Evil Eclairs (8 page)

“Trust me, it feels even better than it looks.”

“So, if you’ve got a date tomorrow, we should get busy with the rest of our day today. Any ideas on what we should do next?”

I’d been thinking about it for the past few minutes. “I want to find out more about this book, and if it even exists. Do you think Cara would know about it?”

“It’s worth a shot. Do you want to call her?” Before I could say anything, she touched my arm lightly. “I mean after we get back into town.”

“Let’s pop by the radio station. I’ve got a hunch that she’s probably still there.”

I changed my route and headed for the radio station, but Cara’s car wasn’t in the parking lot.

Lester’s was still there, though.

“I figured they’d have taken that in for evidence by now,” Grace said.

“Maybe they’ve already searched it.” I pulled in, an easy task now that the police tape and guard were gone.

“It’s got to be a dead end.”

“Not yet,” I said as I parked beside it.

“What are we going to do?” Grace asked me as we got out.

“Let’s see if it’s unlocked.”

“Suzanne, you’ve had some bad ideas in the past, but this one goes to the top of the list. It’s one thing to have our own investigation on the side without the police, but this is a crime scene we’re about to violate here.”

I waved around with my hand. “Do you see any police tape anywhere?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Any cops doing any investigating?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then we’re okay.”

I tried the driver’s side door.

It was locked.

“Check the other doors,” I said.

No luck. The car, if it had a single clue in it that the police had overlooked, wasn’t going to do us any good.

Grace headed back toward the Jeep. “Too bad it didn’t work out coming here, but you’ve got to admit, that happens sometimes.”

“I’m not finished yet.”

I went to the building’s door and tried the handle. It, too, was locked. Someone had to be there. The station couldn’t run itself, could it? I pounded for a full minute.

“Give up. It’s no use.”

Just as I was about to take her advice, the door opened.

A young man I didn’t know answered, wearing a faded blue jumpsuit with his name emblazoned on the pocket.

“Hi, Tim,” I said.

His gaze narrowed. “Hello. How did you know my name?”

“I thought it was something you might want to get off your chest.”

“Excuse me?”

Grace pushed past me. “Pardon my friend; she’s got an odd sense of humor. She’s talking about your coveralls.”

He looked down and saw his own name stitched in red, then nodded his understanding.

Grace continued, “My friend was interviewed here yesterday, and she left her purse. Do you mind if we look around for it?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “I could get in trouble.”

“How about a dozen free donuts tomorrow before you go to work?” I asked. In the past, donut bribes had gotten me places that even cash couldn’t.

Tim looked around outside to see if anyone was watching us, and then held the door open. “Can I get them early? I go to work at six
A.M.
”

“Perfect. I open at five-thirty.”

He grinned, and then added, “Don’t take anything, and don’t go anywhere marked off-limits. You’ve got twelve minutes.”

“One for each donut,” I said with a smile.

He went back to his cleaning, and I started looking for Lester Moorefield’s desk. I’d half expected to find it blocked off by police tape, but it was bare. I started checking drawers, but someone—most likely the police—had cleaned everything out.

“There’s nothing here,” I said.

Grace looked around. “Nothing that’s going to help us, at any rate.”

“Hang on a second, I’m not ready to give up yet.”

“I have to say, you’re obsessed when you get an idea in your head.”

I found Tim cleaning up in the break room. He glanced at his watch. “Done so quickly? You’ve still got seven minutes left.”

“We might not need it. Did you empty the trash can by Lester’s desk today?”

He looked confused by my question. “Sure, but why do you care? Do you think someone threw it away?”

“Threw what away?” I asked.

“Your purse. That’s why you’re here, right?”

For an instant I’d forgotten all about our ruse. It was a good thing I wasn’t a spy. I’d never be able to keep up with all the lies I’d have to tell. “That’s right; my purse. It’s not all that big, so it could be anywhere.”

He rooted around in the collecting bin. There was a divider down the middle; one side held general trash, and the other held papers, disposable bottles, and other recyclables. “Sorry, there’s no purse here.”

“But you emptied Lester’s can today,” Grace repeated.

“I did it just before you two came in, but it was mostly just paper. I’d have noticed a purse.”

I nodded, and made an urgent gesture to Grace that I hoped Tim wouldn’t see. She caught on without any more coaching. “Tim, is there supposed to be water leaking in the bathroom in the hallway?”

“I thought they fixed that,” he said as he grabbed a mop from his cart and sped for the hall.

The second he was gone, I said, “That was an oddly freaky good guess.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. There was a
SLIPPERY FLOOR
sign there when we walked in, and a mop was leaning up against the wall.”

“That was still fast thinking on your part.”

“Save the compliments for later,” Grace said. “You hunt. I’ll keep watch.”

I wasn’t about to argue. She’d bought me some time, no matter how brief it might be, and I couldn’t squander it. I started looking through the papers on top of the recycling section. A few sheets had Lester’s name on them with his chicken-scratch handwriting, so I scooped them up first.

Grace hissed, “Hurry.”

There was no time to be selective. I grabbed everything I could and stuffed it all under my T-shirt. If I held my arms against my stomach, I might get out of there without leaving a paper trail behind me.

“There’s no leak,” Tim said as soon as he returned.

“It must have been my imagination. Sorry,” Grace said.

He looked at me as I clutched my stomach. “You okay?”

“I think I had a bad egg salad sandwich for lunch today,” I said.

I could see the displeasure on his face, most likely not from my illness, but from the prospect that he’d be the one who’d have to clean it up.

I made a small moaning noise, and then I said, “If you don’t mind, we’d better go.”

He looked downright relieved as I stumbled out clutching my stomach.

“When did you have egg salad?” Grace asked when we were in the parking lot again.

“A few weeks ago.”

“And it’s just bothering you now?”

“No, but how else could I explain holding my hands against my stomach like I was cramping up?” I lifted one corner of my shirt and showed her the papers I’d managed to sneak out of the building. Maybe something there would give us a clue about who would want Lester dead. No, that wasn’t right. There were plenty of “whos” already. What I really needed was a way to narrow things down.

I held my T-shirt out and shoved the papers in the backseat of the Jeep. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

“You read my mind,” she said.

We drove away, and I asked, “Where should we go now? We can’t walk into the Boxcar Grill and start digging through those papers; it would be too easy for someone to see what we were up to. The donut shop’s out. I know these were all recycled, but I can’t help feeling they’re trash, and I don’t want them there. If we take them to my house, Momma’s going to want to know what we’re up to, and I don’t want to have that particular conversation, do you?”

“Let’s take them to my place,” Grace volunteered.

“It’s our best option, isn’t it? Are you sure you don’t have to get back to work now?”

“I’ve got a confession to make,” Grace said with a smile. “I get three discretionary days a month as a supervisor, and I’m using them right now, all in a row.”

“You sure you want to burn them helping me?”

“Until Johnny Depp comes to his senses and sweeps me off my feet, I can’t think of a better use of my time.”

I laughed. “You’ve got a pass, then. If Mr. Depp shows up, you’re off the hook, with my blessing.”

“Whether I have it or not, you can bet that I’m going to take advantage of the opportunity if it ever comes up.”

“I don’t blame you a bit.”

We got to Grace’s place and started going through the papers on her broad porch. As we searched for something relevant to our investigation, Grace said softly, “I envy you, Suzanne.”

I looked up and asked, “Because of my looks, my charm, or my general disposition?”

She laughed. “All of those, actually, but also because you have Jake in your life. It’s been so long since I’ve dated a decent man I bet I’ve forgotten how.”

“I’m sure it will come back to you. How long has your dry spell lasted? I bet it’s at least two weeks since you went out with anyone.”

“That wasn’t a real date. It was dinner with Kyle Farrar, and I nearly fell asleep halfway through the appetizers. That man could bore the fleas off a dog.”

“He picked you up, fed you, and brought you back home. That’s a date in my book.”

“I still don’t think it counts, but even if it did, do you know how many second or third dates I’ve been on in the past two years?”

I tried to think of all the men Grace had dated in the past, and while I knew there’d been a healthy number of potential suitors, she hadn’t really connected with anyone in quite some time. “I didn’t realize,” I said. “I’m sorry if I keep throwing Jake in your face.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “All I’m saying is that it must be nice to be you right now.”

“Besides the whole murder-pointing-to-me situation, you mean?”

“Besides that,” she acknowledged with a slight smile.

“It would be even better if Jake lived here in April Springs.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Grace said as she continued to scan her share of the papers we’d retrieved. “If he moved to town, you might get sick of him, seeing him all the time.”

“I’ll take that chance,” I said.

“But do you think he ever will?” Grace asked.

At least a part of my mind heard her. The other segment was focused on the document I’d just pulled out of the stack.

We might have just caught a break in finding out who killed Lester Moorefield, if the clue in my hand meant what I thought it did.

APPLE FRITTERS

These fritters are delightful, especially when they’ve had a chance to cool a little. We have them with a touch of powdered sugar, but some folks like to add a little apple butter for a double whammy!

INGREDIENTS

• ¾ cup all purpose flour

• ¼ cup sugar (white)

• 1 tablespoon baking powder

• 1 tablespoon cinnamon

•
1
⁄
3
cup milk (2% or whole)

• ¼ teaspoon salt

• 1 egg, beaten

• ½ cup chopped apple (something tart; I like Granny Smiths for this)

DIRECTIONS

Heat canola oil for frying to 360 degrees while you mix the batter. Sift the dry ingredients, then stir in milk and beaten egg. Fold in chopped apple, and then take a teaspoon of batter and rake it into the fryer with another spoon. If the dough doesn’t rise soon, gently nudge it with a chopstick, being careful not to splatter oil. After two minutes, check, and then flip, frying for another minute on the other side. These times may vary given too many factors to count, so keep a close eye on the fritters.

Makes about a dozen small fritters.

CHAPTER 6

“What did you find, Suzanne?”

“What makes you think I uncovered anything?” I asked as I continued staring at the paper in my hand.

“I know you better than that. You look as though you’ve just been slapped.”

“Take a look at this,” I said as I handed her the paper I’d found. The document itself had been an internal memo about the station’s next on-air promotion, but it was what Lester had written on the side that had caught my attention.

“Be careful digging into Lacy Newman’s history. Don’t turn your back on her, and never forget that no matter how sweet she might look, she’s a killer. If she’s done it once, she can do it again.”

The paper nearly fluttered out of Grace’s hand to the floor. “He finally lost his mind, didn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

Grace looked at me as if I were the one who’d slipped out of my ties to reality. “We’re talking about Lacy Newman, the same woman who volunteers with the Scouts and cooks at the soup kitchen when she’s not working? Do you honestly think under any circumstances that she could be a killer?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Everything Grace said was true. I knew Lacy pretty well. We’d been assigned as a team in the park cleanup sweep the year before, and I’d found her charming, funny, and the least likely person I’d ever met in my life to be a killer. “Why would he just make this up?”

“You knew Lester. He loved fabricating stories to get people’s attention.”

“He did, I know,” I said as I took the paper from her hand, “but you’ve got to admit that no matter how much he embellished what he said, there was always a kernel of truth in it.”

She frowned at me. “So, donuts really are killers.”

“If you eat too much of any treat it’s going to have a bad result on your health,” I said. “Don’t put me in the position of defending Lester, because I can’t bring myself to do it. All I’m saying is that there’s a chance there’s more than just smoke here.”

“Wow, we have quite a list of suspects, don’t we?” Grace asked.

“Do you have some paper and a pen?” I asked her. “We need to sort things out.”

She said, “Not out here, but I have something we can use inside.”

I nodded. “Then I suggest we move this inside.”

Once we were in her living room, Grace reached into the drawer of a nearby table and pulled out a tablet and a mechanical pencil. “Will this do?”

“Perfectly. Let’s see, who do we have so far on our suspect list?”