“It’s tiny,” Samantha warned, “with three bedrooms that are more like cubicles, three of the world’s smallest ensuite bathrooms, and a place to cook, eat, and sit. And a front porch with rocking chairs and side tables. Not much else.”
I told them, “My parents offered to let Dep stay with them.”
Samantha shook her head. “No way. Dep’s coming with us. The cabin’s big enough for her, and it’s a pet-friendly resort.”
Agreeing, Misty refilled our glasses. “How much cooking do we want to do?”
Samantha tapped her glass against Misty’s. “Not much.”
I clinked my glass against theirs. “How about eating leisurely breakfasts in the cabin and our other meals in the resort’s restaurant?”
We all drank to that.
Samantha glanced toward the coffee station that Alec and I had set up. “You have to be in charge of coffee, Emily. I’ll bring bacon and eggs.”
Misty offered, “I’ll bring Wisconsin cheddar and homemade bread.”
I said I’d bring juice, butter, and jam. None of us thought we’d want tea, and we all drank our coffee black when the coffee was good. I promised it would be.
Misty threw me an impish smile. “We’ll let you get there first, Emily. You’re the best at organizing kitchens.”
“It’s fun.” I asked Samantha, “What are you going to do about the flowers if Nina can’t be there?”
“The florist will recruit her teenage daughters to help decorate. She has Nina’s drawings of what goes where.”
I studied Samantha’s hair. It was still her natural deep brown. “What about your hair?”
“I can manage the color myself, and the three of us can help each other do our hair and makeup the way we practiced with Nina last week.”
“Okay,” I said, “but Nina is the artistic one. Maybe you can spring her loose, Misty, whisk her to Cares Away for the wedding and reception, and sneak her back into jail afterward.”
Misty stared into her glass of wine. “And I’ll get Hooligan and Brent to help me. Maybe Kim Gartborg, too, if she hasn’t left town.”
I snapped my fingers. “Maybe Brent’s taking her to an airport right now!” I didn’t really want that to be true. I hoped that Gartborg and Brent were together—talking to Buddy and Kassandra and deciding that the evidence against the magician was stronger than the evidence against Nina.
Misty had come to my place in a cruiser with Hooligan. She could have walked home, but since she needed to take her uniform, she accepted Samantha’s offer of a ride. I opened the front door for them.
Samantha crowed, “See you tomorrow at Cares Away!” Her voice overflowed with excitement.
Misty teased, “Remember what we used to call that lake when we were teens, even though we never went there, except Emily had been there when she was little?”
Knowing what was coming, I again defended the lake. “I liked it.”
Samantha punched at Misty’s arm. “Nothing’s going to scare me away from having my wedding there. ‘Lake Scares Away,’ indeed!”
Grinning, I closed the door.
Chapter 22
Thanks to Misty and Samantha, I’d started looking forward to our stay at Cares Away, to a relaxed Monday evening with only the three of us, to the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner on Tuesday, and to the wedding and reception on Wednesday. I woke up in the morning feeling like I’d had my first sound sleep in days.
But at Deputy Donut, I couldn’t help worrying about Nina. Tom and Jocelyn didn’t talk about her, but I knew they were also missing her cheery personality and good-natured willingness to do whatever needed to be done.
Her arrest had become old news, and media interest had died down. Our weekday morning regulars, however, were horrified. The Knitpickers came in at nine and sat at their table by a front window. Across the aisle from them and beside the other big front window, our usual group of retired men claimed their table.
Tom was in the kitchen. Jocelyn waited on the retired men while I served the Knitpickers.
Cheryl put down her knitting and looked up at me. Her blue eyes were filled with pain. “You must be missing Nina.”
I patted Cheryl’s shoulder. “I am, especially since I’m sure she did nothing wrong.”
Virginia declared, “We are, too!”
Cheryl sighed. “I heard her apartment was vandalized, but she’s the one in trouble.”
Virginia didn’t stop knitting. “That’s because the vandal ended up dead in her apartment.”
I didn’t admit that I’d been there.
Cheryl hadn’t picked up her knitting again, which wasn’t unusual. Many days, she did nothing more with her latest project than take it out of her bag and ask the others what she was doing wrong. I hardly ever saw her increase her project by more than a few stitches. She pointed a bare needle at me. I hoped she had finished a row and had not simply pulled the needle out, leaving stitches to unravel. “You tell her that if we can do anything for her, all she has to do is ask.”
Virginia looked off into the distance, and then turned to me. “Do you know if anyone has started a legal fund for her?”
I glanced back at the kitchen. “Tom probably wouldn’t want me telling people this, but he and a lawyer acquaintance of his are looking after it.”
Virginia jutted her chin out. “I won’t let on that you told me, but when we leave here, I’m going over to the bank and opening an account for her.”
The others said they’d go with her.
I blinked away a threat of tears. “Thank you. How about if I make up a poster we can display here?”
Virginia clapped her hands. “I’ll help! We can make flyers, too.” She gestured at everyone at the table. “Who wants to help deliver them?”
All of the other Knitpickers said they would.
I thanked them and told them about the day’s special coffee, a medium and very flavorful roast from the Dominican Republic. “It will give you a nice jolt of caffeine.”
Two of the Knitpickers ordered the Dominican, one ordered a plain Colombian, one wanted a latte made with Colombian beans, and one wanted to experiment with the smoky delight of Lapsang souchong.
As I headed toward the kitchen, Virginia called out to the retired men, “Hey guys, we have a proposal for you!”
Laughter and good-natured teasing broke out behind me.
Beyond the half-wall, Jocelyn was putting fritters and donuts on plates for the retired men. One of them had switched from his usual Colombian coffee to rooibos tea. “On his wife’s orders,” Jocelyn told me. “I don’t think he really wants tea, red or any other color.”
“He’ll like it when he tastes it.”
“I hope so. I’ll talk it up.”
When I delivered the women’s plates, Virginia told me that I didn’t have to design and print a poster. The rooibos drinker was a retired graphic designer. He and his wife would design and print posters and flyers.
I went to his table and thanked him.
He set his teacup down. “Hey, we’re all in this together. And this stuff is actually good, by the way. No way is it a substitute for coffee.” He heaved the sigh of a coffee drinker being deprived of his morning brew. “It’s okay.”
I pointed out, “It’s not really tea. It’s called African bush tea, and resembles tea, but isn’t. It doesn’t have caffeine. No one says you can’t also have coffee.”
“My wife does. That is, until I go home and become Mr. Grumpy Bear at lunch and all the rest of the day.” I smiled at him. I’d never seen him acting remotely grumpy.
One of the other men said they were all going to the bank with the Knitpickers later that morning. “Sorry we’ll be leaving here earlier than usual.”
The other men joked that by leaving before noon, they would free up tables for people who might want to eat lunch right at noon and would not, for once, have to wait a couple of minutes for the retired men and the Knitpickers to organize themselves and vacate their tables.
I smiled at these wonderful customers. “We’re popular, but not that popular. You’re always welcome to stay as long as you want, even if you don’t order anything.”
One of the men patted his stomach. “Not eating donuts is against my principles.”
The front of our shop became chaotic. The Knitpickers and retired men got up from their usual tables and went back and forth to the other table to talk, plot their strategies, map out where to deliver the flyers, and sketch ideas for the poster and flyers.
I refilled coffees and teapots and admired the work they were doing.
The door opened. Looking puzzled by the number of people nearly blocking the front door with their running back and forth between tables, Alf, the tourist I’d met at the carnival, came in without Connie. Maybe she’d had only Friday and the weekend off. Alf sat at the counter and ordered the Dominican coffee. “I like people who understand and appreciate single-origin coffees,” he told me. “There are so many distinctive subtleties in their flavors, and I’ve never tried the Dominican.” We discussed our favorites. Both of us loved the mellow coffees grown in Central America and the Caribbean.
The Knitpickers and retired men were still running back and forth between their tables, looking over one another’s shoulders, conferring, and laughing. They were never exactly quiet when they teased each other, which was a lot of the time, but at the moment they were more excited and noisier than usual.
Alf glanced over his shoulder. “Is it always this busy in here?”
“Our customers can be lively. It’s fun.”
“I can see that. You must like working here.”
“I do.”
I handed him his mug of coffee and his raspberry shortcake donut, a raised donut topped with fresh raspberries and whipped cream and then drizzled with orange liqueur. It was so big we served it in bowls with a fork and a spoon.
Alf did what I often do to test whether a freshly poured hot beverage is cool enough to drink. He touched the outside of his mug with the tips of his fingers. We were always careful to make our coffee with hot but not boiling water to allow the flavors to develop fully without becoming bitter. Alf inhaled deeply and clamped his hand around the mug.
I asked where Connie was.
“She had to work, which is just as well. She nearly wore me out with so much sightseeing.”
“What did you see?”
His list was long. I couldn’t help smiling. “It sounds like you had a great time. Did you see Fallingbrook Falls? That’s one of my favorites.”
“I haven’t gotten out there yet. I heard it’s pretty but involves too much hiking.”
He must have heard that from Connie, who seemed fond of sandals and high heels. “It’s not too much if your shoes have decent treads.”
“Would hiking boots work?”
“Sure. I wear sneakers to hike around the falls.”
“How do you get there?”
“Want the scenic route or the direct route?”
“I’m here for the scenery.”
I gave him the directions, but I wasn’t sure he was listening. He appeared to be counting the freckles on my nose. I sketched a map on the back of a napkin and gave it to him.
He folded it carefully and slid it into the pocket of his tweedy gray golf shirt. The shirt looked brand new and had the sheen of silk combined with fine cotton. “I don’t suppose you’d . . . no, I guess you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Like to show me those falls yourself? We could go to dinner afterward.”
He was a fast worker. I usually held back more with men I didn’t know, but in the comforting safety of Deputy Donut, I couldn’t help telling people about my town and the forests, streams, and lakes surrounding it. “I can’t. I’m getting together with girlfriends tonight.” I guessed he hadn’t seen the wedding ring I still wore. Waving it in his face would probably have been too obvious, so I didn’t.
“And I guess you don’t have time to sit down and have a coffee with me here so we could get to know each other a little. I mean, I don’t usually go around inviting women out after barely having met them, but . . .”
You’re on vacation. I didn’t say it, but I did check his left hand. No ring, and his finger was uniformly tanned, showing that he hadn’t recently removed one.
“How long will you be here?” I hoped my question didn’t sound like an offer to meet him another time. And why not? asked a voice in my head. Alec has been gone a long time. Do you really want to be alone for the rest of your life? Alf is pleasant, and he’s only here on vacation. It wouldn’t resemble a commitment. You might even have a good time. I talked back to the voice in my head. I like being alone. No one else is ever going to be as right for me as Alec was. I pushed away a mental image of Brent smiling down at me in his warm and supportive way.
Alf said, “I’ll be here for the rest of the week. Here.” He pulled a business card from the pocket of his shirt. Alphaeus Chator, I read, Chief Financial Officer, Cornwall Amherst Investments. I was impressed. The large firm was based in New York, with branches around the world. The CFO would have lots of responsibilities, and zillions of people reporting to him.
“I’m Emily,” I answered. “Our brochure serves as our business card.” I pointed to the stand on the counter next to the donut display case.
“I still have the one from the carnival, thanks.”
When he paid me, he said he’d stop in again. “Maybe you’ll have time to show me those falls.”
I thought of a way of not being alone in the woods on treacherous trails with a man I didn’t know. “My parents live in an RV near the falls all summer. They’d be glad to help me show you around.” I could go there in my own car.
“Sounds good!” Smiling, he touched the counter and turned to go. At the front, he stopped and held the door for the entire crew of retired men and Knitpickers. When they’d finally all made it through the door, he turned and waved.
I went around the half-wall to the kitchen. “Who was that?” Jocelyn asked. “You were certainly friendly.”
“I’m always friendly with customers.”
“Especially after you get to know them.”
“I do know him, sort of. Yesterday while you were on your break, he came in with a date. I first met them at the Faker’s Dozen Carnival. He’s visiting from out of town, but she’s local and has been taking him sightseeing.” I tapped my wedding ring. “I’m not taking this off anytime soon.”
She gave me a mischievous smile. “Has he been to Fallingbrook Falls?”
“No. I told him that if he wanted to visit the falls, my parents would help show him around.”
“Ooooh,” Jocelyn teased. “Taking him to meet your parents already.”
“Watch it,” I warned her. “I’ll recruit you and your parents to join us.”
“That’d be fine! We’d come along. I’d be able to keep an eye on you.”
Tom read Alf’s card and whistled softly. “Next thing you know, we’ll have investors from New York clamoring for shares in Deputy Donut.” He checked the clock on the kitchen wall. “I need to call my lawyer friend.” He went off and shut himself into the office with Dep. I could see him in there talking on the phone.
Frowning, he returned to the kitchen. “Nina got the worst possible judge. She wasn’t granted bail.”
We all traded looks of frustration. I stomped my foot, gently, since I didn’t want to alarm diners. “I still think that the person who killed Zippy Melwyn was really after Nina, and she’s safer in jail.”
Tom cleared his throat. “Jail is never a safe place, especially if she’s transferred out of our local one where she’s at least being treated with some respect and compassion.” Glowering, he went back to frying. Jocelyn and I served our lunch customers some of the deep-fried veggies, sausages, and cheeses he made. They gobbled them and ordered donuts for dessert. We feasted on the goodies, too.
Despite Brent’s and Tom’s reminders not to interfere in police
investigations, I had to follow every possible lead—the safe ones, at least—that might free Nina and put the actual murderer in prison. When it was my turn for a break, I put a pad of paper and a pen into my backpack and headed down the street toward The Craft Croft.
I would tell Kassandra that she’d given me an address in Michigan and ask her to write down the local address that I assumed she had, since she was working at The Craft Croft. I hoped that by using the word “write,” I would make her think of handwriting rather than printing.
At The Craft Croft, Summer was sitting at the reception desk. No one else appeared to be in the gallery. Summer’s linen dress was the aqua of the steepest sides of icebergs. With those red curls again piled high on her head, she could have appeared calm and cool. Instead she frowned and shuffled through the contents of a desk drawer.
She lifted her head. “Emily! I was about to call you. Have you seen Kassandra?”
Chapter 23
My smile withered. I told Summer, “I haven’t seen Kassandra since yesterday after I left here. She followed me out. Didn’t she come back?”
“She did, and she helped me close yesterday at four. I said I’d see her tomorrow—that is today. She mumbled something like, ‘Yeah, see you,’ so I thought she was coming in. But she didn’t. She’s not answering her phone, and I can’t leave here until another co-op member arrives at three. Otherwise, I’d go down to her apartment and see if she’s there. I was going to try Deputy Donut first, to find out if she’d decided to go work for you and had been too shy to tell me.” She closed the desk drawer. “Obviously, I won’t have to do that.”
“No, and I wouldn’t have hired her away from you. If she had asked again, I would have called you to find out why she was leaving The Craft Croft or if she’d left without notice. Don’t try going to her apartment, though. It doesn’t exist.”
“What?” Summer glanced toward the front door as if expecting Kassandra to walk in.
I explained.
Summer bounced the eraser end of a pencil on the desk. “Wow.” Although Summer and I were the only people in the gallery, she lowered her voice. “Why would she lie about her address?”
Beyond a Reasonable Donut Page 18
