Goodbye Cruller World

by Ginger Bolton

  I ushered Dep in and gave Jenn a hug. “How are you doing?”

  “Still in shock. I can’t believe what happened.” Her lips trembling, she turned away and wiped her eyes.

  I picked Dep up before she could wind her leash completely around a rotating display rack and start it spinning. “It’s horrible,” I agreed.

  Jenn turned toward me and managed a weak smile. “I didn’t like being home alone, so I came here to distract myself. But while I was sitting at home, I did create a couple of sweaters with my knitting machine.” She pointed. I admired the sweaters, one black and one gray, probably colors that matched Jenn’s feelings. She turned her head toward the back of the store and called, “Suzanne, come meet Emily!”

  Looking almost gaunt, and bent slightly as if in pain, Suzanne came from near the change rooms and joined us. She was wearing tight blue jeans tucked into gray leather boots—zipped up, I noticed—and a bulky blue-gray sweater.

  We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries and sympathy, and then a customer came in. Jenn greeted the customer. Suzanne strode away down the aisle between the change rooms and disappeared behind them. A door clunked shut. I told Jenn goodbye and took Dep home.

  Touring our backyard, I discovered one partially opened pale pink rose. It smelled like my grandmother’s favorite roses had, and also like the fragrance surrounding Jenn on Saturday night. At first, I’d attributed the fragrance to her bouquet, but it had still been strong later, when Jenn was outside without her bouquet. She must have dabbed a lot of floral perfume on herself that day. Maybe she’d left the banquet hall around midnight to refresh her perfume.

  I cut the rose, put it and some water into a small emerald green glass vase, and set the vase on the coffee table in the living room. Outside the back door, Dep meowed pitifully. I opened the door. She ran inside with her tail puffed up as if she’d decided that gusts of wind were pursuing her.

  A few minutes later, Brent showed up at the front door with my favorite pizza and beer. He was in a blazer, slacks, tie, and button-down shirt. The evening was chilling rapidly and the sun would soon set, so we ate at the island in the kitchen.

  Dep hung around trying to make Brent believe that no one ever fed her. We finished all but one chunk of crust. I gave it to her. The cat who had been trying to convince us that she was starving batted the crust around, leaped up into the air, pounced, caught the crust on a claw, tossed it, and started the chase again.

  In the living room, Brent and I settled into comfy seats, the wing chair for me and the armchair for him. Brent refused my offer of coffee, but he liked the dark chocolate ancho chili donuts.

  I picked up the small vase with the even smaller and slightly droopy rose in it. “The last rose of summer,” I said.

  “Does that make you sad?”

  “I like all of the seasons. But the poor thing does look pathetic.” I sniffed it. “Smells good, though.” I stared up at the ceiling, but I wasn’t seeing the ceiling. I was seeing the darkened meeting room with the Happy Hopers banner, I was seeing myself as a child in Williamsburg, and I was smelling the rose overtones in the potpourri, both in that shop in Williamsburg and at Little Lake Lodge late Saturday and early Sunday. I lowered my head and stared straight at Brent again.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You know I told you that Vanessa Legghaupt and her friend April, the two women who had been attending the conference advertising ‘goal achievement through shopping,’ smelled like potpourri, and so did the meeting room that their conference had been held in?”

  He nodded.

  “I assumed that meant that Vanessa and April had recently been in that room. I also guessed that whoever coated crullers with arsenic might have fled from the lodge through the service corridor and then through that room, which kind of points to one of those two women as the culprit. Or both of them. However, the wastebasket near the door was overflowing with packaging materials. Maybe someone had unwrapped containers of potpourri or had spilled potpourri-scented cologne and Vanessa and April smelled like the room, not the other way around. Potpourri smells like lots of spices and flowers all mixed together, but that night, roses were one of the more prominent fragrances in it, and I was sure I smelled roses.” I took a deep breath. Brent was watching me intently, with no sign of judgment on his face. “I don’t want to tell you what I’m thinking.”

  “Then don’t.” He said it mildly.

  There was no way I would withhold information from this man. Alec had trusted him. They’d been best friends. I trusted him, too.

  And Brent and I were friends.

  I took another deep breath. “I have to. Jenn was wearing a very strong perfume that night. It smelled like roses, specifically like old-fashioned roses similar to this one. The overwhelming smell of potpourri in that room could have masked other perfumes that someone hiding in that room could have been wearing.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “But Jenn murdering her newlywed husband doesn’t.”

  “Follow the money,” he reminded me. “Roger had a lot of it. And his will was written in a generic way, several years ago, probably before he met Jenn. If he was married, everything was to go to his wife. If he wasn’t, his fortune was to be divided among about thirty different charities, equally, and they were major charities, mostly international, so the amounts each would receive would have been a mere drop in the bucket. Not enough to risk their reputations for.”

  “But you’re keeping an open mind about it.”

  “I haven’t ruled out anything.”

  “But Jenn’s so nice! Sweet.”

  Brent raised an eyebrow.

  “I talked to her in her store briefly this evening. She was trying not to cry about Roger’s death, and not succeeding.”

  “Mm-hmm.” It wasn’t an agreement.

  Dejected, I slumped down on the sofa. “Early Sunday morning, someone else was wearing a fragrance that the potpourri could have masked. Jenn’s ex-boyfriend Chad was wearing a spicy aftershave.”

  “Strong?”

  “Not particularly. I noticed it when I was dancing with him.”

  Brent looked down at his notebook.

  Brent and I were both loyal to Alec, so I wasn’t sure why I had to defend myself to Brent. “I didn’t dance with Chad very long. Scott cut in. But my impression was that Chad was a good man.” The sudden closeness I’d felt with Chad during that short dance and the way that closeness had made me uncomfortable didn’t seem to have any bearing on whether or not Chad might have poisoned Roger. I didn’t try to explain to Brent how dancing with and talking to Chad for only a few minutes had convinced me that Chad could not be a killer, but I did tell Brent about the deft way Chad had stopped the boys from racing around in the banquet hall and how he’d refused to get them beer from the bar.

  “He’s a high school teacher,” Brent explained.

  “At Fallingbrook High?” If so, Cindy would know him.

  “Up in Gooseleg.” That was the next big town north of Fallingbrook, and the closest one that also had a high school. The two schools were football rivals.

  “Does Chad live up there?”

  “On the way. In a cabin in the woods.”

  “Not far from Little Lake Lodge?”

  “Fifteen or twenty minutes east of it.”

  “You’ve questioned him about Saturday night.”

  “Yes, and Yvonne has, also. He said he left Little Lake Lodge and went home shortly after midnight.”

  “He certainly left the banquet hall then.”

  “You know, if the potpourri didn’t originate from those two women, but came from something in the meeting room, and either Chad or Jenn fled there after poisoning Roger, the potpourri would have masked their scents, as you just said. But if the killer wasn’t wearing a strong scent, all you’d have smelled was potpourri. And anyway, if the potpourri fragrance was coming from the stuff in the wastebasket, it doesn’t mean that Roger’s murderer ever went into that room.”


  “Too bad. I’d have liked to say I sniffed out a clue.”

  Brent gave me a sour grin. “You might have, but don’t count on it.”

  “And the killer went somewhere, probably into the service corridor.”

  “Probably. And as you pointed out, that hallway leads to many possible escape routes.”

  I found it hard to believe that either Jenn or Chad could have murdered anyone. I didn’t know about Vanessa or April. And Gerald Stone was even more of an enigma. “Did you talk to Gerald Stone?”

  “I did. He confirmed that he was at Little Lake Lodge Saturday night.”

  I kicked off my flats and tucked my legs underneath me. “Does Stone know I sent you?”

  “Maybe, but he does have a valid Private Security Permit, which allows him to work as a security guard in Wisconsin, and I’m sure he thinks I found him through the registry. I would have, eventually, but you saved me some time.”

  “Who needs surveillance cameras when we have people?”

  “Right. Except that not everyone’s as good as you are at both observing and describing. And the video from his apartment building shows him returning. He said he didn’t remember when he left Little Lake Lodge, but if he went straight home, as he said he did, he would have left there about ten after twelve Sunday morning.”

  “That puts him at the lodge right about when the crullers were being dipped into the arsenic.” Dep jumped into my lap. I stroked her. “Did he see anyone in the service corridor?”

  “No, but he said he might have dozed off. He wasn’t sure if he heard people walking around in that corridor or only dreamed it.”

  “Unless he was pretending, he was sleeping, and snoring, shortly before ten that evening when I came in carrying that metal wastebasket. It rattled each time I took a step. But there was music going on then, and except for one or two short breaks, the band played until Scott ordered the evacuation. Except during those breaks, I’m not sure how much Stone could have heard of people walking around the service corridor even if he was awake. He could be making up hearing someone else to cover for his own sneaking around.” I leaned forward. “Did you arrest him for poisoning Roger?”

  “Just being at the site at the right time isn’t enough, even though no one admits to hiring him.”

  “So, he had no reason to be there?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I retorted, “Not exactly.”

  He glanced at me. “You’re not hearing this from me.”

  I grinned. “Or anyone.”

  “Okay, here’s the story you didn’t hear. Stone had a reason, of sorts, to be there. He’d been hired at another resort, but he went to the wrong place. When he realized his mistake shortly after midnight, he left.”

  I furrowed my brow in mock confusion. “Shortly after midnight! I saw him at Little Lake Lodge before ten. Wouldn’t the place where he was supposed to be have contacted him?”

  “You’d think so.”

  “I know what he must have told you. He forgot his phone or the battery had gone dead.”

  “Have you planted listening devices in our interview rooms at headquarters?”

  “Yeah, sure. Not. It’s easy to guess what excuses Stone would give for staying at the wrong place for so long. Maybe the dog ate his phone.”

  Brent laughed. “He didn’t try that one.”

  “Did he give you the name of the other resort?”

  Dep hopped off my lap and onto Brent’s. Brent smoothed the stripy orange patch on Dep’s forehead. “Good questions, Em. Stone said he’d forgotten the name of the resort, so he went home, and then he discovered that he hadn’t made a note of where he was supposed to be, and he wasn’t sure he had the right date, either.”

  “That sounds concocted. Stone did it! He put the poison on that saucer, dipped crullers in it, and gave them to Roger!”

  “Not so fast, Em. We might know more after we have his briefcase tested.”

  I tilted my head. “Did you get a search warrant for his briefcase?”

  “He volunteered it.”

  “Maybe it’s not the same briefcase.”

  Brent reached into his blazer’s inner pocket. “That’s why I brought this.” Holding Dep in one arm, he stood and handed me a photo of a black briefcase that bulged as if something was in it, even though the top was open and no contents were visible.

  “I . . . it could be the same one. The one he had Saturday night was also black, and I don’t think it was leather.”

  Brent sat down, on the other end of the couch from me. “You can’t definitely say that it’s not the same briefcase?” Dep took a flying leap off his lap, skidded across the coffee table, and landed softly on the floor.

  “No, or that it is.” I returned the photo to Brent.

  “Fair enough.” He stowed the photo in his pocket. Dep apparently thought that was an invitation. She jumped into his lap again. Then she gently pulled his jacket away from his shirt. He was wearing a shoulder holster.

  I grabbed her away from Brent.

  “It’s late,” he said. “I’d better go.”

  I cuddled Dep against me. “Thanks for the pizza and beer.”

  “Thanks for the donuts. And you’ll be careful around Gerald Stone if he returns to Deputy Donut?”

  “I’m always careful. Tom’s the reckless one.”

  Brent could tell I was joking. “Yeah, Chief Westhill never pays attention to what’s going on around him.” Brent smiled at Dep and gave her head a knuckle-rub. “Good night, Dep.”

  She batted at his hand.

  We laughed and I opened the front door. As Brent went out, he gave my head a knuckle-rub.

  Being generally better behaved than my cat, I didn’t bat at his hand. I closed the door. And locked it.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning, I was behind the counter at Deputy Donut when another unexpected visitor arrived. Grasping the neck edges of the long beige sweater coat she wore over brown cords and a crisp white blouse, Jenn opened our front door only enough to edge in sideways. She was pale, her hair was hanging down limply, and her eyes were wide with something like fear. She came straight to the counter, leaned toward me, and whispered, “I need your help.”

  My heart went out to my bereaved friend. “What would you like me to do?”

  “I need your advice. Can you come over for tea with Suzanne and me after you’re done here tonight?” I could barely hear her.

  “Five thirty?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Can I bring donuts?” Maybe mentioning donuts was not a good idea....

  She gave me a half smile. “Sure. No one seems to be keeling over in here.” Her smile awry, like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, she hurried out.

  About a half hour later, Misty and Houlihan came in. They sat near the office again, causing Dep to go through about a million of her come-hither gyrations, seemingly meant to make Misty spend her coffee break in the office snuggling the cat. It didn’t work.

  To my surprise, Gerald Stone returned and sat by himself near the retired men. I wanted to believe that he was visiting Deputy Donut two days in a row because he really liked our coffee, donuts, and friendly atmosphere. But my years around police officers had taught me to be alert for signs of danger.

  Stone could have returned because he’d guessed that I had told Brent his identity.

  Stone could have returned because he wanted to silence me. Or Tom. Or both of us.

  Tom seemed to have difficulty keeping an eye on Stone without letting Stone see his face.

  Handing Misty a cruller on a plate, I whispered to her, “See that older guy by himself near the front?”

  “The guy in the torn sweatshirt?”

  “Yes. Watch him, okay? In case he starts dipping other people’s food in arsenic?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You serve that now?”

  I did my best to look insulted.

  She asked me, “Is he the security guard Brent questioned yest
erday?”

  “Yes, and he would recognize Tom, so Tom’s trying to watch him while keeping a low profile.”

  “Peeking over the half wall, you mean?”

  “So that only the fuzzy donut shows.”

  Knowing I was joking, she laughed.

  I headed for Stone’s table. Maybe he did recognize me from Saturday night and had returned to Deputy Donut to try to figure out if I remembered seeing him at Little Lake Lodge. What would he do to me if he was certain I could report him? Or if he guessed that I already had? I was glad he hadn’t brought a briefcase, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a stash of poison in a pocket. I pasted on a welcoming smile and asked him what he’d like.

  He ordered our featured coffee of the day, a Jamaican blend containing a hint of Jamaica’s renowned Blue Mountain beans. He also ordered one of the lemon and green tea donuts that I’d concocted specifically for Vanessa and April if they showed up.

  They didn’t, not in the morning, not at lunchtime, and not before we closed at four thirty, without Stone or anyone else filling saucers with strange white powder.

  I had a feeling that Tom would not approve of my spending time with Jenn and Suzanne, who might, to his retired-police-chief way of thinking, be murder suspects, so I didn’t tell him where I was going. I merely said that I would lock up. Promising to say hello to Cindy for me, he left.

  I suspected that crullers were no longer Jenn’s favorites. I packed a box of lemon and green tea donuts. Leaving Dep to entertain herself in the office a little while longer, I went out onto the back porch and locked the door.

  The small red hatchback was again parked behind Dressed to Kill, but there were other cars in the lot, too. I carried the donuts down the driveway and opened the front door of Dressed to Kill.

  Bells jingled. Jenn glanced up from the sweater she was showing a customer. She looked less panicky than she had in the morning, maybe because she loved talking about sweaters and knitting. “Where’s your cat?” she asked me.

  “I left her in the office in the back of our shop. She spends her days there. She likes it. She won’t mind playing or snoozing in there a little longer.”

  “Go right through to our office. It’s beyond the dressing rooms. Suzanne’s there.”