Dying for a Donut (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 5)

by Cindy Sample

  “Or maybe just irritating him,” Gran suggested.

  My family is always so supportive.

  I threw back the thin hospital blanket and started to get up from the bed. “Ouch.” I looked down and realized I’d almost yanked the IV out of my arm. I wasn’t going anywhere for now.

  Liz pushed me back and placed the blanket over me. “Stay,” she ordered. “You’re not leaving with that concussed head.”

  “What if the killer comes after me in the hospital? I’m a sitting duck.” I pleaded with Brian. “Can you arrange for a deputy to guard my door?”

  He shook his head. “There isn’t enough proof that your accident wasn’t just that. Plus they’re short officers right now. I’ll do what I can.”

  “No one’s coming after my granddaughter while I’m around.” Gran dug inside her huge black vinyl purse and pulled out the scariest weapon I’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Is that a missile?” I asked her.

  She snorted. “Don’t be silly. It’s an extra-large wasp spray. I can get an attacker at twenty-five feet.”

  I didn’t want to tell Gran that the odds of her seeing someone twenty-five feet away were zero.

  “Okay, then. Are you leaving it with me?”

  Mom reached over and grabbed the spray can from Gran. “You’re more likely to maim a doctor than anyone else. I would stay with you, Laurel, but I already told Jenna I’d spend the night with her and Ben. She wanted to come to the hospital, but I didn’t know whether you were in any shape to see them.”

  “I’ll stay with Laurel,” Liz said. “It is ‘partially’ my fault she’s in here.”

  “Look, everyone, I appreciate your efforts, but I’ll be fine. Just tell the staff no one is allowed to visit except family members. That should keep our mysterious attacker out.”

  Or so I hoped. The bad guys always managed to sneak into hospitals on my favorite crime shows, but I’d never get any rest if Liz or Gran spent the night with me. And now that my brain felt less foggy, I had some serious thinking to do.

  Like figuring out who wanted to kill me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  I awoke at eight the next morning. The nurses had roused me every hour during the night, so I felt even worse than the previous evening. My head still throbbed, even after chugging a glass of water with a Vicodin chaser. The Vicodin made me nauseous, so I decided that future painkillers would come out of my Ibuprofen bottle.

  The hospital refused to release me until the doctor approved it. They expected him to make his rounds about noon.

  I played with the remote and switched between the various morning shows. Once they moved to cooking tips, it was time to focus on crime tips. I clicked on the Hallmark Channel and landed on one of my favorite crime shows––Diagnosis Murder.

  It always amazed me how Dick Van Dyke, alias Dr. Mark Sloan, managed to multitask between medicine and murder. On a daily basis, no less. He’d just nailed the wife as the killer when Dorie Thorson walked into my room. She shut the door behind her and reached into a floral tote.

  I screamed and hurled the remote at her. Dorie shrieked and the contents of her purse scattered across the room. Seconds later, a nurse flung open the door and slid across the threshold Kramer style.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the flushed-faced nurse.

  “She tried to maim me with the remote,” Dorie responded in a shaky voice.

  “Sorry. You surprised me.” I frowned at the nurse. “I didn’t think they allowed visitors other than family members.”

  “Shall I usher your visitor out?” the nurse asked. Her face bore an “I’ve got better things to do with my time than act as your personal concierge” expression.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said. Dorie still looked flustered, but she grabbed her handbag and began replacing the contents. The nurse assisted her, then picked up the remote and handed it to me.

  “You’ll be okay.” She phrased it more as a statement than a question. I nodded and fluttered my fingers goodbye.

  Dorie dropped into the chair closest to my bed. She scrutinized my face before speaking. “How do you feel? You look terrible.”

  I shrugged. “That’s about how I feel.”

  “Whatever were you doing climbing around the warehouse all by yourself?” Her face was pinched, and I wondered if she was worried about any potential liability. “You could have been killed.”

  Evidently.

  “Don’t you remember Brent telling me to meet him there?” I asked her. “I waited but he never showed, so I decided to look for my friend’s supplies myself.”

  Her eyes widened, emphasizing the advent of recent crow’s feet on her otherwise youthful visage. If I ever located Liz’s products, I would give Dorie a sample of the eye cream.

  “Axel told me he was concerned about Brent stealing inventory,” she said. “Do you think Brent tried to stop you from discovering what he’s been up to?”

  “I do. I also think he might have killed your husband,” I reminded her, since Dorie seemed to have forgotten one significant piece of the puzzle.

  “Oh, I can’t imagine that, although…” Her voice trailed off as she examined my bruises, which presented a palette of every color in the rainbow. “What should I do?”

  I thought about her situation for a few seconds. “We don’t really have proof of anything. Just suspicions. Do you know Brent’s whereabouts at the time of my accident?”

  “He could have been anywhere on the premises, including the warehouse. I don’t know how I would run the place without Brent’s help though.” A flash of chagrin crossed her face. “Of course, everything will change in a few weeks.”

  “Did you decide to sell?” That would alter everything for Dorie, hopefully for the better.

  She nodded. “We met with Axel’s banker buddy yesterday. Walter agreed to assume the note. I had no idea that Axel mortgaged the farm to pay for the cost overruns on our new house.” She sniffed then burst into tears.

  I reached over and grabbed some tissues from the box next to the nightstand. Might as well use them since they would probably show up on my hospital bill.

  Dorie snatched them from me and honked twice. She wiped the trails of mascara that had formed Fu Manchu lines down her face then discarded the tissues in the wastebasket.

  “I don’t understand why my husband didn’t confide in me,” she blubbered. “We could have cut back on the size of our house. Axel never wanted to worry me about financial problems. Now look at all the trouble he left behind.”

  I grabbed an additional wad of tissues and handed them to her along with another question. “What about life insurance? Did Axel have a decent policy?”

  “Yes, and no,” she wailed. “I knew he held a million-dollar policy with Eric and me as beneficiaries. What I didn’t know was that he stopped making payments because we couldn’t afford them.”

  Poor woman. She was in a world of hurt.

  “Dorie, I know it’s tough selling a business that’s been in the family for so many years. But I’m sure you’re making the right decision for you and your son. And for Paul as well. He seems in favor of unloading the place.”

  “Paul had been bugging Axel to sell for ages, but he had no idea Axel took out that huge loan on the farm. Since my husband held a majority ownership, he had the authority to make those types of financial decisions on his own.” Dorie scrunched her nose. “I sure didn’t care for that banker Axel got the loan from. He seemed––”

  “Icky,” I said, unable to think of anything more descriptive.

  “Yeah. Kind of slimy. I don’t know how Axel found him.”

  “I wasn’t officially introduced. Do you remember his name or his firm’s name?”

  “I don’t remember his name, but the company is called Aces Financial Group. Like the hardware store except plural like in a deck of cards.”

  That didn’t sound like the name of a top-rated financial institution. Odd that Axel sought a loan from a finance company. Maybe he’d been
rejected by all the regular lenders such as Sierra Mountain Lenders. It was probably a last ditch effort to keep Apple Tree Farm operating. The interest rate would have been well above the norm, which wouldn’t help his financial situation.

  “In the meantime,” Dorie said, “I need to keep the place going somehow. Two more employees quit because of your incident yesterday.” She glared at me as if it was my fault I’d been buried under the rubble in the warehouse. I supposed it was partially my responsibility, since I’d been rummaging around the shelves by myself. At least, we knew someone was concerned about what I knew.

  I just wish I knew what that was.

  “Sorry about your staff leaving,” I said. “Did you remember Jenna has her SAT this Saturday?”

  Tears gathered in Dorie’s eyes once again. I grabbed the few remaining tissues and handed them to her. They had better suffice because I was not letting the hospital staff put another overpriced box on my bill.

  She raised her tear-stained face to me. “Do you know anyone who could work there this weekend?”

  I sighed. “Maybe Gran or I could help in the bakery. Nina could show us the ropes.”

  “Laurel, you’re a lifesaver.” Dorie stood and wrapped her arms around me, which did nothing to alleviate my headache. Although if I could get her to leave me alone that might help somewhat.

  “Let me talk to Gran to see what she says,” I replied, although I could easily guess my grandmother’s response.

  Detecting among donuts? What’s not to love?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Dorie was halfway out the door when she stopped and reached into her bag. This time I retained control of the remote and was pleasantly surprised when she withdrew a small box of fudge.

  “It’s not much, but hopefully it will speed up your recovery.” Dorie handed me the fudge and then took off.

  As far as I was concerned, chocolate won hands down over Vicodin any day of the week. I reached inside the box and popped a hunk of the soft fudge into my mouth. Another visitor appeared while I was still working on the oversized chunk of chocolate.

  This hospital was turning into Grand Central Station. I stared at my visitor mid-chew.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Adriana asked, then giggled. “Oh, I guess it’s chocolate.”

  “What are you doing here?” I mumbled through my mouthful of chocolate.

  “Walter was concerned your injury might result in a lack of oversight on the gala. He asked me to go over the checklist with you.”

  Geesh. “I’m fine. Just waiting for the doctor to release me.”

  “He also said you almost singlehandedly destroyed the Apple Tree warehouse yesterday. He’s not too pleased since he agreed to buy the place.”

  “I wasn’t too pleased someone tried to kill me.”

  “What?”

  Since I had nothing better to do while I waited for the doctor than watch television or eat a pound of fudge, I decided to confide in Adriana. She seemed to have a special connection with Walter. Maybe she could provide some insight into the Apple Tree Farm sale.

  “Walter led me to believe you brought everything crashing down yourself.” She smirked. “You know how klutzy you are.”

  Thanks, Adriana. Lovely bedside manner you have.

  “Anyway, “she continued, “you can imagine Walter’s annoyance when minutes earlier he’d signed the contract to purchase the farm.”

  “He certainly seemed in a rush to buy the place. Makes me wonder if he put this whole thing in motion to begin with.”

  Adriana’s expression morphed from confusion to astonishment.

  “Are you on drugs?” she asked.

  Technically, yes, but it had been a few hours since the nurse gave me the Vicodin. I was higher on chocolate than anything else.

  “Look, someone killed Axel, and they may have tried to take me out as well. How badly did Walter want to buy Apple Tree Farm?”

  She fidgeted with her purse strap before inching closer to me. I was becoming increasingly suspicious of everyone lately, so I shrank back into the pillows, wishing Mother had let me keep Gran’s wasp spray for protection.

  Adriana winced when she took in my assorted bruises. “I’m sure Walter had nothing to do with your accident. His only concern was to wrap up the sale so he could announce it at the gala. He’d already asked me to prepare a press release in advance.”

  I screwed up my forehead in thought. Either the Vicodin or the fudge had achieved a medicinal effect because it barely hurt.

  “When did Walter ask you to prepare the announcement?” I asked her.

  “A couple of weeks ago. He told me to keep it quiet until everything was finalized.”

  I grabbed Adriana’s right hand and squeezed it hard. “Think back. Did he ask you to do this before or after Axel was murdered?”

  She pulled away from me and rubbed her wrist. “Fine, if it’s that important to you.” Adriana reached into her purse and grabbed her iPhone. She punched a few buttons and pulled up her calendar. Her dark eyebrows rose.

  “We met the day before Axel’s murder.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “What should we do?” Adriana asked. “Call the Sheriff? The media?”

  The media? The last thing we needed was for her to tweet our discovery in 140 characters or less.

  “Calm down. We have to be sensible about this. Walter is an established member of the Placerville and Camino communities, not to mention a Hangtown Bank board member. Just because he asked you to write a press release about the sale prior to Axel’s death doesn’t mean squat. We can’t jump to conclusions and accuse him of murder.”

  At least, not to his face. Based on past experience that frequently proved to be a bad idea.

  “Plus the timing could be coincidental,” I said. “Maybe Axel finally agreed to sell to Walter but didn’t tell anyone else. Not even his wife or brother.”

  “That’s true.” Adriana stood. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Do you seriously believe Walter could commit murder?” She eyed me up and down. “Maybe you should stick to marketing. Your so-called detecting doesn’t seem to be going so well.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But in the meantime, don’t say anything about our conversation to anyone. Got it?”

  “Mum’s the word.” She zipped her lip. Considering her PR background, I should probably seize her iPhone and iPad, too.

  The nurse arrived with a lunch tray. Adriana took a look at the entrée, said goodbye and wished me well. After surveying the lunch choices provided by the hospital, I reflected that might be easier said than done.

  I managed to eat a portion of the bland lunch while I watched the noontime news. Most of the stories centered on local issues, the water shortage in a tiny foothill town, a slight chance of rain this weekend and the Chicago Cubs making it into the playoffs. Wow. That was news.

  The “breaking news” banner suddenly scrolled across the screen. Leila Hansen, the KNCA broadcaster from Sacramento, tried to look alarmed, but her Botox-enhanced face seemed stuck in perpetuity with one expression only. Her words, however, chilled me to my bones.

  “Our news center just received word that an operation involving members of various federal and state law enforcement agencies has resulted in a shootout. Although participants are as yet unnamed, it appears there is one fatality, possibly of an El Dorado County Sheriff’s deputy.”

  Ignoring my sore ribs, I leapt out of my bed and stood directly beneath the small television provided by the hospital. My breath caught as the screen filled with photos of an office building in Reno.

  “Laurel, what are you doing up?” Mother asked as she entered my room. She nudged me toward the bed. “You look as pale as these sterile white walls.” She frowned, either at my exertions, or the lack of designer colors in the hospital’s neutral decor.

  When I didn’t budge, Mother’s gaze drifted up to the television monitor above our heads. Her frown deepened when she caught the words “Reno” and “task force.”

>   She gasped. “What’s going on? Who are they talking about?” Her eyes were now glued to the TV. “Is that Robert?”

  I squinted at the small screen, which displayed two EMTs rolling a gurney to a waiting ambulance. The person on the gurney wasn’t recognizable to me, although whoever rested on it wore ginormous black wingtips.

  I glanced at my mother. Her anguished expression spoke words.

  “Mom, there is no way of knowing who that is. There could be a number of gunshot-related crimes going on in Reno. It’s a big city. Lots and lots of criminal activity.”

  I personally knew nothing about Reno’s crime rate, but my mother looked like she could use all the comforting words I could come up with, whether fact or fiction.

  She pointed at the screen with a shaky hand. “But I know those feet. I mean…” She hesitated, and I wrapped my arm around her trembling shoulders.

  “Those could be the shoes of any law officer. Lots of big men in law enforcement. Lots of big feet. Tom has huge feet, too.” I stopped because the “big” comparisons could go on forever, and I wanted to concentrate on the activity on the screen.

  The report ended and the camera crew switched back to the station. “More updates on the five p.m. news,” Leila announced before switching from serious to smiley-face. “Now, let’s check on the weather.”

  I picked up the remote and switched the television off. I led Mother to the chair next to my bed and returned to the rock-hard comfort of my hospital mattress.

  “You’re here earlier than I expected,” I said, hoping to distract not only her, but also myself from my concerns about Tom. “The doctor still hasn’t stopped by to sign the release forms.”

  “I thought you could use some company, and I wanted the diversion. I went into the office, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not with Robert out there doing who knows what.” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Or having who knows what done to him.”

  I reached for my tissue box and discovered it was empty due to Dorie’s cry fest. My mother fortunately never lacked for supplies. She pulled out a miniature package of tissues with the Centurion Realty logo on it and dabbed at her tears, careful not to mar her makeup.