by Jessica Beck
“Suzanne, you need to see something back here,” Chief Grant said once his girlfriend, and my best friend, was gone.
I took a deep breath of air and then stood. “If it’s the donut dropper with blood and hair on it, I’ve already seen it.”
“No, this is something else,” he said.
We walked back into the kitchen, and I looked at the floor for a chalk outline, but evidently they didn’t do that anymore. Instead, there were little numbered signs all around my kitchen, the 1 being used to depict the place I’d found the body. I was still staring at it when Chief Grant said, “I’m guessing this was fine when you left the shop earlier.”
“How did they even get in?” I asked as I looked at the back door.
“It wasn’t tough. That’s not much of a lock you have there, and it appears that it was hard to close all the way before. All it took was a little force to open it, but that’s not what I wanted you to see.”
I looked to where he was pointing and saw my safe standing wide open, its entire contents gone. “What happened?” I asked him.
“Evidently whoever killed Johnson robbed you as well. It was pretty slick the way they did it. They popped the dial right off and went in that way. Unfortunately, your safe wasn’t tough enough to stand up to the assault.”
“How did they even know it was back here?” I asked.
“Who have you told about it recently?”
“Just Paige,” I said, “but she wouldn’t steal from me. Some of her money was in there, too.”
“I’m not accusing her of anything,” he said, “but she might have casually mentioned it to someone who had their own ideas.” The chief made a few notes in his small book, and then he turned back to me. “Any idea how much was in there?”
I gave him as close as I could to the exact total, and he whistled softly. “Sorry about that.”
“Find the killer, and we’ll probably find the money as well,” I said.
“Speaking of which, do you know anyone who might want to kill the man? A writer seems like an odd target for murder to me, even given how they all behaved towards each other onstage.” I’d forgotten that he’d been in the audience for a moment, but then I remembered that Grace had mentioned it to me earlier.
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “It was pretty clear that he didn’t get along at all with his fellow panelists. He was jealous of Hannah Thrush, disdainful of Hank Fletcher, and contemptuous of Amanda Harrison.”
“Slow down,” he said, taking notes furiously. “Is that all you’ve got?” he asked sarcastically.
“No, there’s a woman named Cindy Faber who was obsessed with him. Evidently she broke into his house once, so she’s probably got a criminal record. Then there was one of Hannah Thrush’s fans, a man named Gregory Smith, who might have taken offense to the way Johnson was treating his favorite author.”
“This guy sounded like a real prince,” the chief said.
“Maybe so, but we still need to find out who killed him,” I said.
“Suzanne, tell me you mean that I have to find out who killed him,” the chief said sternly.
“I hope you do, but I’ll warn you right now that no one commits murder in my shop and gets away with it. I’m going to dig into this too, and with any luck, Grace will help me do it.”
“I can’t imagine her saying no,” the chief said grumpily. “That’s all I need, more headaches from the two of you.”
“I’m truly sorry, but I don’t have any choice.”
“So you say,” the chief said.
“So it is,” I corrected him. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“When was the last time you saw the victim alive?” he asked me, retrieving his notebook from his front shirt pocket again.
“Am I a suspect, Chief?” I asked him sweetly.
“No, of course not, but you know the drill. You found the body. I have to ask you these questions.”
“I was at the diner across the street when I saw him last, as well as the other three writers, eating dinner and arguing. Then Trish and I went into the kitchen to get away from the noise and have some cobbler and ice cream. I was with her an hour, and then as soon as I left, I came over here when I saw a light was on. The body was cool to the touch, so I’m assuming he was dead long before I left the Boxcar Grill.”
He frowned at the level of detail I had given him, but I noticed that he still jotted my statement down. After a moment, he looked up at me. “I’m afraid the donut shop needs to be closed tomorrow.”
“But what about the festival?” I asked him. “We have to make donuts to sell, especially given the robbery.”
“You’re still having that?” he asked me incredulously. “I thought for sure you’d cancel it.”
“I can’t. A lot of people have a great deal invested in this, both in time and money. Besides, I would think you’d be urging me to continue it. After all, it gives you an excuse to keep your suspects close without throwing your weight around, but if I can’t supply donuts, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Let me think for a second,” he said as he glanced at his watch. “You usually get here at three a.m., don’t you?”
“How did you know that?” I asked him.
“I’ve pulled my share of night duty in my past,” he explained. “It’s a little after seven now, so if I push a few folks to get busy, we might just be able to turn it back over to you after all. Could you delay getting here until four tomorrow morning, by any chance?”
“It will be tight, but I think I can make that work,” I said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rush you.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, “even if it means that nobody on my staff, and that includes me, is going to be getting any sleep tonight.”
I felt bad about depriving the police force of their rest just so I could make donuts the next morning, but that was part of their job descriptions on occasion, and besides, I’d meant what I’d said. The best way, maybe the only way, to catch the killer was to go on as though nothing had happened. Sure, we’d have a moment of silence for the fallen writer once we were all onstage, but I was pretty sure the rest of the authors would want to go on with the festival, too.
At least that was what I was counting on.
Chapter 8
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said as I walked out of the kitchen and found that Grace had come back into the donut shop and was again on the couch we’d been on earlier.
“Nonsense,” she said. “I wasn’t about to leave you here alone to walk home by yourself after what you found tonight. I’m so sorry you keep stumbling over bodies.”
“I am, too, especially inside my donut shop. I was robbed, too,” I told her, since the chief hadn’t instructed me not to share that finding with Grace. I’d have to tell Paige as well, but that could wait until morning. I probably should have called her as soon as I’d heard the news, but why ruin her night’s sleep, too? This particular piece of bad news could wait until morning, since we were going to be meeting at seven a.m. anyway, something we’d arranged earlier. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” I suggested.
“I’m ready if you are,” she said, so we left the donut shop together.
“How awful! I don’t suppose Tom Johnson stole the money from you, did he?”
“It’s entirely possible. Do you think that’s really what this is all about? Did he steal my money and then run into someone with the same idea he did? I’ve always had a hard time believing that anyone would kill someone else just for money.”
“We both know what a motivating factor greed can be,” Grace said as we started walking down Springs Drive toward our respective homes. The night was pleasant, with just a touch of chill in the air. The days had not yet begun to get unbearably hot, and the humidity was at a level that made being outside actually pleasant. Still, I wouldn’t have relished that walk home alone in the darkness, and I was glad that Grace was looking out for me. “Suzanne, tell m
e that we’re going to try to solve this ourselves.”
“You know that I can’t walk away from it, not since it happened inside my shop,” I said. “Are you sure that you’re okay working on it with me?”
“Suzanne, I don’t see that we have any choice.”
I stopped and looked at her. “I don’t, but you do.”
“I’m not about to let you do this alone, and anyone else you might call is out of town at the moment, though honestly, that’s not even a factor. We’ll do it together. It’ll be just like old times.”
“But you and Stephen are getting along so well right now,” I reminded her. “I’d hate for you to jeopardize that because of me.”
“I’m not risking anything,” she said firmly. “We’ve come to an agreement when it relates to me helping you investigate any crimes that might come our way. He knows that as much as I love him, my core loyalties lie with you.”
“I’m not about to make you choose between the two of us,” I said.
“I’m not, so let’s not worry about it. So tell me, who might have wanted that man dead for reasons other than not wanting to share the money they stole?”
“You think he might have been in cahoots with someone else?” I asked. The thought had never even occurred to me, but that was why two of us were better than one. We complemented each other in many ways.
“It’s possible,” she said. “Did he get along with any of the other writers well enough to conspire to steal your money with one of them?”
“Certainly not based on what I saw today,” I said.
“What if it was all an act, though?” she asked.
“I can’t imagine an Academy Award–winning actor being that convincing.”
“Well, let’s keep it in mind. I’m sure that Stephen asked you for your thoughts on who might have done it. He respects your skills, you know.”
“He asked, so I told him what I knew,” I admitted, gratified that the chief of police thought well of me. I’d had some luck cracking several murder cases in the past, but it was still nice to have my opinion matter to the chief of police.
“And what did you tell him?”
“That any of the other three writers might have done it, as well as two of the fans in the audience. I can’t imagine the list isn’t much longer out in the real world, but none of them were in April Springs tonight.”
“None that we know of,” she said. “Who was his agent? How about his editor? From the way you’ve described him and what I saw of him myself firsthand, I can’t imagine the man was very easy to work with.”
“I don’t know. I need to ask Elizabeth from my book club. She’ll know.”
“She really is connected to authors, isn’t she?”
“Even more so these days,” I said. “Since her husband died, she’s become obsessed with writers and their lives. I’m not sure it’s entirely healthy, but it seems to work for her. Let me text her and ask.” I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but I knew that she’d answer a text. After I typed out my question, I started to put my phone away, only to have it buzz in my hands.
“That was fast,” Grace said.
“She couldn’t have answered that quickly,” I said. Sure enough, it was just spam.
“Anything important?”
“Not unless I want to buy life insurance from a company I’ve never heard of,” I said. “I can’t believe some of the junk mail I get. I used to think it was bad when it came to my regular mailbox, but now that it’s wireless, it’s just gotten so much worse.”
“That’s the price we pay for instant communication with one another,” she said.
“Only I can’t get in touch with my husband at all. That’s one of the things he loves about this trip; he can’t even get a signal where he and Phillip are fishing.”
“I can’t imagine being out of touch like that,” she said, shivering not from the cold, but from the thought of being cut off from the rest of the world.
“The truth is that I can’t, either,” I admitted. “As much as I like to complain about the intrusive nature of electronics, I’ve been known to go back home to get my cell phone whenever I forget it.”
As we neared her place, Grace hesitated before going in. “Why don’t I go grab a bag and come stay with you tonight? You shouldn’t be alone after the evening you’ve had.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to be up in seven hours, so I have to go straight to sleep the second I get inside.”
“Were you under the impression that you had to stay up to entertain me?” she asked with a wicked grin.
“No, but you know I’ll be tempted to do just that if you’re there with me.”
“Okay, but the offer stands. My cell phone will be on all night.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, and then I started up the road for the short walk to the cottage I’d grown up in and now shared with Jake, when he was home. To my surprise, Grace was still beside me. “You heard me decline your offer, right?” I asked her.
“I did, but that doesn’t mean that I still can’t walk you home. We’re going to go through that cottage together until we’re sure that everything is fine, and then, and only then, I’ll come back home.”
“You don’t have to do that, Grace,” I said, though if I were being honest about it, I was a little bit relieved.
“I know that, but I want to,” she said firmly.
I felt a little silly as we went from room to room in my place, but a little more confident in getting a good night’s sleep as well once we were certain that I was indeed alone. I walked Grace to the front door and hugged her. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now I want to hear that deadbolt before I leave.”
“Okay, but it won’t work unless you’re on the other side,” I replied with a grin.
She smiled as well as she left, and I made a production of turning the lock as loudly as I could manage.
“Good night, Grace,” I said loudly.
“Good night,” she said.
Three seconds later, something occurred to me, and I threw the door open. She’d barely made it past my Jeep. “What’s wrong, Suzanne? Did you see something?”
“No, but how will I know that you made it home safely? Should I walk you home now?”
“Suzanne, if we do that, we’ll be up all night, and exhausted to boot.” She paused a moment before adding, “How about if I call you once I’m inside? Will that do?”
“Okay, but if I don’t hear from you in four minutes, I’m coming after you.”
“It’s going to take me five to walk home,” she reasoned.
“You’d better hurry, then,” I said. “Because the clock starts right now.”
Three and a half minutes later my cell phone rang. “I made it,” she said, a little out of breath from hustling home.
“In record time, too. Are you coming by the shop tomorrow morning? I’ll be there until nine.”
“I’ll come by before the festivities start,” Grace said. “See you then.”
“Bye,” I said, and then I glanced at my text messages. Elizabeth had answered that she’d have to do a little research, but she’d contact me first thing tomorrow morning. I wondered if that was her first thing or mine, but I quickly put it out of my mind. After stretching out on the couch, I found myself nodding off in the clothes I’d worn all day. It was no surprise that I was exhausted.
Finding dead bodies tended to do that to me.
Chapter 9
To my surprise, I managed to sleep in the next morning, though most folks wouldn’t consider getting up at 3:30 in the morning sleeping in. I managed to grab a quick shower and a bite to eat before I headed to Donut Hearts. I just hoped Chief Grant and his crew had been able to finish up their investigation of the crime scene in time. Unfortunately I’d had experience with that in the shop before, and I was afraid that he was pushing it. I certainly didn’t want there to be a problem with the evidence because of me once he made an arrest, assuming that at least one
of us figured out who killed Tom Johnson. Still, I knew that if he found he couldn’t make his deadline, he’d keep me out of the shop until he was satisfied that he’d gotten every last bit of evidence available. Though still quite dark, it was a lovely morning when I went outside to my Jeep, and I considered walking, especially since I had the time, but ultimately I wasn’t in any more of a mood to walk there in the shadows than I had been the night before.
When I parked in front of the donut shop, I was disappointed to see one squad car still there. It appeared that I wouldn’t be making donuts right away after all, but that wasn’t the only reason I was unhappy.
Emma Blake was already there, and worse yet, so was her father, Ray, the owner and operator of our local newspaper, the April Springs Sentinel.
“What’s going on?” I asked them as I joined them at the table we had out front for our customers who liked to dine al fresco. “Can’t you get in?”
“No, but he said it wouldn’t be long,” Emma said.
“Suzanne, what can you tell me about how you found the body?” Ray asked me, trying to sound like a professional reporter instead of the owner of the coupon-carrying newsletter rag he called a paper.
“Dad, I told you that you needed to let me talk to her first.”
“Emma, she’s standing right there! I have every right to ask her questions. This country still has freedom of the press, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I’m sorry, but I believe you’re the one who’s forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
Ray shrugged. “You’ve already moved out. There aren’t any more threats you can make.”
“I can call Mom,” Emma said.
“You wouldn’t. Not at this time of morning.” He looked unhappy about the prospect of facing his wife, that much was certain.
“Try me.”
Emma stared at him for a full ten seconds before he finally backed down. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Suzanne, may I ask you a few questions about what happened in your shop yesterday evening?”
“You don’t have to cooperate,” Emma told me. “We had a deal, and suddenly he’s trying to weasel his way out of it.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. When I noticed that Ray was about to crow about it, I hastily added, “But I reserve the right to give you no comment, or to even walk away if I don’t like the tone of your questions. Is that fair enough?” As I said the last bit, it was directed toward Emma and not her father. If he didn’t like it, he wasn’t foolish enough to comment on it.
