by Jessica Beck
“Let’s see what kind of ingredients we can find on hand,” I said as I went to the massive refrigerator. There was no danger of anything spoiling for quite some time, since the warmth from the fireplace two rooms away couldn’t reach where we were working. Still, it would be a good idea to get in and out. “As I hand you things, put them on the counter behind you.”
“I can do that,” she said.
I opened the door, and in quick succession, I grabbed a massive tub of sour cream, a few eggs, and some whole milk.
“That can’t be all that you need,” she said doubtfully.
“That’s all of the wet ingredients, except for the sugar.”
“Sugar isn’t wet, though, is it?” Celia asked.
“It combines so easily with moisture that it’s classified that way in most recipes.” Grabbing one of the large mixing bowls hanging from hooks above my head, I measured out two cups of milk and then followed it up with a cup of sour cream. After that, I put the containers back into the refrigerator.
“Now let’s raid the pantry,” I told her.
“What do we need besides sugar?”
I was using one of my most basic recipes, the one I’d first learned to make donuts myself, as a matter of fact, and I’d made it so many times that it had been committed to memory. When I’d had my recipe book stolen and burned once a long time ago, before I got a copy from Sharon Blake, it was my fallback donut I’d prepared while I’d searched for my way back. Before I walked into the pantry, I grabbed another mixing bowl, along with cup, tablespoon, and teaspoon measuring devices. Scanning the shelves, I collected sugar, bread flour, baking soda, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt and put the containers on the center island in the pantry. It was a nice space, and I envied the chefs there, but not for long. I had donuts to make.
“Now we measure out and mix the dry ingredients,” I said.
“I really would like to help,” she said.
“Have you ever baked before?”
“A little,” she admitted, which probably meant not much, if any, at all.
“Why don’t you help me when it’s time to cut the donut rounds out of the dough? How does that sound?”
“Can I be the one who bakes them?”
“These will be fried, not baked, and there’s an art to putting them in without burning yourself in the process.”
She clearly hadn’t realized there was any danger involved in the process. “Fine. I’ll watch.”
“Good,” I said as I started measuring out ingredients and adding them to the new bowl, calling out the names and quantities as I worked. “In the bowl, I’m adding eight cups of bread flour, two cups of granulated sugar, two teaspoons of baking soda, two teaspoons of cinnamon, two teaspoons of nutmeg, and finally, four or five dashes of salt.”
“How much is a dash?” she asked me.
“Pretend you have a salt shaker in your hand. Shake it quickly over the bowl, and that’s going to be about one dash.”
“I thought the sugar was a wet ingredient,” she said plaintively.
“It is, but for this recipe, it goes in with the dry ingredients.” I grabbed the cup measurement and took another quantity out of the flour bin. “That’s it. Let’s go back out into the kitchen.”
“What’s that for?”
“You’ll see,” I said. Last, I spotted some peanut oil in a big container with a spout for easy pouring. “Grab another bowl for me, would you?”
She looked pleased to be helping and came back a minute later. I handed her the bowl I’d mixed the dry ingredients in. “Take this back out front, and be careful not to spill any of it.”
“Should I go ahead and add in the wet stuff to it?”
“Don’t do anything until I get there,” I said.
“Fine. I was just asking.”
I tried to soften my voice. “Celia, believe it or not, there’s a real art to it, which I’ll teach you after I get the oil.”
“What do we need oil for?”
“It’s what we’re going to fry the donuts in,” I said.
That seemed to satisfy her, and after I drew a sufficient amount of oil, I rejoined her in the kitchen, hoping that she hadn’t disobeyed me and started without me.
She hadn’t, to my relief.
I took out a nice pot from storage, added the peanut oil, and then put it on the stovetop, turning it to high. While the oil was heating, I took a smaller bowl, broke open and beat the eggs, then I added it to the dry mix that I’d made up in the pantry, holding that last cup of flour out of the mix. Once I had the consistency I liked, I added the milk and sour cream, folding it all in lightly with a whisk. It still needed a little flour, so I tipped a touch in, and Celia nodded knowingly. After kneading it gently for a minute, I touched the dough with two fingers, and nothing stuck to them. The consistency felt right to me, so I floured the countertop and then put the ball of dough in the center. Taking a French rolling pin, I rolled it out until it was around a quarter inch thick.
“Now, we need a donut cutter. Would you look through the drawers and see if you can find one?”
“What’s it look like?” she asked me.
“I don’t mean to be flippant, but it resembles something that would cut a donut from dough.”
“What if they don’t have one?” she said a minute after searching.
“We improvise,” I said. Grabbing two different-sized glasses, I powdered their edges with flour and pressed down with the larger of the two.
“I thought I was going to get to help,” she said.
“Sorry. I forgot. You can cut out the holes, but I’ll lift them, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. As I worked, Celia followed behind me with the smaller glass, cutting out holes from the circles I’d created. Using the point of a knife, I flicked the holes out and then pulled out enough rounds to start the first batch. The temperature of the oil was up to 375 degrees F, so we were ready to get started.
“Celia, did you happen to see a slotted spoon while you were looking in the drawers?”
She retrieved it quickly, a proud look on her face. After I took it from her, I said, “Now, take one of those wire cooling racks and put it on the counter, but first put down some paper towels to catch the extra oil.”
I slid the first four rounds into the oil, being careful not to splash, and started to wait.
“How long do they take?”
“Two minutes on each side,” I said.
“Nicole never let me help her in the kitchen. Thanks for including me.”
“You two aren’t that close, are you?”
Celia shrugged. “The truth is that we’ve never really gotten along. She was bossy growing up, and none of that has changed now that we’re adults.”
“Do you resent her being in control of your money?”
Celia frowned at me. “How did you know about that?”
I shrugged. Had I just made a tactical error tipping my hand? “I didn’t realize that it was supposed to be a secret. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I honestly don’t care who knows. I just can’t wait until next week.”
“What happens then?” I asked her, stopping long enough to flip the donuts. They were nicely browned, and I was happy with the results.
“I get my money. All of it,” she said. “Nicole has control of it now, but that all ends on my birthday.”
So maybe the motive we’d assigned Celia hadn’t been valid after all. If she just had to wait a week to get control of her inheritance, there was no reason for her to try to kill her sister.
“Well, let me say it early: happy birthday,” I said.
“Thanks.” She looked into the pot. “Are we eating those plain?”
“We could make icing or just use powdered sugar dusted on top,” I said. “Which way do you prefer?”
“Let’s do icing. It looks so cool, don’t you think?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I said. “Would you mind grabbing the powdered sugar for me in the pantry?”
“Happy to,” she said.
By the time she was back, the first four donuts were finished, out and cooling on the rack, and the next four were in the hot oil.
“How hard is the icing to make?”
“We’re doing the easy version,” I said. I measured out some powdered sugar, added a touch of vanilla extract I’d found, and then enough cold water to make a slurry from it all.
“That’s it?” she asked. “Can I taste it?”
“Why not?” I put a little on the tip of a spoon and handed it to her.
She smiled brightly after she tasted it. “It’s perfect.”
“Wait until you’ve had a donut with it,” I said.
Just then, the kitchen door opened, and the entire crew walked in.
“We smelled food,” Grace said. “Are you actually making donuts? This wasn’t supposed to be a busman’s holiday, Suzanne.”
“I don’t mind,” I said as I drizzled icing on the first four donuts.
Georgia tried to grab one, but I kept her at bay with the slotted spoon. “Celia gets the first one, since she helped me make them.”
The woman looked as though she’d just won a prize, and after quick consideration, she chose the one with the most icing. After taking a bite, she smiled broadly. “They are absolutely delicious.”
“I’m next,” Georgia said, and she grabbed one as well. Janelle and Dina took the last two, and I could see that Nicole and Grace were a little disappointed at being left out. “Don’t worry, there’s more on the way soon.”
After the donuts and holes were all fried and served, I nibbled on a few holes while Janelle and Nicole did the dishes. I hadn’t protested too hard when they’d offered, and though we’d had to heat the water on the stovetop, everything was clean and back in order before long.
“Now that breakfast is over, we really should decide what to do next,” Nicole said to the group. “I’m open to suggestions, everyone.”
“I still think that we should send someone for help,” Janelle said.
“On foot, through the snow, seven miles, and all of it downhill? Thanks, but no thanks,” Georgia said.
“Aren’t there any phones at the resort? There has to be a landline somewhere,” I said.
“I checked it already,” Nicole said. “The storm must have taken the line out as well.”
“Has anyone tried different places on the property to see if we can get a signal on our cellphones?” Grace asked.
“It’s awfully cold out there to be taking a casual stroll,” Dina said.
I needed a chance to tell Grace what I’d learned from Celia, so I said, “I think it’s a great idea. As a matter of fact, I’ll go with you, Grace.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Suzanne?” Nicole asked me.
“Don’t worry about us. After all, we’ll be together. Nothing’s going to happen. Are you ready, Grace?”
My best friend seemed a little reluctant about the chilly stroll, but finally, she agreed.
Once we were bundled up in nearly everything we’d brought and standing outside the front door together, Grace said, “Let’s be clear about something. Just because I suggested this idea doesn’t mean that I was the one who wanted to do it.”
“It’s not going to work, anyway,” I told her. “I tried to get a signal yesterday while I was touring the grounds so I could call Jake, but I couldn’t get through anywhere.”
“Then why are we out here in the freezing cold?” Grace asked me.
“We need to talk, and I figured this was the best way to get a little privacy,” I said.
After I brought her up to date on what Celia had told me while I’d made breakfast, Grace nodded. “You’ve still got it, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suzanne, you always could get people to open up to you. At least now we can take one name off our list.”
“Only if it’s true. Besides, it’s still too early to celebrate,” I said. “We still have Dina, Georgia, and Janelle on our suspect list.”
“Three is always better than four unless we’re talking about donuts,” she said, rubbing her hands together furiously. “How long do we have to keep up this charade?”
“A little bit longer, I think,” I said.
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“I want to go back to Pine Cottage and see if there are any clues I missed yesterday as to who might have tried to get rid of Nicole. Are you game?”
“Lead the way,” Grace said, and we trudged through the snow in search of something that might be able to tell us where to look next.
Chapter 12
“What exactly are we hoping to find?” Grace asked me as we took our first steps off the porch.
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t have to look, now would we?” I asked her with a grin. At that moment, I saw something that sent chills through me, and I put a hand up to stop Grace.
“What is it? What’s wrong, Suzanne?”
“Look,” I said as I pointed at the freshly fallen snow just behind the overhang of the veranda’s roof.
There were footprints in it, leading toward the cottages.
The problem with that was, at least in theory, none of us had left the lodge all morning.
Chapter 13
“Is someone else up here?” Grace asked me as she quickly looked around us.
“How can it be anything but a stranger among us?” I asked her as I studied the prints. “If you weren’t watching the group, then I was. Nobody could just take off on their own and start exploring without at least one of us knowing about it.”
“I’m afraid that’s not entirely true,” Grace said softly.
“What do you mean?”
“Suzanne, once everyone was awake, they all scattered looking for bathrooms. I couldn’t keep track of everyone at the same time. You were making donuts in the kitchen, so I couldn’t get you to help me watch every last one of them. I’m afraid it could have been any one of them, except Celia, of course, since she was with you.”
It was clear that she felt bad about it. “Grace, it’s not your fault. I just assumed the buddy system we put in place last night would still be working this morning.”
“Getting this group to follow rules is like trying to herd cats,” she said.
“So these could have been made by just about any one of us after all,” I said as I looked more closely at the nearest print. Though it was still quite cold out, the sun had already begun to melt the snow, and the tread marks had partially thawed into obscurity as to specific ways to identify their maker. I put my foot inside one of the prints for scale, but that wasn’t really any help, since there was no way I could know how small it had started. I glanced back at the lodge, but no one was watching us, though I could see the window I’d peered out earlier clearly enough. “At least we can be pretty sure that it was one of us,” I said as I stood fully erect.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I can’t be positive, but I believe that I would have noticed if there had been tracks in the snow when I first looked out this morning.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that we weren’t visited later while you were busy in the kitchen.” She frowned a moment before adding, “Suzanne, there’s something else we need to consider.”
“What’s that?”
“What if Hank really isn’t dead, and he somehow managed to climb up that embankment last night?”
It was a sobering thought. “You saw the way his neck was positioned. Is it really possible to fake that?”
“We didn’t have very good light,” Grace said, “and besides, he was pretty far away
. Maybe we were wrong.”
“Why wouldn’t he join us at the lodge if that were the case?” I asked her.
“If you’d tried to prevent a murder and ended up being the accidental victim yourself, would you rush back to be with the killer?”
“I honestly don’t know what I’d do in those circumstances.”
“Let’s see how close these footprints come to the lodge,” she said.
It was a good idea, so we tracked the steps away from the cottages, instead of the ones going toward them. Grace’s hunch turned out to be a sound one.
There was a clear set of footprints that led straight up to the side entrance of the lodge.
“Suzanne, he must be inside!” Grace said. “We’ve got to tell everyone right now.”
I put a hand on her shoulder, restraining her. “Take it easy and think about it. We don’t know anything for sure yet, Grace. These footprints could easily have been someone coming and going, stepping in the same spots both ways.”
“I still think we should check the lodge thoroughly,” she insisted.
“I do, too, but it’s going to have to wait.”
“For what?”
“We need to see if Hank’s body is at the bottom of that precipice or not,” I replied.
“What if he’s still down there?” she asked me with a shiver. “What do we do then?”
“We try to figure out who was out walking in the snow alone. They clearly had the same idea that we had to check on Hank’s body. It’s not hard to see that these prints head straight to the cottages from here and to the spot where your district manager fell.”
Grace and I approached the edge carefully, but when I looked over the lip, I couldn’t see anything out of place below; in particular, there were no dead bodies lying there. The snow must have collected and blown sometime during the night, because now there was enough of it down there that I couldn’t tell if it was hiding Hank’s remains or not. “Can you see anything?” I asked Grace.
“He’s either not there, or the snow somehow covered him up,” she said.
