Fatally Frosted (8 page)

I hesitated, then took it briefly. “You already know I’m Suzanne Hart.”

“Donut Hearts is the perfect name for your place.”

“I really like it.”

He looked at the building, studying the muted mustard brick veneer, the cedar red trim, and the expanses of glass. “It’s a fine old structure, isn’t it?”

“You’re not one of those purists who believe that every old, abandoned train depot should be restored to all of its earlier glory, are you?” I’d had such people come into my shop before, complaining about the lost history I’d destroyed, and I’d grown tired of defending my choice of locations for my shop.

“No, I’m just happy nobody tore it down altogether. If people can start over, why shouldn’t a building get a second chance at life?” Then he did the most remarkable thing. He reached out and stroked a few bricks, as if he were petting a dog. There was obvious affection in his touch, and I felt my heart softening toward him. I wouldn’t admit to most folks in April Springs, but I too had a love for the old building, and all of the stories it could tell, if only it could talk.

“That’s what I think, too. So, tell me, David, is that why you’re in April Springs? Are you looking for a second chance?”

The question was innocent enough, but his face suddenly darkened. “No, that’s not entirely accurate. I’m here searching for my
last
chance, and that’s something else altogether, isn’t it?” He started to walk back toward the diner, then abruptly stopped and pivoted back toward me. “It was nice seeing you, Suzanne.”

“It was nice seeing you too,” I said.

I watched him walk down the abandoned tracks until he was gone. What had I said? Had I touched a nerve with my comment? And what did he mean by
his quest for a last chance? Our conversation raised more questions than it had provided answers, but it was pretty clear that my curiosity wasn’t going to be satisfied today.

I was about to call Grace when I remembered that she was out of town. I’d grown to depend on my friend for her strength, and it bothered me that I couldn’t just run over to her place and see her when I needed to. I could always call her—I knew that—but it just wasn’t the same talking over the phone.

I was wondering where Jake was at that moment when I heard the door to the donut shop open.

At least the two cops who came out didn’t have any boxes of poison with them, though they were both carrying armloads of bags from the shop.

“What are you two taking with you?”

“Hang on a second, Suzanne,” one of the cops said. It was an officer named Stephen Grant who frequented my shop in his off hours.

He turned to his partner and said, “Adam, why don’t you call the chief and tell him we’re through here. Ask him if Ms. Hart can get back in her building, would you?”

“Okay,” his partner said.

After he was gone, Officer Grant said in a hushed voice, “We didn’t find any poison in your shop, but the chief ordered us to take all of the donuts you had on hand for more testing. Sorry, my hands are tied.”

“Then she really was poisoned with something from my shop?”

Officer Grant looked back at his partner, who was still talking to someone on the radio. “You didn’t hear it from me, but yeah, somebody dusted the top
of one of your donuts with rat poison, and we’re pretty sure that’s what killed her.”

I said, “This is a real mess, isn’t it?”

“We tried to be neat when we searched your place, Suzanne,” he said. He could barely make eye contact with me. Officer Grant was a slim young man barely over the required five feet eight inch requirement to be on the force. It was pretty obvious that the search had bothered him.

“I’m sure you did your best,” I said. “Don’t let this bother you. I know this wasn’t your idea.”

He shrugged. “I tried to tell the chief that if you wanted to kill Peg Masterson, you were too smart to spike one of your own donuts, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Thanks. I think,” I said.

“Don’t worry, it was a compliment. We didn’t find anything that might incriminate you, but then again, I didn’t figure we would.”

His partner came back and said, “He said it was all clear.”

“She’s all yours,” Officer Grant said.

“Thank you.”

Once they were gone, I walked back into my shop. It was odd having the place to myself at eleven o’clock in the morning. The empty racks of donuts in the display shelves looked forlorn, and from the arrangement of the signs on the cases, I noticed that Emma had put the orange cake donuts where the maple frosted belonged. Out of habit more than anything else I remedied the miscue when I heard the doorbell chime.

“Sorry, we’re not open,” I said.

“Not even for me?”

I turned and saw state police inspector and boyfriend Jake Bishop standing there.

“I thought you were on the Outer Banks,” I said as I rushed to him and threw my arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

After our hug, he pulled away from me and said, “I wrapped it up quicker than I thought I would. What have you gotten yourself into this time, Suzanne?”

“This wasn’t my fault, Jake.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I had to see you, but I shouldn’t even be here until I check in with Chief Martin.”

This wasn’t quite the support I’d been hoping for. “You should go, then. I’d hate for you to get in trouble because of me.”

He shook his head and looked down at the floor. “You know what it’s like when I’m working on a case. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Suzanne.”

“So am I,” I said.

I wanted him to apologize, to hug me and tell me everything was going to be all right. Instead, he gave me one last, sad look, then walked out of my shop.

It nearly broke my heart when he left, but I wasn’t going to let him know how much it bothered me.

There was no reason to open again, and I knew it. That was one of the bad things about living in a small town. News—and more importantly, rumors—spread amongst the citizens of April Springs at an alarming rate, and there was no way I could stop
everyone from thinking that one of my donuts had killed Peg Masterson.

I was rattled by my conversation with Jake, more than I was willing to admit even to myself. I should have been cleaning the donut shop over the course of the next hour since it was clear there wouldn’t be any customers today, but instead, I sat at one of the booths and managed to feel sorry for myself as a way to pass the time. By the time noon rolled around, I was feeling a little better, and I knew that it was time to start cleaning up.

I started to lock the front door when Heather Masterson, Peg’s niece, came charging up to the shop. She was a petite young woman with short, glossy black hair and eyes so dark that they nearly matched—just like her aunt’s had been—and I’d known her for nearly fifteen years. One thing was certain: she’d grown into a lovely young lady since I’d first babysat for her long ago, though it was hard to see that with the rage now dominating her features.

“You killed my aunt,” she screamed at me. “Why, Suzanne? What did she ever do to you?”

I knew Heather well enough to realize that she was hurting inside, and though she was usually a dear girl, the fire in her eyes in that instant was full of hate and pain.

“I didn’t kill Peg,” I said, trying to calm her down.

“Don’t try to deny it, Suzanne. I heard a donut killed her, and it had to be one of yours. I thought we were friends.”

Her face started to crumble then, and it was all I could do not to wrap my arms around her and comfort
her. “Heather, I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it. I’m innocent.”

She stared hard at me for a few seconds, then said, “I don’t know what to think. I guess I just want to blame somebody, and you’re the easiest target there is at the moment. What a horrid thing to have happen to her. She was so sweet.”

I raised my eyebrows as I stared at her.

Heather frowned a little, then said grudgingly, “Okay, maybe sweet is going a little overboard, but I loved her, Suzanne. I know Aunt Peg could be a pain in the neck at times, but she was the last bit of family I had left.”

Heather’s parents had died while she was still in high school. They’d gone on a camping trip without her, and a heater had malfunctioned in their motor home, filling it with deadly carbon monoxide. And now, two weeks from her twenty-first birthday, she’d lost her aunt. The reason I knew Heather’s birthday was approaching was because we shared the same day and month, something that had bonded us closer when she’d been younger.

No matter how grown up she looked like on the outside, this was a frightened and sad little girl standing in front of me. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s got to be really hard on you.”

Her tears started to slowly escape, though neither of us mentioned them. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t come charging in here blaming you. You’re just about the only friend I have left in this town these days. Suzanne, I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“You don’t owe me an apology. I just hope the police find out who killed her, and soon.”

“Me, too.” She wiped at her cheeks, swiping away the tears, then said, “I’ve got to go start planning her funeral. I’ll be staying at her house until I get this all sorted out.”

“You could always stay with Momma and me. You’re welcome, you know that. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

“I’ll be all right. It will give me some time to grieve by myself. But thanks for the offer, Suzanne. I really do appreciate it.”

As she walked away, I saw Heather’s shoulders slump. I knew losing her aunt had been a blow to her, and I realized just how much it must have shaken her. Seeing her like that gave me one more reason to find out who had killed her aunt, and why.

I locked the shop door, then I stared at the empty racks on the display shelves inside. There would be no food donation today, though I had promised Father Pete I’d have something for them at the church. The sad thing was, the folks who counted on my contributions and needed food would have nothing to eat from my kitchen that day, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

I called the church to tell Father Pete that I wouldn’t be able to help after all.

The only problem was that his secretary, Roberta Dowd, wouldn’t put me through to him.

“I’m sorry, Suzanne, but he can’t be disturbed. His orders were most specific, and I mean to follow them.”

“Roberta, I just need a second of his time. I won’t take long, I promise.”

She paused, then said, “I didn’t want to come out and say it, but I should tell you that we’re not interested in any of your food donations at the moment.”

“Father Pete actually said that?” I thought we had a better relationship than that. What kind of minister ducked someone who was only trying to help?

“He shouldn’t have to say it. Given what happened today, do you honestly think we’d want any contributions from your shop? How do we know that another donut isn’t tainted as well?”

I tried not to scream as I said, “I wasn’t calling about making a donation. I wanted him to know that I wouldn’t be able to help out today after all.”

“That’s for the best then, isn’t it?” she said smugly. “I’m still not certain it sends the right message to the people we’re trying to help to hand your donuts out to them. We can’t afford to drive anyone off. They have nowhere else to turn. You understand, don’t you, dear?”

“Oh, I understand all right,” I said as I hung up, afraid to stay on the line any longer because of what I might say. The nerve of that woman. If I could have talked directly to Father Pete, I might have been able to explain what had really happened, but with his secretary acting as a gatekeeper, I had a better chance of talking to the president of the United States. Another, more chilling thought struck me. Was there a chance she’d been blocking my call on his orders? Was I suddenly our town’s very own Typhoid Mary?

It wasn’t fair to Emma or her mother, either. They
had made me proud, and I was going to do my best to convince my assistant that she was the perfect donut-making substitute whenever I wasn’t around, even though I had a bad feeling that after this, she wasn’t going to be interested in the job anymore.

I hauled the trash out back to my Dumpster and was having trouble tipping it in when I heard someone behind me ask, “Can I give you a hand with that?”

I didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was George Morris, a balding ex-cop in his sixties who was one of my best customers and good friends.

“I could use it,” I admitted, and he took one handle while I took the other. We threw the trash away, and I wished I could clear me name that easily.

“It’s a real shame, isn’t it?” he said as he carried the can back inside for me.

“In more ways than one. I still can’t believe someone would use one of my donuts as a murder weapon, you know?”

George shook his head. “Suzanne, that donut didn’t kill Peg Masterson. The poison on top of it did.”

“Have you heard anything else about it?” I asked. Though George was retired, he still kept in touch with a lot of his friends on the force, and so far, Chief Martin had let him hang around the squad room as long as he didn’t try to work any of the cases. His observations had been invaluable to me in the past, and I wanted to make sure he stayed in the chief’s good graces.

George frowned, then said, “There hasn’t been anything formal announced, but it’s pretty clear that’s what happened. How are you holding up?”

“I’m a wreck,” I admitted.

“Don’t worry, things won’t stay this bad. I heard that the chief was calling the state police to see if he could get Jake to give him a hand.”

“He’s already here,” I said.

George smiled at me. “See? Things aren’t as bad as they might seem.”

I admitted, “I’m not sure how good a thing it is that Chief Martin called him.”

George shook his head. “Your luck’s not running so hot right now, is it?”

“I don’t know. I still have my friends. You believe me, don’t you?” I asked as I bolted the door behind me.

“You shouldn’t even have to ask,” he said. George looked around the kitchen. While it was my habit to clean as I worked, apparently Emma had a different idea.