggested, “but maybe bigger, for next time. Except I wonder how many, if any, of the people who said they’d like one at their own events might have changed their minds.”
He raised an index finger in an aha gesture. “Maybe having a mystery around our first donut wall will make our next ones even more popular.”
“You have a very warped sense of humor.”
“Huh. No one’s ever accused me of that before.”
“Right.” I’d heard Cindy say it many times.
He offered, “If you’re busy tonight, I can get a buddy to go out there with me.”
“I’m not busy.”
“Take Dep home, and I’ll finish here and be ready to go when you return.”
“But I keep leaving you with the cleanups.”
“I don’t mind.” I knew he didn’t. Both of us needed to throw ourselves into working at Deputy Donut, and not only to make it succeed. Working hard was how we coped with missing Alec. Cindy devoted herself to her students at Fallingbrook High, where she taught art. When she wasn’t teaching or preparing to teach, she was working in the pottery studio in the basement of Tom’s and her house or attending meetings of various community groups, the kind that tried to make the world a better place.
The afternoon was
unseasonably warm, making the stroll home with Dep a cheery occasion. Walking back to Deputy Donut without the curious cat was faster, but less entertaining.
Tom had locked Deputy Donut and was listening to the radio in his SUV. I climbed into the passenger seat, and he took off. We did not actually become airborne.
Again, the setting sun blazed across Little Lake. Tom backed the SUV to the lodge’s delivery entrance. The door was locked.
Tom peered up toward the wide eaves. “If they have security cameras up there between the logs, they’re well hidden.” I didn’t see any, either.
We walked around to the front of the lodge. In the sunset’s pinkish glow, everything looked different. Early Sunday morning, there had been harsh lighting that knifed through the darkness, police cruisers, and an ambulance rushing off carrying a man who wouldn’t survive the night.
And Jenn, crumpling to the ground in her white froth of wedding gown . . . I couldn’t quite suppress a shiver.
Now the parking lot was only about a quarter full, and no emergency vehicles, school buses, or Red Cross vans were pulled up to the entrance. Beyond the parking lot, a green lawn rose in a gentle slope toward the road. When we’d arrived at sunset on Saturday, I hadn’t appreciated how pretty the grounds were, with clumps of white-barked birch trees and gardens of blooming sedum, mums, and decorative kale. Scattered over the grass, yellow leaves glowed like glitter.
We didn’t see surveillance cameras near the main entrance, either.
No one was at the reception desk in the lobby, but voices came from the banquet hall. We walked down the hallway. The banquet hall’s double doors were standing open.
White drapes still hung from the ceiling, but the swags of periwinkle tulle, the gold bows with their trailing ribbons, the temporary bar, and the gold-backed chairs were gone.
Dressed in black, three men and a woman were arranging ladder-back chairs around bare tables. The trio didn’t seem to notice us. They were repeating the highlights, sound effects and all, of a movie that apparently featured multiple collisions and explosions.
The curtains next to our donut wall had been pushed apart. Someone had removed the tablecloth, vases, and tiered plates from our periwinkle-painted table. They had also detached the donut wall from the table. Dowels sticking straight up, the wall itself was lying on the table. The masking tape square, my down-filled jacket, and my wastebasket had been taken away, but our cart was next to the log wall beside the back door. All of the bakery boxes I’d flattened and stacked on the cart for recycling were gone, probably hauled off to be examined for traces of arsenic.
Goodbye Cruller World Page 12