Glazed Murder

by Jessica Beck

  Lester’s voice came on just as Toby Keith finished his latest song about cheating and retribution. It seemed to be a popular theme on the country music charts these days, one for which I had a great deal of sympathy myself. Lester said, “In local news, there was a homicide reported on Springs Drive in front of Donut Hearts this morning. The body has been identified as Patrick Blaine, a local banker and a resident of nearby Maple Hollow. The cause of death has yet to be released, but this reporter has learned that it was not a hit-and-run, as was first described, but a shooting.”

  I turned off the radio. “Nobody said it was a hit-and-run. What was Lester talking about?”

  George shook his head. “The man loves to embellish the news, and one of these days it’s going to bite him where the sun doesn’t shine.” The retired cop pushed his plate away as he stood. “Hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a few things I need to take care of before work. I’m filling in at the courthouse this morning.”

  George supplemented his retirement income by working as a substitute bailiff at the courthouse, which kept him in touch with his old pals, as well as new ones. He saluted me with two fingers to his forehead, then he said, “I’ll touch base with you later.”

  I said, “You’re not going to say anything to Lester, are you?”

  George shook his head. “Why bother? It wouldn’t do any good, would it?” He looked around the empty donut shop. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be fine. Go on.”

  I’d miss him, but I wasn’t about to admit it to him. Oftentimes George kept the place from feeling too lonely during some of the morning lulls I faced every day. If I’d looked into the razor-thin profit margin in the world of selling donuts before I bought the place, I never would have gone through with it. I was still glad I’d purchased the business, though. There were more profits to be made than those that could be shown on a spreadsheet, and I’d gained in immeasurable riches when it came to new friends. I had a nice sociable place where people could come to relax, enjoy a donut and a cup of coffee, and grab a few moments of sanctuary from a troubling world.

  The first thing I’d done when I bought the shop was remodel the former train depot. The stiff booths and wobbly tables of the old donut shop went first, replaced by couches and comfortable chairs. As dingy beige paint on the walls was replaced with a plum faux finish—and the harsh concrete floor painted to match—the place transitioned from a utilitarian space to one where people liked to congregate. At least that had been my plan when I’d spent the last dime, literally, of my divorce settlement making Donut Hearts into the kind of place where I would like to hang out myself.

  George said, “I’m going to nose around the precinct before I’m due to report and see if I can find out anything else about Patrick Blaine. There’s got to be some reason he ended up dead in front of your shop.”

  “Is Chief Martin going to let you walk right in there and start investigating the case? You’re retired, remember?”

  “He cuts me a little slack most days,” George said. “As long as I stay out of his way, it works out fine. Don’t tell me you two are still having problems.”

  I shrugged as I wiped his section of counter down with a clean cloth. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for being my father’s daughter.” The police chief had dated my mother back in high school before my dad had come onto the scene, and there were rumors that Chief Martin had never been able to let her go. He was clearly unhappy in his current marriage, and seeing my mother around town didn’t make life any easier for him, I was sure. Dad had been dead and buried for six years, but he might as well have still been alive. My mother had mated for life, and she wasn’t interested in anyone else, something she made sure the chief knew whenever the opportunity to tell him arose. I fully realized why he was so unhappy, but did he have to take it out on me?

  George was nearly out the door when I called out, “Let me know what you find out, okay?”

  He shot me with his finger, then grinned. “You betcha.” He stopped out front and talked to a man in uniform, not Officer Moore or the chief, but another young cop named Stephen Grant who came in occasionally to get donuts on his days off. Officer Grant was slim, despite his love for donuts, and was barely over five feet eight, the height minimum for the force, he’d once told me.

  “Good morning,” I said, as he walked in. “Are you here for professional reasons, or personal?”

  “Would you believe a little of both?” he asked. “If I could get a bear claw and a coffee to go, that would be great.”

  As I poured him a cup and grabbed one of the fried cinnamon treats I’d just finished making, I asked, “What part of your visit is professional?”

  “I just wanted to ask you about what happened this morning. The chief’s got everybody keeping their eyes open, so I thought I’d see if you might have remembered something else.”

  I frowned. “Nothing I didn’t tell Officer Moore.”

  He slid money across the counter and grabbed his breakfast. “Then I guess this stop wasn’t a total loss, was it? See you later.”

  “Come back any time,” I said.

  My mother came bursting in through the front door of the donut shop ten minutes later. “I’m going to horsewhip Lester Moorefield and then hang him up on the Patriot’s Tree for everyone to see.”

  She had always been overprotective of me, and that had only intensified since the divorce. Though my mother was six inches shorter than me—barely five feet tall—she was a force to be reckoned with. I couldn’t have her flying off the handle, though.

  “Calm down, Momma. It’s all right.”

  “The blasted fool might as well have said you witnessed the whole thing,” she said. “He even mentioned your shop’s name in his broadcast. Did you hear him?”

  This wasn’t going well, and I didn’t even want to think about what she might say next. It would be best if I could make light of it. “Who knows, maybe the publicity will do me some good. We could always use the business.”

  She frowned at me, which was not an entirely unexpected reaction from her. “Suzanne Marie Hart, this is serious. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Momma. I didn’t see a thing. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  My mother had a strength of will that few in town could match. “You’d better be, or Lester is going to meet the back of my horsewhip.”

  After she had a cup of coffee and one of the wheat donuts she preferred, Momma left to take care of some pressing business. I had no idea what that might be, but I wasn’t about to ask. It had been a tough transition moving back in with her, and even now—a full year after my divorce—we were both still trying to figure out how to live together without killing each other. Maybe that was a little harsh. Most of the time we got along just fine, but she had a way of pushing my buttons sometimes that even Max hadn’t managed in our years together. I suppose it made sense. After all, she was the one who had installed them in the first place.

  I was nearly back to normal when something happened that made my blood pressure jump two dozen points. My ex-husband Max showed up.

  “Speak of the devil, and he appears,” I said, wondering what was important enough to bring him back into my life.

  A GOOD BEGINNING DONUT

  This donut is a good place to start your morning, or your donut-making career. It’s a fairly simple recipe that yields good results, and with a little practice, it can be your go-to recipe when you need a quick fix.

  INGREDIENTS

  4–5 cups bread flour

  1 cup granulated sugar

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  ½ teaspoon nutmeg

  ½ teaspoon cinnamon

  2 dashes of salt

  ½ cup sour cream

  1 egg, beaten

  1 cup buttermilk

  DIRECTIONS

  Combine the flour, sugar, baking soda, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt in a bowl and sift it into another bowl. Add the beaten egg to
the dry mix, then add the sour cream and the buttermilk to the mixture and stir it all in lightly. You may need more buttermilk or flour to get the dough to a workable mix. This varies based on temperature and humidity, and the dough should resemble bread dough when you’re finished. That is, it shouldn’t stick to your hands when you touch it, but it should be moist enough to remain flexible. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it soon enough. Knead this mix lightly, then roll it out to about ¼ of an inch. Then, take your donut hole cutter—a simple circle with a removable center—and press out your donut shapes, reserving the holes for a later frying. The cutters are inexpensive, and worth having on hand.

  Set your fryer for 375 degrees, and when the oil is ready, put 4 to 6 donuts in the basket, depending on the size of your equipment. This can also be done in a deep pot, but I find the precision of the fryer worth the money, especially if you’re going to make donuts fairly often.

  Let the donuts cook for about two minutes on one side, then check one. If it’s golden brown, the shade I prefer, flip it over with a large chopstick or wooden skewer, and let that side cook another two minutes.

  Once the donuts are finished, remove them to a cooling rack or a plate lined with paper towels, being sure to drain them thoroughly before serving. You can coat the top with butter and then sprinkle them with powdered sugar, cinnamon, or eat them plain.

  Makes approximately 1 dozen donuts.

  CHAPTER 2

  Max gave me that beautiful smile of his, and I felt my knees weaken, despite our sordid history together. “Now is that any way to talk to me? I just heard about what happened this morning. I’m worried about you, Suze.”

  “Get in line,” I said, intentionally keeping my voice firm with him. Max was gorgeous, too handsome for his own good, with wavy brown hair and the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen in my life. What was worse was that he knew how good he looked, and took full advantage of it. Suze had been his pet name for me during our marriage, though I’d never cared for it.

  “My name’s Suzanne, remember,” I said as I stared into his eyes.

  He nodded slightly. “All right then. Suzanne, I miss you, and I don’t care who knows it. I want to be a part of your life again.”

  It might have worked on someone who didn’t know him better, but I fully realized that I couldn’t believe this confession was the whole truth, or any part of it. Frankly, there was no way I was ever going to let him off the hook for his infidelity. “I bet you said the same thing to the prom queen after I divorced you.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Darlene was a mistake. I strayed one time in the entire course of our marriage. You have to forgive me.”

  I studied him closely. Was it possible he was telling the truth? I’d be lying if I said there was nothing about him that still got to me, but that didn’t mean I’d lost every last shred of my dignity and respect. “Okay, I’m calling your bluff. You say you’ve changed. Let’s see you prove it.”

  He looked startled by the challenge. “How do I do that—not sleep with Darlene again? Consider it done.”

  “You’re not getting off that easily,” I said, “and you know it.”

  “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  I frowned at him. “Don’t be like this, Max. Not today.”

  “Like what? What am I doing that’s so wrong? I love you, and I want to be a part of your life. Help me out here, Suzanne.”

  I didn’t even know how to answer that at first, but suddenly, I knew what to say. “Go away, Max. That’s all I want from you right now.”

  I expected a fight, but he just nodded, walked to the door, and then turned toward me before he left. “I’m going to respect your wishes for the moment, but I’m not giving up, Suzanne.”

  After he was gone, I stared after him, thinking about my ex much longer than I should have. Did Max really want me back? It wasn’t for my money; that was certain. Could I find it in my heart to ever forgive him?

  If I was being honest about it, I just wasn’t sure.

  An hour later, Terri Milner and Sandy White came in and stood at the register looking over the day’s offerings in the two large glass cases behind the counter. Terri was the mother of eight-year-old twin girls, and Sandy had a nine-year-old son who caused more havoc than both twins combined.

  “Glad you two could make it this morning,” I said.

  Terri grinned. “Are you kidding? This place is so nice; we might just leave our husbands and move in here full-time.”

  Sandy matched her smile with one of her own. “I love the way you decorated this place. Most donut shops have those awful benches and hard plastic seats. You have these soft couches. It’s like being at home.”

  Terri added, “If there weren’t any children there.”

  “Not that we don’t love our kids,” Sandy added quickly.

  “We just need a break sometimes.” She looked up into the air. “I love the CD playing. Is it new?”

  “I thought a little light classical music would be nice,” I admitted.

  “Delightful, as always,” they said. I got them their donuts and coffees, and they settled onto one of the couches where they could relax and watch the world go past. It had been my goal to make the place somewhere local folks—and women in particular—would like to come to relax, and so far, I’d managed to garner quite a crowd of regulars. Not that I didn’t welcome the men who came in, as well.

  As I finished bussing a few tables after some customers that had left, Grace Gauge came into the shop. She worked as a corporate sales rep for a national cosmetics company, and more importantly, Grace was without doubt my best friend in April Springs.

  “I just heard what happened,” she said. “I looked outside, but I didn’t see any chalk outlines of the body on the road.” Grace is blonde whereas I’m a brunette, and she is as trim as I dream I’ll be again someday, but I don’t hold any of that against her. She works out more than any one woman in her right mind should, and eats dried and tasteless things I wouldn’t touch on my worst day. If it comes right down to it, I’d rather have a few more curves and a bright smile than be as skinny as she is. Not that Grace is ever grumpy—her regime seems to fit her—but I would be a snarling bear if I ever tried to live a moment of her life, especially if I only got to eat what she ate.

  “They took pictures before they left,” I said. “Do they even make those outlines anymore?”

  She rolled her eyes. “When are you going to start watching CSI and catch up with the rest of us?”

  I smiled at her. “I guess I’ll start watching when they show it right after the network news at seven. I’m not even awake when most shows come on now.”

  “There are reruns on cable at all hours of the day and night, you know.”

  I laughed. “Momma doesn’t want cable television in the house, and honestly, it doesn’t bother me, since I’m in bed by seven or eight most every night, anyway.”

  “I truly don’t know how you do it,” Grace said. “How on earth are you ever going to find a boyfriend with hours like that?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t going to tell her about Max’s recent declaration, at least not until I’d had a chance to mull over his words. “There’s always third shift, and if I get desperate enough for male companionship, I could check to see if Jack Long has any friends at the hospital.” Jack was a male nurse I went out with sometimes, though the relationship wasn’t the least bit romantic for either of us. We were good company for each other, and that was it. Still, it was nice to be able to call him when I felt the need for some testosterone in my life, and if he was free, he was always interested in a movie and some popcorn at the West-bridge Theater. If they ever stopped having matinees there, I don’t know what I would do for a social life.

  Grace shook her head. “You are hopeless, you know that, don’t you?”

  I smiled. “Said the kettle to the pot. Now that we’ve talked about me, should we spend some time discussing your love life?”

  She blew out a hear
ty puff of air. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

  “A change of subject it is, then. Where are you off to this morning?”

  “I’ve got a store reset in Charlotte,” she said. “The good news is that I get to wear jeans, but the downside is that I have to handle dusty things all day.”

  “Somehow I’m sure you’ll manage. Have fun,” I said as I grabbed a paper coffee cup and filled it for her with fresh brew. I’d tried a handful of new lowfat donut recipes for her since I took over the store, but I still hadn’t come up with anything that didn’t taste faintly of cardboard, though I wasn’t ready to give up yet. She would settle for whole wheat if it came to that, but I was afraid even that recipe wasn’t healthy enough for her. In my opinion, donuts are meant to be a hedonistic experience—at least they are if they’re done properly—but I wasn’t licked yet in my search for something Grace would enjoy.

  By the time I shooed the last of my customers out the door and locked up, I glanced back at the display case and saw that it was almost empty. I’d had a steady stream of customers all morning long, and I couldn’t help wondering if Lester’s on-air plug had revved up my business, at least temporarily. I wasn’t happy about what I’d seen earlier, but then again, a full cash register was never a bad thing. I cleaned the place up, boxed the donuts that were left, got the bank deposit ready, and was just locking up when Gabby Williams from next door knocked on the glass. Gabby is a trim woman in her fifties who always looks nice, but there was an edge beneath the surface of her smile today, and I knew from talk around town that her teeth could be razor sharp. Gabby ran ReNewed, a secondhand clothing store that featured some of the better preworn clothes in the area, as Gabby liked to call her wares.

  “Good morning,” I said, wondering what she wanted as I unlocked the front door for her. Gabby knew everyone in April Springs, and consequently had a map of exactly where all the bodies were buried. She was a good woman to have on your side, and a bad one to have as an enemy. We’d danced that fine line since I’d bought the shop—neighboring storekeepers, but nothing more—and I was going to do my best to stay on her good side without making my personal life any concern of hers. Gabby prided herself on her figure, and loved to wear some of the nicer things that came into her shop. Consequently, she always appeared to be mingling below her station in life when she chatted with me, an impression she did nothing to dispel. Today she was wearing a gray wool suit that was topped off by a prim pillbox hat. I half expected her to be wearing matching gloves, but none must have come in, or she would have surely been sporting them. I always felt terribly underdressed in my blue jeans whenever she was around, and today was no exception.