Cherry Filled Charges

by Jessica Beck

  “Was the rivalry that heated?” Grace asked.

  “From what I’ve heard, it got pretty dicey at times,” she said. “Do you think Clint might have done it?”

  “It’s too soon to say,” I interjected quickly, repeating my standard answer. “If Clint and Simon were such rivals, why did they live together?”

  “You know how it is. We’re all young, broke, and just trying to get footholds in our careers. Poverty makes strange bedfellows.”

  “I know it’s tough being a chef, but you can work anywhere you’d like to as a server, can’t you?” I asked her.

  “Listen, I’m not going to lug food around all of my life,” she said. “I have dreams, too, you know.”

  “Such as?” Grace asked her.

  “I’m an actress,” Sherry said, as though it were the greatest declaration ever given.

  “And you’re living in Union Square?” Grace followed up. It was a fair question, since there wasn’t much of what you could call theater around us. The closest thing was my ex-husband Max’s plays with senior citizens at the community center, and Sherry was too young by several decades to participate in any of those productions.

  “I’m saving to go to New York,” she said.

  “Got it,” I replied. I wasn’t about to take on career counseling for this woman. “Where do you live now?”

  “At my folks’ place. It’s not like I’m still living at home, though. I have an apartment above the garage and everything, and I come and go as I see fit.”

  Wow, this woman was bristly. I didn’t care if she lived in a hole in the backyard. All I cared about at the moment was finding Simon’s killer.

  “Do you know anyone who might want to hurt Simon?” I asked her.

  “No. Everybody loved him,” she said. I knew that wasn’t true, but a great many people had trouble speaking ill of the dead. I hadn’t been looking into the man’s life very long and I’d already uncovered a handful of people who might want to see him gone, but clearly we weren’t going to get any dirt about him from Sherry.

  I was about to ask her a follow-up question when her cell phone rang. “Sorry, but I’ve got to take this. It’s about an audition,” she said, answering as she walked off. There were no good-byes, no waves, really no general acknowledgement that we’d even been talking.

  As Sherry walked away, forgetting about us entirely, Grace said softly, “It was nice meeting you, too. Take care, and good luck with that acting career of yours. I’m sure we’ll be in touch later.” She looked at me and shook her head. “I know I need my phone to stay in touch with the world, but there are times I’d be just as happy if they’d never been invented.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said as I strolled toward the back parking lot.

  “How much of what Sherry just said do we believe?” Grace asked me. “Personally, I’m not buying the delayed grief explanation. I get that she was angry, but that doesn’t mean that she still can’t cry. Her boyfriend is dead, for goodness’ sake.”

  “I don’t know what to think. Grace, you know as well as I do that different people handle their grief in different ways. Maybe she’s telling us the truth.”

  “About Saint Simon, too?”

  “No, we know better than that. I’m not sure how much help Sherry is going to be.”

  “Then we move on to someone who had less reason to deify the man,” Grace said. “It sounds as though Clint Harpold will have a very different story to tell about his former roommate.”

  “At least he should be easy to identify,” I said. “Sherry gave us a pretty clear description of him.”

  As we got back to the pop-up bistro, I saw that most of the folks who’d been patiently waiting earlier were already gone. While we’d been talking with Emma and Sherry, they must have made their way through the police gauntlet and headed to their cars without passing us.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a blond beanpole in sight.

  “We must have missed him,” I said as I scanned the crowd.

  “That’s okay. We’ll track him down tomorrow,” Grace said.

  “Are you going to be able to take some time off to help me with the investigation?”

  “I’ve got meetings all morning, but I’m free after eleven. I can meet you here when you close the shop.” She glanced back at the rear of my building. “That is, if you’re opening Donut Hearts tomorrow at all. Is Stephen going to be able to release it in time, or are you taking the day off?”

  “You know me better than that. He promised me I’d have it back in time to start making donuts at three a.m.,” I said as I glanced at my watch. Part of me wanted to head to Union Square at that very moment to track Clint Harpold and Shalimar Davis down, but I knew that I’d have to be up and at work in less than seven hours, and I needed at least that much sleep to function at all.

  “Are you going to be okay being there so soon after a murder took place in your kitchen?” Grace asked me gently. “I could always come by and keep you company, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I know your sleeping habits, and they don’t include being awake at that time of early morning.”

  “If you’re sure,” she said.

  “Positive, but you get bonus points for offering,” I said with a smile.

  “Okay, then. Are you heading home now? I’ll walk with you if you are.”

  “That sounds good to me,” I said. We left the parking lot where the bistro had once been, and as we walked past Donut Hearts, I glanced inside and saw three uniformed officers crawling all over the place. It was all I could do not to go in and start cleaning up after them, but that was going to have to wait until the shop had been released back to me.

  After Grace peeled off to go inside her place, I walked the last few steps to the cottage I usually shared with my husband. Pulling out my phone, I decided to give him a call before I headed off to bed.

  It went straight to voicemail, and I wondered what was keeping him from answering me. As soon as I heard the beep, I said as cheerfully as I could manage, “Hey there, stranger. Hope it’s going well with you. We had a little excitement tonight, but everything’s fine with me. I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow. I love you. Good night.”

  There would be time enough tomorrow to bring him up to date on what had happened at the donut shop earlier, and there was no reason to give him a moment’s unrest until I could tell him about it live instead of in a message.

  Once I was inside the cottage, I took a quick shower, toweled my hair, and put on my jammies. I was still hungry since I hadn’t had a chance to eat, and there was a little chicken left over in the fridge, so I heated it up and had that as a bedtime meal. It would be way too early for most folks to go to bed, but then again, they didn’t have to get up when I did, so I didn’t feel at all bad about turning off the lights and curling up with a good book.

  I probably read a page or two before I fell asleep, but before I knew it, my alarm clock was screaming at me, signaling that it was time to start another day in the land of donuts and murder.

  I wasn’t sure what the day would bring, but at least I knew what I’d be doing for the next eight hours.

  If the police had finished up with my shop, anyway.

  Chapter 5

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Jake said sleepily as I answered my phone. It was twenty till three, the time I got up every morning I worked at Donut Hearts.

  “Please tell me you’ve at least been to sleep,” I said.

  “I managed to get a few hours in. I set my alarm so we could chat, and then I’m going back to bed,” he said softly. “What was the excitement about that you mentioned?”

  I knew better than to hide the truth from my husband. “Somebody stabbed one of Barton’s friends last night during the pop-up bistro. I found the b
ody in my kitchen.”

  “Suzanne, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “It’s never easy, but I can’t let it stop me from working, you know?”

  As a state police inspector, Jake had seen more than his share of dead bodies, but thankfully, they were still an anomaly to me. “Has the chief released the shop yet?” he asked.

  “He told me I’d have it back in plenty of time,” I assured him. Before Jake could make the offer, I quickly added, “There’s no reason to cut your trip short. I’ve got everything covered here. How are things going there?”

  “Trending toward the grim, but I’m working on it,” he said with a sigh. I knew that he was extremely close to his sister and her kids, and it pained him greatly to know that any of them were in trouble.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He sighed heavily again. “The truth is that I’m not sure I’m doing any good myself.”

  “But you’re not going to let that stop you from trying, are you?”

  “No. I can’t give up on Paul. He’s a good kid, but he’s starting to lose his way. I’m not going to let that happen if I have anything to say about it.”

  I could hear the heartbreak in his voice, and I felt bad I couldn’t be there to comfort him. “I’ll drop everything and drive to Raleigh this morning if it will do any good.”

  “As much as I appreciate the offer, I think you’d better stay right there,” he replied. I didn’t get along all that well with Jake’s sister, Sarah. The truth was, she never really got over his first wife’s death, and she seemed to resent me for trying to bring her brother some happiness in life. That was her problem though, not mine.

  “Okay. I get it.”

  “Are you and Grace making any progress on the case yet?” he asked, and I could hear a bit of merriment in his tone that was most welcome after the sadness I’d heard just moments before.

  “What makes you think we’re investigating the murder?” I asked, trying not to smile as I said it. My husband knew me too well.

  “Call it a hunch,” he said.

  “We’re digging into it, at Emma’s request, but we haven’t had much time to investigate yet.”

  “Why would someone stab a young man to death?” Jake asked. “You know what? Forget I asked you that. I’ve got my hands full here, and I’m sure you and Grace don’t need any advice from someone three hundred miles away.”

  “Guess again. I’ll always listen to any advice you have to offer,” I said.

  “You just won’t promise to take it though, will you?” he asked, smiling again with his voice.

  “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” I said with a laugh. “I’ve got to get to work, and you need your sleep. Touch base when you can.”

  “Right back at you,” he said, and then we hung up.

  The exchange hadn’t lasted very long, but it had started my day off in the right direction, and I was glad that I’d married a man thoughtful enough to call me at what was for him the middle of the night. I found myself smiling as I got ready and headed to the donut shop, and not even the homicide the night before could completely ruin my mood.

  It did still put a damper on it, though.

  At least there wasn’t any crime scene tape out in front of the shop, and there was no indication outside of what had happened there the night before. For all intents and purposes, it looked as though it was just like every other morning I opened Donut Hearts.

  Then why were my hands shaking so badly as I tried to unlock the front door that my keys slipped from my fingers onto the sidewalk?

  I knew what had happened, even if there was no physical evidence remaining.

  There were plenty of mental images though, and I wondered if I should get Grace’s employee, Ramona, to come cleanse the place with sage as she had once done for the bookstore. I had been a disbeliever at first, but by the time the ritual had been over, I’d felt a lightening in the air. Goodness knew my shop could use some cleansing after all that had happened to it over the years. I had an anniversary of my owning the shop coming up soon, so maybe I’d hire her to come wipe the mojo slate clean. After all, what could it hurt?

  I flipped on the lights as I entered, turned on the coffee urn, and, after pausing at the kitchen door, made my way into my workspace. The next order of business was to turn the fryer on to give the oil a chance to heat up to the proper temperature. Once that was accomplished, I turned to look at where I’d found Simon Reed’s body the evening before.

  There was no chalk outline there. Not even a bloodstain remained, though he’d been stabbed in the back. From the evidence on my ruined jeans, I knew that at least some blood had escaped, but the police chief must have had someone clean the floor for me, because the space smelled of disinfectant and cleaner. That odor wouldn’t last long. As soon as the first cake donut batter hit the oil, that would be the only pervasive smell in my kitchen, and while I wasn’t thrilled with the permeating scent most days, today it would be a most welcome aroma. I started on my generic cake batter that was the base for nearly all of my cake donuts, and then I tried to think about what to make for the day. There were certain standard donuts I offered every day, but I left my menu with enough leeway to allow me to be creative when the occasion called for it. Today I decided to do something different. Though summer was beginning to fade, I’d been playing with the idea of making a new lemonade donut all season. I zested a few lemons, squeezed them of their juices, and then took out a few scoops of batter and set it aside. Doctoring the cake donut batter with juice and zest, I started to mix it all in together thoroughly, but where was my dough cutter? The wide and flat thin piece of steel with a hard plastic handle was missing from its usual spot. Had Emma been moving my tools again, despite my repeated requests to leave them where they were? I’d just have to manage without it until I could track the implement down. On a whim, I went through our candy drawer until I found lemon candies. I liked to claim that the drawer was there for my creations, but usually it just served as a cabinet to contain my sweet tooth when donuts just weren’t enough. I crushed a handful of the candies and added half of it to the batter. Setting that aside, I made up my standard cake donut mixes after dividing the batter into separate bowls, including a new recipe of mine that involved not only maraschino cherries but the liquid from the jar they came in. Used bowls were adding up quickly, and I was happy that Emma would be in soon to start washing them up for me. As I loaded up the batter dropper again and again, rinsing it thoroughly between recipes, I watched as the rounds formed then bobbed to the surface of the hot oil. It was a process I never grew tired of, no matter how many times I watched it happen. Finally, it was time for the lemonade donuts. They dropped fine, and after flipping them, I pulled them out and glazed them with my standard sugar glaze. If I liked the results, I’d mix up some special lemon glaze, but this was an experiment of donuts, not glazes. In all, I dropped half a dozen rounds. Barely waiting for one to cool, I cut a small wedge out of one and tasted it. My lips immediately puckered! I’d have to dial back the juice for the next batch, or everyone who tasted one would leave the place whistling, whether they wanted to or not.

  I heard the kitchen door open behind me and I held out another section of the same donut I’d just sampled myself. “Taste this and see what you think,” I said.

  “Okay, but we need to talk first,” Sharon Blake said.

  I turned around and stared at my assistant’s mother for a moment before speaking. “Where’s Emma? Is she sick?”

  “No, but she couldn’t bear to come in today. She’s still at the house with Barton.”

  “When did the chief let him go?” I asked.

  “He only spoke with him twenty minutes,” Sharon explained. “As soon as he released Barton, he came straight to our place. Emma apologizes for not calling you herself, but she didn’t w
ant to wake you. Will I do as a substitute, or would you rather I go home?”

  “I’d love to have you work, if you’re willing to be here,” I said, gesturing to the pile of dishes waiting for her.

  Sharon grinned for the first time since she’d come in. “I was hoping you’d say that.” As she grabbed an apron, she added, “Emma’s really distraught about what happened. Thank you for digging into this for her.”

  “I’m not just doing it for her,” I said, my gaze going inadvertently to the spot where I’d found the body not all that long ago.

  “I understand that, but she still appreciates it. We all do.”

  “Even your husband?” I asked wryly.

  “I know Ray can come across as cold and abrupt at times, but underneath it all, he’s got a soft heart.”

  I wasn’t sure how far I’d have to dig down to find it, but I wasn’t about to tell his wife that. “I’m happy to have you here.”

  I mixed the basic ingredients for the raised donuts, and then I covered the bowl to let them rest through their first proof. As I finished up, I looked at Sharon. “I don’t know how you two operate when I’m not here, but Emma and I like to take a break outside about now.”

  “Oh, we do the exact same thing,” Sharon said. “Give me a second and I’ll be right with you.”

  I grabbed my timer and started out the front door. It was too much a ritual for me not to take a break at that stage, and I followed it, even when I was working alone. I was glad that Emma had sent Sharon along, though, especially this morning. There was no way I relished the idea of working at Donut Hearts alone so soon after someone had been murdered there.

  I took my seat outside, and I was enjoying the gentle cool breeze when Sharon came out and joined me.