by Jessica Beck
“What’s wrong? Did you forget to turn the fryer off or something?” he asked with a smile.
“Don’t even tease about that. At the worst, it might burn the place down, but even if nothing catastrophic happened, the gas bill would be too painful to bear.”
“Sorry. Seriously though, what did you forget?”
“Do you remember the envelope Jasper gave me yesterday?” I asked him as he pulled the truck into a spot up front. “I told you about it last night.”
“Sure. I remember,” he said, his voice wavering a bit as he spoke.
“Tell the truth,” I pushed him.
“It might have slipped past me, but in my defense, I’d had a long day. What was in it?”
“That’s what I mean to find out,” I said as I unlocked the door and walked into the donut shop.
As he followed me inside, my husband asked me, “Are you telling me that you didn’t even open it?”
“No. He asked me not to until the day he died. The truth is, I thought I’d have a lot more time before I had to read it. Jake, is it possible that Jasper had some kind of inkling that he was about to be murdered?” I asked him as I searched for my apron. Where was it? I distinctly remembered throwing it on the counter as I was leaving, but it wasn’t there.
“Suzanne, Jasper gathered together three family members who didn’t care for him and a partner who threatened to kill him on multiple occasions. I don’t think it took any clairvoyance on his part to figure out that he might not make it through the night.”
“Maybe not, but I still want to see what he wrote,” I said. Could I have put it on my desk in back without realizing what I was doing? I had been preoccupied with completing the extra donut order. Maybe I was slipping. “It’s not here, either,” I said after I checked and failed yet again to find it.
“The letter?” Jake asked.
“Yes, but my apron’s gone, too. Jake, somebody broke in here and stole them both.”
“Hang on. Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet,” Jake said. “Let’s look at this rationally.”
“How am I not doing that now? I’m positive I left my apron here when we left after loading up the donuts, and yet now it has vanished, including the letter Jasper wrote me tucked into one of the pockets. How much more logical than that do I need to be?”
Jake shrugged as he moved to the front door again. After examining it closely, he frowned at me and said, “There’s no sign of tampering.”
“Could the thief have broken in without you seeing any traces of what he’d done?” I asked. After all, it happened enough in the mysteries I read with my book club.
“That’s just fiction,” Jake answered. “It would take a world-class locksmith to break into this place without leaving some sign of it behind. Besides, picking a lock isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies.”
“Have you ever picked one yourself?” I asked him.
He nodded as he admitted grudgingly, “We were taught how to do it at the academy.”
“Did you ever use it in the field?”
Instead of answering me directly, Jake just shrugged. When he didn’t add any further details, I thought about pushing him, but Jake could be surprisingly reticent at times about his past in law enforcement.
“So, whoever stole it must have had access to a key,” I said.
“Call Emma,” he told me. “Maybe she knows what’s going on.”
I dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. Then I called her parents’ house to see where she might be. That letter could be extremely important in finding out who had killed Jasper, and I wasn’t about to rest until I knew where it was.
“Hey, Sharon,” I said when Emma’s mother answered. I was more than a little relieved that it hadn’t been Ray. I would give him the promised report eventually, and the photos Jake had taken as well, but I didn’t want to deal with the newspaperman at the moment. “Is Emma around, by any chance?”
“No, she’s off with Barton,” Sharon said. “I don’t know when she’ll be back. Did you try calling her on her cell phone?”
“It went straight to voicemail,” I admitted.
“Well, the two of them probably didn’t even hear it ringing. They’ve been working every spare hour they can find planning Barton’s pop-up restaurant.”
“What do you think about their relationship?” I asked her. It might have been a nosy question coming from someone else—actually it was nosy coming from me—but I wanted to know what Sharon thought.
“I think they’re good for each other,” Sharon said. “What do you think?” she asked me in return.
“I agree with you,” I said.
“Good. I’m sure Emma will be relieved to learn that we both approve,” Sharon replied. Before I could protest that might not be the best idea telling her, she added, “I’m just kidding, Suzanne. I’m not entirely sure that either of our opinions matter, so I’m doing my best to stay out of it and let them find their own way.”
“That sounds like a solid plan to me,” I said. “Listen, could you have her call me when she gets in? It doesn’t matter what time it is.”
“Is something wrong?” Sharon asked, her voice suddenly filled with concern.
“I just need to ask her something, but it can wait,” I replied. There was no use involving more people in my quest than I had to.
“Okay then. I’ll leave her a note, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll see it.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, and then I hung up. “Sharon said that Emma was with Barton.”
“Did I just hear you two discussing that poor girl’s relationship?” Jake asked me.
“I was just curious about what she thought of it,” I admitted.
“I take it you both approve,” Jake replied.
“Yes, but we’re not telling Emma that,” I said as I started searching the donut shop again. It was amazing how many places the apron wasn’t as I looked, and Jake even pitched in himself.
“That’s odd,” he said after we’d concluded that the apron was gone.
“What’s that?”
“Shouldn’t Emma’s apron be here, too?” he asked me.
It hadn’t even occurred to me that hers was missing as well. So was Sharon’s for that matter. “Do we have an apron thief on our hands?” I asked him.
“It appears so,” Jake said. “Searching the place again isn’t going to do us any good. Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll crack the case and solve the mystery sooner or later.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “Let’s lock up and head home.”
“You mean the Boxcar Grill, right?” Jake reminded me.
In my frantic search for my apron, I’d forgotten all about our plans to eat at the grill and speak with Trish about her lottery ticket dilemma. “That’s exactly what I mean. Let’s just leave the truck here and walk across the street,” I suggested.
“Sounds good to me. That will give me a chance to work up an appetite.”
I laughed at my husband’s suggestion. “It’s not that far a walk, you know.”
“Hey, every step counts,” he replied.
The diner was half full when we walked in, and Trish sported a frown, at least until she saw us. “Come on in. Pick any seat.”
“What happened to the crowd of customers you had before?” I asked her.
“Once they found out that I wasn’t giving food away anymore, they seemed to have all lost interest,” she answered.
“Any word on the ticket status yet?” I asked her.
“Your mom’s attorney is coming by tomorrow to talk to me,” Trish said. “I’m beginning to think I should give it back to its rightful owner, no matter what the lawyer says.”
“Why would you do that?” Jake asked. “
It was your tip, so I’d think that would make it yours.”
“If he really meant to leave it at all,” Trish said. “I’m just not sure I want something not willingly given to me, you know?”
“I get that, but don’t make any decisions until you speak with the attorney,” I said. “What’s the special tonight?”
“Hilda and Gladys aren’t too happy with me, as you might imagine. They’ve both suddenly realized that they may be out of work if this win is real. Why that didn’t occur to them before is beyond me, but what are you going to do?” Trish asked, naming the two women who did the majority of the cooking at the Boxcar Grill. Though they were rarely seen by the customers, I knew firsthand how important they both were to the place’s well-being. “The truth is, they made a noxious stew that people keep sending back. If I were you, I’d stick with burgers and fries. Those should at least be safe.”
“Consider our arms twisted. We’ll have burgers and fries,” Jake said. “Don’t worry. They’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” Trish said.
Jake and I found a table, and soon our food was delivered.
“Should we trust these?” I asked Trish as she delivered our plates.
“I told them it was for you, so you should be fine,” Trish said. “I, on the other hand, will be eating at home until this is resolved. I’m not saying that they’d poison me, but why take the chance?” She grinned as she said it, but I had to wonder just how badly the cooks were taking the news that she might be shutting the place down.
After we’d had a few bites, I looked at Jake and asked softly, “Is it me, or is this lacking something?”
“It’s not just you,” he agreed. “The cooks may claim they are fine with us, but I’m not so sure. Should we just leave it and eat at home after all?”
“No, I don’t want to hurt Trish’s feelings,” I said as I handed him the catsup bottle. “Soldier on.”
“I will if you will,” Jake said. He poured a healthy amount of catsup onto his plate, and then he handed the bottle back to me. I drowned my burger and fries in the catsup, and we both managed to get through most of the meal. In all honesty, it was probably on par with most fast food restaurants, but I held the Boxcar Grill to a higher standard than that. I hoped Trish had the ticket issue settled one way or another soon, or Jake and I were going to have to start eating at home more.
Chapter 11
As I was getting out of Jake’s truck back at the cottage, my cell phone began to ring. Hoping it was Emma, I grabbed it without even checking the caller ID.
That turned out to be a mistake.
“Suzanne, why haven’t you called me?” Ray Blake asked angrily the moment after I answered.
“Things have been kind of crazy, as I’m sure you can understand,” I said. “I’m assuming you heard what happened to Jasper?”
“Of course I heard. Please tell me that you at least got a shot of the crime scene.”
“I tried, but my hands might have been shaking. I can’t make any promises,” I said as Jake started grinning.
“No matter. I’ll be over in four minutes to get my camera,” Ray said, and then he hung up on me before I had a chance to protest his visiting us.
“He’s coming over,” I said as I put my phone away.
“Here? Now?” Jake asked, clearly unhappy about the newspaperman’s plan as well.
“Sorry. I tried to stop him, but he hung up on me before I could tell him not to come.”
“Let’s go inside,” Jake said as he rushed for the door.
“What are we going to do, barricade ourselves in?” I asked him as I trotted behind him.
“That’s a thought, but I want to download those shots onto my computer and delete anything that might hurt Jasper’s memory before Ray gets here,” he said.
“That’s sweet of you, but he’s long past caring now,” I told him.
“Still, we owe him at least that much,” Jake said as he pulled out his laptop and started it up. As he scanned through the photos he’d taken while he was waiting, I said, “You’re going to copy those to your computer, right?”
“You bet I am,” Jake said. My husband was pretty tech savvy, even more so than I was, so I was glad he was handling that.
“Is there anything we need to delete?” I asked as we looked at the pictures en masse.
“No, these all look fairly harmless to me,” he said. After Jake finished loading the images in question, he pulled the card out of his computer reader and slapped it back into the camera.
“Just in time, too,” I said as I heard a car pull up outside. “Let me have it.”
“I’m not even sure we should give it back to him,” Jake said with a frown.
“We don’t have much choice. An agreement is an agreement,” I said. “Besides, he gave me some useful information earlier about Jasper’s family and friends.”
“If you can call them that,” Jake said.
Ray started pounding on the door and ringing the bell at the same time. I expected my husband to blow up, but instead, he was smiling. “What’s so funny?”
“I say we let him wear himself out before we answer the door,” Jake replied.
“I would, but I’m already starting to get a headache from all of the noise.” I walked to the door, but before I opened it, in an impish moment I called out, “Who is it?”
“Suzanne Hart, you know full well who it is,” Ray said heatedly. “Open this blasted door and let me in this instant!”
Jake gently moved me aside, and then he opened the door himself. “Ray, you need to take a breath and settle down before you say something you’re going to regret,” Jake said in a soft voice that was scary nonetheless.
“Sorry,” Ray said, doing an immediate turnabout. “Do you have my camera?” he asked gently as he held out his hand.
I gave it to him. “Like I said, don’t expect much. Things were kind of crazy this afternoon.”
“Did you at least get a shot of the body?” he asked, fairly panting in anticipation of my response.
I had, but not with his camera. “Sorry. I don’t think so. There wasn’t much time, you see. We were thrown out almost as soon as we found him,” I said, which wasn’t completely true.
“I understand,” Ray said, though his expression showed that he was clearly unhappy with the news. “Tell me about it.”
“Ray, can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Jake asked.
“Sorry, but I’m running a special edition in the morning. As it is, I’ll be up all night putting it together.” It was clear that this was one of those situations the man lived for despite his protests to the contrary.
“It’s all right. We can take a minute and tell him what happened,” I told Jake.
“Okay, but you’ve got four minutes, and not a second more,” my husband told Ray.
The newspaperman was about to protest, but he must have read my husband’s body language, because he quickly agreed to the new conditions.
We all moved into the living room, but I didn’t offer the newsman coffee, or any other beverage, for that matter. This wasn’t a social call. Ray took out a tape recorder, and to my surprise, Jake produced one himself.
“Are you taping this, too?” Ray asked him, clearly not happy about seeing another recorder besides the one he’d brought.
“I just want to be sure that there’s no confusion later about what is being said here tonight,” Jake said. “You don’t mind, do you?”
It was clear the journalist would have rather eaten a live worm, but he reluctantly nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Jake and I told our stories, hitting just the highlighted facts and including absolutely none of our speculations. Ray kept probing us for more details, but Jake and I held firm to our b
are-minimalist retelling. After being asked the same leading questions three different ways, Jake stood, shut off his recorder, and said, “That’s it. Time’s up.”
Ray glanced at his watch. “But I have one more minute.”
“Then ask us an original question,” Jake said as he turned his recorder back on.
“Who do you think killed Jasper Finney?”
“We don’t know,” Jake said abruptly.
“Suzanne? Surely you must have a theory of your own.”
I didn’t, at least not yet, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
“Are you telling me that you’re not going to investigate this murder on your own?” Ray asked. He then kept his mouth shut, waiting for me to reply.
I knew that trick though. I didn’t even shake my head. I just sat there until Jake announced, “And now your time is officially up.”
“Thanks for everything,” Ray said, though he didn’t sound very sincere at all.
“Hey, a deal’s a deal,” I said. “Do you happen to know where Emma is right now?”
“With that chef kid,” Ray replied. It was obvious that he didn’t share his wife’s view of their daughter’s relationship.
“Don’t you care for Barton?” I asked him, honestly curious about it.
“He’s okay, I guess,” Ray said as he put his recorder away and headed for the door. “If your dad was still around, he’d tell you the same thing. No man ever born would be good enough for his daughter.”
“I don’t know. I have a hunch that he would have approved of Jake,” I said.
“You never know,” Ray said with a shrug. “Maybe you’re right.”
As the newspaperman headed for the door, Jake surprised me by saying, “You should give him a chance. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, I probably should, but I don’t know if I can,” Ray said with a shrug.
