Killer Crullers (22 page)

“It’s not necessary, you know,” Steve protested, but her tenant wouldn’t hear of it.

“Suzanne, you must take one, as well.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” I replied.

“You brightened my day, and that’s surely worth a token of my esteem. Feel free to come by any time. You are always welcome. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I need a nap.”

Steve and I walked out, and then down the stairs. Steve smiled at me and waved her box in the air. “If I were you, I wouldn’t open that.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“She bakes little bricks she calls brownies, and no one leaves that apartment without a box of them. If you’re crazy enough to try one, you’ll break a tooth.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said. “What do you do with them?”

“There’s an old well at the back of the property I’m slowly filling up. When it’s topped off, you won’t be able to blast them out with a stick of dynamite.”

As I handed her my box, I said, “Do me a favor and add this to the pile.”

She placed my box on top of hers. “Will do. She means well, that’s what counts. You made her day; you know that, don’t you?”

“She seems like a lot of fun. I meant what I said about the donuts. If you come by before I get back here, I’ll pack a few éclairs for her, if you’ll deliver them for me.”

“It would be my pleasure. It was nice meeting you, Suzanne.”

“And you, as well.”

I walked back out to my Jeep, and on a whim, I looked back up at the apartment building. Pam was standing there at her window, her curtains drawn back, and a smile on her face. The moment she saw me, she waved good-bye.

I waved back, and then drove toward town.

I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, and neither Chet nor Katie had called, so I didn’t feel right going to Duncan Construction without some kind of invitation. I couldn’t even stop by to see Allen Davis, since my interview with him hadn’t gone all that well, either. That was the problem with trying to get folks to talk to me who weren’t under any obligation to do so.

Food might help, and even if it didn’t clear my head, I was hungry, and that was enough. Maybe I’d have time to figure something else out, but at the very worst, I’d get a meal out of it.

ELBOWS

This is my take on a popular treat called Kneecaps. They are small, sweet fried donuts, and when covered with powdered sugar, they’re really good. While Kneecaps have an indent in the middle for whipped cream, these do not.

INGREDIENTS

Mixed

• ¼ cup warm water

• 1 envelope active dry yeast (.25 ounce)

• 2 eggs, beaten

• 1 cup whole milk

• ¼ cup butter, creamed

• ¼ cup sugar, white granulated

Sifted

• 4–5 cups all-purpose flour

• ¼ teaspoon salt

DIRECTIONS

Add the dry yeast to the water and set aside. Cream the butter, and then add the beaten eggs and sugar. In a separate bowl, sift the flour and salt together. Add the yeast to the wet mixture, and then slowly alternate adding the milk and dry ingredients until the mixture is smooth. Add more flour if needed to make the dough workable, then place in a greased bowl, cover, and let rise in a warm place until doubled, approximately an hour. Punch the dough down and roll out on floured surface ½ to ¼ inch thick, cut out donut rounds, and cover the rounds and holes for another half hour. Fry in hot canola oil (360 to 370 degrees F) 3 to 4 minutes, turning halfway through. Drain on paper towels, and then dust with confectioner’s sugar or ice and decorate.

Yield: 6–8 donuts and holes

CHAPTER 14

At least there was a diner right downtown. Diane’s Dairy and Dogs was the epitome of a greasy spoon, but I didn’t mind. Sometimes I liked getting a bite at those kinds of places. Old cinder-block walls had been painted white at some point, I was sure, but now they had faded into a dull yellow. The front of the diner was full of windows, allowing anyone passing by to see what the day’s specials were by looking at the plates of food on the tables. Two ceiling fans spun lazily above, barely stirring the air, and the booths and barstools hadn’t been reupholstered in red vinyl for two or three decades. For all that, the place was jammed with customers. There weren’t any hostesses at this diner, either: it was clearly a seat-yourself type of establishment.

I sat at the bar, then looked at the menu, safely shrouded in plastic.

A middle-aged woman three times my size walked over to me, and I could have sworn she called me sweet pea.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Sweet tea?” she repeated, a little slower the next time, as though I were either hard of hearing, or a little touched in the head.

That was a great deal better than a very bad term of endearment. “Please, but no lemon,” I agreed.

She drew a glass, slid it in front of me, and then looked at me expectantly, her order pad drawn like a weapon.

“What’s good here?” I asked as I glanced at the menu.

“Most of it,” she admitted, though she wouldn’t go further than that. “But not all.”

Okay, that hadn’t worked. “What do you sell a lot of?”

“Dogs,” she replied.

I was willing to live life on the edge, but I wasn’t interested in risking it by ordering one of their hot dogs. I looked at a chalkboard with the day’s specials, and saw vegetable soup and grilled cheese. I pointed to it and said, “I’ll have the special.”

She nodded, jotted something down, and then walked away.

The man beside me, dressed in a business suit, smiled and said, “Diane isn’t much of a talker, is she?”

“That’s good to know,” I replied. “I was afraid that it was something I said.”

“No, she pretty much treats everybody like that.”

I was getting ready to introduce myself when he returned his focus to his newspaper, pretty much ending our chance of having a conversation.

That was okay, too. In three minutes, Diane brought me my food, and I hesitated a moment before tasting the soup. How bad could it be, anyway?

I took a small taste, and felt a flood of delicious warmth wash over me. The veggies were tender and perfect, and the seasoning was excellent. It was so good I nearly forgot about my sandwich, but when I did get around to taking a bite, I nearly spit it out. No, they couldn’t have ruined it that way. I peeled back one of the slices of toasted bread, and sure enough, there was mayonnaise spread on it. I’d seen it a few places in the South before, and I knew that some people loved their grilled cheese sandwiches that way, but I couldn’t be counted among them. I pushed the sandwich aside, took a healthy swallow of tea to wash the taste of the sandwich out of my mouth, and then returned to my soup, where my attention belonged. When the bowl was finished, I thought about asking for more, but then I realized that if I did that, I’d have to explain why I hadn’t eaten the sandwich. A great many waitresses at diners all across the South took it as an affront if you didn’t like something being served, though I wondered if Diane would even notice.

I was about to ask for my check when I noticed something sticking out from under my plate. There, on a small green lined sheet, was my bill. She must have slipped it there when she’d put my sandwich down. I slid a dollar under my bowl, nodded to the man beside me, and then walked to the register. The tea had been good, not great, so I hadn’t asked for a to-go cup.

As I paid an older woman with bright henna hair, I had a sudden thought. George had told me that Rodgers hung out some in Talbot’s Landing, so maybe I’d get lucky and find him there. It would surely save me driving to the other end of the county. “Do you happen to know a man named Bill Rodgers? He doesn’t live in town, but I heard he comes here sometimes.”

“Of course I know Bill,” she said as she made my change.

“Do you know where I might find him?”

“I do,” she answered. “Next in line, please.”

As a large, heavyset man handed her his bill along with a ten, I stepped to the side and asked, “Would you mind telling me where?”

“Closer than you think,” she said. “You just had lunch with him.”

And then she pointed to the man with the newspaper I’d been sitting beside the entire time.

At least no one had taken my seat, though it had been cleared of its dirty dishes.

“You weren’t finished?” Rodgers asked as I sat back down. “Sorry about that. I told Diane you’d cleared out.”

“I’m done with my meal, but I was hoping we could talk for a second.”

Before I could introduce myself, or explain why I was there, he looked at me and said, “Ma’am, I’m sure you’re a perfectly nice woman, but I’m not interested.”

I started to protest when he held a hand up and cut me off. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not in the mood to date right now.”

“I’m not asking you out,” I said. “My name is Suzanne Hart.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t ring any bells.” After a long pause, he finally admitted, “I’m Bill Rodgers.”

“I know who you are,” I said, though the knowledge had just been gained a moment ago. “I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” he asked, clearly curious.

There was no other way to do it. I said, “I saw Desmond Ray the day he died.”

Rodgers’s expression grew suddenly suspicious. “You’re not a cop, are you?”

“Actually, I’m a donut maker,” I said.

“So, why do you care about Ray?”

“I heard he wronged you, and I wanted to hear your side of the story. While it’s true that I’m not with the police officially, we’ve worked together in the past, and I know the two of you had a business deal that went sour recently.”

“Lower your voice,” he commanded. “I won’t talk about it with you, not here.”

“Then where? I don’t have a lot of time, Mr. Rodgers.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but I didn’t want to be led along, either.

“I’m busy at the moment,” he said.

“Then now’s good for me,” I said, quite a bit louder than I had before. A few folks at the diner looked our way, and Bill Rodgers got the message. Either he talked with me now, or I’d spread the word that he was a suspect in Desmond Ray’s murder.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his bill and throwing a ten at the woman at the register.

“What about your change?” she asked.

“Put it in the tip jar,” he told her, and I had to hurry to follow him outside.

“Let’s walk,” he said, and then started off down the street.

After we’d taken a dozen steps from the diner, I said, “Okay. What happened between you and Desmond? What exactly was the deal you two were involved in?”

“I was a fool to invest with him, and I got exactly what I deserved. Desmond burned me, but I didn’t kill him. Honestly, I was upset, but I wouldn’t commit murder for a thousand dollars.”

“Is that all that was at stake?” I asked. When I’d heard how he’d reacted to the bad deal, I’d just assumed it had involved a great deal of money.

“It was enough to sting a little,” Rodgers said. As he walked, he slowed for a moment, and then added, “If I’m being honest about it, it wasn’t the money; it was the principle.”

“That doesn’t exactly cancel you out as a suspect,” I said.

“No, but I was here in town from seven to midnight the night he was killed, and I’ve got the mayor, the police chief, a mortician, and a handyman as my witnesses. We were playing poker, and I never left the table, let alone the town.”

If that were true, it would clear him. “Do you mind telling me what business deal the two of you were involved in?”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind.”

We were beside the building that acted as the police station, courthouse, and town hall. I stopped, and in a moment, Rodgers stopped with me. It was clear I’d gotten everything I was going to out of him.

“Thanks for talking,” I said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“That’s it? Really?”

“Unless there’s something else you want to tell me,” I said.

“No, nothing I can think of. Good-bye.”

“Bye,” I said, and then crossed the street. Surely either the mayor or the chief of police would be in, and I could confirm his alibi and strike his name from our list.

*   *   *

The police chief confirmed it, and the mayor seconded the fact that Bill Rodgers couldn’t have killed Desmond Ray, at least not on the night it happened.

At least I’d managed to cross one name off my list.

I was driving out of town when my cell phone rang. It was a number unfamiliar to me when I glanced at it, so I said, “Hello?”

“Suzanne? This is Katie Wilkes. I need to talk to you. How soon can you get to Duncan Construction?”

I glanced at my watch. “I can be there in four minutes,” I said.

She seemed shocked to hear the news. “Are you in town?”

“I am,” I said. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me now while we’re talking on the phone?”

“No, it can wait,” she said.

I drove as quickly as I dared to Duncan, wondering what Katie had to tell me. I had to give Chet credit. He’d managed to do what I’d failed to accomplish. It appeared that Katie Wilkes was ready to talk.

She was sitting on the same bench in front of the construction company where I’d seen her earlier, only this time, Chet was sitting beside her instead of trying to chase me off.

Chet walked over to me when I parked, though Katie kept her place on the bench.

“Thanks for doing this,” I said.

“I got you this far. The rest is up to you. Watch yourself, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

I wasn’t sure how much I’d be able to push her with the jealous man-mountain standing nearby, but I had to try.

“Hey,” I said as I approached and sat next to Katie on the bench. “Are you ready to talk?”

Chet decided to stand, which was fine with me, since there was no room for him on the seat with us.

“It’s about Desmond,” she said.

Yeah, I kind of figured that, though I didn’t say it. “What about him?”

She looked uncomfortable as she admitted, “I didn’t tell you the complete truth before when we talked.”

“You weren’t taking a walk that night?” I asked, being careful to keep my voice level and calm.

“No, I was walking,” she said, “I just wasn’t alone the entire time.”