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

by Jessica Beck

  “I adore cupcakes,” Hazel said dreamily.

  I saw Elizabeth hide a smile as she said, “I never thought of reading it that way. I’m a slave to the page for some reason. I feel as though I have to read every last word in order, but you know what? Next time I’m going to try it your way. It wouldn’t take you out of the story that way, would it?”

  “It seems to work for me,” I said. “What about the character named Michelle? She’s quite the siren, isn’t she?”

  “That girl put the ‘bad’ in ‘bad girl,’” Jennifer said. “I just loved her.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “I wish I had the nerve to say some of the things that come out of her mouth.”

  “Don’t we all,” Elizabeth said. “Sometimes I have a hard time believing that a man’s actually writing these books.”

  “I’ve always believed that a good storyteller can take anyone’s point of view and sell it to the reader if they’re only willing to commit to it,” Jennifer said.

  I smiled softly as the women spoke, glad that this little group had found me. They’d stumbled into my donut shop looking for a place to meet in an emergency, and I’d been roped into their group by happy accident. Life was full of delightful surprises sometimes.

  It wasn’t until they were gone and I was still basking in the glow of their fellowship that it all dropped quickly away.

  I was cleaning up one of the tables when I found someone had written a note on it with a ballpoint pen. All that it said was KILLER, but it was enough. I knew that some folks in town believed that I was capable of murder, but I hated having my nose rubbed in it like that in my own donut shop.

  The door chimed, and I wondered if my accuser was coming back. It was Chief Martin, though.

  “Hello, Chief,” I said as I crumpled up the napkin. “Did you come by for one of my famous donuts?”

  He self-consciously tugged at his belt as though grounding himself. “No, I’m not really all that hungry.”

  “So, I’m guessing this isn’t a social call, is it?”

  “Not so much. You asked about the man in the three-piece suit, and I wanted to let you know that I managed to catch up with him.”

  “Excellent,” I said, surprised that he was willing to share the information, especially after what had happened earlier. “Who is he?”

  “He goes by the name Thomas Oak,” the police chief said. “Care to guess where he’s from?”

  “I’m willing to bet that he practices law in Pinerush.”

  “On the nose. As far as I’ve been able to determine, he’s got only one client, and I’ll save you the trouble of guessing this time. He’s on the Pinerush family payroll.”

  “So, he’s digging into this for the mother or the son. Do you happen to know which one it is, and why?”

  The chief shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell me. I found him over at the town hall, started to ask him a few questions, and then all he would do was hand me his business card. After he took off, I made a few telephone calls. He’s on the up and up, at least as far as I was able to find out. Anyway, I just thought you might want to know.”

  “It’s what I figured, but it’s nice to get confirmation of it. Thanks, Chief. Are you sure you won’t have a donut? One’s not going to kill you.”

  “No, but if I have one, I’m going to want two. Two would lead to four to a dozen every morning, and I worked too hard to give it all up now. Thank you for the offer, anyway.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  * * *

  Five minutes before we were set to close, a stranger walked in wearing blue jeans and a faded old T-shirt. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place him, although I knew that he’d never come into my donut shop before. I might forget a name, but I always remembered the face, and a donut preference. “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee and a donut would be awfully nice,” he said as he sat at the counter.

  “You’re in luck; we still have some of each. Any kind in particular you’d like?”

  “I’m sure that whatever you pick will be good enough for me,” he said with an easy smile. There was a rough handsomeness to him, and with his easygoing manner, I was sure that he didn’t have any trouble with women.

  “That’s what I like in a man, low expectations.”

  He grinned again as he said, “Ma’am, I appreciate the interest, but I’m not looking for love at the moment.”

  I knew I blushed at his comment; I could feel my cheeks redden. “I’m not, either. I already have a boyfriend. He’s a cop.” Why did I feel the need to volunteer that particular piece of information?

  “Well, then, I’d say that he’s a lucky man. Does he work around here?”

  “Actually, he’s a state police inspector. He’s out of town right now, but he’ll be back any day.”

  “I’m sure he will.” I grabbed him an iced apple cake donut, slid it into a bag, and then filled up a to-go cup of coffee for him.

  After I quoted him the price, he handed over the money as he asked, “Did I say something to offend you?”

  “What? No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering why you were rushing me out of here so fast.”

  “I close at eleven,” I explained. “It’s the only way I can actually have a life.”

  “I don’t blame you for that a bit, then,” he said.

  I started to give him his change, but he waved it away, so I put it in the tip jar. He wouldn’t budge, though. After taking the lid off his coffee, he pointed across the park. “I heard that you had some excitement over that way yesterday.”

  “Actually, a friend of mine was murdered,” I said.

  The man shook his head for a few moments in silence, and then looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry to hear that. How close were you?”

  “Close enough that I’ll miss him,” I said.

  He took that in as well and then nodded. “Well, then, that’s really all that matters, isn’t it? What was the fellow’s name?”

  “James Settle,” I said. After a second, I amended my statement to, “I guess James Pinerush would be more accurate.”

  “How well did you say you knew him?” he asked with one eyebrow arched. “You seem to be having a little trouble with his name.”

  “I knew him as well as he would let me. I never heard what his real last name was until yesterday after someone murdered him. All I know is that he was a fine blacksmith, and he took a lot of pride in his work. I was honored to call him my friend and own some of his work.” I hesitated a moment, and then added, “I still can’t believe some crazy killer took one of his own skewers and stabbed him in the heart with it. I’ve got an older set he made just for me, but to be honest with you, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to use them again.”

  “I know it might sound like an odd question, but would you mind if I saw them?”

  What an odd request. “Why would you possibly care?”

  “You make him sound like an upright kind of guy, and the world’s sorely missing that kind of man. I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy, but I just got a feeling that if I held one in my hands, I might get to know him better myself.”

  It was a crazy idea, and on my best day I would have refused him, but it seemed to me that the man had an honest and sincere desire to see some of James’s work. What better way to honor the memory of my friend than to show it off? I called out, “Emma?”

  She came to the door between the dining room and the kitchen. “What’s up, Suzanne?” When she noticed the stranger, even though he was at least ten years older than she was, her hands went immediately to her hair, and the smile she threw his way was enough to brighten the room. That was my Emma, ever hopeful when it came to romance.

  “Would you mind getting the skewers that James made for me out of the gadget drawer?”

  “Be back in a flash,” she said. If she thought the request was odd, she didn’t show it.

  Ten seconds later she came back out, holding the skewers
in her hand. I took them from her, and then asked her, “How are the dishes coming?”

  “I’ve almost got them done,” she said.

  “Well, then, don’t let us keep you,” I replied. For some reason, I didn’t want her watching me as I handed the skewers over. It wasn’t as though I wanted the man for myself. Jake and I had never been closer. Nor did I mind if Emma decided to ask him out herself. It was just something about James’s memory that demanded some privacy.

  Once she was back in the kitchen, I handed one skewer to him and kept the other for myself. He stroked the metal lightly with his fingertips, as though he were touching every mark and indentation James’s hammer made on the metal. With a careful eye, he examined the skewer as though he were looking for a clue that held the secrets of the universe, and when he handed it back to me, it was clearly done with great reluctance.

  “You’re right. He was a fine craftsman,” the man said.

  I nodded as I held the metal tight. “If he hadn’t made these just for me I would probably give you one, but I just can’t part with either one of them.”

  He closed his eyes briefly as though he were blessing my decision. “You should keep them for yourself. They rightfully belong to you. Do you know if there’s anyplace in town I might purchase some of his work? For some reason that I can’t name, it moves me.”

  “I know he had some on consignment at the hardware store just down the road. I’d tell you to let them know that I sent you if I thought it would do you any good, but if Burt Gentry finds out I’m the one who pointed you in his direction, he’ll most likely just double the price on you.”

  He laughed at my explanation. “I’ve known too many men in my life just like that. I’m Rome, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you. My name is Venice,” I replied with a smile.

  “Now you’re having a little fun at my expense,” he said good-naturedly.

  “Maybe just a little. I’m Suzanne. Yours is just an odd name, one that you don’t hear every day, I mean.”

  “Granted, but it’s still not as odd as my given name.”

  “Do you want to bet on that?”

  “I would, but you’d lose. Brace yourself. Are you ready? It’s Romance.”

  I chuckled a little until I saw that he wasn’t kidding. “You’re not serious. What kind of cruel joke were your parents playing when they named you?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s got a long and proud history in my family,” he said. “My great-great-grandfather was named Romance, and I don’t normally believe in coincidences, but he was a blacksmith, too, just like your friend used to be. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the metal. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for it.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Are you passing through, or are you going to be staying a while?”

  Rome laughed at that. “How do you know that I don’t live around here?”

  “Because I would have recognized you the second you walked through my door.”

  He smiled gently as he asked, “Do you know everyone in April Springs, Suzanne?”

  “If I don’t know them by name, I do by sight.”

  “Well, that’s an impressive amount of knowledge indeed. Yes, I’m a stranger, and no, I’m not sure if I’ll be lingering here or not. Could you recommend a nice place to stay if I decide to hang around a while? I don’t want anything fancy like a hotel or an inn. What I’d really love is some kind of boardinghouse, if there is such a thing anymore.”

  “As a matter of fact, I heard that Mr. Quimby is renting rooms again. He just put the flyer up on the lamppost outside the day before yesterday.”

  “I’ll look for it on my way out,” he said.

  Emma popped out in a rush just then, and she looked pleased that Rome was still there. “Everything’s finished in back,” she said.

  “Excellent,” I answered. “After you do the trays and sweep, you can go.” I glanced at the racks and saw that we had just fewer than three dozen donuts left for the day. It was nearly impossible to make the numbers I sold match the ones I made, but I generally came pretty close. “Rome, if you’d like a few more donuts on the house, we can spare them.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better stick with one. It was nice meeting you both.” He waved good-bye, glanced at Emma again and smiled, and then walked out.

  “Who is that man, and how do you know him?” she grilled me.

  “He’s new in town, he may or may not stay, he’s headed over to Mr. Quimby’s about a room, and his name is Rome. Now you know everything about him that I do. If you hurry, you might be able to catch him.”

  “I’m on it,” she replied, sliding the extra donuts into three boxes and then taking the trays in back to wash and put away until we needed them again tomorrow.

  Rome was still standing there with his back to me when I glanced out again, staring wistfully at the park where James had been murdered. It was so sad, especially since Rome hadn’t even known my friend. His empathy was strong, though, and ultimately it was probably the most attractive thing about him. I could understand Emma’s interest in the man. Kind eyes and a ready laugh were two of the sexiest things in the world to me, and he had both in abundance.

  When Grace walked right past Rome to get to the donut shop, she nearly brushed shoulders with him, and I found myself wishing that one of them would say something to the other. Grace had gone through a rather major shock not that long ago when it came to her love life, and I kept hoping that she’d find someone she could let into her heart again. Maybe it was Rome, but there was a good chance that it wouldn’t be him. After all, he seemed to prefer blue jeans and T-shirts, while Grace loved getting dressed up at the smallest excuse.

  Oh, well. A girl could dream, couldn’t she? I knew in my heart that Grace would have to find her own way without any poking or prodding from me, but that didn’t make it any easier for me to keep out of her love life.

  CINNAMON DROPS

  These poppers are a nice treat when it’s cold outside, and they go great with hot chocolate. We make donuts year-round at my house, but we especially like them on those cold and rainy days we get too many of in our part of the South.

  INGREDIENTS

  Mixed

  • 1 egg, lightly beaten

  • ½ cup whole milk (2% will do)

  • ¼ cup sugar, white granulated

  • 1⁄8 cup oil (canola is my favorite)

  Sifted

  • 1 cup flour, unbleached all-purpose

  • 2 teaspoons baking powder

  • 1½ teaspoons cinnamon

  • 1 teaspoon nutmeg

  • ¼ teaspoon salt

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

  INSTRUCTIONS

  In one bowl, beat the egg thoroughly, then add the milk, sugar, and canola oil. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the wet, 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: 12–16 donut holes

  CHAPTER 9

  “Did you happen to notice that man near the light post when you walked past him?” I asked Grace as she came into the donut shop.

  “No, why?” she asked as she turned around and glanced outside. Of course Rome was gone now. “I don’t see anyone out there.”

  “He was there a second ago,” I said.

  “Why should I have noticed him? Was he doing magic tricks or something?”

  Emma had overheard that, and her enthusiasm was overwhelming. “No, but he has the dreamiest eyes I’ve ever seen. How could you miss him?”

  “I must have had something else on my mind,” Grace said, clearly amused by Emma’s reaction to the man.

  I noticed her straining her neck to look for him outside, and I realized th
at I’d probably gotten all of the work out of her that I was going to manage for the day.

  “Go on, Emma,” I said. “I’ll finish sweeping up for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she thrust the broom into my hands and bolted out the door.

  “What was that about?” Grace asked after Emma was gone.

  “Youthful enthusiasm, I’d say.”

  Grace smiled. “Ah, I remember it well. So, as soon as you’re finished, let’s talk about murder, shall we?”

  “I’m all for it,” I said. I put the broom aside and grabbed my marker board. After I’d erased today’s specials, I asked, “I think we should put our list up on the board, don’t you?”

  “I know how much you like making them, so I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of it,” she said.

  “Good. Then let’s get started.” I took the dry erase pen and wrote REBECCA LINK, MURPHY ARMSTRONG, MRS. PINERUSH, FORREST PINERUSH, and MYSTERY COUSIN. “Is that it?”

  “And we’re not including Trish, right?” Grace asked.

  “That is correct,” I said firmly. “Her alibi works for me, so there’s no reason to write her name on the board.” There were four people in my life I knew couldn’t be murderers, and Trish was one of them. The other three, in no particular order, were Grace, Momma, and Jake. Sure, there were other folks I doubted had the capacity for homicide, but I’d stake my life on those four, no matter how overwhelming the evidence might be.

  “Good enough,” she said, ending the discussion right there. As she studied the list of names, Grace asked, “Can you honestly see Mrs. Pinerush stabbing James in the chest with a metal skewer? I know that I can’t.”

  “At first I thought that she might have paid someone else to do it, but Jake doesn’t think it was a professional hit. He told me that too much was left to chance for a real killer to have done it. I suppose if her motivation was strong enough, though, Mrs. Pinerush could have done it.”