“Sure.” I sat on the other end of the couch.
He looked up at the catwalks surrounding the walls above the windows. “Dep’s one lucky cat.”
“Yes. Tom built those.”
He sipped at the coffee. “Perfect.” Again, he studied the kitty playground near the ceiling. “Are there surveillance cameras up there?”
“No. Imagine what Dep might do to them. Think there should be?”
“Not necessarily.”
“We have three outside, one above the front door, one above this door . . .” I pointed at the door leading from the office to the parking lot. “And one above the other back door, the one that goes straight from the loading dock into the storage room beside the kitchen.”
“And inside?”
“One in the ceiling, aimed at the counter where the cash drawer is.” I nodded at the desk in the corner between the kitchen and back walls. “The video files from all of the cameras are on the computer, and are kept for a minimum of ten days, depending on how much the motion detectors keep them recording. Do you need to see any of our videos?”
“No. Do you have recording equipment in here?”
I tilted my head. It seemed like an odd question. I pulled my phone out of my apron pocket. “I could record with this if you like.”
“That’s not it. I don’t want what I’m about to ask you to be recorded.”
What he was about to ask me? My face heated, and so did the tips of my ears. The conversation was becoming seriously weird. Not only that, he was holding his Deputy Donut mug in front of his mouth as if he were a master spy who didn’t want anyone reading his lips. “It can’t be.” For good measure, I added, “And from where you’re sitting, no one can read your lips unless they’re using binoculars or come up onto the back porch. But if Tom looks up, he can read mine. If he can read lips.”
Almost anyone could have read Brent’s lips at that moment. He’d pinched them together, which made him look strained. The tops of his ears reddened. “It’s nothing draconian, but I don’t want our discussion getting back to work, specifically to Detective Passenmath.”
“I haven’t seen her in years, which is fine with me.”
His lips relaxed into an almost-natural grin. “I’d like to talk to Lois Unterlaw, but off the record for now. I don’t want to bring her to the station and throw her to the wolves there. She’d freak, right?”
By “the wolves,” he probably meant Detective Yvonne Passenmath. “Probably.”
“I can’t quite picture Lois murdering her best friend and her best friend’s son, but as you know, I’m not ruling anything out. However, if Passenmath gets her claws into Lois or finds out that Lois tried to hide that photo of Randy and the car from me, there’s no telling what might happen. I want to get Lois to tell me about Randy and the car and her photos, and I figure I’m more likely to get helpful answers if I have an informal conversation with her. Possibly the best way to do that would be if you were present. Could I impose on you to invite her to your place this evening, and I can talk to her there? The three of us have been getting together lately, so maybe she can endure my questions without clamming up. I know this will be out of the ordinary, but I think it’s important, especially to her.”
“Okay. I’ll invite her over.” Somewhat to my surprise, my ears were getting hotter, not cooler. “And I won’t tell her why.”
“Thanks, Em.” He gulped down the rest of the coffee, set the mug down, and stood up. “Can I go out the back so I won’t trail cat hairs all over your dining room?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Thank Tom. I’d have charged you,” I teased.
“Next time. See you tonight. How about seven?”
“I’ll let you know if there’s any change.” Like if Lois couldn’t make it. “Don’t eat dessert before you come over. I’m afraid it will be only donuts.”
“Who doesn’t like donuts?” He went out the back. I locked the door.
Tom and I finished the dough for the next day, tidied the kitchen and dining room, and upended chairs on tables to make cleaning the floor easier for the Jolly Cops Cleaning Crew. I packed an assortment of donuts into a box and then gathered Dep while Tom armed the alarm system. After he drove off in his usual way, like a police officer racing to an emergency, I figured that Dep and I could step off the back porch and walk down the driveway without having to flatten ourselves against Deputy Donut or the clothing boutique on the other side of the driveway.
It was another nearly perfect early September evening, warm with a hazy sky and maybe a little too much humidity. Strolling home with Dep, I hoped that Brent’s proposed meeting wouldn’t upset Lois, but I was almost sure that it would, no matter how hard Brent tried to seem encouraging and not accusing.
I called her as soon as Dep and I were safely inside the house and I’d removed Dep’s halter and leash.
“I’d love to come for donuts with you and Brent this evening, Emily,” Lois said, “but I expect Randy to drop by, so why don’t you and Brent come over here?” She let out a girlish giggle. “Better yet, why don’t you two simply enjoy the donuts and each other’s company alone together?”
I stuttered an answer about not being interested in Brent that way. “And besides, I brought home too many donuts for two people. I’d end up tossing the ones we didn’t eat.”
“I can’t let that happen. Bring him here at seven, then. And Dep, too, or let her meander over her own way.” I still hadn’t blocked the cat’s secret passageway. Maybe I wouldn’t, as long as Lois lived in that house.
I called Brent and told him the change in plans.
“Randy might show up? Even better. I’ll walk to Lois’s with you.”
He arrived at my place at ten to seven. He had removed his tie and undone the top button of his light blue shirt. I leashed Dep, and the three of us walked to Lois’s.
Smiling, wearing a red tunic over black jeans that almost matched mine, Lois welcomed us all. I handed her the box of donuts.
“Coffee, anyone? Or liqueurs? Or do you know what really goes with donuts, besides coffee?” She didn’t wait for us to answer. “Milk.”
Brent must have expected a long night. He again wanted coffee.
Unleashing Dep, I opted for a small glass of milk, and then Brent and I followed Lois to the kitchen. She started the coffee, I arranged donuts on a platter, and Brent poured milk for Lois and me.
Lois fussed over Dep and gave her a sardine. The coffee didn’t take long. Lois poured it into one of her forget-me-not-patterned bone china cups and handed the cup and saucer to Brent. “Let’s go enjoy this in the living room,” she suggested.
I picked up the platter and a stack of paper napkins. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to see a police officer in your house. Your sheers are, um, sheer.”
She carried the two glasses of milk. “He can sit with his back to the window.”
Knowing from Alec and Misty that police officers preferred to sit with their backs to walls so they could watch entryways, I checked Brent’s face. He thinned his lips, but gave me a nod.
“Take the wing chair, Brent,” Lois said. “Except for the top of your head, you’ll be invisible to people outside.”
Dep galloped upstairs. Lois and I sank into her couch.
Across the coffee table from us, Brent bit into a raised donut with fudge frosting. “Mmmm.”
Lois’s hand hovered over the plate as if she couldn’t decide between a blueberry fritter and a strawberry donut with pink icing and darker pink sprinkles shaped like tiny strawberries. “See, Brent? I told you they were wonderful.” She settled on the blueberry fritter.
I took a maple-bacon donut. When Tom first floated the idea, I’d been skeptical, but the combination of salty bacon bits and sweet maple glaze was delicious.
Dep trotted downstairs, made a beeline for the wing chair, and hopped into Brent’s lap.
Knowing that Randy might show up, I’d brought lots
of donuts, but Brent wiped his hands and face after the first gooey chocolate delight and said in a conversational tone, “Lois, when we looked at your photos at work, we noticed that several are missing. Your camera automatically numbers them, and there are breaks in the sequence.”
She didn’t look concerned. “Not every photo turns out. I delete the ones I’ll never want.”
“Right away?” he asked.
“Usually. There’s no sense in cluttering my hard drive with junky photos. They take up a lot of space. But sometimes I do it later, when I go back and notice that something’s poorly focused or I missed the shot I wanted, like the dog that had been sitting still suddenly jumped up and all I captured was his tail. With my camera, that is.” She winked at me. “That was good, Emily. I’m going to have another one, and this time I am going to have the pink one with the cute strawberry sprinkles.” She cupped a hand behind her ear. “What’s that noise?”
Something buzzed again near Brent. “My phone,” he said, “vibrating.”
He checked the screen, sighed, and gave me a look that I couldn’t quite fathom. It was some combination of apology, regret, and reluctance mixed with stubborn determination. “I’d better take this.” He touched the screen. “Hey, Yvonne, what’s up?”
Chapter 27
No wonder Brent had given me that look. He hadn’t wanted Detective Yvonne Passenmath to know about his “informal” chat with Lois, and now, during that chat, Passenmath was calling him. If he was afraid that I might think he had engineered receiving a call from the detective while he was talking to Lois, he was wrong. Alec had trusted Brent, and so did I.
However, I worried that this interruption could cause problems. If Lois had been on the verge of confessing that she had purposely not shown Brent that photo of Randy and the packed car, Passenmath’s call might give Lois time to change her mind or make something up. Brent might conclude that Lois was covering up Randy’s crimes.
Etiquette probably dictated that I should leave the room and give Brent some privacy. However, he had not moved from the wing chair, so he apparently didn’t mind my eavesdropping. Besides, for the sake of the sweet woman sitting next to me, and for my sake, too, I wanted to hear as much of this conversation as I could.
“What do you mean, ‘missing’?” Brent’s voice was harsh, with a core of iron.
I tightened my grip on my glass of milk.
Lois paled. She whispered to me, “Is someone missing?”
I set the glass down and raised my palms to show that I didn’t know.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Randy hasn’t shown up. Has he disappeared?”
I patted her hand.
Brent said into the phone, “I e-mailed it to you.” He glanced at me again. “Want me to resend it?” I couldn’t hear Passenmath’s response, but Brent asked, “Isn’t it among the originals? Files can be recovered if they haven’t been written over. We can use the copy I e-mailed to myself.... Yes, I understand.. . . Yes, I’m doing that.... Right now. . . .”
I heard a shrill comment, a question I guessed, judging by the rising tone at the end.
Brent spoke more loudly. “I need to finish here, first.” With a wink at Lois and me, he pointed at the platter of donuts.
Lois eased back in her seat in apparent relief.
Still with the phone to his ear, Brent frowned. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll bring in my notes later, and we can go over them and then decide whether we should.... No, I don’t know when I’ll finish. By ten, for sure.”
Smiling at me, Lois pointed at the donuts. She obviously wasn’t worried about Randy or about what Brent was saying. She probably hadn’t picked up on the unheard part of his conversation.
I thought I had.
On Wednesday evening, Brent had e-mailed himself the photo of Randy standing in front of his white-fendered black car, and by now, Brent must have also made certain that Passenmath and the other investigators saw that photo. This afternoon at Deputy Donut, Brent had told me that he wanted to talk to Lois before Yvonne Passenmath found out that Lois had omitted telling Brent about the photo.
However, from his side of the conversation, I guessed that the investigators had gone through the photos on Lois’s original thumb drive, and had discovered that Lois had deleted the photo of Randy in front of the packed car.
And if I was guessing right, Detective Passenmath wanted Brent to bring Lois to police headquarters for questioning.
The chain of command in police departments was important to law enforcement, and an officer who did not immediately follow orders might be suspended or fired. Brent was taking serious chances with his career by postponing obeying this detective who had been brought in over his head. Passenmath had been micromanaging Brent since she took over. There was probably very little hope that she would give a subordinate leeway to conduct an interview his way.
However, I was certain that Brent was right about having a better chance to learn everything that Lois could tell him by talking to her here instead of interrogating her at police headquarters.
Brent ended the call. “Sorry about that.” He reached for another donut, a raised one with a vanilla glaze. Apparently, he wasn’t going to talk about Passenmath’s call.
“I wonder where Randy could be,” Lois said. It seemed that she didn’t want to talk about whatever could be “missing.” Maybe she had an inkling that Brent and Passenmath could have been discussing the photo that inexplicably was not on her portable drive.
“Is he definitely coming over?” Brent asked.
She looked down at the strawberry donut in her hand. “He didn’t say for sure. I could call him and ask.”
“It’s not important.” Brent probably didn’t want Lois to tell Randy that a detective was at her place. “These evening get-togethers are great, but you two are feeding me too much.”
“Didn’t you hear the new rule?” I asked with a straight face. “Cops are immune to the calories in donuts.”
“Ha,” Brent said. “That’s why so many of them take their breaks at your shop.”
I wanted Lois to admit, right then and there, that she’d deleted that photo from her flash drive. I stared at her as if I could tell her without words that the longer she took to tell Brent about it, the harder it would be to appear innocent of withholding evidence. And if Brent thought she was lying about this, just as she’d lied about being attacked on Monday evening, he might never believe her again, about anything.
“Your donuts are superb, Emily,” Lois said. I guessed that Brent would believe she was telling the truth about that, at least. “I’m getting myself another glass of milk. More coffee, Brent? More milk, Emily?”
We turned her down, and she went to the kitchen. Dep trotted behind her. I heard her murmuring to Dep in the kitchen.
“Sorry, Em,” Brent muttered.
I frowned and gave my head a slight shake to show I didn’t quite understand.
“I might have to do this by the book, after all.”
“The department has a comfortable interview room, doesn’t it, for people who haven’t been arrested. Can you use that?”
“For sure.”
The doorbell rang. Carrying her glass of milk, Lois hurried into the living room. “That’ll be Randy!”
A study in reflexes and preparedness, Brent leaped to his feet and whipped around to face the door. Was he afraid that Lois’s Monday night attacker had returned?
Her glass in hand, Lois stared through the peephole. “It’s a woman.” She sounded deflated.
Honey Bellaire, here to threaten and attack Lois again?
Before I could warn her, she opened the door.
Wearing thick-heeled shoes, Yvonne Passenmath clumped in. She did not look pleased.
Her face was red, she was scowling, and I doubted that she’d combed her hair since first thing that morning. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, however. Those of us with curly hair often had trouble keeping it neat, especially on humid days like this one
had been. Her white blouse and her pantsuit, the same shade of brown as her hair, were rumpled, as if she’d brought only one outfit to Fallingbrook and had been wearing it day and night. I knew that my dislike of the woman was making me unfair.
She glared for a few seconds at Brent, and then looked past him at me. “You! I might have known you’d be involved in this.”
I had a feeling she wasn’t talking about Georgia’s case. Yvonne had to know that I was one of the people who had discovered Georgia’s body. By “this,” she must have meant Brent’s unwillingness to haul Lois to headquarters. The milk in her small glass sloshing, Lois sat down on the couch beside me.
I said, “The three of us often get together for dessert.” I pointed at the coffee table. “Would you like a donut?”
Yvonne snapped, “I’m on duty. And although technically, Detective Fyne is not on duty at the moment, I’m going to have to ask him to—”
The doorbell interrupted her.
Lois made no move to answer it, and neither did I. Brent stood like a statue beside the wing chair.
Detective Yvonne Passenmath stomped to the door. I didn’t know who she expected, police backup, maybe? She didn’t bother with the peephole. She flung the door open.
With the mischievous bad-boy grin that always reached his eyes, Randy strode inside. He obviously hadn’t shaved before he came over, but he’d recently applied aftershave or cologne. It was stronger than ever. He was carrying a white plastic bag from Fred Aggleton’s store, Taste of Fallingbrook. The bag wasn’t completely opaque and seemed to contain lumpy pinkish fabric.
Lois managed a faint, “Randy . . .” There was a hint of warning in her tone.
Randy stretched his right hand toward Yvonne. “Randy Unterlaw. I’m Lois’s great-nephew.”
Yvonne let her fingers graze his. “Detective Passenmath, DCI.”
Randy’s eyes opened in apparent surprise, but he offered his right hand to Brent. “Detective Fyne,” he said. “Am I interrupting something?”
Brent shook Randy’s hand. “Call me Brent.”
Yvonne glared at Brent, and then the twitch of a smug smile crossed her face.
Survival of the Fritters Page 20