Pastry Penalties

by Jessica Beck

  At least it kept me out of the shooting gallery.

  “Suzanne?” I heard someone call out to me as I turned to go back inside. It was a woman, but that was all that I could tell from the voice.

  It clearly hadn’t been my imagination after all.

  “Who’s there? Step out of the shadows so I can see you.”

  “Is anyone with you?” she asked timidly, and finally, I could tell that it was Hattie Moon.

  “No. Hattie, stop hiding in the dark.”

  “Emma’s still there, isn’t she?” the older actress asked me as she took one step forward.

  “No, she left after she fell asleep on the couch. How long have you been standing out here waiting for me to come outside?”

  “I showed up right after you did,” she admitted. “I was about to knock on the door when I spotted Emma inside with you through the kitchen door. Are you sure she’s gone?”

  “Hattie, even if she were here, which she’s not, you wouldn’t have anything to fear from her, either. Now come on in. I’ve got fresh cake donuts and coffee inside, and you are welcome to some of each.”

  “I like yeast ones best,” Hattie said as she joined me. Once she was in the light, I could see that she was quite a bit worse for the wear. She had a few scratches on her face and her hands, and her muumuu was smudged in a few places.

  “So do I, but cake donuts are delightful, too. Besides, the yeast donuts aren’t ready yet.” I gestured to her state of disorder. “What happened, did you say the wrong thing to a cat?”

  “I got caught in some bushes over there while I was waiting for you,” she said as she pointed to the park across the street. I supposed that it might be possible to get scratched up like that from them, but I had a more likely, and more condemning, idea as to how she had collected those scratches, and when.

  “Were you out at the lake last night, by any chance?” I asked her as she walked into the light of Donut Hearts behind me. There was that ever-present powerful aroma of perfume on her, something that she always overused, at least in my opinion. I wasn’t sure where she bought her scent, but I had a hunch it was sold in industrial-sized vats by the way she went through it. I’d noticed it before at her house and then again outside the shop, but up close and in a confined space, it was nearly overpowering.

  “No. I haven’t been out there for ages. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I said, which was a complete and utter lie. Whoever had taken that shot at Max had been forced to circle around on the path in order to get a clear shot at him, and if they were stumbling around in the dark, it could certainly be reasonable to assume that they got a little scratched up and maybe even smudged in the process. I poured us both some coffee and grabbed a pair of apple cinnamon cake donuts, one for each of us. I was experimenting with not only using apple cinnamon pie filling inside but also using bits of cut-up apple dusted with cinnamon in the batter itself. I still wasn’t one hundred percent satisfied with the results, but I was getting close.

  Hattie took a bite and then smiled. “Wow, that’s really good.”

  “Thanks. It’s still a work in progress at this point.”

  “If you ask me, I’d say that your work is finished,” she said. “May I possibly have another?”

  So much for her not liking cake donuts. I grabbed another one for her, and she ate it quickly as well. “Hattie, have you had dinner?”

  “No, I had to skip it last night,” she reported with a frown.

  “Why on earth would you have to do that?”

  “I couldn’t go home last night. Someone’s been watching my house,” she said gravely.

  “You’re not talking about Jake and me, are you?” I asked her as I grabbed her a third donut. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have recommended three donuts in one sitting for the tiny woman, but these were extenuating circumstances. Besides, chances were good that if I kept feeding her, she’d hang around for my questions.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “I have no idea,” she said brusquely.

  Suddenly I got it. “You didn’t see anyone yourself, but I’m willing to bet that Millie Farnsworth did.” Since Millie, Hattie’s personal neighborhood watch, had reported our visit to her, it only followed that she’d report any other trespassers or unwelcome visitors to Hattie’s place.

  “Millie is just looking out for me,” Hattie said in her neighbor’s defense.

  “Did she happen to say who it was?” I asked her.

  “No, she couldn’t tell, but she is positive that someone was there. She called me on my cell phone and warned me to stay away, and I’ve been afraid to go back home ever since.”

  “You need to call the police,” I said as I poured her a little more coffee. I’d taken a bite of the cake donut as well, and I thought Hattie just might be right. This one might finally be ready for prime time in the form of a spot on the menu.

  “The chief is the last person I care to see right now,” she said. “He is under the impression that I killed Dusty Baxter.”

  “Did he come right out and say that to you?” I asked her, startled to think that the chief would make such an accusation without having solid proof.

  “No, but he didn’t have to. You may not know this about me, but I’m a master at reading nuance and innuendo.”

  Somehow I kind of doubted that. “Hattie, I can tell you right now that he’s not that sure.”

  “How can you possibly know that? Has he said something to you?” The older actress leaned forward, eager to hear my answer.

  “He didn’t have to. If he thought you did it, you’d be locked up right now.” I was pretty sure that my reasoning there was on solid ground.

  “Nonsense,” she said, but clearly she was a little relieved by my explanation.

  “The way I see it, you have two choices, Hattie. You can call the police and get them to investigate your prowler, or you can keep hiding until the real killer is found, which might be a very long time from now.”

  She frowned at me, took the last bite of her third donut, washed it down with coffee, and then she headed for the door.

  Hattie’s hand was on the handle when I said, “Oh, there’s just one more thing. If you don’t call them, I’m going to do it myself.”

  “Suzanne Hart, this is none of your business,” she said with a little too much indignation for my taste. Then again, Hattie always did tend to overact.

  “Maybe so, but your presence here this morning has made it mine. The choice is up to you. You call them, or I will.”

  After pausing for a few moments, she finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll make the call.”

  Hattie was starting out again when I said, “I meant that you should do it right now, in front of me.”

  “Are you saying that you don’t trust me?” she asked me a little too incredulously for my taste.

  “Of course I do,” I said with a grin that was as false as one of her scenes on stage. As my smile faded, I took out my own cell phone and pretended to prepare to make a call.

  That was all it took.

  She had her phone out and was dialing before I had to do anything else. “Yes, I’d like to report a prowler. No, I won’t stay inside the house. I’m not there. Yes. You are correct. This is Hattie Moon. Have your officer come to the donut shop when he’s finished. I’ll be waiting there for him. Yes. Of course. Good-bye.”

  After she hung up, Hattie asked me, “Are you satisfied?”

  “You bet.”

  I hadn’t planned on her camping out until the police checked for the presence of a prowler, but I could hardly complain, given the fact that I’d forced her to call myself. “While you’re waiting, I’ll pour you another cup of coffee.”

  My timer went off just then. It was time to tend to the dough for the yeast donuts. “I’ll be in the ki
tchen if you need me,” I said as I walked back.

  Hattie was close on my heels. “Where do you think you’re going? I can’t stay out here all alone. What if I’m in danger?”

  “You’re welcome to come back into the kitchen with me, but I have work to do if folks are going to get their raised donuts this morning.”

  Hattie reluctantly followed me back, and as I worked, she kept watching me with a critical eye. It was worse than if she’d provided negative commentary throughout the process, and in the even tighter quarters, her scent was overpowering. I’d have to trust my instincts on the donuts I made. My sense of smell, and therefore taste, was going to be shot for a while.

  I was about to say something about Hattie’s lurking when she spoke instead. “There’s quite a bit of work that goes into making those, isn’t there?”

  “It’s a fair amount, but I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of enjoy the process.” That was a good thing, too. If I didn’t, I’d thrown away a good chunk of my life doing something that I didn’t really like. I knew there were a lot of folks who did just that, but I’d rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable. Then again, I’d never been rich, so who was I to say? Still, I was pretty sure that I’d feel the same way, and if I suddenly won the lottery, I’d be hard pressed to give up making donuts forever.

  I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to find out if that were true or not, though.

  “You put so much time and energy into them and sell them for so little. Not only that, but by tomorrow, they’ll all be gone, and the process has to start all over again.”

  “Isn’t acting on the stage the same thing?” I asked her. “Your performance is gone as soon as you give it, and the next night, you have to start all over again.”

  “Suzanne, are you honestly trying to compare my art to you making donuts?” Her indignation was real, and it was all I could do not to laugh.

  I was about to try to say something to mollify her when there was a tap at the front door. “That will be the police, unless I miss my guess.” I probably should have been grateful for the interruption, since it had saved me from saying something I would probably regret later.

  “Probably” was the key word.

  It was indeed an April Springs police officer, but it was one I hadn’t had much contact with in the past. She was a tall and husky woman, but it didn’t appear that she had an ounce of fat on her. I knew one thing. If a fight broke out nearby, I’d want her to have my back.

  “Hey, I’m Suzanne. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met,” I said as I opened the door. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m Hillary Watts, by the way. I’d take you up on your offer, but the coffee might keep me awake.” Her grin was contagious.

  “Isn’t that a good thing while you’re on duty?”

  “This is my last call,” she said with a smile. “Where exactly did you see the prowler?”

  I had been mistaken for many things in the past, but never Hattie Moon. Where was she, anyway? Probably cowering in back. “Hattie. The police would like to speak with you.”

  The actress came out, albeit a little reluctantly. “Did you catch him?” she asked Officer Watts tentatively.

  “No, ma’am. I couldn’t see any signs that anyone had been there.”

  Hattie frowned hard at the officer before she spoke again. “Are you calling Millie Farnsworth a liar?”

  “Ma’am, I’m fairly new in town and to this police force, but I’ve been a cop for seven years. Ms. Farnsworth, I didn’t mean to imply that you were a liar.”

  That upset Hattie more than my art comment had. “Do you honestly think I am Millie?”

  “I thought you were referring to yourself in the third person,” Officer Watts said, trying to hide the beginning of a smile.

  I liked her already.

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything so pedestrian,” Hattie said.

  “Listen, if you’d like, I’d be happy to follow you home and look around again, but I didn’t see any signs that anyone had been there.”

  “Despite what my neighbor, Millie Farnsworth, saw?” Hattie asked.

  “All I can tell you is that I didn’t see anything,” she said.

  “I can see myself home. My tricycle is parked over in the bushes.” Hattie shook her head indignantly and stormed out of the donut shop without even a thank you for the food and coffee I’d provided.

  “I guess I’ll see you later,” Officer Watts said. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Stop by anytime. Chances are that I’ll be here,” I said.

  After all the excitement of having a visitor in the middle of the night died down, it was time to get back to work. After all, I didn’t have that much time before I would have to open the shop and start selling my treats. Hattie might not have thought much of it, but it was part of a life I’d worked very hard to have for myself, and I loved every second of it.

  Well, almost every second.

  Chapter 19

  “Hey, Michelle. It’s funny seeing you here,” I said as I opened the donut shop for business at the appointed hour. “You usually don’t come by Donut Hearts.” In fact, she’d told me before that she thought my pastry treats were poison.

  “What can I say? I might not care for what you sell here, but I thought I’d get my bosses a treat before work today,” she said as she walked in past me and headed straight for the display case. “What’s the best thing you make?”

  “Would you believe me if I said that everything was delicious?” I asked her. It was odd seeing her in my shop, though not as odd as it had been seeing Hattie earlier while I’d been making donuts. When people were suspects in my investigations, they often used coming by the shop as an excuse to pry and probe to see what I knew, whether they were guilty of murder or not. I didn’t mind. It ultimately served two functions: I had another chance to see them without having to track them down myself, and I sold more treats, which was a win-win in my book.

  “Come on. Some of your baked goods must be more popular than others,” she answered with a frown. “Why don’t you make up a dozen of the ones you sell the most of in the course of a day?”

  “I can do that,” I said as I started collecting plain glazed, chocolate glazed, old-fashioned cake, lemon-filled, Boston cream, and a few other select choices. It wasn’t the most imaginative dozen donuts I’d ever put together, but I had a hunch that they weren’t the real reason she was visiting me. I had a couple of choices. I could bring up Dusty’s murder, or I could let her. I decided to see how long it took her to mention it. After I collected her money and handed over the box, I began to wonder just how sound my strategy was turning out to be. As Michelle started for the door, I saw her hesitate. Finally we were getting somewhere.

  And then George Morris walked in and spoiled everything.

  “Can I get the door for you?” George asked her gallantly as he did just that, holding it wide open for her.

  “Sure. That’s sweet of you,” Michelle said, clearly a little unnerved by the mayor’s sudden appearance.

  “Before you go, was there something you wanted to talk to me about, Michelle?” I asked her before she walked out.

  “No. I just came by for the donuts.”

  I didn’t believe that for one second, but I couldn’t exactly detain her until she talked to me.

  After she was gone, George frowned at me. “Suzanne, did I just ruin something?”

  “I think she was about to tell me something about our murder investigation,” I admitted. There was no reason to sugarcoat things with George, and he felt the same way with me. It certainly saved us both a lot of tiptoeing around each other.

  “Blast it. I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, and before I could stop him, he raced out after Michelle.

  “George,” I called out, hoping to stop hi
m, but either he didn’t hear me, or he chose not to listen.

  I had a hunch I knew which scenario it was.

  As I sold donuts and coffee for the next hour and a half, I couldn’t stop wondering what Michelle had really wanted. In fact, I got so distracted by it that I tried to give Gabby Williams change for a twenty instead of the ten she’d given me for her coffee. “I can see why you’re constantly on the edge of bankruptcy,” Gabby said with her usual charm as she handed me back half of her change.

  “Sorry, my mind was somewhere else.”

  “Clearly,” Gabby said with the hint of a frown. I knew she was beaming on the inside, having caught me in a boneheaded mistake. We were friends, at least by the oddest of definitions, and I knew that my error had probably just made her day.

  Once things got quiet again, I reached for my cell phone. “Hey, Jake. What are you up to?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m making a pot of turkey chili,” he said. My husband loved making chili, and using ground turkey and chicken instead of ground beef had become his new favorite substitution. I had to admit that it was quite good, but I did wish that he’d branch out and try to make something that didn’t involve chili powder. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I had visits from our two main suspects this morning,” I admitted, “and I don’t quite know what to make of either one of them.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll be there in three minutes, and you can tell me all about it.”

  I suddenly felt bad about interrupting his cooking. “You don’t have to come over right away.”

  “No worries. The chili’s already made. It just needs to rest and cool down before I put it away,” he said.

  I glanced at the clock. “Tell you what. I only have another forty-five minutes until I close,” I said. “Why don’t you wait until then, and we can chat while I clean up?”

  “This isn’t a ruse to get me over there to do dishes, is it?” he asked me suspiciously. “I’ve already done them here, and my fingers are wrinkly as it is.”