Fatally Frosted (6 page)

She looked at me as though I’d just stabbed her in the chest with a butcher knife. “What are you talking about? I was right here the entire time.”

I shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t vouch for you with the police. You just told me yourself that you were upstairs changing your outfit.”

Marge frowned. “Suzanne, if you’re going to be that way, then I can’t tell them you were with me the entire time, either, can I?” There was an odd expression on her face that I had trouble reading. Was she trying to imply I’d had something to do with what had happened to Peg?

“I’ve got a great alibi. I was standing in front of a crowd of sixty people,” I protested, not believing that she was trying to turn the tables on me.

“They weren’t here the entire time. You were alone in the kitchen when I started taking tickets on the front steps, and there’s a French door that leads straight out to that patio. How long does it take to kill someone, Suzanne? You could have done it and I never would have even seen you slip out the door.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I didn’t kill her.”

“Neither did I,” Marge said.

I patted her shoulder gently. “Hey, I never said you did. Honest, I don’t think you killed Peg, Marge.”

Her eyes began to melt tears. “You don’t? Truly? But I thought that was what you just said.”

“No, what I said was that I couldn’t give you an alibi for the entire time. I just realized that you’re right. It works both ways. I guess the chief is going to have to look hard at both of us.”

“You didn’t have a motive, though, did you?” Marge asked softly.

“Everybody in town had a motive, when it comes down to it. Peg wasn’t exactly Miss Congeniality, was she?”

Marge shrugged. “I know most folks weren’t all that fond of her, but did anyone else really have a reason to kill her?”

That line of reasoning surprised me. “I don’t know. Did you have a motive yourself? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She looked startled by the question. “Me? No, of course not. Peg had a beef with me and my family; it wasn’t the other way around.”

“Then that’s what you should tell the chief,” I said.

“Tell the chief what?” I heard a voice ask that was much too familiar to me. Chief Martin, our head of local law enforcement and a man who’d kindled his crush on my mother like a hearth fire, walked into the room. He’d put on some weight recently, though he tried his best to hide it with a jacket he didn’t need.
The chief must have been a nice-looking man when he’d been younger, but the years had not been as kind to him as they had been to my mother. I couldn’t imagine the two of them ever dating, but then that was ancient history, a time in their high school lives that was long gone, and never to be repeated, according to my mother.

“We were going to tell you that we’ve been waiting for you,” I said.

“I got here three minutes after someone called,” he said. “How much faster did you expect me to be?” He looked through the doorway into the kitchen and lounging area. “You pulled in quite a crowd,” he said in disgust. “That isn’t going to make it any easier.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The chief and I had our differences, most of them stemming back to the time I was born. He’d resented my dad’s presence in Momma’s life, and I was a testament to the fact that she’d chosen someone else. Things weren’t exactly all warm and fuzzy between us before my propensity to show up near dead bodies began.

Finally, he turned back and stared at me. “Are you telling me they all actually saw what happened?” I could tell in his voice that he was hoping this one would be wrapped up before lunch.

“As far as I know, no one saw a thing,” I admitted. “They were all watching me.”

He looked into the kitchen. “Then that had to give you the perfect view of the murder, didn’t it,” he said.

“If it happened while I was giving my demonstration, I didn’t see it,” I confessed.

“Suzanne, how could you not notice?” he asked fiercely.

“I was busy talking, measuring, and trying not to throw up,” I said.

The chief turned to Marge. “I suppose you didn’t see anything, either.”

“Not a thing. Sorry,” she said.

“Great. Why don’t you two go on in with everybody else. I just want to have to say this once.”

Marge and I walked in after the chief, and the second my audience realized that the police chief was there, they converged on us like we were giving out free samples of food.

As Chief Martin was being pelted with questions from a dozen different directions, he held up his hands. “Quiet, everybody. I need you to listen to me.”

Everyone stopped talking, and I envied the chief’s ability to silence them so easily. I looked over his shoulder and saw the doctor walking away from the body as he shook his head, and that’s when I realized that Peg was indeed dead. Was there any chance it was from a heart attack, and not a homicide? I wanted to go out and ask, but I doubted that the chief of police of April Springs would have appreciated it. He tended to frown on my involvement with his police investigations, especially when it involved a dead body or two.

“First off, did anyone here see anything out on the patio?” he asked.

The silence continued. “Fine. If there are no witnesses, I’d like you all to give Officer Strickland your names and addresses, and then you can go.”

“Is the kitchen tour canceled?” a well-dressed woman in back asked.

“It is at this stop,” the chief said.

“What about everywhere else?” the man with her asked. “We’ve got tickets, and if we can’t go to the other houses, I want my money back.”

“I don’t know anything at all about the kitchen tour. Why don’t you all go find out? File out one at a time, and have some identification with you when you do. The officer will have to verify that each of you have a current ID.”

“What if we don’t?” an older woman dressed in her Sunday finest asked.

“Then I’ll have to vouch for you myself if you want to get out of here before dark. Now form an orderly line, and we’ll get you out of here as fast as we can.”

The group started to do as they’d been told, but Marge and I followed the chief as he walked, not to the window, but to where I’d set up my cooking station.

As he stood there, he said, “Suzanne, are you honestly telling me you didn’t see anything from here?”

I looked toward the window from what had been my vantage point, and clearly saw a police officer kneeling over the body taking pictures. “I’m sorry. There were a lot of people blocking my view. I realize it doesn’t look good, but I honestly didn’t see a thing.”

“I’ve heard that before, haven’t I?” Chief Martin said snidely.

I chose not to respond to that. Beside me, Marge asked, “Should Suzanne and I join the line?”

Martin shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You two are already at the top of my list.”

“As witnesses, or as suspects?” I asked, before I realized that it wasn’t the most delicate thing I could have said.

That got his attention. “Why, did either one of you have a reason to kill her?”

Before Marge could answer, I said, “You don’t even know if she died of natural causes, or if it was murder. Aren’t we all jumping the gun a little here?”

He stroked his chin, then said, “You know what? You’re right. I need more information. Both of you should wait right here.”

As the chief walked outside toward his officers, Marge took my hands in hers, and I could feel that her skin was clammy and icy cold. “Suzanne, I’m not afraid to admit that I’m terrified by all of this.”

“It would be odd if you weren’t,” I said.

“Do you mean that you’re afraid, too?”

I looked her in the eye. “I’m shaking like a leaf inside.”

“You certainly don’t show it,” Marge said.

“Trust me, it’s all bluff and bluster. I’m as scared as I could be, if that makes you feel any better.”

Marge smiled sadly. “Oddly enough, it does.”

“Good. I’m glad I could help, then.”

Ten minutes later, the chief walked back in as the line started to dwindle to just a few people. He wasn’t smiling, but then again, I could count the times I’d seen his grin on one hand in all the years I’d known him, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Suzanne, we need to talk,” he said gruffly.

That didn’t sound good. “What about? What’s going on?”

“You need to come outside with me,” he said.

“Aren’t you even going to tell me why?” His tone of voice was scaring me even more than it had before, though I hadn’t imagined that would be possible.

“Outside,” he repeated, and I followed him meekly through the door. I glanced back at Marge, and she was looking at me in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Was that open suspicion in her gaze?

Once we were out in the garden, I found myself avoiding looking directly at the body, as if it were the sun, and I was in danger of being blinded by the sight.

“Does that look familiar?” the chief asked.

“It’s Peg, I knew that when I was inside,” I said, still not looking down at the body.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said.

That must have been when he noticed that I was doing everything in my power not to look at Peg.

“Suzanne, no matter how unpleasant this might be for you, I need you to look at the body. More importantly, I need you to identify what’s in her hand.”

I took a deep breath, then steeled myself for an up-close view of the body.

I had to look twice when I saw what was clutched in her dead hand.

Hearing the trembling in my voice, but not being able to stop it, I said, “It’s clearly from my shop. From the look of it, it’s lemon-filled.”

I saw that Peg was holding a donut with one bite missing that had to have come from Donut Hearts.

And I knew that at that moment, I was in more trouble than I ever had been in my life.

These yeast donuts are delicious, and as a bonus, they’re easy to make. Well worth a try in your own kitchen. I like to cut out donut rounds and holes, and sometimes I use my ravioli cutter to make round long johns that are perfect for filling!

• ¾ cup scalded milk

• ½ cup granulated sugar

• ¼ teaspoon salt

• 1 packet active dry yeast (¼ oz)

• ½ cup warm water

• 4–6 cups sifted all-purpose flour

• 2 teaspoons nutmeg

• 2 teaspoons cinnamon

•
cup margarine

• 2 eggs, beaten

• Frying oil, 360 degrees F

Glaze Recipe

• 2 cups confectioners’ sugar

• 6 tablespoons milk

Scald the milk, then add the granulated sugar and salt, stirring the mixture until the dry ingredients dissolve. After the mixture cools, in a separate bowl add the cinnamon and nutmeg to the flour, then add two cups of the dry ingredient blend to the liquid and mix.

In a third bowl, dissolve the yeast in warm water, stir it into the milk and flour mixture, then add the butter and eggs. Add the remaining flour ½ cup at a time. When the dough is firm, knead it 5 minutes on a floured surface. The amount of flour needed depends on many factors, so keep working it in until you have a firm dough. Place into an oiled bowl and cover for about 30 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough out to ¼- to ½-inch thickness. Cut it into circles using a donut cutter, then set the rounds aside to rise for another 30 minutes.

Add the donuts to the hot oil a few at a time. Cook on each side until golden brown, then remove to drain on paper towels. Glaze while warm, or just sprinkle with sugar.

To make the glaze, stir together the confectioners’ sugar and 6 tablespoons milk until smooth. Dip warm donuts into glaze, and then set them aside to cool.

Yield: 12–18 donuts

“How can you be so sure it’s one of yours?” the chief asked me.

“Believe me, when you’ve been making donuts as long as I have, you get to the point where you recognize your own work.” I took a deep breath, then asked, “Is that what killed her?”

“We’re going to have to leave that up to the medical examiner, but until I hear otherwise, that’s the assumption I’m going to go on.”

“I guess that makes me a suspect,” I said.

“I’m not about to say that just yet,” he said. “I just wanted to see if it was one of your donuts, or if it was something she bought at the grocery store.”

“Now you know,” I said. “Here’s the thing, though, Chief. What possible reason would I have to kill her?”

“I’m not saying you did it,” Chief Martin said, the ragged edge of his voice showing his exasperation with me.

“You’re not saying I didn’t do it, either.”

He just shrugged, which wasn’t a response that would have satisfied anyone, least of all me.

As I moved away, I stepped on something that made a crinkling sound. I looked at the bottom of my
shoe and saw a cellophane candy wrapper on the ground. I started to pick it up when the chief grabbed my hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“Trying to stop you from contaminating the crime scene,” he said. “Is that wrapper yours?”