What does the proprietor of a donut shop do in an awkward situation? I offered, “Would you like a donut, Randy?”
Flashing me one of his adorable grins, he chose a plain unraised donut sprinkled with a blend of confectioners’ sugar and nutmeg. “Great! And you have my favorite kind.”
Yvonne stared at him like she was mentally preparing to snap handcuffs on him.
What was she thinking? If Randy was the one who had shoved plain unraised donuts sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar and nutmeg onto that doll’s legs, would he have admitted that they were his favorites?
In a few bites, he demolished the donut. He held out the plastic grocery bag. “Aunt Lois, did you make a baby dress and leave it in my car? Only it looks too small for a baby.”
Lois jumped to her feet and waved her hands like someone trying to stop a runaway train. “No, no!” She reached for the bag, but Randy didn’t seem to notice her frantic gestures.
He pulled a pink and black crocheted dress out of the bag. The dress was sized to fit the top of a teen doll, with a Gone with the Wind style of skirt that would cover a roll of toilet paper.
Judging by the way Lois’s legs seemed to buckle, making her fall backward onto her couch, that dress was the one she’d crocheted for Georgia, to match Georgia’s pink and black bathroom.
Chapter 28
I caught a glimpse of reddish-brown smears on the tiny, hoop-skirted dress. Bloodstains?
I didn’t remember seeing blood in Georgia’s kitchen when we discovered her body. Maybe this wasn’t the dress that might have gone missing from Georgia’s house.
Passenmath’s eyes became like black marbles, shiny and unforgiving. “Where did you get that thing?” she snapped.
Randy shot her a smile that looked totally innocent. “It was in my car. Aunt Lois sometimes makes things like it, so I thought that maybe she left it there and would want it back.”
Lois’s face became greenish. “I must have left it in your car.” Her voice was wispy. Dep jumped onto the couch and rubbed her head against Lois’s arm. Lois didn’t seem to notice.
Passenmath ordered Brent, “Bring this man in for questioning.”
“That’s not entirely feasible.” Brent’s face was almost totally expressionless. “I arrived on foot.”
“On foot!” Passenmath’s cheeks bulged as if steam were building behind them.
Brent pulled out his phone and called for a patrol car. Maybe Misty would show up and tilt the balance toward normal.
Holding the white plastic bag in one hand and the crocheted dress in the other, Randy looked totally bewildered. “Why?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Passenmath barked, “Drop those two items, raise your hands above your head, and then do not move.”
Without a word, Randy obeyed. He still looked baffled. His shirt sleeve slid down, revealing both the A and the D of his B.A.D. tattoo.
Randy and Lois both seemed incapable of speech. I asked the question that they probably should have been asking. “Is Randy under arrest?”
“Not yet,” Passenmath retorted, “but he will be if he doesn’t cooperate, and so will you, Ms. Westhill.” Without taking her eyes off Randy, she bobbed her head toward Lois. “And you, too, Ms. . . . um.”
Although she was threatening to arrest all three of us, I had to speak in Randy’s defense. “Randy can’t have murdered Georgia. If he had, he would not have taken that dress out of that bag when two detectives were watching.”
“I told you to be quiet, Ms. Westhill.” She hadn’t, but I decided not to argue. Besides, Brent had laid a quelling hand on my wrist.
I’d have expected Passenmath to be pleased that Brent looked ready to subdue me. Instead, she snarled, “Don’t manhandle the suspects, Fyne. Next thing you know, they’ll be charging you with police brutality.”
The suspects. Brent squeezed my wrist and then let go.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Randy begged. His hands were still above his head. The arms of a less fit man would be shaking.
Passenmath’s voice was hard and cold. “You’re either coming willingly for questioning about the deaths of Matthias Treetor and Georgia Treetor, or I’ll arrest you.”
Dep jumped off the couch and stalked toward Lois’s dining room.
Randy closed his eyes tight for a moment and then opened them. “Matthias and Georgia? I would never—”
Lois stood up. “Randy did not kill either one of them. I know because I did. I killed them, both of them.”
Randy’s nostrils flared, his face reddened, and his mouth distorted. He obviously had not entirely discarded his famous hair-trigger temper. “You did not, Aunt Lois. I didn’t, either, so there’s no need for you to make false confessions. We both . . .” His voice cracked. “Loved both of them.”
Passenmath took a few steps toward Randy until she was almost nose to shirt pocket. “And you and your aunt are both coming to headquarters for questioning.” Without taking her eyes off Randy, she demanded, “Fyne, call for another couple of patrolmen and another cruiser.” As soon as Brent ended the call, Passenmath accused, “I suppose you don’t have your cuffs with you, Fyne.”
“We haven’t placed anyone under arrest.”
Again, I couldn’t stand by quietly and allow injustice to happen. “Besides, it’s not necessary.”
Passenmath growled, “You want to come, too, Westhill?”
“Sorry, Detective Passenmath.” My singsong response bordered on sassy. Passenmath glared.
Lois asked Passenmath, “May I get my purse and lock up before I go, Detective?”
Brent answered, “Tell me where to find your purse. I’ll get it.”
“It’s on the kitchen table,” she said.
Passenmath widened her stance. “Check it for weapons before you give it to her.”
Brent strode out of the living room, leaving Randy, Lois, and me skewered by Passenmath’s glare. I couldn’t believe this was happening—to Randy, to Lois, and to me. I was innocent, and I was certain that the other two were, also.
His mouth thin, Brent returned and handed Lois her purse. “Your back door and windows are locked.”
“Thank you, Detective Fyne.” Why was Lois being formal? Was she blaming Brent, or trying to show Passenmath that she didn’t expect favors from Brent despite the evenings that the three of us had spent together recently? Maybe she had caught on that our apparent friendship with Brent was making Passenmath angrier and more difficult.
Two uniformed officers, neither of them Misty, arrived. Passenmath directed each of them to take one of the Unter-laws to police headquarters. All of us, including Dep on her leash, went outside. It was only dusk, but streetlights were on. A small gray car was parked behind Lois’s van in her driveway. It looked a lot like Georgia’s car, and had to be Randy’s. Sympathy for both Randy and Lois pricked at my heart. They would be worried and uncertain. Under Brent’s careful scrutiny, Lois locked her front door.
“I’ll meet you there.” I wasn’t sure if Brent was addressing Passenmath, Randy, or Lois.
“No need.” I heard derision in Passenmath’s voice. “You’re off duty and on foot.”
From Lois’s front walk, Brent and I watched Passenmath help the officers place Randy in the back seat of one cruiser and Lois in the back seat of the other. Passenmath got into an unmarked car and attempted a fast U-turn, but the street was narrow, with cars parked on both sides, and she needed two back-ups before she roared off.
The two cruisers, their drivers waving lazily at Brent, followed at a more sedate pace.
Brent shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I’ll walk you home, Em.” He sounded as dejected as he looked, and as I felt.
“Despite what Passenmath said, won’t she expect you to hurry back to headquarters?”
“I’ll see you safely home.”
“And then, will you do whatever you can to prevent . . . innocent people from being arrested for crimes they didn’t commit?”
“You don’t have to walk me home. I have my guard cat.”
He made an amused sort of grunt.
I could tell he was distracted, probably thinking about how to handle the interviews at police headquarters, if Detective Passenmath let him participate. I couldn’t think of a non-sarcastic way of saying that if Randy had murdered Matthias and Georgia and had also attacked Lois, the streets of my neighborhood were now safe. I pointed out, “That doll dress had stains on it, like bloodstains. I didn’t notice blood when I found Georgia.”
“It was there.”
“Oh.” With Dep leading the way, we walked silently.
Brent kicked a pebble off the sidewalk into the grass strip beside the street. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you this, but please don’t spread it around. The doll stuffed in Ms. Treetor’s mouth didn’t kill her. She had already died. She was hit on the back of the head.”
“Like Lois.”
“Exactly.”
“Did you find the weapon?”
“No. Forensics figures it was a rock, probably about the size of a baseball, but with at least one bulbous protrusion. We searched Georgia’s yard and the woods behind it.”
I remembered Mrs. Jierson’s story of the shadowy man near the trash can in Georgia’s driveway. “Her trash can, too?”
“Everything.”
“And I guess you couldn’t search Lois’s yard, because if her attacker saw investigators there, she’d be in danger.”
“The attacker would have merely seen a soil-sampling crew. They were thorough, though. Among the rocks they delivered to the forensics lab is the one that had probably blocked Lois’s end of Dep’s secret passage.”
Although I heard a smile in Brent’s voice, I answered seriously, “I’m certain that Lois’s attacker left by her front door, unless he was good at scaling walls.”
“The soil-sampling crew didn’t find the right sort of stone in Lois’s front yard, either. It could be anywhere—her neighbors’ yards, the Fallingbrook River, or just by the side of a road with others like it. I doubt that we’ll ever find it, and even if we do, it’s not like it will be registered to an owner or have his or her name and address carved on it.”
I couldn’t help a gasp of something resembling laughter.
Brent came up onto my porch and watched me unlock the door. He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward him. I resisted looking up into his face. “I’ll do the best I can for your friends, Em.”
“Thanks.” I sounded breathless.
He put his arms around me and pulled me close, only for a second. “Stay safe, kid. Lock yourself in.”
Dep defused the suddenly awkward situation. “Meow!”
Brent and I both laughed. Still not looking up at him, I escaped into the house and locked the door.
In my living room, I stood still, listening. Brent’s footsteps diminished into the distance.
Purring, Dep wound herself—and her leash—around my ankles. “Sorry, Dep,” I murmured. “I should set you free, shouldn’t I?”
“Mmp.”
I cooed in a lovey-dovey voice so she wouldn’t know that I was ordering her about, not that ordering her about would cause her to obey. “Oh, stop it with the ‘mmps,’ Dep.” I bent down and unsnapped her halter. She galloped toward the kitchen. I turned on lights, even though I had no plans to gallop.
Feeding Dep, I moved like a robot, working with only my right hand while holding my left fist over my mouth.
How was Lois doing? I should have insisted on going with her.
No, I shouldn’t have. Passenmath would probably have found an excuse to lock me up, and Brent wouldn’t have been able to stop her.
Brent. We hadn’t hugged each other in years, since before Alec died, when we were casually affectionate with each other—a hug on greeting sometimes, or saying good-bye. Brent and Alec hadn’t been afraid of showing their fondness for each other with back-slapping buddy hugs. It had all seemed natural and easy, and I’d never given it a second thought. Alec and I were a couple, and Brent was our friend, and so was whoever he was dating at the time.
But now, after three years, when I was alone, I found Brent’s brief—extremely brief—embrace disturbing. Had someone told him that I’d gone on what might have appeared to some folks as a date? No, even if someone had told Brent that, he wouldn’t have used it as an excuse to make a pass at me. He wouldn’t make an unwelcome pass at me, period. We had been friends at one time, and we were cautiously renewing our friendship, and that was good. It was also enough. Why did people say “just friends” as if being friends wasn’t as important as, say, being a couple? Friends could be the best and most supportive people in our lives. And it seemed to me that couples could break up more readily than friendships. Some friendships, anyway.
I hoped that Brent and I could return to the easy relationship we’d once had, with neither of us leaning too much on the other. Maybe the hug was because he was afraid I would be angry at him if Randy or Lois was arrested. Maybe the hug was a final good-bye because this case was going to make it impossible for us to stay friends.
I removed my hand from my mouth. “I’m not going to worry about it, Dep.” I would worry about Lois. I would worry about Randy. I would not bother my head with wondering whether or not Brent and I could return to our once easy friendship.
Dep continued eating her dinner.
I should have told Lois to call me when she got home. Maybe she would.
And Randy was either very good at acting innocent, or he wasn’t a murderer. And neither was Lois. Brent would make certain that both of them were treated fairly.
But what if he couldn’t? Passenmath would be making the important decisions, and she seemed determined to believe that Randy was the culprit she was seeking. And maybe Lois, too.
I hoped that Lois and I could stay friends.
Chapter 29
When we opened Deputy Donut at ten on Sunday morning, Lois still hadn’t called, and there was no hope that the Knitpickers would change their schedule and show up on a weekend.
Maybe I’d slept through the ringing of my phone. I could hardly bear to think about Lois’s pain and fatigue if she’d been interrogated for hours by Detective Passenmath. I hoped Brent had been allowed to stay with her. He would have lowered the hostility levels.
I served the day’s featured coffee, a rich but light roast from Costa Rica, to a pair of police officers. I asked them if progress had been made on the Georgia Treetor case. They shrugged. One of them bit into Tom’s latest creation, a raised blueberry donut with lemon icing. The other said, “Haven’t heard a thing.”
Hadn’t heard a thing, or hadn’t heard a thing he was allowed to say? I stared into his warm brown eyes. He didn’t blink.
Shortly before noon, there was a lull. I joined Dep in the office and checked my cell phone. Lois hadn’t returned my calls. I tried her. No answer. I left a message inviting her to dessert that night.
In the afternoon, Tom made raised donuts filled with raspberry jam and dusted with powdered sugar. They disappeared rapidly.
We closed at four thirty as usual. Lois had not responded. I boxed a half-dozen deep-fried treats and then walked Dep home. I reminded myself that if Lois didn’t show up, I was not supposed to gobble our dessert by myself.
The evening was cool, perfect for sautéing green pepper, garlic, and tomato bits in extra-extra-virgin olive oil, tossing the veggies with fettuccine, and topping it all with a snowdrift of freshly shredded Romano cheese.
I didn’t hear from Lois, and she didn’t show up.
I didn’t want to call the police station and ask for Brent. I’d probably agitate DCI agent Yvonne Passenmath.
But I was worried about Lois. Was she still at police headquarters?
I tried Brent’s personal phone.
“Hey, Em, what’s up?” His deep voice came across as kind and sympathetic.
Disregarding my resolve not to lean on
him, I wailed, “I invited Lois to come over for donuts for dessert, and she hasn’t returned my calls. I’m afraid she’s been attacked or hurt again, and I want to go to her house to look for her, but . . .” The last time I searched for a missing Deputy Donut patron, I found her. Dead. I can’t face that again.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be at your place in ten minutes, and we’ll figure out what to do. Okay?” He sounded tired.
“Okay. And you can help me eat these donuts.”
He didn’t laugh. Without a hint of a grin in his voice, he said, “See you in ten.”
He was at the door in less than ten minutes, which was fortunate. My pacing was about to trample a furrow in my beautiful ruby and cobalt rug, from one end of my living room to the other. I suspected from his outfit—sneakers, jeans, dark blue T-shirt, and navy blue casual jacket—that he was not on duty.
As soon as he stepped inside, he said, “I’m sorry, Em.”
Suddenly I was cold all over. “What? Where’s Lois?”
“Last I knew, she was at home. I drove her there last night shortly before midnight and went inside with her to make certain everything was as we’d left it.”
“Randy’s car was at her place. He didn’t walk her home.” I stated it as a fact.
“Yvonne was still questioning him. And I’m really sorry, Em—shortly before you called me just now, we charged Randy with the murders of Matthias and Georgia Treetor.”
To steady myself, I gripped the carved mahogany at the back of the red velvet armchair. “No.”
“Sorry. When I left work, the chief was writing a press release. If you hadn’t called me just now, I’d have come over, anyway, to tell you.”
“Should we go to Lois’s and break the news?” And check to see if she’s all right?
“I can go by myself.”
“I’d like to go, too, but I don’t have a key, so I don’t know what we’ll do if she doesn’t answer her door.”
Someone pounded on my door and rang my doorbell. Holding up one finger signaling me to let him answer, Brent peeked out the peephole. “It’s Lois,” he said in a strangely flat tone. He opened the door.
Survival of the Fritters Page 21
