Counterfeit Confections

by Jessica Beck

  As we started to walk, Chief Grant asked, “Jake, do you have a second?”

  “Sure,” he said. “We all do.” He was clearly saying that if the police chief wanted his opinion about something, he was going to have to take the rest of us as a package deal as well.

  To his credit, Chief Grant agreed quickly. As he did so, the fire chief said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my men. Sorry again for your loss, ma’am,” he said to my mother.

  “It’s appreciated,” she said.

  Once he was gone, the police chief asked, “Who else is on that list of suspects besides Curtis Mason?”

  Jake looked at me. “Suzanne, you should tell him. You’ve got a better handle on this than I do.”

  That was patently false, but I appreciated the gesture. “We have two other people we are considering,” I said. “One is Maxine Halliday, and the other is Lionel Henderson III.”

  He looked surprised to hear the names. “Mind telling me why you think they might be involved?”

  “They were both seen multiple times around the house, and they both have expressed what feels to us to be an inordinate amount of interest in a run-down old shack.” I turned to Jake and added, “No offense.”

  “None taken. We hadn’t even really gotten started yet,” he said.

  Chief Grant nodded. “Do you agree with that assessment, Jake?”

  “One hundred percent,” he answered.

  To my surprise, the police chief then looked at my mother. “Mrs. Hart? What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  “It’s Dorothy, or Dot, as I’ve told you a dozen times,” Momma said. “Yes, I agree with Jake and Suzanne.”

  “Well, I’ll start doing some digging and see what I can uncover,” he said.

  “Are you going to call Agent Blaze?” I asked him.

  Chief Grant looked a little guilty as he admitted, “As a matter of fact, that was going to be my next call. After all, she has a right to know.”

  I couldn’t disagree with that, even though I’d found myself hoping that the Secret Service agent would make herself scarce for at least a little longer.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” Jake said.

  Momma sensed a lull in the conversation and said, “Well, there is clearly nothing else we can do here. Let’s head back to town, you two. Suzanne, I know it’s getting late for you.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” I said even as I stifled a yawn.

  “Of course not, but you owe it to yourself to at least try to get some rest. Come on, you two, I’ll drive you back to my place, and you can pick up Jake’s truck and head back to the cottage.”

  I was about to protest when I realized that I was exhausted. Heading back home was exactly what I needed.

  We didn’t talk much at all on the drive back to Momma’s house, and after briefly saying our good nights, I gave my stepfather an extra-long hug. “Hang in there, you hear me?”

  “I’m not going anywhere if I can help it,” he said softly.

  When I pulled away from him though, I could see, for one fleeting instant, a hint of concern in his eyes. I couldn’t really blame him. Anytime the word “cancer” was mentioned, it was scary stuff.

  I would do anything in my power to buoy his spirits, but for now, I had to get home and get some sleep.

  The second we were alone, I turned to Jake as he started the short drive back to our cottage. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

  “I usually try to, but you’ll have to be a little more specific than that,” he told me.

  “Is it possible that Curtis was the counterfeiter, and that he died when he tried to burn down the house and destroy any evidence he might have left behind?”

  Jake tapped the steering wheel idly for a moment before he spoke. “I don’t know, Suzanne. I know it feels convenient, but you didn’t see how eager he was every time he came over to the house. I can’t help but think that he was checking to see if we’d discovered something he didn’t want found. If he wasn’t the counterfeiter, why would he do that?”

  “He was a lonely old man, and you and Phillip represented a big adventure to him. Why wouldn’t he make a nuisance of himself and want to know what was going on every step of the way?”

  I saw Jake glance in my direction and grin. “Is that what I’ve become since I left the State Police?”

  “No,” I said, but after a moment I added, “Not completely, at any rate. I’m so sorry about the house. I know you had your heart set on flipping it with Phillip.”

  Jake paused again, and it surprised me how carefully he seemed to be choosing his words. “In the end, maybe it’s for the best.”

  That was surprising to hear, to say the least. “You don’t mean that, Jake. You were so excited about it a few days ago.”

  “The truth is, I’m not getting any younger, Suzanne,” Jake said. “I spent one morning working on the house, and I feel as though I went three rounds in the ring today. I may not be cut out for that kind of hard labor anymore.”

  That was so unlike my husband that I had to look hard at him to see if I could tell what was really bothering him. “Is it Phillip’s condition that’s got you so down?”

  “Suzanne, you heard the man. He felt fine. The next thing he knew, he had cancer, and now he and your mother are making some very hard choices. I just keep wondering how I’d react if I got that kind of news.”

  “Jake Bishop, you’re at least fifteen years younger than he is, and you’re in better shape than any man your age has a right to be. You shouldn’t let this worry you.”

  “How can I not?” he asked. Jake reached out and patted my hand. “It’s given me a chance to think about what’s really important to me.”

  “And have you come to any conclusions?” I asked as we passed Donut Hearts. We’d be home soon, and I knew that as soon as we finished driving, it would be much harder to discuss what was on my husband’s mind. There was something about being in a vehicle that allowed us to speak more freely than if we were sitting across from each other on our couch, or anywhere else, for that matter.

  “I need to work,” he said, “and not hard labor. I want to figure out a way to use my skills that came so hard to me.”

  I tried to bury any panic I was feeling when I thought about Jake rejoining the police in any capacity. I knew that it was selfish of me to worry about him, but I’d never slept better than when he’d been officially retired from law enforcement, and I wasn’t sure I could take it if he went back. “Are you going to try to be a state police investigator again?”

  “What? No. The truth is that I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I just wanted you to know what I was thinking about.”

  “I appreciate that, and you know I’ll support you in any way that I can,” I said. I felt as though I’d just gotten a reprieve, though I didn’t know how long it might be good for. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” I added. “Let’s go in, and I’ll make us both some hot chocolate.”

  “Thanks. That sounds great. Are you sure you don’t want to go straight to bed?”

  “I can spare twenty minutes for my best fella,” I said with a smile.

  “Your only fella, you mean,” he asked me with a grin nearly as big as mine had been.

  “My one and only,” I said.

  Chapter 17

  AS I DROVE BRIEFLY the next morning through the darkness to Donut Hearts, I was happy that I had somewhere to go, a place that I belonged. I knew that Jake had been missing that for some time, and if he could find something, anything, that would give him satisfaction and purpose again, I was all for it, even if it meant that he was going to be away from me for long stretches of time again. When it came right down to it, his happiness was more important to me than mine. After all, wasn’t that what marriage should be, at least in a perfect world? My world was far from perfect, but having Jake in my life certainly made it immeasurably better.

  To my surprise, there were already lights on in the donut shop as I
parked my Jeep. When I looked inside, I saw Emma sitting at one of the tables, but the fact that she was there early was fine with me.

  It was the person sitting across from her that disturbed me.

  Evidently Ray Blake was not finished questioning me about the flip house.

  “Ray, what are you doing here?” I asked coolly as I walked in and locked the door behind me.

  “Suzanne, I wanted to get your permission first, but Dad insisted,” Emma explained, trying her best to defuse the situation.

  “I can speak for myself, young lady,” Ray said. “I’m here to talk about Curtis Mason.”

  I turned on my heels and walked straight back to the door. After unlocking it, I held it open and turned back to Emma’s father. “Good-bye, Ray.”

  He didn’t budge from his seat, though. “Suzanne, the people of April Springs have a right to know.”

  It was a tired old line that he’d tried on me many times before, but I wasn’t going to fall for it now, just as I hadn’t any other time he’d tried to use it on me. “I’m not going to tell you twice.”

  Emma stood and pulled on her father’s arm. “Dad, I told you this was a bad idea. Come on. You’ve got to go.”

  “What’s she going to do, Emma, call the police on your own father?”

  I pulled out my cell phone. “What a great idea. This is your final warning. If you’re not out of here in thirty seconds, I’m going to have you physically removed. You’re on private property, and you’re not welcome here.”

  “I have every right to be here. I’m with my daughter,” he protested.

  I thought it was low of him to bring Emma into it, but evidently she thought even less of it. “You need to go like Suzanne said, or I’ll call Mom, and we both know that’s much worse than anything the police can do to you.”

  That got Ray’s attention. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me,” Emma said as she stared hard at him.

  He quickly got up and left without looking at me twice. Emma’s threat had clearly been more incentive for him to leave than mine had been.

  “I’m so sorry,” Emma tried to explain.

  “I am, too. You need to go home, Emma.”

  My assistant and dear friend looked stricken by my instruction. “Suzanne, you’re firing me?” she asked, whimpering softly after saying it.

  “No, but I need a little time to be alone.”

  “Suzanne, I said I was sorry,” she tried again.

  “It doesn’t matter how sorry you are, at least not at the moment. Emma, you know how I feel about this place. It’s my sanctuary, and your father invaded it, with your help, no less.” They were hard words, but they had to be said. I wasn’t getting rid of her for good, but if she chose to quit, it would be her own decision. I loved Emma like a daughter, but this time she’d gone too far.

  She got up obediently and headed for the door, but before she left, she turned back and looked at me so sadly that I nearly caved in, but I held my resolve. “May I at least come back to work tomorrow?”

  “That would be fine. I’ll see you then,” I said, smiling for the briefest of moments.

  The relief that swept over her was clear, but she saddened again when I locked the door behind her and went back to the kitchen without even one glance back.

  It appeared that I’d be spending the day alone at the donut shop, but that was okay with me. I’d done it for years, for at least once a week for as long as I’d had the place. I just hoped that Emma learned her lesson, and from the expression on her face, I had a feeling that she had gotten the point.

  There was a Zen-like state to the rhythm of making donuts alone, and though I knew I’d have to stay late to finish up the dishes and do the other chores that Emma normally performed every day, it was necessary. I tried to put all of that out of my mind and focus on making the cake donut batter. After I had the basic recipe, I divided the dough into eight different bowls and started mixing up the individual flavors I’d be offering that day. I usually held one of the smaller batches out to experiment with, but at the moment there was nothing I really felt like trying, so I made a double batch of sour cream donuts, since that was by far my best-selling cake donut. The oil was ready by the time I’d finished mixing the last batch, so I got to work frying donuts, washing the dropper between batters so one batch wouldn’t be tainted by the flavor combinations of the one before it.

  Once the cake donuts were fried, iced, and put on trays, I started gathering the ingredients for my yeast donuts. After the dough was mixed and ready for its first proof, I debated on whether to take my usual break outside or just get started on the mound of dirty bowls and utensils I’d created. I even went so far as to start running the hot water, but I shut it off almost immediately. The work would be there for me later, but right now, I needed a break.

  Grabbing and setting my timer, I headed for the front, only to find Ray Blake standing outside. I was going to turn around and go straight back into the kitchen, but when I saw the flowers in one hand and the sign in the other, I relented. Besides a cluster of daisies, one of my favorites, Ray had made a sign that said, I’M SORRY. That combination, as well as the hangdog look on his face, was enough to buy him at least two minutes of my time.

  “What can I do for you, Ray? I’m not going to talk about what happened at the house last night, so if that’s why you’re here, you’re wasting your time.”

  “I’m not here about the story. Emma told me what happened.”

  “Let me guess,” I said as I refused the flowers he continued to offer. “She asked you to apologize for her.”

  The newspaperman looked genuinely shocked by the thought. “If Emma knew what I was up to, she’d be even angrier with me than she already is.”

  “Ray, you should have known better, and Emma should have, too. I can’t have you invading my personal space,” I told him.

  “I get that, but don’t punish her for my mistake. I didn’t give her much choice.”

  “You didn’t hold a gun to her head, did you?” I asked him.

  “What? Of course not, but she knew it was a bad decision, and in her defense, she tried to warn me that it might go bad,” Ray said.

  “Then why did you push her into doing it?”

  “I lost my head. That story, at least for that moment, became the only thing that mattered to me.”

  “And now?” I asked him.

  “I’ve come to my senses. Emma and Sharon are truly all that I care about. Everything else in my life ties for last.”

  Ray seemed to be truly sincere, at least as far as I could tell. I took the flowers, and to his surprise, the sign as well. “Don’t ever do that again,” I said.

  “I won’t. I promise. Can Emma come back to work now?”

  I was tempted, especially given the stack of things that needed to be washed waiting for me, but I couldn’t do it. “No. But you can tell her I’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I get that. Thanks.”

  “I’m not doing it for you, Ray,” I said a little coolly.

  “I understand completely,” he said. As he started to leave, he said, “Suzanne, I’m thrilled you took the flowers, but I’m curious about one thing.”

  “You want to know why I took the sign, don’t you?” I asked him.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m putting it up in the kitchen as a reminder to Emma that Donut Hearts is a special place that deserves to be treated as such.”

  He merely nodded, and then the newspaper editor slunk away into the dark night.

  I had three more minutes on my break when he left, and I wasn’t about to squander them. I sat at one of the outdoor chairs we had for our al fresco diners and took a few deep breaths. No matter what time of year it was, there was something magical about the hours between midnight and sunup. It was almost as though the world was a different place, full of its own pleasures and secrets.

  By the time my timer went off, I was ready for the next phase of my donutmaking operatio
n, and I planned on getting every last ounce of joy out of it that I could.

  When I went into the dining area to open the front at precisely six a.m., I found an angry woman waiting just outside the door, obviously chomping at the bit, wanting to get in.

  “Maxine, are you here for donuts?” I asked her with a forced smile as I let her inside.

  “I wouldn’t eat one of those things if you paid me,” she said angrily. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing, but you’re going to pay for it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, which was technically true, which was a nice change of pace for me.

  “The police came to my home last night and asked me some of the same questions you and your husband did yesterday afternoon. Did you tell them I was responsible for running some kind of counterfeiting ring?”

  “No, I never said that,” I said. While it was literally true, I had certainly implied it, but I wasn’t about to admit it to this angry woman. “What did you tell them?”

  “That it was ridiculous on the face of it! I run a successful realty company. Why on earth would I risk that for something so illegal, not to mention dangerous?”

  “How is counterfeiting dangerous?” I asked, backing a few steps away. I could almost feel the heat coming off her, she was so angry.

  “I consider prison a dangerous place, don’t you?” Maxine asked me snarkily.

  “If you didn’t do anything, then you don’t have anything to fear,” I replied.

  “Oh, grow up, Suzanne. In the world we live in today, the mere implication that I committed a crime is as bad as a confession in most people’s minds. You’re ruining my business, and I’m not going to stand for it. You’ll be hearing from my attorneys before the day is through.”

  “What could you possibly sue me for?” I asked her. I’d led dozens of investigations in the past, but I couldn’t remember anyone ever threatening me with a lawsuit because of it before, though it was entirely possible that it had happened and it had just slipped my mind. I’d been involved in far too many murder investigations in the past to keep track of every single threat that had been leveled at me.