by Jessica Beck
“How do you know all of that?” Emma asked me in wonder.
“Lucky me. I’m the one who found the body,” I admitted.
Emma walked straight to me and hugged me, an awkward move since I was still holding the batter dropper in one hand. “Suzanne, are you okay?”
“I will be. Thanks for asking. You want to call your father, don’t you?” I asked her.
“I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” she said.
“No, go on. He has a right to know. I’ve got to pull these donuts out of the oil and drop in another batch, anyway. Just make sure he pays you a finder’s fee for the story.”
“Oh, Mom will see to that,” Emma said. “Thanks.”
“It’s fine. Now scoot. I have to get back to work.”
“I started to say that I can’t believe you’re making donuts after what just happened, but I realized how foolish it would sound. They take your mind off what you saw, don’t they?”
Emma knew me better than most folks did. I nodded, and she offered me one last look of sympathy before scooting out of the way. I’d let the dropper slip only once since I’d owned the donut shop, but I’d left the indentation in the drywall to remind me of how deadly the tool could be. The raised donuts were cut with aluminum wheel cutters that weighed just a few pounds each, but the dropper could do some serious damage if it hit someone.
After the cake donuts were finished, I called out to Emma, who must have been standing by the kitchen door waiting for my signal. “All clear. Did you call your dad?”
“He should already be over there,” my assistant said with a nod. “Let me get started on those dishes.” As Emma rounded up the things I’d already used, she said, “We don’t have to take our break outside this time if it’s going to bring up bad thoughts for you. I can’t imagine the police leaving the scene any time soon.”
“Thanks for offering, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like as much of our routine to survive as possible.” It was a poor choice of words, saying survive, but I couldn’t take it back. Soon the dough for the yeast donuts was resting, and most of the first round of dishes had been done. I set the timer telling me when it was time to come back to start on the dough again, and Emma and I headed outside after grabbing our coats and a pair of mugs full of hot coffee.
Hopefully, things wouldn’t get any worse than they already were.
But only time would tell.
Chapter 7
Ray Blake was waiting on us the moment we walked outside.
Emma said, “Dad, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the bookstore by now.”
“I couldn’t get anything good out of those guys, so I thought I’d join the two of you. Suzanne, I’d love to hear your firsthand experience about finding the body, but first, is there any chance I might get a cup of that coffee you two are drinking? It’s kind of brisk out this morning.”
I wasn’t in the mood to speak with the newspaperman about what I’d seen, but I couldn’t be blatantly rude to him, especially in front of his daughter.
It turned out that I didn’t have to.
Emma put her cup down on the table and walked toward him. “You need to go.”
Ray looked surprised by his only child’s reaction. “Come on, Emma. Don’t be that way. I’m not hurting anyone here.”
“I called you so I could give you a tip about the murder, not to have you come over here and harass my boss. I meant what I said. Look at my face. Is there any doubt in your mind that I’m serious?”
“It’s okay, Emma,” I said. “You don’t have to protect me.” I didn’t want to cause any trouble between the father and daughter, so if it came right down to it, I’d rather answer Ray’s questions, though it did make me feel good seeing Emma standing up for me. I knew it wasn’t easy for her, and I was proud of her for doing it.
“I know that, but this is out of line, even for him,” she snapped before turning back to her dad. “I mean it. Go.”
“Fine,” Ray said, holding his hands up in the air in his own defense. “I’m just trying to get a story. That’s all. It’s nothing personal.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all personal,” Emma said.
“You don’t have to tell your mother about this, do you?” Ray asked.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do right now,” she replied.
Ray shrugged, shot me a hapless smile, and then went on his way.
“You didn’t have to do that on my account,” I said. “I can handle your father.”
“I understand that, but you shouldn’t have to handle him at all. He has no right taking advantage of the fact that I’m his child.”
“Are you two okay?” I asked her. I’d never seen her take such a strong tone with her father.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Dad should know better, and Mom told me that if he ever got out of line again, it was okay for me to spank him.”
“If you ever decide to do that, I don’t want to be around to see it,” I said with a smile, trying to diffuse the tension.
“I meant it figuratively, not literally,” Emma answered, grinning in return as well. “I don’t care what he does after Donut Hearts is closed for the day, but I won’t have him accosting you during our break.” She took a deep breath, and then she added, “Let’s just forget he even came by, okay? You know what? I love the way the air smells this time of year.”
“I’m a fan myself. I wonder if it’s going to rain.”
Emma took another whiff. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Suzanne, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, taking another sip of coffee.
“This is Emma asking, not Ray’s daughter,” she pushed a little harder. “You can talk to me.”
“I’m so used to denying that I’m having a hard time with something that it’s become a habit for me. Honestly, I’m still a bit shaky,” I admitted. “It’s an awful thing finding a body like that, and I hope it never happens again.”
“You’ve had more than your fair share of it over the past few years, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? Let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we?” I asked her.
“That sounds great to me.”
“I’ve been thinking that it might be time for us to do another promotion at the shop. Things are starting to slow down a little as the weather gets nicer, so we should do something to give our sales a little boost. Do you have any ideas?”
“Boy oh boy, do I ever. Did you know that one of the big donut chains is doing a Pirate Day celebration every year?”
“I read about it online. We can’t copy it, though. It will make us look as though we’re trying too hard.”
“I wasn’t thinking that we should duplicate it, but how about having Halloween in May? Folks who come in dressed up can get a free donut, and we can have a contest for the best costume where the winner gets a dozen donuts on the house.”
“Emma, we don’t even do that much in October when it’s really Halloween,” I reminded her.
“That’s what would make it even quirkier. Okay, if you don’t like that, how about having a contest where our customers come up with their own donut ideas, and we make the winner?”
“That depends. Who gets to pick the winner?”
“We could do a poll at the shop. Something like ‘buy a donut, get a vote.’ It could generate some foot traffic and revenue and give us some fun too, coming up with a way to make the winning treat.”
“I like that a lot,” I said, “and I think the costume party idea in May has potential, too. You’re getting pretty savvy, young lady.”
“I can’t help myself. It’s all of these business classes I’m taking,” she admitted. “Every time I read a case stud
y about something someone has done out in the real world, my thoughts go immediately to how we could apply it to Donut Hearts.”
“I have a feeling I should be contributing to your tuition, since I’m getting such good ideas because of it,” I told her.
“No, ma’am. However, if you feel like bumping my wages a bit, I wouldn’t say no.”
I smiled when I saw her grin after she said it. “Let’s see how your two new promotions go first.”
“It’s a deal,” she said. “I’ve got files and files of ideas, and not just for the donut shop.”
“What else do you have in mind?” I asked her.
“Barton keeps talking about opening a little café someday, and if he decides to ever pull the trigger, I want to be ready to help him make it a success.”
“You two are really getting along quite well, aren’t you?” I asked just as the timer went off.
Emma grinned. “I don’t have to answer that, since I was just saved by the bell.”
“Or the beep,” I replied.
“Whatever,” she answered happily.
She didn’t have to answer; I could see it in her smile.
We walked back into the shop, and after I handed Emma my nearly empty mug to wash, I started in on the next phase of making the yeast donuts. It was a longer process, and once upon a time I’d considered doing the cake and yeast donuts at the same time, but the truth was I wasn’t that big a fan of multitasking, and besides, I only had so many pots and pans. Doing it the way I was doing it now meant that I lost an hour’s sleep every night, but the system was working, so ultimately I’d decided not to change it.
There was a knock on the front door a few hours later, and I wondered who was so eager to speak with me, since we weren’t set to open for a while yet. When I quickly glanced out the front door, I saw the police chief standing there, a grim look on his face if ever there was one.
I opened the door to let him in. “Hey, Chief. You look as though you could use a cup of coffee.”
“I wouldn’t turn one down,” he said with a sigh.
“Have a seat. I’ll go grab you one.”
I poured him a cup and snagged a sour cream donut for him as well. It was his new favorite donut, and it delighted me to find another fan of them. For the hundredth time I thought about changing their name to something more alluring, since sour cream and donuts don’t really seem to go together naturally. The donuts were absolutely delightful.
“On the house,” I said as I slid the coffee and donut in front of him.
“You know me better than that,” he said as he pulled out his wallet and put three ones on the table in front of him. “Keep the change.”
“One of these days I’ll get you to accept something on the house,” I said, ignoring his money.
“Maybe, but that day isn’t today. Thanks for calling the office when you got to the bookstore this morning. I’m just sorry Henry didn’t get there sooner. We’ve already had a chat, so I can promise you that the next time, his response will be quicker than it was this morning, or I’ll know the reason why.”
“It’s okay,” I said, feeling bad for being the reason for Henry’s admonishment.
“No, it’s not,” Chief Grant said, and then he took a long sip of coffee. “That’s exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“I kind of doubt that, but it does hit the spot, doesn’t it?” I glanced over at the bookstore and saw that there were still a few official vehicles parked over there. “Is John’s body still there?” I asked him softly, having a hard time imagining the bookstore without a murder victim in it.
“No, the coroner came by, made a ruling, and the EMTs took him away.” He took a bite of donut and then another sip of coffee before he spoke again. “Evidently it was exactly as it appeared to be. Someone took advantage of that bookend and hit him in the head with it.”
“Did he die instantly?” I asked.
“Why do you want to know that?”
“Don’t play games, Chief, it’s too late, or too early, however you want to look at it. I saw that bloody fingerprint on the book near his right hand, so I know you spotted it, too.”
Chief Grant shrugged. “Sometimes I forget that you’ve got more talents than just making terrific donuts. The current theory is that he wasn’t killed instantly. He most likely only had a few seconds of consciousness before he died. Oh, and about the light. Someone must have flipped the breaker. Either that, or the wiring is bad there, but that seems like a bit much to swallow. Whoever did it didn’t want a casual observer finding the body right away.”
“And yet they left the front door wide open,” I said.
“Maybe they heard a noise, or something else spooked them. Who knows?”
“Do you think there’s any significance to the book the publisher chose?”
“On mushrooms? I highly doubt it. It was more likely that he just grabbed whatever was in reach.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“You have a different theory?”
“I don’t have any ideas yet,” I said.
The chief pushed the plated partial donut away and looked at me wearily. “Suzanne, are you digging into this mess?”
“How can I not, Chief? I found his body. That makes it personal.”
“I get that,” he said. “To be honest with you, it might not be a bad thing if you snooped around a little, as long as you’re circumspect about it.”
“You know me, I’m always discreet,” I said with a grin.
He laughed, but there was a hollow ring to it. “Yeah, right.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me that might help?” I asked.
“Why not? The door lock was intact, so it wasn’t a break-in. I had a man speak with Paige Hill, and she swore the place was locked up when she left, but I’m not so sure, unless someone was hiding in the bathroom waiting for her to leave.”
“That’s possible, you know,” I said.
“I was just kidding,” the chief said.
“What else could it be, though? It’s pretty obvious that John Rumsfield knew his killer, isn’t it? We also know that whoever did it was probably right-handed.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked me, clearly curious about my question and, more importantly, my deduction.
“It would just make sense, wouldn’t it? I saw the angle of impact, it was tough to miss, and it would be difficult to say the least hitting him like that from behind. The publisher must not have been expecting it, since it was a direct hit.”
“And why would the killer be right-handed? Because Rumsfield was hit on the left side of the head. Very good. Yes, we managed to piece that one together ourselves.”
“There’s no shortage of suspects either, is there?” I asked. “It’s a complicated case.”
“We’re putting together a preliminary list, but this is all brand-new to me,” the chief said. “You and Grace were at the panel; none of my people were there. What are your thoughts?”
“Well, from what I’ve read, don’t many writers dislike their publishers?”
“That’s a little nebulous, isn’t it?” the chief asked. “I’m sure that just as many adore their bosses.”
“Maybe in general, but yesterday afternoon, Emma and I heard John Rumsfield arguing with Brad Winslow and Simon Gant. Not only that, but Rumsfield implied that Bev Worthington might have a reason to want him dead as well.”
“Why is that?” the chief asked me, clearly surprised that I had so much to contribute.
“Brad was threatening him about something, and Rumsfield told Simon flatly that he and Bev were on their way out. Not only that, but the publisher approached me about writing a culinary mystery series at the talk. He said he was going to have a hole in his schedule, so I have a feeling that Bev
knew her time was limited as well.”
“The way you tell it, that just leaves Alexa Masters in the clear,” the chief said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I countered. “I just don’t know anything about her yet.”
“Is that it? Paige didn’t have any reason to kill him, did she?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Well, to start with, it happened in her bookstore,” he said.
“What would her motive have been?” I didn’t want to tell him about Paige’s former affair with Brad Winslow, but I really didn’t have any choice. “She used to date Brad, by the way.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” He sounded way too interested in the new information. “Could she have killed the man to protect him?”
“You didn’t see her slap him like we did. I doubt they’re still carrying on, but you never know though, do you?”
“We’ll look into it,” the chief said. “Is that all?”
“Yes. No,” I added quickly, suddenly remembering another encounter I’d had the evening before.
“Well, make up your mind. Which is it, yes or no?”
“Could I go with a maybe instead? Abner Mason was at the signing,” I told him.
“So? I know the man’s a little odd, but that doesn’t make him a killer.”
“No, but he had a manuscript on him that he was going to show the writers on the panel. What if he found out that the publisher himself was there last night? If they had a fight, Abner might have taken the rejection personally. You should have seen him talking about his book. He was almost irrational when he told me about it. You might want to talk to him, just in case.”
“My, you’ve been busy, haven’t you? I can see that you have your teeth into this. Are you going to drag Grace into your investigation as well?”
