Pastry Penalties

by Jessica Beck

  “Emily, he’s on his way over here as soon as he can get free,” I said, knowing that it was what he’d promised to do but being unsure of the exact timeline. That was up to the police chief, but I believed that it was true nonetheless. I stood and felt the steam coming off the hot milk. After I turned the burner off, I poured equal portions of milk into mugs, already waiting with the delicious powdery mix. After stirring each mug in turn, I distributed them as I urged Emily to sit back down.

  She finally agreed, and after taking a sip, she said, “I’m not sure I can just sit around and wait for Max to show up.”

  “It’s not exactly something you can rush. He’s being interviewed by the police chief right now,” Jake said. “You might as well wait for him here.”

  “Emily, at this very moment he’s telling the chief what he saw last night, or at least what he thought he saw,” I said.

  “Of course he is,” Emily said proudly. “It’s what I would urge him to do if he’d come to me first. There can’t be any secrets between us, and I won’t have him, or anyone else for that matter, lying for me, most especially to the police. I know that now.”

  “How did you leave things with the chief?” Jake asked her gently.

  “I’m not supposed to leave town, not that I had any big trips planned or anything,” she said. “I had the distinct impression that I’m at the top of his list of suspects.” She didn’t even seem that upset by the prospect.

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” I asked her after taking a sip of cocoa myself. It was, as always, amazing, but at the moment, the nuanced flavors were lost on me.

  “Of course it does,” she said in a level voice, “but who can blame him? If I didn’t know better, I would think the same thing myself.”

  Jake suddenly asked, “Emily, you said you were with the police chief earlier. How long have you been here waiting for us?”

  “I left his office, dropped the guys off at home, and then I came straight here,” she said.

  “Did you speak with anyone from the time you left home to the time you came here?”

  “As a matter of fact, I talked to Grace for at least five minutes before I got to your place. She wanted to know how I was doing. She’s really sweet, isn’t she? Why do you want to know where I was?”

  “Relax, it’s good news. Given the timeline, it means that you can prove that you didn’t shoot at Max, which in turn tells me that you didn’t kill Dusty, either,” Jake said.

  Emily looked thoroughly confused now. “Someone shot Max? Is he hurt? Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Emily stood up, spilling her hot chocolate as she ran for the door.

  I was about to try to stop her when someone else did, as she ran straight into Max’s arms.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him as she searched for any sign of a wound. “I thought you’d been shot.”

  “Shot at,” I corrected her, but she wasn’t paying any attention to me at all.

  “Emily, I’m fine,” he said as he hugged her. “I had to tell the police about you and Dusty. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice coming out in almost a sob.

  “You did the right thing,” she said, stroking his hair lightly. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Max pulled back a little and stared into her eyes. I felt a little like a voyeur, but hey, they were standing in my kitchen, so I couldn’t exactly excuse myself. Well, I could have, but I wasn’t going to. As I cleaned up the spilled hot chocolate, I heard Max ask, “How about you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m just dandy, now that you’re back,” she said, hugging him fiercely again.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Max said, choking out the words.

  “What choice did you have?” she asked. “I understand.”

  “At least you should both be in the clear now,” I said.

  “I’m just hoping we can convince the police of that,” Jake said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “We believe that because she didn’t shoot at Max, she didn’t kill Dusty,” Jake said, “but there’s no guarantee that the police chief will see it the same way. The shot at Max might not have anything to do with Dusty’s murder.”

  “She didn’t do it,” Max said as he took a step toward Jake. I admired his spunk, but my husband would have killed him if it came down to a physical confrontation between the two of them.

  Fortunately for all concerned, Emily stepped between them. “Let’s all take a deep breath, shall we? Max, let’s get out of here. Suzanne needs to get at least a little sleep before she opens the shop tomorrow, and you and I need to spend some time together.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Max said eagerly.

  “Talking,” Emily added.

  “Oh. Okay. Of course. You’re right.” He seemed genuinely disappointed there wouldn’t be more to their interaction, and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. Some things about the man never changed.

  After they were gone, Jake put the mugs in the sink and rinsed them.

  “Do you honestly think Chief Grant is going to think the shooting at the cabin isn’t in some way related to Dusty’s murder?” I asked him.

  “No, probably not. I’m likely just jumping at shadows. It’s been quite a day. Will you be able to get at least a little sleep before you have to go in to work tomorrow?”

  “You’re kidding, right? I’ll be asleep before my head hits the pillow.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Jake said.

  “It’s easy, really. Exhaustion is the perfect sleeping pill. Are you coming to bed?”

  “I’ll be in a little later. There are a few things I want to ponder tonight.”

  “Fine,” I said as I kissed him good night. “Just promise me you won’t go off and do something on your own.”

  “I promise, at least for tonight,” he said with a grin.

  “That’s all that I can ask for,” I replied, smiling in return.

  I was wrong, though. Sleep didn’t come easily at all. I must have tossed and turned for half an hour before I finally drifted off.

  I had a hunch that tomorrow was going to be a very long day indeed.

  And I didn’t even know the half of it yet.

  Chapter 17

  “What happened? Did I get our schedules mixed up?” I asked Emma as I walked into the donut shop bright and early the next morning and found her sitting on a stool. “I could swear this was your day off.”

  “I’m not here to work. We need to talk, Suzanne,” Emma said.

  Oh, no. I’d lost Emma once for a short period of time when she’d gone off to college and then again when she’d helped her boyfriend open his new restaurant. Was this going to be her third and final exit from my business and my daily life? “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” I asked, slumping back against the wall. So much for my plan to take the news gracefully.

  “Leaving? Why would I do that? I just got here.”

  “I mean the shop,” I said as I pulled off my jacket.

  “Suzanne, I’m not going anywhere until you throw me out,” Emma said. “You’re not throwing me out, are you?”

  “No, that’s never going to happen.” I felt immensely better. “So, if you’re not here tendering your resignation, why are you here so early? Insomnia?”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t even been to bed yet,” she said. “I just left Emily’s house.”

  “Funny, she was with Max when she left my place,” I said as I flipped on the fryer. As I started doing my daily chores by mostly muscle memory, I asked, “What happened? Did they have a fight?”

  “No. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. I think they’re going to elope,” Emma said, the concern obvious in her voice.

  “Well, I can’t blame them. They tried to have a formal wedding once and someone ended up dying,” I sai
d, remembering the obnoxious best man who hadn’t made it to the final day.

  “I don’t, either,” Emma said, and then she bit her lower lip for a moment. “I just don’t want her rushing into anything.”

  “I thought you liked Max,” I said as I started measuring out the ingredients for the cake donuts. I always started the day with cake donuts, and then I moved on to the raised ones. It was a system that I’d perfected over the years, and I wasn’t about to change it, though I knew that Emma did things her own way when she was in charge of the shop two days a week.

  “I do. At least I did,” Emma said. “Dad told me something last night that kind of rattled me, though.”

  I couldn’t imagine what Ray Blake might tell her, but if I knew the newspaperman, it wasn’t anything good. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” I said. I wanted to add, “especially from your father,” but I didn’t have the heart to do it.

  “Dad said he heard that Max implicated Emily in Dusty’s murder last night.”

  I couldn’t argue the point, but sometimes perspective was everything. “Did he say how he did that, exactly?” I asked as I continued to measure and add ingredients.

  “Dad got a tip from someone at the police station that Max told them that he’d seen Emily and Dusty together in the newsstand through the window the night before last, and what was worse, they were in a compromising position.”

  So far, it appeared that old Ray had gotten the straight scoop, though his interpretation of the events was likely to be suspect. “What did Emily say? I’m sure you asked her about it.”

  “You’d better believe I did!”

  “So? What was her answer?”

  “She said that she loved Max, and only Max! What hold does that man have over normally nice and sweet and sane girls, Suzanne?”

  “Jake asked me the same thing. You know, I might not be the right person to ask that question of,” I said.

  “I’d say you’re exactly the right one,” Emma replied. “No offense or disrespect intended, but you fell for Max first.”

  “Trust me, there was a long line of women before me, and after as well, I’m sure,” I said.

  “You know what I mean,” Emma persisted. “I’m honestly worried about her marrying him.”

  “Did you tell her that, in those exact words?” I asked as I finished adding the basic ingredients to my cake donut mix. It was only after I had a solid base to work with that I began dividing up portions into separate bowls and tweaking each individual flavor I offered for sale.

  “I did. She told me that he confessed it all to her, and that she not only forgave him, but she approved of him telling Chief Grant! Is that the act of a sane woman, I ask you?”

  I stopped what I was doing and patted Emma’s hand. “It sounds as though she’s in love with him and that she trusts him to do the right thing.”

  “Suzanne, in my wildest imagination, I never dreamed you’d approve of this,” Emma said with a pouting lower lip.

  “What can I say? Max has changed,” I said for the thousandth time that year. It was difficult sometimes defending my ex-husband’s character, especially after how our marriage had ended, but in my mind, and clearly in Emily’s as well, he’d done the right thing, even if I had been forced to coax him a bit to get him to do it.

  “I guess so,” Emma said as she stood and reached for her jacket. “Anyway, I just wanted to talk to you about it. You’ve certainly given me something to think about.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more sympathetic to your point of view,” I said. “If you’d like, you could always hang around and help me make donuts. That’s bound to give you time to think.” I’d been joking, plain and simple, just trying to coax a smile from her.

  To my surprise, Emma hung her coat back up and reached for her apron. “Do you know what? I think I will.”

  “Emma, I was just teasing.”

  “I know that, but I’ve got a lot to process right now, so I know I’ll never get to sleep. Making donuts will help me distance myself a bit from what’s going on.”

  “Will doing dishes serve the same purpose?” I asked her with a grin. When I was away, Emma made the donuts and her mother, Sharon, took over her chores, but when I was in charge, Emma was the one who kept everything clean and neat.

  “Sure. Why not? You don’t even have to pay me!”

  “You know, a lot of folks have used washing dishes as therapy,” I said with a grin.

  “Really?”

  “How should I know?” I asked with a laugh as I tossed a nearby hand towel in her direction. “But there’s only one way to find out if it works.” I had no intention of letting her work for free, though. In fact, if I could afford it, I was going to pay her time and a half. After all, it was her day off.

  “I’ll let you know,” she said as she got busy setting up the front for me. Even when Emma came in on her regularly scheduled days, she wasn’t there that early. I liked to time her arrival at somewhere close to the moment that I started dropping the first cake donuts into the hot oil. While they cooked, Emma handled things out front, and once I was finished swinging the dangerous dough dropper, forcing the dough to the bottom where I could get it to drop into the oil—hence its name—she was ready to step in and make things clean again.

  Once the cake donut selection for the day was finished, iced, and on the cooling racks, I went out front to get Emily so she could start on the dishes.

  I found her fast asleep, curled up on one of our couches.

  Smiling, I grabbed my jacket and made an impromptu blanket from it, covering her, at least mostly.

  She didn’t even stir.

  The poor thing was clearly exhausted.

  I took in the scene of her resting, and then I headed back into the kitchen to start the first round of dishes myself.

  As I washed and dried the items I’d used so far, I thought about where things stood with our list of suspects. I was delighted to eliminate Max and Emily from my list, no matter what anyone else might think. After all, it stood to reason that if Max had killed Dusty, then who took the shot at him at the lake? It couldn’t have been Emily. She had the best alibi of all, being interviewed by the police chief right around the time the attack on Max had occurred. I supposed that it was possible that the shot wasn’t related to Dusty’s murder, but I simply found that impossible to believe. There was no way that particular coincidence made any sense at all. No, I needed to work off the assumption that whoever had stabbed Dusty had taken that shot at Max. But why? I had a difficult time imagining either of my final two suspects shooting at Max in the darkness. Could Michelle be more familiar with firearms than she appeared to be? I wouldn’t have thought she’d be able to identify most weapons, let alone fire them. Hattie could have learned how to shoot for a play, but the question kept rearing its ugly head: why shoot at Max at all? Was it possible that my ex-husband knew more about this case than he realized? Did someone feel threatened enough by his knowledge to try to stop him from talking before he figured it out? If that was the case, I needed to speak to him again before the killer could strike.

  Despite the early hour, I dried my hands and grabbed my cell phone.

  It wasn’t a great surprise when my call went straight to voicemail.

  “Max, this is Suzanne. Call me as soon as you get this, and I mean immediately. It could be important.”

  That done, I finished up the dishes. It had surprised me by how quickly the stack had been finished, and it was undeniable that I felt better.

  Maybe there was something to this dishwashing therapy after all.

  As I hung up the towel to dry, the kitchen door opened. Emma came in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I fell asleep.”

  “Did you?” I asked her with a grin.

  “You know I did. I believe this is yours,” she said as she handed me my jacket. “Why didn’t you w
ake me?”

  “You looked so comfortable, I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” I admitted. “Why don’t you go on and head home? I’ve got this covered, and you could clearly use some sleep.”

  “Are you sure?” Emma asked, clearly hoping that I wasn’t going to change my mind.

  “I’m positive,” I said. “Now off with you, young lady.”

  “Thanks, Suzanne. For everything,” she added as she hugged me for a brief few seconds. It was a rare treat from my employee, and more importantly, my friend.

  “You’re most welcome. It’s going to be all right. Trust me.”

  “I always do,” she said, and then she headed home.

  Once again I had the donut shop to myself.

  After a bit more work, I had the yeast donut dough ready to go through its first rest/proof. That was normally the time Emma and I took our break outside, no matter what the time of year or the weather. I thought about staying in this one time, but after setting the timer, I found myself reaching for my jacket and heading outside despite my best intentions.

  Once I was outside sitting on one of the few chairs we kept for our al fresco diners, I began to get the eerie feeling that someone was watching me. Every time I thought I saw someone in the shadows, I ultimately decided that it was more likely my overactive imagination than someone actually being there.

  Or so I thought at the time.

  Chapter 18

  I was sorely tempted with the idea of going back inside Donut Hearts despite the fact that I had seven minutes left on the timer in my hand. I normally wasn’t so jumpy, but after all, Dusty had just been murdered, and someone had taken a shot at Max. Presumably Max had been the intended victim. Was it possible that someone had been going after Jake, the mayor, or even me? No, I felt as though I could safely rule myself out. While Jake, Max, and George could pass for each other, at least as shadows in the dark, nobody was about to mistake my silhouette for any of theirs. Hey, maybe it was finally paying off that I was so curvy.