Illegally Iced: A Donut Shop Mystery (Donut Shop Mysteries)

by Jessica Beck

  “That sounds like a feast to me,” I said. “Let me just wash up.”

  When I got to the table, I found a beautiful sandwich waiting for me. She’d mixed white and dark meat, adding just enough mayo to the homemade sourdough bread to give it some moisture. The stuffing had been piled on as well and was slipping out from under the bread. A tall glass of milk and a side plate with jellied cranberry sauce finished the meal, and I got my new phone out and took a picture.

  “What are you doing that for?” Momma asked.

  I punched a few buttons, and then said, “I just sent Jake a photograph to show him what he’s missing. Sometimes I think it’s your food that keeps him coming back around here.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, but Momma was clearly pleased by the compliment. A second later my telephone chimed once.

  I checked it before I did anything else, and all Jake wrote back was, “You’re killing me. Take a bite for me.”

  I told Momma, and she smiled a moment before she said, “Suzanne, you know our rules. No phones at the table.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as I tucked it back into my pocket.

  After we said the blessing I took a bite, letting the flavors explode in my mouth. My mother had learned as a new bride how to make a moist turkey, and she’d only gotten better over the years. The addition of the stuffing gave it all a blend of seasonings that was so much better than mere salt and pepper could bring to the meal. The milk was chilled to the right temperature, and the cool bite of the cranberry was the perfect complement to everything else. I shouldn’t have eaten it all, but I couldn’t help myself.

  As I pushed my plate away, Momma said, “My, you built up quite an appetite after all.”

  “Sleuthing does that to me sometimes,” I said.

  “I do worry about you when you’re investigating murder,” Momma said.

  “Hey, it’s not like it happens every day. Most of the time I’m content just making donuts, hanging out with you and Grace—and if I’m lucky, Jake—and trying to get as much beauty sleep as I can.”

  “Not enough, in my opinion.”

  “Of which? Sleep, donuts, or time with those I love?” I asked as I gathered up the plates.

  “I know you have enough with donuts, but the other two could always use a little more attention,” she said.

  We washed the few dishes together at the sink, chatting as we did. In many ways it took me back to my childhood; I had done the exact same thing beside her back then that I was doing right now. I hadn’t realized how special those times had been when I’d been growing up, but I cherished the memories of them now. Leaving home and marrying Max—a professional actor I liked to call the Great Impersonator—had made me realize just how special my childhood had been. Though Momma and I were still trying to find the balance of living together as two grown women and not just mother and daughter, most of the time with her was good.

  I kissed her good-night and headed upstairs.

  Just as I was about to call Jake, my cell phone rang, and much to my joy, it was the man himself.

  “That was just plain cruel,” he said with a laugh when I said hello. “Was it as good as it looked?”

  “Better,” I said with a smile in my voice I knew that he could hear. “Think of it as another sacrifice you have to make for being so good at what you do. What did you have for dinner?”

  “A cold hamburger and some flat soda,” he admitted.

  “That should be illegal. How’s the case going?”

  “From bad to worse,” he admitted. “It’s quite a bit muddier than I thought it was going to be. I’m afraid it’s going to take some real work to solve this one.”

  My boyfriend, if you could use that ridiculous word for a grown man, was a topnotch investigator for the North Carolina State Police, and they never seemed to call him with the easy cases. “That’s why you make the big bucks,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, I’ll have you know that I’m a thousandaire. Stick with me, lady, and you’ll go places.”

  “Having a lot of money doesn’t always guarantee happiness,” I said solemnly, thinking about James’s life, and how he hadn’t found any real peace until he’d turned his back on his wealth.

  “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about me anymore?”

  I brought him up to speed on what I’d learned about James Settle’s life so far. He scolded me a little when I came to the part about the journal, but we didn’t have any secrets between us. Besides, I had a pretty good idea that Chief Martin would complain to him about me anyway, so I might as well spill the news myself.

  “Wow, that is a lot of money,” Jake said. “You’d never know talking to him that he was that well off. He was a good guy, wasn’t he?”

  “I thought so. I can’t believe someone was cold-blooded enough to stab him in the chest like that.”

  “What I can’t believe is that Martin told you about it. You two must be getting to be real pals.”

  “Hardly. I think he told me just to appease Momma.”

  “Don’t sell him short. He knows you’ve provided some real clues in the past, and he’d be a fool to try to keep you out of things completely. I wasn’t all that crazy about you nosing around at first, but I eventually came around, remember?”

  “I’d like to think there was more to it than just my investigation skills,” I said.

  “Stop fishing for compliments,” he said with a laugh. “Listen, you need to be careful here. Whoever killed James clearly knew him, and I’m guessing that they knew him well.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He let them stand close enough to him to stab him without him trying to defend himself. Besides, a metal skewer is like a knife. You have to be close enough to your victim to look into their eyes, and if you’re not ramped up on anger or passion, it’s nearly impossible to do.”

  “So, it couldn’t have been someone who was paid to kill him?” I asked.

  “It’s still possible, but I’d have a hard time believing it. This thing screams that an amateur just got lucky and no one saw him kill James in a crowd.”

  “I still don’t get that part,” I admitted. “How could there not be any witnesses to a crime that was committed out in the open like that?”

  “Right off the top of my head, I can think of at least half a dozen ways without really trying too hard.”

  “Like how?” I asked.

  “Well, there could have been a distraction somewhere else in the park, or the killer could have made it look like he was patting James on the shoulder while the other hand was driving in the blade. Do you really want the entire list?”

  I started to say yes, and then had to stifle a yawn. “No, I’d better not. It would probably give me nightmares. I’m so tired I might not get to sleep for at least four seconds after we hang up.”

  “Good night, then.”

  Now it was time for the most special part of my day. I waited half a beat, and then Jake said, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said, and then turned off my phone and went to sleep. I couldn’t always manage it, but when I could, it was the best way that I knew to put an end to my day.

  QUICK CAKE DONUTS

  When I named this recipe, it was less for the cake donuts I’m used to making and more about finding something I could make in my pantry on short notice. I was digging out the usual ingredients for some standard donut fare and happened upon a box of strawberry cake mix. These are tasty little treats, and you can experiment with different brands and flavors. This goes under the Very Easy file!

  INGREDIENTS

  Mixed

  • 1½ cups (½ standard 10.25 oz. box) cake mix, your choice

  • If you’re baking, ½ cup additional flour, unbleached all-purpose

  • If you’re frying, 1 cup additional flour, unbleached all-purpose

  • 2 eggs, lightly beaten

  • ¾ cup water

  • Canola oil for frying (the amount depe
nds on your pot or fryer)

  INSTRUCTIONS

  In a medium-sized bowl, beat the eggs lightly, and then add the cake mix, appropriate amount of flour, and water, mixing well until you have a smooth consistency.

  Drop bits of dough using a small-sized cookie scoop (the size of your thumb, approximately). Fry in hot canola oil (360 to 370 degrees F) 1½ to 2 minutes, turning halfway through.

  Yield: 10–12 donut drops

  CHAPTER 7

  “I cannot believe it is so chilly out,” Emma said the next morning when she walked into the donut shop rubbing her hands together. I’d let her sleep in, so she didn’t have to get there until four A.M. It might not have sounded like much to some folks, but for us, an extra hour or two of sleep was like found money. “Suzanne, I thought it was supposed to finally warm up.”

  “It’s coming soon enough,” I said. “In a month we’ll be wishing for a chill in the air.”

  “You might, but I love the warm weather. How are things going so far?”

  “I’m just about ready to drop some donuts, so if you want to get the front ready, it shouldn’t take me too long.” I always made the cake donuts first, running through the entire process of mixing, dropping, frying, and finally icing them all before I did anything with the raised donuts. Those needed time to proof after they were initially mixed and kneaded by my floor mixer, and it always gave Emma and me some time to relax a little. We both liked to take our breaks together out in front of the donut shop no matter what the weather, but at that moment she had to leave the kitchen while I dropped the donuts. I’d instituted the rule when, once early on in learning the process, I’d let the heavy metal dropper full of batter slip out of my hands. It had dug a gouge into the wall less than ten inches from Emma’s head, and after that, I wasn’t about to risk it ever again. I refused to have it fixed so that it was always there as a reminder to me that I wasn’t perfect, and that there was no such thing as being too careful.

  After I finished dropping the last of the Cherry Bombs, my latest cherry-flavored donut, I called out to Emma, “All clear.”

  She came in smiling. “Wow, what did you put in those? They look amazing.”

  “I tried some Cheerwine in the batter this time, and some cherry Kool-Aid, too,” I admitted. Cheerwine was a Southern soda, and the closest thing I could compare it to was a very cherry Coke, but it was so much more than that. I had a friend from high school who got ten cases every time she came home to visit from Maine, and I didn’t blame her a bit. The Kool-Aid addition was a relatively new thing I’d been doing lately after seeing Kool-Aid-based donuts at our county fair. It really jazzed up the flavor and the color of the donuts, but I was still using it sparingly unless I was catering some kind of function at the elementary school. A donut that parents turned away from was often one that their kids adored.

  As I iced the cherry donuts, Emma said, “I’ll get started on the dishes.”

  She worked at the sink as I measured ingredients for our yeast donuts and turned the mixer on. After it had cycled through the mix, I pulled out the beater and covered the bowl with plastic wrap. Setting the timer for our break, I turned to Emma as she finished washing the last bowl. “We’re just a well-oiled machine, aren’t we?” she asked with a grin.

  “It’s great having you back,” I said. She’d been gone, even though briefly, to explore the world outside of April Springs, and it hadn’t taken long for her to decide to postpone living out of town until a little bit later in life. I’d take every second of her time that I could get, and if that made me selfish, then so be it.

  “I wouldn’t be any place else,” she said. “Grab your coat. You’re going to need it.”

  We walked through the gently lit front of the donut shop and made our way outside. It was still chilly out, but not nearly so much as it had been when I’d first come to work. Perhaps our little cold spell was over and the end of spring could quit dragging its feet and finally warm things up. Once we were outside at one of the tables we kept there for patrons, Emma asked me, “Can you believe James Settle was murdered right over there?”

  I involuntarily glanced over at the park where it had happened, and realized that if I’d only been paying attention, I might have seen it happen myself. How had the killer avoided detection from so many people? I’d seen that park, and it had been hopping. Then again, if it hadn’t been very crowded, the act of murder would have stood out more. At least Terri and Sandy’s kids hadn’t seen the actual assault. That would have been a trauma they might never get over. “It’s hard to grasp, isn’t it?” I asked. “Does your dad have any theories?”

  Emma’s father, Ray Blake, owned and operated the April Springs Sentinel, our town newspaper. It was really more of a flyer full of ads than a real hard-hitting journalistic endeavor, but Ray believed that someday he would scoop the big city papers nearby and make headlines for himself. “He’s following up on a few things, but you know my dad. He’s got more ideas than Edison had patents, so it’s hard to tell which theory he’s going to settle on before this is all out. How about you?”

  Emma had crossed the line with me a few times in the past regarding her father, telling him things I had wanted to keep private, so unfortunately I had to be a little careful with what I said around her when it came to my amateur murder investigations. “Who says I’m even looking into it?”

  She laughed at that response. “Suzanne, don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but we both know you’re investigating James’s murder. How could you not? You two had a spat and the next thing you know, the man’s dead.”

  “It was just a coincidence, Emma,” I said simply.

  “I know that,” she replied, her eyes growing big. “Suzanne, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I never could believe that you’d actually kill someone.”

  “That’s good to know,” I answered, “but really, I don’t have anything to share.”

  We were both silent for a minute, and then she broke it by saying, “If you’re worried I’ll tell Dad, you don’t have to. After the last time, I told him that I’m no longer a source for him.”

  “Don’t alienate him on my account,” I said. It had taken the father and daughter a great deal of time and effort to get themselves on a good footing, and I hated being the cause for any rifts in her family.

  “Don’t worry; my mother has taken care of that. Funny, most folks think she’s the quiet one and Dad is the one with the temper.”

  “Your mother has a temper?” I asked, not able to believe it. She worked with us on special occasions, and on the rare days I wasn’t at the donut shop she filled in for me, with Emma in charge. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, she was a real lifesaver.

  “Not exactly. It’s more like a very strong, silent energy that’s nearly impossible to defy. I could never stand up to her as a kid, and my dad still can’t. Anyway, she laid down the law with him. I’m only allowed to call information in to him if there’s a fire or an accident, and he has to be my second call, no matter how much Dad might howl about it.”

  I had to laugh, knowing Ray. “He honestly didn’t want you to call the first responders before you called him?”

  “He says he was joking, but Mom and I still have our doubts.”

  I was weighing the idea of talking to her about the case when I was saved by my timer. I trusted Emma when she told me her tattling days were over, but that didn’t mean I had to tempt fate. Half of what Grace and I did depended at least a little on the element of surprise with the folks we talked to, and if they knew we were coming, I had the feeling that our questioning would be much less effective.

  “Time to make the donuts,” I said, alluding to an old television commercial that implied that it was a relentless task. They had that much right. It seemed like my entire life was spent making donuts, selling donuts, cleaning up after donuts, or getting ready to make donuts again. I was so happy that Jake was in my life, for a great many reasons, but one of the biggest reasons was because he made eac
h day special and something to look forward to, even if we didn’t get to chat or see each other.

  “Sounds good to me,” Emma said as we went back inside.

  * * *

  We made our deadline, which was a great deal easier to do since we’d changed our opening hours from five to six in the morning. I’d also made the executive decision to close at eleven instead of noon, something that made my workday even more reasonable. It was still a pain getting up so early, but I doubted that many people cared about an afternoon donut, so closing before noon hadn’t been a problem for me. As long as my customers clamored for my goods early in the morning, it was all the motivation I needed to get out of bed every day.

  Our mayor, and my dear friend, walked in a little after six A.M. “Hello, George. How are you today?” I asked as I got him his standard cup of coffee.

  “Well, I’m vertical instead of horizontal, so that’s a good thing, right?”

  “It is in my book. What kind of donut would you like today?”

  He studied the cases of donuts on display, tray after tray of sweet goodness, and he stopped when he got to one in particular. I couldn’t hide my grin, since I’d made it with him in mind. “You’ve got something called a Cherry Bomb? What’s the secret ingredient?” he asked.

  “There are two, actually: Cheerwine and cherry-Kool-Aid,” I said with a grin.

  “I’ll take a dozen, but I have to get them to go,” he said. “I’ve got a fool planning commission meeting this morning, not that I’m going to share any of these beauties with that ungrateful crew.”

  “Don’t you want to taste one first? They might be a little strong. I’m still working on the recipe.”

  “You know me. I always say the stronger the better,” he replied with a smile. “Besides, what Nan doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “Has your secretary got you on another diet?” I asked, killing the grin I’d felt bubbling up. George was touchy about the weight he’d added since being elected our mayor, and I wasn’t about to poke the bear. He and Nan were tiptoeing around the edges of a relationship, and I wished one of them would pull the trigger and ask the other one out.