Dying for a Donut (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 5)

by Cindy Sample

  “Huh?” she said. Her face looked puzzled before recognition set in. “Oh, you’re Virginia’s granddaughter, the banker detective. How’s that going for you?”

  So far, the most positive result of my investigation was a concussion and two cracked ribs. Not much to brag about.

  Then it dawned on me that Vanna was the second woman I’d noticed conversing with Lionel. “Are you getting a loan from Lionel Nelson at Aces Financial Group?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “That man with the silver pompadour.” I pointed toward the tasting room where I’d seen them talking earlier.

  “Oh, him. He’s a lender?”

  I nodded and she muttered an oath. “Shoot, wish I’d known that. I got rejected by Sierra Mountain Lending, so I could’ve hit him up for a loan. He stopped me to ask if I knew of a decent motel in town.”

  Interesting. Vanna gave me the names of the two motels she’d mentioned to him, and I promised her that if I tracked him down I’d have him call her about a loan. She seemed satisfied with my assistance and walked off smiling. I decided not to tell her that with the information she’d shared with me, my goal was to secure him overnight accommodations in the county jail. I left a message on Tom’s cell that one of his “rats” was in the hood and to call me back ASAP.

  With the entertainment and commemoration ceremony over, most of the attendees began to depart. Liz and Adriana stood with Serenity by the buffet table. I strolled over to see if there was anything further I could do. Since Liz and Brian drove me here, I couldn’t go home until they were ready to leave.

  I complimented Serenity on the cuisine. She smiled with relief and mumbled a weary thanks.

  “Can I help with the cleanup?” I asked Liz, praying the answer would be a negative.

  She yawned. “I am absolutely knackered, but we should be able to leave in a bit.”

  “Great. I’ll make a pit stop first.”

  “I’ll come with. I’ve been too busy all night to use the loo.”

  A line of attendees stood in front of the three Porta Potties, so we joined them. Traffic in and out of the first two units moved at a speedy pace, but the third one remained shut.

  “Do you think someone accidentally locked the door before they exited?” I asked Liz.

  “That would be bloody stupid, but let’s go check. My bladder is about to explode.”

  We approached the last unit. I knocked on the door but heard nothing in response.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Liz called out, “Anyone on the pot in there?”

  No one replied so I assumed the door must be stuck. I yanked on the handle, and the door flew open.

  I stared into the wide open eyes of Lionel-the-lender. He looked surprised. Almost as stunned as I was to find him in there. It was so dark inside the portable toilet that it took me a second to register one additional surprise.

  A bullet hole between his eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  I jumped back and landed squarely on Liz’s beaded flip flop.

  “Ouch,” she cried out. “Watch what you’re…” Her words trailed off as I moved to the side giving her a ringside view.

  “Crap,” she said.

  A line formed behind us.

  “What’s the holdup?” yelled someone.

  “Hurry up,” a male beer-infused voice jumped in. “Either shit or get off the pot.”

  “Sshh,” admonished a softer feminine voice, “maybe he’s constipated.”

  I reached for the door, slammed it shut and faced the small crowd. “Sorry, everyone. Party’s over. Please head to your cars.”

  “And drive safely,” Liz amended. She whispered in my ear, “What should we do?”

  “Get Brian and Walter. I’ll call 911.”

  I reached into my purse, and it rang just as I grabbed hold of it. Perfect timing.

  “Hon, I got your message,” Tom’s deep voice rang out, although I could sense an undercurrent of fatigue. “So you know where this Lionel is right now?”

  I nodded then realized we weren’t on face time. “Yep. I sure do.”

  “Do you think you can keep him occupied until I can get a deputy there?”

  I peered over my shoulder at the Porta Potty. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “That’s my girl.” He chuckled. “Now, the only hitch we have is that no one recognizes the name Lionel Nelson. We think he’s using an alias for his finance company work. Any way you can snap a picture of him when he’s not looking and send it on to me?”

  Ick and double ick.

  “There’s something I need to mention about, um, Lionel.” I blurted out the loan officer’s current status in all of its disgusting detail.

  It took Tom so long to respond I thought we’d lost our connection. He cleared his throat. “I suppose that will make him less likely to object to you taking a photo.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Hold on.” I held my breath, opened the door and aimed my iPhone at Lionel. His head listed to the left, but we weren’t going for any prizes at this point. I swatted at a few bottlenose flies swirling above his still luxuriant pompadour.

  I slammed the door shut and texted the photos to Tom.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I owe you.”

  “Yes, you do.” I was interrupted when Brian, Walter and Liz walked up. I told Brian that Tom was on the phone and handed it over to him.

  “We got a dead guy in the john?” Walter huffed and puffed. “What happened?”

  At first, I was startled by his question then I realized Liz had no idea who occupied the portable toilet. Walter took matters into his own hands and threw open the door. The stench, which had not improved in the last five minutes, almost blew me away.

  “Hell’s bells,” Walter swore. “Now why did Lionel have to go and get himself shot?”

  Wasn’t that the question of the hour?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  By the time the detectives cordoned off the crime scene, most of the gala attendees had vanished, with the exception of the weary party planners, catering company staff and the owner of Valley View Vineyard and Orchard.

  “If you two hadn’t forced your way into that Porta Potty, we’d be home by now.” Adriana grumbled.

  Liz and I sent shocked looks to her.

  “Hey, my job is to plan parties, not solve mysteries.” Adriana frowned at her feet where two noticeable blisters stared back at her. “I could have been soaking these babies in my Jacuzzi.”

  “A man has been murdered, Adriana,” I said.

  She shrugged. “You said he was a lowlife money launderer. He probably had it coming.”

  “Even a low life deserves his day in court,” said Brian as he joined us at the table. “It’s my job to put him away.”

  Liz leaned over and nibbled on Brian’s ear. “Can we go, Sweetcakes?”

  If it would get me home quicker, I’d be happy to nibble on Sweetcakes’ other ear.

  “Soon,” he said. “Since most folks had already left by the time you found him, the detectives want a list of attendees. I assume one of you has that information?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Adriana said. “They think one of the people attending the gala offed this creep? Isn’t it obvious it was a mob hit?”

  “I didn’t realize you were an expert on crime families,” I said to her.

  “I watch television now and then,” she said defensively. “You learn stuff.”

  From what I’d gathered from Tom, the stuff on TV was usually wrong. But she had a point.

  “Adriana is right. The shooter could have entered from anywhere on the property. They didn’t need to check in at the entrance.”

  Brian swiped a hand over his brow. “That’s why two members of the task force are driving here later tonight.”

  My heart soared at his words. “Anyone I know?”

  He winked. “I guess you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  I was still waiting to find out if Tom was on his way when my alarm rang at
4:30 a.m. I hit the snooze button wondering why my clock radio went off when it was dark outside.

  Then I remembered. Today was the bicycle race. Gran and I had both agreed to help at the Apple Tree Farm bakery this morning. Between worrying about Tony’s incarceration and her exam, Jenna had become sniffly and sick yesterday. Her germs didn’t need to be shared with the hundreds of people participating in today’s race.

  Because the participants in the annual bicycle race needed to sign in before the nine a.m. start time, Dorie and Nina expected hordes of donut-eating cyclists before and after the race.

  I was so exhausted from helping with the gala that I was afraid I’d fall asleep on my feet and land headfirst in the fryer, turning into a gigantic Laurel fritter.

  My shower helped, especially after I turned on the wrong faucet. Nothing like a cold blast of water to get the gray cells percolating. I downed two cups of coffee while blow-drying my hair and contemplated the mystery of last night’s shooting.

  Despite the fact the man was shot “execution style,” and that some of his criminal accomplices may have wanted him out of the picture, a number of local attendees were acquainted with Lionel. Would any of them benefit from his death?

  Walter was anxious to purchase Apple Tree Farm. Dorie and Paul were equally enthusiastic about selling the property to him. But the financial brouhaha that ensued after the task force took down the money laundering drug dealers might have put a crimp in their plans. If Lionel disappeared, would the loan also vanish from the books?

  Serenity could have stepped away from the buffet and shot him. Brooke and Brent were also present at the gala, but they had no motives for killing him other than he was icky. I’d seen Nina speaking with him, but they most likely were discussing her bakery operation.

  Maybe Vanna tracked him down, and he rejected her loan request. I couldn’t see Vanna shooting Lionel though. She was far more likely to whack him with one of her metal weather vanes.

  With my head reeling from too little sleep and too much caffeine, I started the car and backed it out of the garage, thinking how glad I’d be when this day was over.

  Truer words were never spoken.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Despite eating my weight in donuts over the years, I’d never attempted to make any myself. Now I knew the secret, which I planned to take to my grave.

  I discovered donut making was not for the weak of heart or biceps. Gran, however, excelled at kneading dough, Nina could flip donuts in and out of the fryer in a blink of an eye, and Dorie frosted like Betty Crocker’s twin sister.

  After flunking all the culinary tasks assigned to me, we discovered that I possessed one useful skillset. I could compute change without the help of the register, and when I occasionally ran out of dollar bills, could talk customers into buying more donuts.

  Counter duty provided one positive aspect: the opportunity to view male customers in their cute bicycle shorts. Contrary to Brian’s optimistic remark the previous evening, Tom did not appear on my doorstep or anywhere else this morning. I could gawk away at muscled cyclists until he did.

  While I considered myself a discreet ogler, several men openly checked out a newcomer as she walked in. Brooke’s turquoise shorts exposed firm, shapely legs and muscular calves. Her sleeveless top displayed well-defined biceps.

  Hank, by comparison, looked a tad out of shape in a too small tee shirt and bike shorts. I doubted any female gawkers would be ogling him anytime soon.

  “What are you doing behind the counter?” Hank asked me. “Isn’t Jenna here today? How did her test go?”

  “She’s feeling under the weather, so Nina talked Gran and me into helping out,” I said. “I didn’t realize you two were registered for the race.”

  “Brooke’s quite the athlete.” Hank shot an admiring look at his girlfriend. “She used to be a dancer, so she’s very limber.”

  Brooke elbowed Hank. “You look tired, Laurel. Did you have to stay late cleaning up after the gala?” she asked.

  I was about to disclose the exact details of my horrid clean up duty when I remembered the public might not be aware of what occurred at Valley View late last night. The Sheriff’s Office had ordered Walter to close the winery today, but they’d only taped off the immediate area around the Porta Potties. Since the discovery occurred so late Saturday night, the murder didn’t make it into any of the morning papers.

  “Late night, early morning. What can I get you two?”

  “Just a water bottle for me,” Brooke replied.

  “A fritter to go,” Hank said. “A little energy boost for the road.”

  I handed Brooke her water and gave Hank his sugary breakfast. While he reached for his wallet, Brooke told him she needed to stow her purse in the car. My eyes moved over to the black leather shoulder bag she wore hooked over her right shoulder.

  “Did you buy that purse from Glenda?” I chuckled, remembering my conversation with the vivacious saleswoman. “I bet she asked you the size and caliber of your gun before she sold it to you.”

  Brooke looked taken aback by my question. She mumbled something to Hank and then disappeared.

  “Did I offend her?” I asked Hank. Not everyone gets my sense of humor.

  He shrugged. “Women. Can’t live without them. Can’t understand them. See you after the race. I’ll need to restock by then.”

  Hank took off after Brooke, and for the next few minutes I stuffed pastries in bags and dollar bills in the register.

  At ten minutes to eight, a bullhorn sounded. The few remaining customers left for their two-wheeled vehicles, leaving the bakery gloriously empty. Nina came over and hugged me.

  “Laurel, we couldn’t have handled that mob without you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I was so busy I didn’t even have time to pee.”

  She laughed and told me to attend to business. After last night’s misadventure, I decided to stay away from the temporary facilities they’d brought in for the event and use the regular restrooms.

  On my way, I walked past Glenda’s booth. Despite my frazzled appearance and flour-coated apparel, she recognized me.

  “Hey, it’s Laurel, right?” she asked. “Did you bring your gun today?”

  “Sorry. I left my artillery at home.”

  She shook her head, her golden pageboy swinging back and forth. “These days, it’s not safe to walk around without protection. You never know who could be lurking behind a bush or apple tree.”

  Or in a Porta Potty.

  I reached for the purse I’d admired during my last visit, an exact duplicate of the one Brooke carried this morning. “Is this a popular model? A friend of mine, Brooke Martin, has one just like it.”

  “You know Brooke? She’s my CPA.” Glenda smiled. “She lets me pay her bill in leather goods.”

  So that explained it. Just because she owned a pistol-packing purse didn’t mean Brooke carried a gun with her.

  “That girl could shoot a sequin off my tee shirt from fifty yards using that Glock of hers,” Glenda said. “You been out to the range with her yet?”

  Nope. I stayed away from them whenever possible, shooting ranges as well as kitchen ranges.

  I promised Glenda I’d return next time with my weapon in hand. She’d given me much to think about. Hank planned on proposing to Brooke in the near future. Was he aware of her sharpshooting ability? Did I want a Glock-toting CPA as my kids’ stepmother? No, I did not, but how much input would I have in that decision? My stomach clenched as I worried about my children’s future.

  My own purse beeped. I reached in and snagged my cell. Tom, finally.

  “Are you on your way here?” I asked.

  “Shortly. It took longer than anticipated to get a search warrant for all of the Aces Financial Group’s records. I’ve been going through Lionel’s loan files,” he said. “When I finally found the Apple Tree file, I discovered a small manila envelope tucked into the back. It was filled with nude photos of a woman, probably taken a decade a
go or longer.”

  “I underwrote loans for a living. Nude photos are not standard loan documentation. Do you have any idea who the woman is?”

  “That’s where I was hoping you could help since you’re familiar with the Thorson family. Can I shoot a couple of them to you?”

  Ew. Well, looking at photos of a naked woman certainly wasn’t as bad as snapping photos of the dead lender last night.

  “Sure. Send them over,” I agreed, wondering if the photos were of Dorie Thorson. Who else’s photos would be stuck in the Apple Tree loan file?

  A second later my phone pinged answering that question.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  “Good grief,” I said to Tom. “That looks like a young Brooke Martin, Hank’s future fiancé.”

  “There’s another photo of the same woman dressed provocatively, standing next to the head of the drug ring we just took down. I think there’s a strong possibility that Hank’s future fiancée was a former escort.”

  “Brooke is, I mean was, Axel’s CPA. Lionel could have recognized her name on the financial statements, or seen her photo on her website,” I said. “I wonder if he was blackmailing her.”

  “Anything is possible with these scumbags.”

  “I doubt if Brooke’s more conservative clients would approve of her earlier job experience.”

  “They’d be even less likely to approve of nude photos of their CPA posted online,” Tom added. “I need to interview her. I’m leaving right now.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Besides that.”

  “Do you know where I can find her?”

  “I saw both her and Hank this morning. They signed up for the race, so they’re somewhere on the streets of Camino. They should return to Apple Tree Farm within the next hour or so.”

  “Great. Now promise me you won’t attempt to interrogate her first.”

  The image of the dead lender popped into my head making my reply a no-brainer.