Lemon Larceny (The Donut Mysteries)

by Jessica Beck

  “Let them try to get back in that way now,” I said, satisfied with my rustic carpentry.

  “It’s hardly usable in this condition, though, is it?” Momma asked.

  “We don’t need it to be a door; we need a wall. It doesn’t have to offer us access in and out at the moment; it just needs to keep us safe.”

  Momma looked startled by my comment. “Do you honestly think that whoever was down here meant to hurt us?”

  “It has to be a possibility we consider. After all, we’re investigating a murder, at least that’s what it appears to be.” I looked at the footprints, even now starting to dry. Why hadn’t I brought my phone downstairs with me so I could take a picture before the footprints all evaporated? “Momma, you don’t happen to have your phone with you, do you?”

  “No, it’s charging upstairs in my bedroom. Why, do you think we should call Hank after all?”

  “Maybe, but that’s not why I wanted your phone. I thought that it might not be a bad idea to take a picture of those footprints before they faded away completely.”

  “That’s smart thinking,” Momma said. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she went to retrieve her phone, I knew that she was going to be too late. I could barely make out the footprints at it was, and they were all fading rapidly. Putting my foot beside the most legible remaining print, I saw that whoever had been down there had clearly been someone with much larger feet than I had, and no one had ever called me petite. That made our unwelcome visitor most likely a man. Then again, it could have just as easily have been a woman wearing a man’s boots to throw us off.

  Either way, there was no way to capture the true size of the print now.

  Momma came down the steps a few minutes later, proudly carrying her cellphone. “I’ve got it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but it’s too late.”

  She glanced down at where the tracks had been, and then she frowned. “Oh, well. I still think that it was a brilliant idea to take a snapshot of it.”

  “For all of the good it did us,” I said. I yawned a bit, and then I asked her, “I guess the most important question besides the identity of our unauthorized visitor is whether they got what they came for?”

  “They might have if you hadn’t been so alert, but I doubt they had time to do anything but run,” Momma answered. “It’s a lucky thing that you were awake to hear them down here.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, “so I was a little restless. Sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t apologize. Honestly, I’m amazed that I managed to fall asleep at all. Is there any chance that you can grab a little more rest before we have to get up and get started with our day?”

  I realized that though I was awake, I was still tired. “I’m willing to try if you are. Is there the slightest possibility that either one of us will be able to nod off after someone just broke into the house?”

  “Why shouldn’t we?” Momma asked as she rubbed my shoulder reassuringly. “After all, you just fixed the door, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, but what’s to keep them from trying again?”

  “I don’t think they will tonight,” Momma said emphatically, “and even if they do, I can’t imagine another access point open to them.”

  “Maybe not, but just in case, I’m going to barricade the basement door from this side,” I said as we walked up the steps and closed the door behind us.

  “Don’t you need more wood and those tools to do that?” Momma asked.

  “No, we’re going to do this the old-fashioned way.” I grabbed a kitchen chair and tilted it at an angle until I could wedge it under the doorknob to the basement. “Let them try to get through that, even if they do manage to break in downstairs again.”

  “Suzanne, I feel better already, but I may do the same thing with the door in my bedroom. Let them take what they want as long as they leave us alone.”

  “It’s probably not a bad idea at that,” I said.

  Once we were on the second floor, Momma said, “Good night again, Suzanne.”

  “Night, Momma. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, my sweet child,” she said with a smile.

  I didn’t think I’d ever be able to sleep, but to my surprise, sunlight peeking in through the blinds woke me up again a little after seven.

  After I took a shower and got dressed, I headed downstairs.

  It was time to tackle Aunt Jean’s suspects in the light of a new day and see if we could figure out who had killed her.

  “How long have you been up?” I asked Momma as I walked into the kitchen to find pancakes waiting for me, along with all of the fixings.

  “Not long. Did you manage to fall back asleep?”

  “Surprisingly I did. How about you?”

  “I did as well. It’s a beautifully bright day out there, isn’t it?” Momma asked as she handed me a plate with two pancakes on it.

  “Quite a bit different from the storm we had last night,” I admitted. I took a bite, and then I said, “These are delicious, as always.”

  “Don’t give me too much credit. I found my sister’s mix in the pantry.” My mother took a bite from the pancake on her own plate and smiled. “It’s the same recipe I use. Our mother taught us well.”

  “They are amazing for breakfast,” I said, and then I took another bite. “I wonder how Emma and Sharon are doing at Donut Hearts this morning?”

  “Why don’t you call them and find out?” Momma suggested.

  I was tempted, but then I realized that it probably wouldn’t be a good time for either one of them to chat. “I would, but they should be in the middle of the school rush right now.”

  “Are your customers really that predictable?” Momma asked me as she took another small bite of her own. She used a dab of syrup that barely covered the pancake, and I wondered why she even bothered. Then again, my mother had always been petite, whereas I tended to err a little on the heavy side of life. Taking another syrup-and-butter-drenched bite, I decided that it was worth the extra calories for the taste alone. If I really wanted to, I could always lose a little weight, but it wasn’t going to be today. At the moment, I needed every bit of nourishment I could get so we could tackle our suspects and see if we could make some progress in finding Aunt Jean’s killer.

  “Suzanne, did you hear what I asked you?” I heard my mother ask, though I didn’t have a clue what the original question might have been.

  “Sorry, I was daydreaming,” I said, not willing to admit to her that I’d been thinking about pancakes while eating pancakes. Even my own mother might think that was a little weird.

  “I asked you if your customers were truly that predictable.”

  “Oh, I heard you. It’s mostly true. I have some customers you can set your watch by, and others who are so erratic that it would drive you mad trying to predict their eating patterns. Still, there are noticeable trends in the day, and Emma and I have learned them through and through by now.”

  As we ate, Momma asked, “So, what’s on our agenda today?”

  “Well, I’ve had some time to think about it, and I believe that we have to treat this investigation as people just wanting help from our suspects making sense of things. Asking them for their assistance should put them off-guard, and that will allow us to ask them some pressing questions while they are under the impression that they are helping us instead.”

  Momma smiled. “That’s an interesting approach, but let me ask you something. Why don’t we just come right out and ask them all if they killed my sister?”

  “Because only a lunatic would admit it, and as far as I’ve been able to tell, none of our suspects are crazy, at least not that crazy,” I said.

  “Does Jake approve of your methodology?” Momma asked me.

  “The inspector approves of results, and I get them this way. It’s important to remember that we can’t make anyone talk to us or answer our questions. All we can do is ask, and nicely, at that.”

  “I see,” Momma s
aid. “It’s a great deal more complicated than just asking direct questions, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes we do that, too,” I said with a smile. “I don’t always know how it is going to work, but we get results, and that’s really all that counts.”

  “You must miss having Grace here with you.”

  I considered her question carefully, and then I admitted, “I always miss her when we’re apart, but I think you’re going to be a fine detective yourself. Remember what you told me when I was a little girl.”

  Momma laughed. “You’re going to have to be a great deal more specific than that, I’m afraid. I told you more things than I can even recall.”

  “Okay, how about this? I’m talking about the times you told me that you learn a great deal more by listening than by talking.”

  “It holds just as true for adults as it does for children.”

  I nodded. “Agreed, but do me a favor. Let me ask the questions, and don’t be in a rush to jump in. It’s amazing what a little silence can do to make someone feel compelled to fill it, especially if they are feeling guilty about something.”

  “That’s another good strategy,” Momma said. “I hate the circumstances, but it’s honestly going to be nice seeing you in action. You’re much more accomplished at this than I’ve ever given you credit for in the past.”

  “You’d better hold onto your praise just yet. We haven’t accomplished anything yet,” I said. “Now is when the real fun begins.”

  “Do you honestly find this entertaining?” Momma asked me, the disapproval clear in her expression as well as her voice.

  “Of course not, at least not the murder part, anyway. Playing cat and mouse with a killer can be intoxicating, and don’t forget, every bad guy and gal we help put away saves the lives of potential future victims.”

  “Well put. So, given your strategy, which name is first on our list of folks we need to interrogate?”

  I was happy that I had an answer ready for her. “I thought we’d give Hank Caldwell a call and see if he can fix my rough patch-job. While he’s here working on site, it will be natural for us to ask him questions about his relationship with Aunt Jean, and if we do it cleverly enough, we might even get an alibi out of him.”

  “Are you always that brazen in your line of questioning?”

  “Oh, I won’t come right out and ask him anything too specific, though Grace and I have been known to do that in the past. There are other ways of getting the information, though.”

  “I look forward to the lesson,” Momma said.

  I pushed my plate away, even though I could probably have eaten another pancake, or maybe even two. “Then why don’t we get started?”

  I called Hank, explained the situation to him, and he agreed to come right over.

  After I hung up, I told Momma, “That particular trap is set now.”

  “And afterwards?” she asked me.

  “We’ll see where things lead us. Sometimes planning too far ahead leaves you missing something important along the way.”

  “Then playing it by ear is what we shall do,” Momma said.

  Chapter 11

  “To be honest with you, I didn’t expect to hear from you ladies so soon,” Hank said with a smile as he came into the house carrying his toolbox in one beefy hand. The box was made from solid oak, dark and scratched with age and definitely showing the beating it had taken over the years.

  “We had to call. We need your help,” Momma said. Okay, that’s what I’d told her to say, but I hadn’t expected her to be quite so literal. It was time to step in and explain.

  “Somebody broke the hasp holding the lock on the bulkhead last night,” I said, “and we were wondering if you could reinforce it somehow to make it more secure.”

  Hank looked surprised. “Are you saying that somebody tried to rob you last night?”

  “It was more like this morning, but honestly, we don’t know why they were here,” I said, not willing to show all of my cards just yet.

  Hank frowned. “Somebody probably heard about what happened to your aunt yesterday, so they decided to see what there was here to steal. Some folks have no respect at all.” He frowned, and then the handyman added, “Are you sure they even had to break the hasp to get in? It hasn’t worked right for years. All it took was one good tug, and the whole thing would practically fly open on its own. I kept telling Jean that she needed to at least replace the hasp and hinges, but she thought I was just being paranoid.”

  “Could you replace them for us now?” Momma asked.

  “I can, and I will be happy to help,” Hank said, and then he started for the basement.

  “I don’t suppose we need to show you the way,” I said as we followed him to the basement door.

  “No, I’ve been in this house a dozen times over the years.”

  “Just a dozen?” Momma asked softly.

  Hank slowly stopped and looked at her for a full moment before he responded. “That sounds about right. Why, have you heard something different?”

  She was into it now, so I decided to stay quiet and see where this led, despite my earlier request to let me lead the interrogation. “I understand that you had more than a professional relationship with my sister,” Momma said evenly, not backing down an inch from his scrutiny. “Is that true?”

  “People around here like to talk,” he said, trying to dismiss her inquiry. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

  I wasn’t about to let him avoid her direct question, though. “You didn’t really answer my mother’s question though, did you? Hank, were you seeing my aunt romantically?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know how romantic it was. Neither one of us was a dewy-eyed kid. Sure, we went out a few times, but it was never anything all that serious between us. When we decided it wasn’t doing much for either one of us, we decided to call it quits with no hard feelings on either side.”

  That wasn’t the way my aunt had portrayed it in her journal, not by a long shot. “When did all of this happen?” I asked him.

  “Well, it wasn’t all that long ago, as a matter of fact,” he said.

  “Still, even though you say that you two agreed to stop seeing each other, you must have taken what happened to her yesterday pretty hard,” Momma said, holding him there with her words as strongly as if she’d grasped his shoulder.

  I was watching Hank’s eyes as she said it, and I could swear that I saw a flash of anger mixed with pain before he masked it. “Truth be told, it wasn’t good news for anybody in Maple Hollow who liked your sister, and that covers just about the entire population,” he said.

  “Sometimes it helps talking about where you were and what you were doing when it happened,” I said as sympathetically as I could manage. It was as subtle a way I could think of to ask someone for their alibi, and it still amazed me how many times it worked.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t pan out this time. Hank slapped his forehead as he said, “You know what? There’s someplace else that I need to be. I completely forgot about Sally Taylor. I was supposed to install her new washing machine hoses the first thing this morning. I got caught up talking to you ladies on the phone and it completely slipped my mind.”

  As Hank started to walk back to the front door, I asked, “What about that hasp and new hinge for our bulkhead door?”

  “I’ll pick some up this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’ll be back again before you know it.” He’d tried to put a light tone in his voice, but he’d only been partially successful. Apparently Momma and I had struck too close to home a time or two with our questions.

  As Hank hurried out the door, we both tried to follow so we could ask him another question or two before he got away, but the man was practically sprinting by the time he hit the porch.

  “Do you think he’ll ever come back after that?” Momma asked me after he’d driven off.

  “I’d say it’s doubtful at this point,” I said with a shrug.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t learn anyt
hing useful,” my mother told me apologetically.

  “On the contrary, I think we learned a lot.”

  She looked at me oddly. “How so?”

  “Think about it. We now know that his public account of the relationship differs quite a bit from Aunt Jean’s. I understand just how much my aunt liked to embellish her stories sometimes, but what she wrote sounded true to the heart to me. If I’m going to take anyone’s word about what happened between the two of them, it’s going to be your sister’s version, and not what the spurned handyman told us.”

  “He did put a rather mild spin on things, didn’t he?” Momma asked.

  “He sure did. I have a hunch that Aunt Jean meant more to him than he was willing to let on to us when we asked him about her. Did you see that flash of hurt in his eyes when he relayed his story about their relationship?”

  “I must have missed it,” Momma said.

  “Well, it wasn’t there for long, but I know that I saw it.”

  “I believe you. So, we got something out of him at least.”

  “More than that, Momma. I found his response to my alibi request most interesting of all. Some folks provide one without question, some admit that they haven’t a clue where they were, but not many take off and run when they’re asked the question.”

  “Does that make him guilty in your mind?” my mother asked.

  “I’m not ready to say anything near that just yet,” I said, “but it certainly gives me pause for thought. Hank Caldwell was hiding something this morning; there’s no doubt in my mind. The question is what? Was he involved in Aunt Jean’s murder, or was he up to something else that he doesn’t want anyone else to know about?”

  “How do we determine that?” Momma asked me.

  “We keep probing, asking questions, sticking our noses where they don’t belong, and generally make pains of ourselves to everyone we suspect. Sooner or later, I have faith that somebody’s going to slip up, or we’ll find a telling clue, or one a dozen other things will happen, and when it does, we’ll be there to nail whoever did it.”