Beyond a Reasonable Donut

by Ginger Bolton

  “I didn’t pay much attention, but you could be right, if that was what was on the paper.”

  I tried to help her understand the danger she could be in. “Someone—either the mime or her attacker—was carrying around an abbreviated version of your address. And then someone stole your locket. Whoever it was didn’t want to leave a copy of your address behind, so they hid it in your locket, probably meaning to take it with them and discard the coded address later. But the locket was left behind.”

  Nina leaned forward and brushed a speck of dust off the dashboard. “Here’s what I think happened: The mime was mad at me for chasing her away from the carnival and telling her to stay away from us. Remember when we found Marsha Fitchelder yelling at that mime to move her car?”

  “Yes.”

  “That mime looked at Marsha’s clipboard, and then pretended she had her own clipboard and was reading the pages on it. She pointed at you and me. She must have been looking at Deputy Donut’s registration form, which showed our photos and addresses. And she guessed we were from Deputy Donut because of our donut car and our hats.”

  “I think you’re right. When Brent and I were talking to Marsha Fitchelder, our application was still on top of the papers on Marsha’s clipboard.”

  “That’s strange, but so is Marsha Fitchelder, so I’m not surprised. After I chased the mime away from our tent, she must have remembered one of the addresses she’d seen on that form, so she went to that address to get back at us. Stealing valuables and vandalizing the painting she found at the address were going to be her revenge, but she fell off the ladder.”

  I pointed out, “Your theory has a hole in it. The mime stole the sugar hours before you chased her, so are you saying that she was planning revenge for your yelling at her before you did it? We noticed that it was missing before our customers told us that Marsha had called the police to tow the mime’s car away.”

  “Yeah, but it was after we witnessed Marsha scolding her and probably after that mime memorized my address.”

  I shuddered. “The way the mime gave us that visual warning that she was watching us was creepy. She must have taken the sugar right after that, when our arms were so full that I forgot to lock the car. Her desire for revenge was extreme considering that all we did was watch her miming her side of an argument with Marsha Fitchelder.”

  “That mime was stranger than Marsha. Maybe she stole the sugar just to cause some sort of mayhem, and she didn’t care what kind. Maybe she was hoping to cause a dramatic confrontation at the carnival so she could mime another argument.”

  “Is that a little farfetched?”

  Nina sat back and folded her arms. “Maybe not. You cause a little tension here, you cause a little chaos there, you put people on edge, and someone might create a scene that a mime can borrow for her performances. Or maybe she just wanted a lot of sugar, to start a bakery or something.”

  I warned, “Until her murderer is caught, don’t be alone.”

  “I’ll try.”

  I pulled into the lot behind Deputy Donut. It was early. Very few cars besides Tom’s SUV were there. Nina offered, “I’ll take Dep inside while you park.” I stopped near our back door, the one that led into our office. Nina scrambled out of the car and carefully removed Dep’s carrier from the rear seat.

  I backed the donut car into its garage. When I arrived in the office, Nina had let Dep out of her carrier and had gone on to the kitchen. Dep had scurried up carpeted ramps and kitty-proportioned stairways to her highest catwalk near the ceiling. Eyes wide, she peered down at me. “Mew!”

  I called up to her, “No more car rides today, Dep! You can relax.”

  Maybe batting that catnip-filled toy parrot down onto my head was her way of relaxing. I shoved my backpack into the lockable drawer where Nina had already stowed her tote bag. Inside our combination kitty playground and office, we also had a gas fireplace for the cooler seasons, a big desk and chair, a filing cabinet, a coffee table, and a couch that Dep would sleep on later, probably.

  The office was thoroughly enclosed so Dep couldn’t go out and mingle with our customers, or more importantly, according to the health department, mingle with our donuts. The office had windows on all four sides, allowing Dep to gaze at whatever she wanted—the driveway, the parking lot, the dining area, or the kitchen.

  The kitchen was in the rear of the building, between the office and our storeroom. I peered through the window into it. Tom was the only one facing me. Standing at one of the stainless-steel fryers, he frowned at me. Behind him, Nina was rolling out dough on the marble counter in the middle of the kitchen. Jocelyn was pouring coffee beans into a grinder near the kitchen’s far wall.

  I smiled and waved at Tom. He only nodded. His frown reminded me of Alec’s whenever a case was bothering him, and I again felt sad that Alec would never reach the age his father was now. He would probably have looked like Tom by then, square-jawed and often serious, fit and above average height, with dark eyes that easily showed compassion. I could tell by Tom’s expression that he’d already heard about the death, probably from his network of retired police friends and other officers who were still in the Fallingbrook Police Department.

  I shut Dep into the office and went into our dining room. As always, it looked inviting. The sun had risen, and the front windows and door let in early morning light that showed off the rock maple floor, the peach-tinted white walls with interesting artwork hanging on them, and our round tables. With Cindy’s help and encouragement, Tom and I had painted the tabletops to resemble donuts. We had protected our paintings with glass. Chairs with their backs and seats upholstered in dark brown leather were pulled up to the tables.

  I walked between the serving and eating counter and the half-height wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room, and then turned and walked around the end of the half wall. Tom and I had designed the space so that when we were standing in the kitchen, we could see our customers, but they wouldn’t be able to see the potentially cluttered parts of the kitchen, like the deep fryers. Customers might see beyond the serving counter to the marble-topped work surface and the row of coffeemakers.

  I waved a greeting at Jocelyn, now grinding coffee beans. Nina started cutting donuts out of dough, fragrant with yeast, that had risen overnight in the perfect temperature and humidity of our proofing cabinet. A pan of chocolate frosting sat in a bowl of warm water to soften it for spreading. As always, the fragrances added up to a mouthwatering kitchen.

  I went through a doorway at the end of the kitchen farthest from the dining room. In our well-stocked and neatly arranged storeroom, I put on a clean apron. Now, except for my shoes, my outfit matched the others’—white shirts, black shorts, logo-trimmed aprons, and Deputy Donut hats. I passed our other back door, the one that opened to the loading dock, and returned to the kitchen. Jocelyn shut off the grinder.

  In the sudden silence, Tom lowered a basket of donuts into hot oil. “Emily, I heard that you and Nina ran into a little excitement last night.” His voice was gruff. He always treated me like a beloved daughter, and he was very fond of Nina and Jocelyn, too. Like Brent, Tom did not approve of my snooping around in what should be police-only business, but I’d always had good reasons.

  And now I had a crucial one. Whether she believed it or not, Nina could be in danger.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “It was horrible,” Nina added.

  Her dark eyes bigger than ever, Jocelyn stared at Nina and me.

  I started measuring ingredients for the donuts that used baking soda and baking powder as leavening. I felt like all of us—including Nina, even if a murderer was after her—were safe with Tom nearby. Although he had retired from being Fallingbrook’s police chief and a detective before that, he was a very young and fit sixty-four. I suspected that he would probably never lose that careful attentiveness to his surroundings and the ability to cope with nearly any danger.

  Nina and I told Tom and Jocelyn about our evening and that Nina was
staying at my place until the investigators finished at hers. I added, “I’ve told her not to be alone until the guy who attacked the mime is caught.”

  “That’s silly,” Nina said.

  Jocelyn retorted, “No, it’s not.”

  Tom reminded us that our customers would want to ask questions about the murder. “Deflect their questions. We don’t know anything, okay?” He looked straight at Nina and me. We agreed.

  Jocelyn and I went around putting creamers and sugars on our donut-like tables.

  Our first customers of the day arrived. Jocelyn and I served them warm donuts and fresh coffee. There were no questions about the death the night before. While our customers enjoyed their donuts and coffee, we returned to the kitchen to prepare more donuts.

  The front door opened. A man and a woman I’d never seen before were hesitating near it. They both carried cases that could contain small laptop computers or tablets.

  Tom beckoned me to the deep fryer. “Can you manage the donuts? I’ll look after those two characters.”

  The fryer’s timer went off. I lifted a basket of golden donuts from the bubbling oil and hung it on the side of the fryer to drain. After a few seconds of watching and listening to Tom, who could be quite intimidating, the man and woman left.

  Tom returned to the kitchen.

  “That was quick,” I teased him.

  A twinkle lit his eyes. “I told them where the police station was, that I was no longer police chief or a police department spokesperson, and that my former colleagues would be better able to answer their questions.”

  Jocelyn gazed toward the front door. “Where were they from? I’ve seen lots of reporters covering gymnastic events, but I didn’t recognize those two.”

  Tom picked up a carafe of coffee. “They didn’t know that the murder had anything to do with us. They came in here because it’s the first place they found that was open this early. They drove all the way from Wausau. I’m afraid we might expect people from even farther away. This pair was particularly interested because the deceased was a mime, and they seemed to think she’d been traveling the carnival and festival circuit this summer and might have been in other towns and cities, and their audience in Wausau might have encountered her or her murderer, or the murderer might show up in someone else’s hometown.”

  He insisted on taking over serving customers. Since it was a Saturday, we didn’t have our weekday regulars to question why Tom was working the dining room while those of us who usually waited tables stayed in the kitchen.

  I was lowering donuts into bubbling oil when Nina looked toward the front door. A perplexed frown wrinkled her forehead. “Is that . . . ?”

  I followed her gaze. “Detective Gartborg. She must be the detective the DCI sent to direct the investigation into the mime’s murder.” I wondered why Brent hadn’t come with Detective Gartborg. He seldom took his breaks at Deputy Donut, though. I beckoned to Tom to return to the kitchen and watch the frying donuts. “Let’s go say hello.”

  Nina’s grin was a little crooked. “I guess Tom doesn’t have to protect us from her.”

  Tom took over at the deep fryers, and Nina and I headed for Detective Gartborg’s table. The DCI agent was every bit as glamorous as she’d been almost a year before, tall and thin with prematurely silver hair that she wore in a smooth, short bob. This time, it was cut with one side angled longer in front than the other. She wore a tailored navy linen dress and a white linen jacket with navy trim. Her shoes were navy and spotless.

  I welcomed her to Deputy Donut, and Nina repeated it. I added, “Nice to see you again.” That sounded silly considering that the last time we’d seen her she’d been investigating a murder. I quickly added, “I’m sorry for the reason you had to come.”

  Nina rescued me from my babbling. “What can I get you? Our special coffee today is a medium-roast Nicaraguan blend with hints of fruit and chocolate, and we have our usual mellow Colombian coffee, plus all sorts of teas and fried goodies, including the s’mores donuts we just invented.”

  “No donuts for me, but a small Colombian coffee would be great.” She smiled. “The Fallingbrook Police Department could use a few lessons about making coffee.”

  Nina quipped, “We can’t teach them or the fire department. They’d stop coming here.”

  Detective Gartborg’s laugh was low and musical. “Yes, I guess you can’t. Do EMTs take their breaks here, too?”

  I made a fake sad face. “Not often. They buy roasted beans from us and grind their own coffee, and they seem to do it right, or at least if they cause any medical emergencies with their coffee-brewing, they handle them themselves. And their headquarters aren’t easy walking distance from here.”

  Gartborg teased, “They could come in ambulances, lights flashing and sirens blaring.”

  A pair of people we’d never seen before came in. These two were holding their computers in plain sight.

  “Reporters,” Nina told Gartborg. “Tom will want us to skedaddle so he can look after them.”

  Gartborg nodded and took her phone out of her expensive-looking navy handbag. I’d seen the ploy often and had used it myself. When dining alone, fend off unwanted company by pretending to check for messages and calls, and then answer the messages and calls whether or not they existed.

  Nina and I returned to the kitchen. I made more donuts, and Nina took Gartborg her coffee before hurrying back to the kitchen to avoid talking to anyone who might be from the press.

  Gartborg didn’t stay long.

  About a half hour after she left, Nina received a call. She listened for a few seconds, said, “Okay,” and disconnected. She smiled at me. “Brent wants me to go to the police station.”

  Chapter 10

  Nina’s smile grew. “I hope the police are going to tell me I can go back to my apartment tonight so I can start repairing my painting.”

  Tom and I exchanged looks. It was a homicide, I thought. They won’t have cleared the scene. I was sure Tom was thinking the same thing. Neither of us said it, and neither of us mentioned that if the police were only going to tell her she could go home, they probably would have said it over the phone.

  Jocelyn was the first to speak. “You’re not going alone, are you?”

  Nina opened her eyes to their widest in pretend shock. “To the police station? It’s all of two blocks, and it’s the middle of the day, besides. No one could possibly be after me, and if they were, having someone with me wouldn’t stop them, even if that person can knock someone out with her feet.”

  Tom and I laughed. Jocelyn’s gymnastic skills allowed her to do amazing things.

  Jocelyn protested, “I never knocked anyone out. And Emily came as close to it as I did. Dep, too.”

  I backed a step and put my hand over my heart. “In my case, it wasn’t skill.”

  Jocelyn retorted, “In Dep’s case, it was. Maybe you’d better take Dep with you, Nina.”

  Nina grinned at her. “That would impress the police.”

  Jocelyn had an answer for that, too. “Brent would understand why you brought a feline bodyguard, at least that one.”

  Nina untied her apron. “I’d better go before the police send out a search party.” She went into the storeroom.

  Jocelyn called after her, “They should have offered to pick you up!”

  Nina returned to the kitchen without her apron and hat. “I’m glad they didn’t.” She waved her hand toward our dining room, almost completely full of customers. “That could be bad for business.”

  Tom asked her, “Do you have your phone?”

  She patted her shorts pocket. “Yep. And I turned on the ringtone. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She danced away. “See you soon!”

  Tom went back to frying donuts. Jocelyn decorated the ones he’d just made. I toured the dining area, refilled coffee mugs, and then went behind the serving counter for a fresh pot.

  A woman who looked slightly familiar slipped into Deputy Donut. Her oversized navy cardigan looked too
hot for the day outside, but it was unbuttoned, showing the lacy front of the flowing lime-green top she wore over greenish-gray cropped pants. Her tentative way of walking made the name of her white shoes, “sneakers,” seem entirely appropriate. She twitched the end of her ponytail from her back to her front, and I recognized her hair’s ombre shading of blond near the top and chestnut near the bottom. She was the woman I’d seen peering into the donut car while I was climbing the hill above the Faker’s Dozen Carnival to look for the missing sugar.

  The woman came to the serving counter and asked me in a voice barely above a whisper, “Could I fill out a job application?” She was younger than I’d originally thought. Her apparent shyness and her smooth, pale skin made me think she was in her early twenties.

  We didn’t need staff, but Jocelyn would be returning to college in a couple of weeks, and despite what I’d said to Nina the night before about taking time off, we could use extra help during the late summer and especially in the early autumn, when tourists visited Fallingbrook to admire waterfalls and hike in forests while leaves were turning their most glorious colors.

  But even if we had no expectation of ever needing another employee, I wanted to learn more about this woman whom I’d first seen the day before, the day that someone had stolen our sugar, the day that maybe a different someone had broken into Nina’s apartment, and also the day that someone had fatally injured the mime. I told the woman, “We don’t have openings at the moment. Would you like to fill out an application in case we need someone later?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I showed her to the table nearest the office. Dep was sleeping on top of the back of the couch. I opened the office door. Dep stood and stretched, arching her back. Cooing to her, I retrieved a blank application from the filing cabinet and a pen from the desk. I made certain that I closed the office door behind me, returned to the woman, and gave her the application and the pen. “Can I get you a coffee and a donut? Our treat, so you can taste some of the goodies we serve.”