I jumped up. “Good idea. The car’s beside the loading dock. It’s not locked.”
He gave me a look but said nothing about my failure to lock the car. He thanked me for the coffee and asked, “Would you like to be present while I search your car?”
“I would, but I should probably go back to work. And I trust you.”
He looked up toward Dep’s catwalks as if answers to questions and solutions to crimes might be up there, but he only said, “I’ll let you know what I find.” He picked Dep up, gave her a quick hug, handed her to me, and carried the envelope out to the back porch. I made a show of locking the door behind him. He didn’t turn around.
I shut Dep inside the office and washed my face, hands, and arms before I put on my apron and hat and returned to making donuts.
About ten minutes later, Brent came in through the front. I joined him near the door. “Did you find anything else?”
“No. You can finish vacuuming and lock your car.”
I made a face at the reminder to lock up. “And put it into its garage. Which we always lock.”
He smiled. “Good. Call us if you think of anything else.” He held up the envelope. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I watched him until he turned toward the police station and went out of sight.
I took off my apron and hat and finished vacuuming the car. I didn’t find anything else that didn’t belong in it. I backed the car into its garage, put the vacuum cleaner away in the storeroom closet, washed up, and served customers. Some of them asked about Nina. I told everyone, “I’m sure she’s innocent.”
None of us usually took much time off for lunch. When we were really busy, we grabbed snacks. Sometimes we took turns joining Dep in the office for a few minutes to eat. All of us liked exercise. Whenever we could, we went for walks. Jocelyn might have done more than walk, though. I could easily imagine her cartwheeling through town.
We weren’t terribly busy. I told Jocelyn and Tom I had an errand to run.
Naturally Tom saw through me. “The police will sort it out, Emily.”
“It’s not about Nina, it’s about Kassandra, the woman who applied for a job yesterday. I don’t want to hire her even if Nina can’t . . .” My voice broke. “Even if she doesn’t come back, but I told Kassandra she should join The Craft Croft. It’s a nice day, so I’ll go down there and find out if she did. And I like to see the new artwork they’re displaying.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I will. And I have my phone. If it gets busy in here, call me. I’ll be right back.”
Jocelyn grinned. “Okay.”
In the office, I started to file Kassandra’s application. I glanced at the back and then read it more carefully.
Kassandra’s home address was in Lapeer, Michigan, the city that Zippy was from, the city with the name that Nina had adopted as a last name.
I was certain that Brent had not looked at the back of the form. I gave Dep a short cuddle. “I’ll tell him later, but I need to take this opportunity to visit The Craft Croft before Deputy Donut becomes busy again.” Dep wanted to come with me. I squeezed out the back door without her.
At the Wisconsin Street end of the driveway, I turned south. Thinking about Nina, I barely noticed the displays in the shop windows I passed. As far as I knew, Lapeer wasn’t a big city. Had Zippy and Kassandra known each other? Could they have conspired with each other? Possibly, both of them had worked with the magician to distract people from noticing what the magician was really doing. I still believed that the magician had killed Zippy, but now that I knew that Zippy and Kassandra were both from the same small city in Michigan, I moved Kassandra higher on my list of murder suspects, right below the magician and above Marsha Fitchelder.
I went into The Craft Croft and almost ran into Kassandra Pyerson.
She was wearing a white boyfriend shirt over another gauzy skirt, this one a batik print in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Instead of tying her hair back in a ponytail, she wore a stretchy blue headband with purple flowers printed on it, allowing her long hair to flow down her back. She edged behind the reception desk and sat down. “May I help you?” Apparently when I wasn’t wearing my Deputy Donut hat and apron, I wasn’t recognizable.
“Is Summer here?”
Kassandra looked confused. “It’s August.” She blushed. “Oh, you mean Ms. Peabody-Smith.”
I smiled. “Yes.”
A strident voice called from Summer’s office, “I’ll be right out, Emily!”
Kassandra suggested politely, “Have a look around.”
“I see you found a job.” Seeing no recognition on Kassandra’s face, I added, “You talked to me at Deputy Donut yesterday.”
Kassandra blushed again. “Oh, sorry. I thought you looked familiar.”
Summer strode out of her office. Being six feet tall did not deter her from piling her red curls on top of her head and wearing high heels. These shoes were scarlet and contrasted beautifully with her white knee-length, sleeveless dress, a classic style that skimmed her curves. “Kassandra’s going to bring some of her paintings for me to see,” Summer told me, including Kassandra in the conversation. “From what I saw of her photos, she should join the co-op and display her work here.”
I smiled at Kassandra. “Your photos look good.”
“Thank you for sending her here, Emily. We’ve been short-handed for a while.” Summer asked Kassandra, “When will we see the actual paintings?”
Blushing more furiously, Kassandra seemed to shrink away from her glamorous boss. “As soon as I can get them out of storage and shipped here.”
Summer tilted her head. “Where are they?”
“In Michigan. I’ll get them.” Kassandra tucked her lips into her mouth and seemed to bite down on them.
Michigan.
Summer turned toward me. I was sure that her polite smile was an attempt to conceal concern. About Kassandra? “Emily, you’re just the person I wanted to see. Do you have a moment?”
“Sure.”
She led me to her sleek white and brushed nickel office and closed the door. “I was just on the phone with Arthur C. Arthurs.” I’d had a small part in connecting Nina with the gallery owner, but Summer had done more. “It was distressing,” she said. “The news about Nina’s arrest has reached Madison. Mr. Arthurs is considering canceling her show.”
Chapter 15
I stared in horror at Summer. “How can Arthur C. Arthurs cancel Nina’s show? Didn’t they sign a contract?”
“Mr. Arthurs told me that the contract will be null and void if the artist’s behavior might cause harm or embarrassment to the gallery. They added that clause to their basic contract after one of their artists went on a damaging social media rampage.”
I leaned toward Summer. “Nina has done nothing wrong. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.” I sounded confident, which I was, and also calm, which I wasn’t.
Summer twisted her lips and looked at me from underneath half-lowered eyelids. “That’s what I told Mr. Arthurs.”
“Do you have his number? I’ll call him.”
She scrolled through her phone’s screen and read his number aloud. I added it to my phone and then asked, “Why did you hire someone who lives in Michigan?”
Summer’s forehead wrinkled. “Who?”
I cocked my head toward the showroom behind me. “Kassandra.”
“Michigan? She gave me an address here in Fallingbrook. At least I think she did.” Summer walked her fingers through a file drawer. “Aha.” She pulled out a piece of paper. “Here it is. Second floor, nine seventy-six Wisconsin Street South, Fallingbrook.”
“But that would be . . .”
“What?”
I couldn’t tell Summer that Kassandra’s apartment had to be almost across the street from Nina’s. I didn’t want to frighten Summer about having hired a possible murderer, and I also didn’t want to make accusations about someone who might be innoc
ent. “I mean, Kassandra could have moved recently and automatically listed her old address when she filled out the application at Deputy Donut.”
Summer placed the application in the file drawer. “She did say she was new in town, and her paintings are in Michigan, so that could explain why she forgot and gave you her old address.”
I didn’t mention another possible explanation. Maybe Kassandra and Zippy had been roommates, and after Kassandra filled out the application at Deputy Donut, she realized she needed to conceal her connection with Zippy, so when she’d applied at The Craft Croft, she’d given a local address.
Had one of them written that threatening letter to the other? If so, which one had fallen behind on her rent and which one had prevented the other from retrieving her paintings and other belongings? Maybe Zippy had changed the locks on an apartment she shared with Kassandra for a very good reason, like being deathly afraid of Kassandra.
I asked Summer, “Do you mind if I take pictures of the photos Kassandra gave you of her paintings?”
“Of course not.”
With my phone, I took pictures of each of the photos of paintings that Kassandra had said were in storage. As far as I could tell, these were the photos that Kassandra had shown me.
Women were streaming in from the sidewalk. Summer sighed. “That tour group is early. I guess I should go out there.”
I blurted, “Be careful around Kassandra.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling that she’s not quite what she says she is.”
Summer confided, “I have the same feeling. She looked away from us when she said her paintings were in storage, like she was making it up. But maybe my first guess was right. I thought she was desperate for money and had to pawn her art. I hoped that by hiring her, I could help her get on her feet and redeem her paintings.”
That theory sounded likely but also very sad. I asked Summer, “How much money could someone get from pawning paintings by an unknown artist?”
Sighing, Summer tossed a sympathetic glance toward Kassandra. “Not much.”
We left Summer’s office. Summer greeted the women browsing through The Craft Croft.
I’d walked about a half block in the afternoon sunshine when I heard footsteps behind me, running and coming closer. “Emily!”
Despite the large number of potential customers in The Craft Croft, Kassandra had followed me.
I stopped walking and let her catch up. She twisted her hands in her long skirt. “Did Nina Lapeer, that woman who was arrested for murdering Zippy Melwyn, work in your donut shop? I . . . I thought I recognized her. Like, wasn’t she at the carnival with you?”
When had Kassandra seen Nina and me together at the carnival? The only time I’d seen Kassandra there was when I’d climbed the hill to search the donut car for the missing confectioners’ sugar. Nina hadn’t been with me. Maybe Kassandra had passed the Deputy Donut tent when we were both working, and I’d been paying more attention to the fritters than to people in the crowd. Or maybe Kassandra had seen both of us at the carnival in our Deputy Donut hats and figured out that we worked together.
Kassandra and I were about the same height. I stood as tall as I could. “Yes. And I’m sure the police will come to their senses and let her go.” I hoped Kassandra wasn’t about to ask for Nina’s job. Or about to thrust my head into a bucket of powder or anything else. What could she do to me on a glorious Sunday afternoon in downtown Fallingbrook among all the other people out on the street?
She leaned toward me and spoke quietly. “Did Nina know Zippy?”
“I don’t know.” It was true. I didn’t know for sure.
“Like, with the last name of Lapeer, I thought maybe Nina had been to Lapeer and had met Zippy.” There was something about Kassandra’s tone that made me almost certain that she’d known Zippy.
I tried to sound innocent. “Was Zippy from Lapeer?”
Kassandra turned her face away from a couple of pedestrians brushing past us. “That’s what they said on the news. I thought maybe Nina and Zippy were related.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Oh, the Lapeer connection, I guess.”
“You’re from Lapeer. Did you know Zippy?”
Kassandra shivered as if standing in the hot sunshine in a long-sleeved shirt and long skirt was making her cold. “I . . . I moved away. I might have met her.”
“What was she like?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t Nina Lapeer the artist who’s about to have a show at the Arthur C. Arthurs Gallery?”
I figured it would be okay to answer that question. “Yes. We’re all very excited about it.”
Kassandra glanced toward my face and then away. “How did she luck out with that?”
“One of the gallery’s clients saw some of her paintings in Fallingbrook and alerted Mr. Arthurs.”
Kassandra licked her lips. They looked chapped. “So, displaying my work in Fallingbrook might be a really good idea.”
“Could be, especially in The Craft Croft. We get lots of tourists in Fallingbrook.”
Kassandra watched a man go into the bookstore. “Was that client who saw Nina Lapeer’s paintings a tourist?”
“He’s no longer in Fallingbrook.”
Kassandra’s shoulders drooped. “It must be nice, you know, to have a dream come true.”
“Yes, but Nina might not have that happen, after all.”
“It has to. You need to get her out of jail.” Kassandra’s voice had become surprisingly tough and earnest. She glanced at my face for a second and then looked away again and shifted back to her usual soft voice and tentative manner. “You’ve solved crimes before, haven’t you?”
“Not by myself. The police are very good at it.” I hoped that was still true.
Kassandra looked into my face again and gave her head a quick shake. “Don’t you want to help her? If she’s innocent, she shouldn’t be in jail. She should get to attend her opening, and . . . everything.”
“She’s innocent, and I’d like to know who killed Zippy.”
Kassandra eased toward the street and away from a laughing family carrying bags of books out of the bookstore. “I might know.” Kassandra’s fists were now almost completely tangled in her skirt.
I hoped I kept a neutral expression. “Did Zippy have enemies?”
Blushing, Kassandra let go of the front of her skirt. “I don’t know about enemies, but I was working at Suds for Buds the day Zippy was killed. That’s almost directly across the street from where she was killed. A man was in the pub half the afternoon and all evening. He ordered only one beer that entire time. It must have gotten pretty warm by the time he finished it, only I’m not sure he did finish it.” She took several shallow breaths and then went on. “He was sitting by one of the windows, and he was looking out, like he was watching for someone or something. I mean, if you’re going to sit in a pub for hours by yourself and you don’t bring anything to do, you’d look out the window, right? Except this guy must have brought something to do. He had a briefcase.”
I immediately pictured the magician and the briefcase he was carrying while he went around pulling four-leaf clovers out of ears and cash out of pockets and drawers. “What did he look like?”
“Oh, you know, a kind of roundish or squarish face. About average height and weight.”
“How old?”
“Old.”
The magician could have been in his fifties or even his sixties. I asked, “Clean-shaven?”
“I guess. Like, he didn’t have a full-on beard, but he didn’t get up and shave while he was there, and he was there a long time.” Kassandra’s tight little smile was apologetic as if she didn’t think it was appropriate to say something even slightly funny under the circumstances.
“What was he wearing?”
“A suit. We didn’t get that many suits in Suds for Buds.” She blushed. “He was sort of interesting, even if his nose was big and reddish like a drinker’s. Only he didn’t drink m
uch, so maybe he’d just been out in the sun.”
She was almost perfectly describing the magician. But she could have been making up a story to throw suspicion on someone besides herself. Maybe no man had been watching out the window at Suds for Buds half the afternoon and all evening on Friday. Kassandra could have noticed the magician at the carnival and described him. Establishing that Zippy’s killer was a man could help Nina, but it could also help Kassandra if she was the killer. Maybe that explained why she’d followed me out of The Craft Croft even though it had become crowded.
I asked, “Did the man’s jacket have tails?”
Her face wrinkled in confusion. “Tails?”
“Like a tuxedo.”
“I don’t think so. But I didn’t see him when he walked in or when he walked out.” She glanced uncertainly at a couple of nearby women and lowered her voice. “When I was about to go on my break, I saw him start to get up, and I thought he was leaving, but he stared out the window for a few seconds, and then he took off his jacket as if that was why he’d stood up. I don’t remember any tails on his jacket. He sat down again. He hadn’t finished his beer. He took another sip and stared out the window. And then he seemed more interested in the window than in me, so I went and waited on other people.” If she was making the story up, she was throwing in a lot of believable details.
Hoping that none of the people passing us were catching much of our conversation, I leaned closer to her. “Did he tell you his name?”
“No, and I wasn’t about to ask. That would have been too much like flirting with a customer.” She gave me a sideways glance as if checking to see if I noticed what a good employee she was.
“Do you know when he left Suds for Buds?”
“No. I went out for a break like I always did around ten if it wasn’t too busy.” She paused as if our discussion had tired her. I suspected she wasn’t used to talking so much. She continued in an even softer voice. “When I came back, he was gone. Not long after that, there were all these sirens and an ambulance and police cars. I decided I didn’t want to work in that part of town anymore.”
“It’s usually pretty safe. It’s not far from here.”
Beyond a Reasonable Donut Page 13