Goodbye Cruller World

by Ginger Bolton

  Dep stomped away.

  I called after her, “Not that being with you is a waste of anyone’s time!”

  Dep did not reply.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I muttered under my breath. “Maybe Yvonne Passenmath will arrest Gerald Stone and we’ll all be back to normal.”

  Chapter 19

  At Deputy Donut shortly before ten the next morning, I peered into the office window to check on Dep and make faces back at her. Unlike her, I did not meow.

  A small red car pulled into the parking lot behind Dressed to Kill. I was fairly certain it was the one I’d seen there after work the past couple of days, and I watched absently to see who got out of it.

  No one did. From behind, I couldn’t tell who the two people in the front seat were. They closed the distance between them until their heads resembled one. After about a minute, the pair separated. The passenger door opened. Jenn got out, blew a kiss at the driver, and headed toward Dressed to Kill’s back door. She disappeared from view, and the car turned around. I was able to read the first part of the license number.

  Chad was behind the wheel.

  He went down the driveway toward Wisconsin Street.

  Questions and surmises swirled in my brain, and the one that seemed to lodge itself in the most prominent position was the least important one. If Chad taught high school in Gooseleg, what was he doing in Fallingbrook at ten on a Friday morning in October? I shook off that question and let myself into the office.

  Dep wanted to be cuddled. Instead, I picked up the phone and called Samantha’s work number.

  She was there, ready to rush away to emergencies. I told her about the red hatchback and rattled off the partial license number. She repeated the numbers to someone in her office and told me that her partner hadn’t written it down, but he thought the numbers I’d given Samantha were similar to the license plate of the fogged-up red car he and Samantha had seen parked by the side of the road early Sunday morning. I hung up and stared down at my meowing cat. “Samantha told me that the man, who must have been Chad, was sitting with his face in his hands. Does that sound like a man who might be upset?”

  “Meow.”

  “And maybe regretting having done something drastic and deadly?”

  “Meow.”

  “Did Chad dip the crullers in arsenic, and then simply drive away, not knowing for sure who would eat them?”

  “Mew.”

  “Was Roger his target, or could it have been Jenn?” The thought gave me the shivers, but Dep only curved a dainty front paw and brushed at it with her tongue. “Surely, Chad wasn’t trying to poison me.” He’d only just met me. I added, for Dep’s benefit, “Chad probably doesn’t take arsenic everywhere he goes in case he decides to poison someone. Besides, he seemed to like me.”

  Dep lifted her head and stared at me. The tip of her cute little pink tongue stuck out of her mouth.

  “Thanks for your help, Dep.” I went back into the dining area and closed the office door behind me.

  The group of women who called themselves the Knitpickers were wrestling with the front door. As usual, their hands were full of bags and baskets of yarn, needles, and projects, and the front door appeared to be winning the battle. I held it open and welcomed the women, who were some of my favorite customers, to Deputy Donut.

  South of Dressed to Kill, Suzanne was striding north in one of Jenn’s long sweater coats worn open over a very short skirt and very tall boots. The boots were zipped all the way up, which was good because their tops were above her knees. Unzipped, they would have dragged behind her and flopped dangerously around the extremely high heels. I waved, but she didn’t seem to see me. She disappeared into Dressed to Kill.

  I helped the Knitpickers settle at their usual table beside a front window, near the table where the retired men sat, and brought them their hot beverages and sweet treats. They always ate first and then washed their hands before they settled into the morning’s business of knitting, chatting, laughing, and sometimes poking good-natured fun at the retired men, who were skilled at returning the teasing.

  My wish that Passenmath would arrest Gerald Stone and let everything go back to normal had not come true. Around ten thirty, Gerald Stone showed up at Deputy Donut and sat near the chortling group of retired men as if he hoped to be invited to join them.

  Again, he wanted to try the day’s featured coffee. “It’s from Haiti,” I told him. “The beans are Blue Mountain, like the Blue Mountain beans from Jamaica, and grown under similar conditions. It has a lot of the same smoothness.”

  “I’ll try it,” he said in that voice that sounded both porous and hard-edged. He nodded at the chalkboard where I’d listed some of the day’s more unusual donuts. “And bring me a couple of those unraised dark chocolate and bacon donuts.”

  At the serving counter, I plated his donuts and poured his coffee.

  Suzanne came in, the first time ever. Maybe she’d thought I was beckoning to her when I waved. She caught me staring at her and shook her head slightly. Then she glanced toward Gerald Stone for a second before darting another swift look at me. She started past his table. Suddenly it appeared that those high heels tripped her. She toppled toward Gerald Stone. He jumped up, grasped her elbow, and steadied her.

  She went pale.

  I hurried to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I just twisted my ankle,” she said. “No big deal.”

  “Sit down,” Stone said. “I’ll buy you a coffee. That’ll make you feel better.”

  “I couldn’t.” She sat down, anyway, in the chair next to his.

  I suspected she’d seen him come into Deputy Donut, followed him, and pretended to stumble. I was afraid the twisted ankle was real, however. “The coffee’s on the house,” I told Stone, “hers so she’ll rest her ankle, and yours for saving her from falling.”

  Suzanne gave me a stern look. “Thanks.” She held her right hand out toward Gerald Stone. “Call me Vinnie.”

  I hoped I managed to keep the surprise off my face. Vinnie?

  Gerald shook Suzanne’s hand. “You don’t look like a Vinnie.”

  She plunked her purse on the spare chair next to her as if she planned to spend the rest of the morning at that table.

  Back in the kitchen, Tom was obviously trying not to gawk. He mumbled to me, “Did I see that woman on Saturday night? Was she the bridal attendant who was trying to keep those boys from sliding across the dance floor?”

  “Yep. She’s Jenn’s half-sister.”

  “Think she knows Stone?”

  “She does now.”

  “Just stumbled upon him?”

  I made the appropriate groan. “I think she saw him come inside and followed him.”

  “Keep an eye on them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gerald Stone and Suzanne stayed, nursing their coffees and then spending another hour sipping second mugs of coffee that Stone insisted on buying. They seemed to have a lot to say to each other.

  I’d barely seen Suzanne—or Vinnie as she was calling herself—talk much or act very animated, and I didn’t know she was capable of flirting, but she obviously was. When they left together around eleven thirty, she was limping only slightly. Stone offered her an arm, and she took it. They walked slowly toward Dressed to Kill.

  The evening before, as I’d left the tea party at Dressed to Kill, Suzanne had told me to return to find out what she’d learned. I hadn’t expected her to come up with much during twenty-four hours.

  Apparently, I had underestimated her.

  It was worrisome, though. If Stone had killed Roger and his next intended victim was Jenn, Suzanne might accidentally tell him too much, giving him a better chance to harm Jenn.

  Halfway through the afternoon, Misty and Houlihan came in, laughing and talking. Scott joined them a few minutes later. Dep took one look at Misty and started meowing loudly enough to be heard through her window.

  I took Misty’s, Houlihan’s, and Scott’s orders. Misty asked if she
could go into the office to give Dep the attention she obviously required.

  I went with Misty and asked her how she and Scott were getting along. She hugged Dep and peeked around the cat’s whiskers at me. “Exactly the same as ever. I don’t think he even notices me.”

  “Except to come in during your break and sit with you.”

  “And with a bunch of his firefighters. And Hooligan Houlihan.”

  “Is that his name?”

  “No, but he prefers it to his real name.”

  “Which is . . .”

  “He won’t say.”

  “Does Samantha know him?”

  Misty grinned. “Not yet.”

  “We’ll have to find a way.”

  “Does she ever come in here?”

  “Too tempting, she says.”

  Misty laughed. “Wait until she sees Hooligan. She’ll forget to be tempted by donuts.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “He doesn’t talk about that, either.”

  I asked her how the investigation into Roger’s murder was going.

  She scratched Dep’s chin. “Not well, I suspect, but Brent would know more.”

  “Is Passenmath annoying everyone?”

  “Probably. That woman is close to unbearable. Brent needs a break. He’d probably like to spend more time with you and Dep.”

  I backed toward the office door. “I’d better get your donuts before Scott and Hooligan Houlihan starve out there.”

  She cocked her head in a superior way, one eyebrow up. “You don’t think that someone who has known you since we were fourteen and has since become a super-observant police officer doesn’t notice when you change the subject?”

  I opened the office door. “Did I?”

  “Ha!” She set my purring cat gently on the couch and then followed me into the dining area.

  Scott and Hooligan Houlihan both smiled at us, probably because we were giggling almost like we had when we were fourteen and, along with Samantha, had spent most of our time discussing which boys we liked best, and which of those boys might like us back.

  Misty sat down with Scott, Hooligan Houlihan, and the other police officers and firefighters at their table. I took them their coffee and donuts, and then refilled trays with donuts that Tom had frosted and decorated.

  A tall man entered our cozy café. His eyebrows angled downward at their outer edges, and he was smiling.

  Chad. If he taught school up at Gooseleg High, he had started work late that day and ended early.

  His smile warming, he sat on a stool at the counter. “Hey, Emily, I told you I’d find you again.”

  And later, when he’d been conspicuously absent from the reception, someone had gone into the back of the banquet hall and had dipped crullers in arsenic and put them where Roger was likely to find them before anyone else did. And Roger had been Chad’s ex-girlfriend’s husband.

  Even worse, only this morning I’d seen Chad departing rather fondly from that same ex-girlfriend.

  This was Friday. Jenn had been widowed almost six days.

  Despite his flirtatiousness, Chad had made a good first impression, but I didn’t dare trust him.

  I tried not to glance toward the table of police officers and firefighters. From the corner of my eye, I could tell that Misty had lifted her head and was staring at me, but I couldn’t see which direction Scott was looking. “Hi, Chad. Welcome to Deputy Donut.” I knew I was being ridiculously formal. “What can I get for you? We have a bigger selection than we did Saturday night, plus coffee and tea.”

  He sauntered to the display case and pointed at raised donuts with fudge icing—always a favorite. “Two of those, please, and a latte.”

  He sat on the stool again and watched me prepare his coffee. I set it and a plate of donuts in front of him. He pointed with a thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, is that guy over there the one who stole you from me on Saturday night?”

  “He’s one of our regulars.”

  “What’s with the matching blue pants and shirt? Is he a cable repairman?”

  “Fireman, along with the other people at the table who are dressed the same way. The red and white badges on their shirt pockets are shaped like Wisconsin, with the firefighters’ emblem embroidered on them.”

  “I mistook the shape for a box cutter.” Right, an insignia that every well-dressed cable repairman would wear. “How do you know him? Did your house burn down? Or is it because he’s a regular here?”

  “I’ve known him since high school.”

  “I can’t catch a break.”

  “I told you about Alec,” I reminded him.

  “I know, but there’s always hope, or there should be, anyway, or where’s the fun?”

  “Um . . .” That was a long clinch you and Jenn were in this morning.

  Chad rescued me from my sudden speechlessness. “Did you go to school around here?”

  “I’ve lived in Fallingbrook all my life, except for college.”

  “Do you have family here?”

  What was with all the questions? I told myself that Chad was only being friendly, but the personal questions were making me uneasy. “My parents.” I didn’t have to tell him that they went to Florida every winter and had already left Fallingbrook. To them, “winter” in northern Wisconsin was the entire year except for June, July, and August, and they often decided that winter included the first half of June and the last half of August.

  Chad nodded toward Tom. “Is that your dad?”

  “My father-in-law.”

  “You said you were widowed.” He started on the first of his donuts. “Mmmm.”

  “My in-laws are as close as parents.” Closer, actually, except during parts of June, July, and August, and if I were to be completely honest, maybe I felt closer to my in-laws even when my folks were in town.

  It wasn’t that my parents and I didn’t love each other. We did, and we would fly to each other’s aid if necessary. But they’d had me when they were in their early forties, and by then they’d made being laid-back into an art form. Even though I was their first and only child, they were relaxed about raising me. Unless they thought I was heading for real danger, they had let me make mistakes and learn from them. After I reached adulthood, they didn’t interfere in my life and I didn’t interfere in theirs. We weren’t exactly aloof, but at a young age, I’d learned to be, or at least to act, emotionally independent.

  My parents had grieved when Alec was shot, but they were proud of me and of the parenting style that had helped me become, they thought, strong and self-sufficient. Maybe my own pride had made me hide that I was sometimes anything but strong and self-sufficient. After our initial mutual condolences, we had mostly avoided talking about Alec’s death, and my parents had gone on believing that I could cope with anything. Or I hoped they had.

  Tom, Cindy, and I didn’t discuss our shared grief much, but it had forged a bond between us. When I was around them, I never had to pretend I wasn’t hurting. If any of us needed to talk about Alec, we could, with very little awkwardness. Besides, Tom and Cindy were younger than my parents and lived in Fallingbrook year-round. I felt at home around them. And Tom was the best business partner anyone could have.

  Chad smiled at me over the top of his mug. “You make really good coffee,” he said.

  Misty, Scott, Hooligan Houlihan, and the other police officers and firefighters got up to leave. Misty must have noticed that I wasn’t entirely comfortable around Chad. She looked straight at me and raised a questioning eyebrow. To show that I was fine, I smiled and waved.

  Scott hesitated as if wondering if he should come over and intervene. I smiled as reassuringly as I could at him also, and he hurried to catch up with Misty.

  I was almost positive that Scott would tell Misty that the man who was talking to me had attended Saturday night’s reception. And when Misty got back to the police station, she’d tell Brent or, if she had to, Yvonne Passenmath. Great. Yvonne would come stomping in to talk to me.
And to Chad.

  But Yvonne didn’t come in, and neither did Brent.

  Chad left. Still on foot, he turned toward the driveway between Deputy Donut and Dressed to Kill. I hurried to join Dep in the office where, like Dep, I could spy on the great outdoors, otherwise known as the driveway and parking lot.

  Chad walked up the driveway and got into the red car he’d driven earlier. Cuddling Dep, I watched. Chad didn’t drive away, and I needed to get back to our customers. The next time I looked out, after serving dozens of donuts and mugs of coffee, Chad’s car was gone.

  People seemed reluctant to leave Deputy Donut at four thirty. Tom and I closed the shop late and tidied as quickly as we could, and then he went home to dinner with Cindy. Telling Dep that I’d see her soon, I took a box of donuts outside and across the driveway to Dressed to Kill.

  I knocked on the taupe-painted steel door at the rear of Jenn and Suzanne’s shop. No one answered. The knob wouldn’t turn. I knocked again. I was about to go around to the front when I heard a bolt slide with a stiff, grating sound. I didn’t remember hearing that sound the night before when Jenn let me out.

  The door opened. Suzanne stood back and waved me in. I heard Jenn and another woman chatting enthusiastically in the front of the store.

  Again, the table in Jenn and Suzanne’s comfy office had three place settings, with purple place mats this time. Putting the box of donuts on the table, I asked Suzanne, “How’s your ankle?”

  “It’s okay.” She started the electric kettle. “Go on out into the store and hurry Jenn along.”

  Although I had no plans to rush Jenn’s customers out of her store, I browsed, admiring pretty clothes until Jenn’s customer paid for dressy slacks and a gossamer knit shawl. Wearing gray jeans and a shell pink sweater, Jenn gave me a hug. I followed her to the office.

  “Tea’s ready,” Suzanne said. “Have a seat.”

  I again sat facing the window above the sink. Jenn was to my right, where she’d been the evening before. Standing, Suzanne poured tea into our deep blue cups.

  Jenn opened the box of donuts. “C’mon, Suzanne, I’ve been dying to hear what you found out today.”