Donut Shop Mystery 25 - Devil's Food Defense (10 page)

“For both of those things, and for looking out for us, too,” I said.

“My pleasure,” he said.

I closed his door, and he drove away.

Swinging my bag, I walked up the steps and joined Grace inside.

Chapter 12

I
found Grace in the kitchen. “You’re not cooking, are you?” I asked her with a grin. My best friend was many things, but a gourmet chef wasn’t among them.

“I thought I might whip something up for us,” she said as she frowned, staring blankly into one of her nearly empty cupboards.

“We could always call out for a pizza,” I suggested.

“We could, but is there any reason we shouldn’t go to Napoli’s?”

“The chief was pretty clear that he wanted us both here,” I reminded her.

“I took that to mean later tonight. We’ve got loads of time until we go to sleep, and he didn’t say a word about us not going out of town for a quick bite. What do you say?”

I liked the local pizza enough to get it every now and then, but it was no match for Angelica DeAngelis and her girls in Union Square. “I’m in, but you’re going to have to drive, unless you want to walk up the street and get my Jeep.”

“Let’s take my car. I can drop off some samples in Union Square, so no one’s going to have a problem with me driving my company vehicle.”

“It’s a deal,” I said. “Are you going to at least call the chief and tell him what we’re planning to do?”

She grinned impishly at me. “I’m way ahead of you. I already did.”

“You kind of took my willingness to go to Napoli’s for granted, didn’t you?” I asked her with a smile of my own.

“Seriously, what are the odds that you would say no to that offer?”

“Somewhere between slim and none,” I admitted. “Let’s go.”

As we drove, I asked her, “Can I ask you something? Do you think Mickey Wright could have killed Gray?”

“I don’t,” she said. “If he had disappeared right after the murder and the cash was missing, I would have put some serious money on it, but I can’t see him killing Gray without getting the cash first, can you? And if he’s not sticking around to look for the money, why else would he still be here?”

“I have no idea,” I said, feeling sorry for my friend dying the way he had, despite what he might have done twenty years ago. “Maybe there’s more to it than that. I know what the chief said, but is there a chance Mickey Wright killed Gray in a fit of rage, maybe for some past sin we don’t know about?”

“Does Wright seem like that kind of guy to you?” Grace asked me.

“No, not really. He was pretty cold and calculating when we cornered him at the cottage,” I answered.

“So then, we’re going to keep working off the premise that it was most likely someone from his present and not his past.”

“It seems that way to me. Barry could have done it, if the mailman found out about the cash.”

“Who knows?” Grace asked. “Maybe he snooped into the wrong piece of mail and realized that Gray had a lot more money than he seemed to.”

“It had to be more than that, though,” I said. “It’s frustrating only knowing
some
of what we need to know.” I could see Barry possibly killing someone for the money, but only if he could justify it by knowing something the victim had done in his past.

“What about Donald Rand?” Grace asked me.

“If he was changing that beneficiary form to favor himself, I can see it happening with no problem whatsoever. He probably felt as though he’d already let half the money slip through his fingers, and let’s not forget, he’s the only person we know for sure who was aware of the fact that Gray had a great deal of cash on him all of a sudden.”

“Let’s look at it from the opposite angle. What if Gray told Gladys that she was going to get everything? After all, they were extremely close. She might not have known that Gray hadn’t officially changed the paperwork yet.”

“Can you seriously see that sweet old cook killing someone for cold, hard cash, Grace?”

“Suzanne, we’ve seen it before. Money can bring out the best in people, but it usually acts just the opposite. If she were desperate for cash, she might not have felt as though she had any choice.”

“We need to talk to Trish,” I said, hating myself for saying it even as the words left my lips.

“Do you really think she’s going to help us hang someone on her staff? I know that Trish is like family to both of us, but the two women who cook for her are like substitute mothers. She’s not going to throw either one of them under the bus, not even for us.”

“Not knowingly,” I said in agreement.

Grace risked a quick glance in my direction. “Seriously? You’re going to take a chance of ruining our friendship with Trish over this?”

“I’m not saying we do anything over the top. Let’s just have a conversation with her. What can that hurt?”

“I don’t even want to think about it. Do you mean right now? Before we even eat?” Grace asked, clearly unhappy about the immediate prospect of cornering our old friend.

“Not on empty stomachs,” I said. “It can wait until after we eat.”

“That’s the spirit,” Grace replied, clearly relieved about delaying the confrontation. “Who knows? Maybe while we’re dining on fine Italian cuisine, something else will come up in the meantime.”

“Do you really think it might?”

“No, but it’s not too much to hope for,” she said. “Besides, we’ll be at Napoli’s in ten minutes. All I want to focus on right now is my empty belly.”

I wasn’t sure we were going to be able to satisfy our hunger when we got there. The strip mall where the restaurant was located didn’t have a single parking space available. As Grace circled around yet again searching for a free spot, she asked in dismay, “Do you think
everyone
is here for dinner?”

I shook my head as I pointed to a sign close to the restaurant. “Unless I miss my guess,
that’s
the reason for the traffic jam.” A shop two doors down from Napoli’s was clearly where all of the people were. A banner out front proclaimed that the place was going out of business, and that prices had been slashed ruthlessly. It appeared to offer a variety of things, from dishware to towels to who knew what else. We lucked out when a woman in a Cadillac built sometime in the seventies pulled out and nearly clipped the bumper of the car across from it. Grace snaked her car into the spot, to the chagrin of two other drivers hovering nearby.

“I love winning,” she said with a broad grin as we got out.

“Even a parking spot?”

“Even that. These days I’ll take what I can get.”

“Are we dropping those samples off on the way back home?” I asked her.

“Whoops. They’re already closed. I’ll have to come back another time.” It was clear she’d known they would be all along. I just laughed. Grace never failed to make the system work for her whenever she could.

We walked in and found Maria standing idly by at the front door. “It’s so nice to see friendly faces,” she said as she showed us to a table. There were only a few other diners there, and the place had a somber quality to it that I hadn’t seen before. “I’ll go get Mom.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, but it was to Maria’s retreating back. Jake would have loved the view, as would most men with a pulse. And why wouldn’t they? Angelica and her daughters were classically beautiful, with the mother outshining even her own daughters. Age, as well as multiple childbirths, had done nothing to dull her essence.

“Ladies, have you come to save me?” Angelica asked dramatically as she walked out of the kitchen.

“We didn’t know that you needed saving,” I said as I stood and hugged her. Angelica wrapped me up in her arms and then found room for Grace as well. As we retook our seats, I asked, “What’s going on?”

“Belinda Jakes has decided to go out of business,” Angelica said gravely.

“That’s too bad,” Grace answered.

“It would be, if she’d ever actually do it, but this nonsense has been going on for two months! Just this morning, we saw another truckload of wares being unloaded in back. I have a feeling this bankruptcy is going to continue as long as it’s profitable. In the meantime, my customers can’t find a parking space, and we’re feeling the pinch. We may be forced to close our doors.”

Was that possible? I didn’t know what I’d do without Angelica and her daughters, not to mention the food! “Are things really that dire?”

“They aren’t good,” Angelica said. “Enough of my problems, though. Since we’re slow anyway, I’ve been experimenting with new lasagna recipes. Would you two mind terribly being my guinea pigs? There won’t be a charge, of course, I just ask for your honest opinions.”

“We don’t mind paying for the privilege,” I said.

“I should be the one paying you,” she answered with a grin. Four minutes later, Angelica hand-delivered a platter filled with different types of lasagna, from spinach to spicy meat to cheese to a few more exotic combinations. They were each carefully marked with little placards, and it was more food than Grace and I could eat in three days.

“It’s too much,” I said as I surveyed the riches in front of us.

“Nonsense. I just brought a taste of each. Now try them and tell me what you think. Honest opinions only; be brutal if you must.”

I expected the restaurateur to go back into the kitchen, but to my surprise, she pulled out one of the empty chairs at our table and sat down to watch us sample her food.

I took my first bite, the lasagna made with multiple cheeses, and let the experience wash over me. The layers offered the perfect blend of goodness, the cheese complemented perfectly by the sauce and the pasta. “What is in this?” I asked incredulously.

Grace had been watching me, so she took a bite of her own. Her face lit up as well. “It’s incredible.”

Angelica looked pleased by the praise. “I used a little mascarpone, some ricotta, a bit of provolone, a taste of mozzarella, and some parmesan. Then I use a few other small bits that I’m keeping to myself. Do you like it?”

“It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” I said quite honestly.

Angelica just grinned as Grace nodded in agreement.

“Oh, wait until you taste what’s next.”

Grace and I left an hour later, both of us nearly too full to make the trip safely back to April Springs. “I’m not sure I can stay awake,” I said. “I’m stuffed.”

“At least you don’t have to drive,” Grace groaned. “I just want to go home and crawl into bed. You’re on your own tonight.”

“We still need to talk to Trish, remember?” I asked. I didn’t relish having the conversation either, but what could we do? A murderer was on the loose in our quaint little town, and we had to do something about it.

“Do we have to do it tonight?” she asked.

“If we put it off until tomorrow morning, Gladys will be on duty. Do you really want to quiz Trish about the woman while she’s in the back cooking?”

“No, you’re right,” Grace said. “Reach into the glovebox, would you? I have some antacid in there. I ate entirely too much tonight. It was just so good, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“You’d be a fool not to,” she said.

Somehow we made the drive back to April Springs safely, but that just meant that we had to face Trish tonight after all. I knew if we didn’t do it then, I’d toss and turn all night until we had another opportunity, but that didn’t mean I was happy about what we were about to do.

We didn’t have any choice, though.

Some hard questions had to be asked.