Sinister Sprinkles (22 page)

“I heard what you asked him, and you deserve a straight answer.”

“How did you hear our conversation?” I asked. “The microphone was off.”

“Just the one for the broadcast feed,” Cara said. “He forgets all the time, and I get the juiciest gossip that way. Lester’s nothing more than an old fishwife. He loves to spread rumors, and he gets his own pipelines in here to feed his on-air slander from his secret informants. That’s why Darlene had his card and a hundred-dollar bill. There was a number on the money, wasn’t there?”

I nodded.

Cara took a book out, and recited a number to me. I didn’t even have to look at the bill or the card to know that it was a perfect match.

“He was paying her for rumors?” I asked. “What could she know that was worth a hundred dollars? This is April Springs, not Dallas.”

“That I can’t tell you,” Cara said. “All I know is that she was on his payroll. Working at Cutnip must have been a great source of rumors about folks around town.”

“But I just heard Lester do a spot for the salon. Isn’t that kind of crazy, risking losing a sponsor like that?”

Cara leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t know the half of it. Wilma’s ads are the only thing keeping him on the air right now. He’s lost two other sponsors in the past month. If she drops him too, his so-called career in radio will be over.”

“So he had a reason to want Darlene dead, didn’t he? If she threatened to tell Wilma what she knew, he could have killed her to shut her up.”

Cara’s face went white. “No, that couldn’t be.”

“It’s possible,” I said.

“I have to check on something, and then I’ll get back to you. Is there a number where I can reach you?”

I jotted down the donut shop’s number, and after a second’s hesitation, added my cell phone number. “Call me anytime. I appreciate your help. Just don’t do anything to get fired. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”

“And I couldn’t stand by and let a murderer go free,” she said.

Lester came out of the booth and started down the hall. When he saw me, his eyes narrowed to two tiny slits. “What are you doing here?”

I was at a loss for a plausible reason when Cara said, “I was just getting her a mug,” she said as she slapped one into my hands. “Every guest gets one.”

He tore it out of my grasp. “She wasn’t a guest, she was an intruder. Now get out,” he said.

“Fine, I didn’t want your mug anyway,” I said as I hurried toward the outside door. I nearly knocked Grace over as I darted outside.

She said, “Finally. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

“I couldn’t get you in,” I said as I hurried toward her car. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll explain what happened to you once we get away.”

“What? Did you end up hitting him with a microphone?”

I stopped in my tracks and looked at her. “Why would you say that?”

“I heard what happened on the radio, and nobody would blame you if you took a shot at him. When I couldn’t get in, I wondered if you might accuse him of something on the air, so I came back to the car and tuned the station in on my radio.”

“How bad was it at the end?” I asked.

“Pretty bad,” she said. “Why won’t you debate whether your donuts are poisonous or not? I think you should.”

“It wasn’t like that. He cut me off in midsentence.”

“I figured it was something like that. Don’t worry, I doubt many people heard you say it.”

“Don’t even pretend that you don’t know that most of April Springs listens to him, no matter how bad he is at what he does. I don’t know how I’m going to fix it, but whatever I come up with, it’s going to have to wait.”

“What’s more important than saving your business?” Grace asked as we finally climbed into her car.

“Finding Darlene’s killer. She was feeding Lester gossip from the beauty shop, and he was paying her for it.”

“What would Wilma say about that, if she knew?” Grace asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it? According to Lester’s producer, if Cutnip dropped him as a sponsor, his show would go off the air. That’s motive enough for murder, wouldn’t you say?”

“In Lester’s mind, it probably was. But how do we prove he had anything to do with Darlene’s murder?”

“I’m working on it,” I said, then I noticed that we were back in front of the donut shop. “Why are we here?”

“Where did you want to go, home?” she asked. “I’ll take you wherever you want, but you have to give me some idea where we’re going, or we’re going to just sit here until it’s time to eat dinner.”

“I just wish I knew,” I said.

We were still sitting there five minutes later when Grace’s cell phone rang. Before answering it, she turned to me and said, “I could use some coffee.”

“I’ll make some,” I said as I got out, clearly taking the hint.

I went into the shop, and before I could lock it behind me, there was a tap at the front door. A man in a heavy jacket and large hat yelled, “Are you open?”

I pointed to the sign. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why are you inside?”

I said the first thing that came to me. “We’re doing inventory.”

I hadn’t done it since I’d opened the shop, though I knew I should keep better tabs on the supplies I had on hand. My operation was small enough so that if I ever ran out of anything, I just ordered more, or if it was a real pinch, I’d run to the market and pick some up myself. I knew that it wasn’t the most efficient system in the world, and admittedly, sometimes it did leave me in a temporary bind, but not enough to bother with adding to my workload, when I was already open seven days a week.

Grace came in just as the coffee was ready.

“I saw a man just walk off in a huff. What was that about?” she asked as she took a mug from me.

“He wanted donuts, but I told him I was doing inventory.”

“You’re not, are you?”

“Of course not,” I said as I poured a mug for myself, “but I had to tell him something. Are you going to share who was on the telephone, or is it none of my business?”

Grace said, “I found out where Darlene got the hundred thousand dollars, and I’m afraid it’s probably just a dead end.”

I put my mug down. “How could that be? That much money has to be a motive for murder.”

Grace explained, “Her great-aunt Myrtle died six weeks ago in Union Square. I actually read about it in the paper. I knew the woman had money, and I remember wondering what happened to it, but then something else came up and I forgot all about it. It turns out she appointed Darlene as her executor a few days before she died. Do you want to know who had the position before that?”

“I’m guessing it was her cousin, Taylor Higgins.”

Grace looked surprised. “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t, not really, until you mentioned the great-aunt. Taylor’s come around the shop a few times asking about Darlene, and what might have happened to her. That’s why I wasn’t all that surprised when you told me what you found out. Does that mean Darlene was supposed to get the money instead of Taylor?”

“No, she gets a small fee as executor, but the rest of the money gets split up into bequests to a hundred different beneficiaries.”

“And they get a thousand each?” I asked.

“More like five hundred, once the rest of Myrtle’s debts are paid off.”

“Five hundred dollars isn’t much of a motive for murder, is it?” I said.

“I’m sure people have been killed for less, but no, I wouldn’t think it’s an issue here. At least we can mark the money off the list as a motive.”

“Just out of curiosity, who gets Darlene’s share now that she’s dead?”

Grace said, “It probably goes back into the pool of funds to be distributed later, but I might be wrong. I didn’t think it was worth pursuing.”

“It isn’t, unless one of the heirs is a serial killer and is going to knock off the other ninety-eight people left, it’s a dead end.”

“It appears to be,” Grace said.

After we finished our coffee, I poured the rest from the pot into a to-go cup, then I rinsed out the pot and mugs.

Grace asked, “What should we do now?”

“I think it’s time to go home so I can take a shower and change. Do you mind? The donut smell is pretty strong today.” Most days I didn’t notice it, but sometimes it was all I could take to be around myself, let alone anyone else.

“Sounds good,” she said.

As I locked up behind us, I looked in the parking lot and saw someone putting a note under my Jeep’s windshield.

I felt my heart race at the sight of it, wondering what it meant, and what exactly someone was trying to tell me.

*   *   *

It was George, I was relieved to see when he turned around.

He looked surprised to see Grace and me standing there.

As we joined him, he said, “Suzanne, I thought you would be long gone by now.”

“We were, but we came back,” I said. “What’s going on, or do you want me to just read the note?”

He smiled as he retrieved it and balled it up into a wad before sticking it into his pocket. “I’d rather tell you. Any chance I could get a cup of coffee?”

I gave him the cup in my hand. “Here you go. I just made it.”

“I can’t take your coffee, Suzanne.”

“If you’re worried about germs, this is fresh. Grace and I already had some. Just drink it, okay?”

He nodded and pulled off the lid. “If you’re sure. Thanks.”

Grace’s cell phone rang, and she stepped away from us to take the call.

After George killed the cup, he said, “Thanks. That was exactly what I needed.”

“You were going to tell me about that note,” I said, trying to keep my teeth from shivering. “What did it say?”

“Darlene’s been up to something with Lester Moorefield. A few people have seen them sneaking around town together. I thought it was an odd match, you know?”

“She was selling him rumors for his show,” I said.

“So you’ve already got what I had,” he said, the disappointment heavy in his voice.

“It’s always good to have confirmation,” I said, trying to buck his spirits up.

“Have you learned anything else?” he asked as he chucked the empty coffee cup, along with the note he’d written for me, into the trash can near the donut shop.

“Grace said that the hundred thousand was a dead end. It’s being split a hundred ways, so it’s not much of a motive for murder.”

“If it’s being divvied up, why was it all in an account with Darlene’s name on it?” George asked.

“I just assumed since she was the executor, she had control of it for now,” I said.

“It should have been set up into an estate account,” George said, “not one in her name. Did Grace check on that?”

“I don’t know.”

George frowned, then asked, “Who gets Darlene’s share now that she’s dead? Who takes over as executor? Are there any other assets that might be worth killing someone for? Is there a will on record, and is it the most recent one, or is there something else there we don’t know about yet?”

“I don’t know,” I had to admit.

“Well, I’m free,” George said. “Let me nose around the courthouse and see what I can come up with. While I’m checking it out, I’m going to look into her cousin, too.”

“It sounds like a great deal of work,” I said as a movement near my Jeep caught my eye. I kept watching it, but there was nothing else, so I finally just figured it was my imagination playing tricks on me.

“I don’t mind. I’m retired, remember? Thanks again for the coffee,” he said as he started off down the street. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You know where to find me,” I said.

He turned and grinned as he pointed to the sign. “It’s always time to make the donuts with you, isn’t it?”

“Somebody has to do it,” I said as Grace came back.

From the expression on her face, I knew it was bad news.

What I didn’t know was how it would affect the investigation, and what had gone so terribly wrong.

OLD FASHIONED DONUTS

These are a little denser than normal donut fare these days, but they might just take you back to simpler times! Absolutely worth a try!

INGREDIENTS

•
1
⁄
2
cup milk

•
1
⁄
2
teaspoon salt

• 2 packages fast-rising yeast (
1
⁄
2
ounce total)

•
1
⁄
2
cup warm water

• 3 eggs, yolks only

•
1
⁄
2
cup granulated sugar

•
1
⁄
2
cup butter or margarine, melted

• 4 cups flour

DIRECTIONS

Scald the milk, then add the sugar, salt, and melted butter. While that’s cooling, add the yeast to the warm water. Once it dissolves, stir it into the milk mixture. Then add the egg yolks and 2 cups of flour. Mix thoroughly, then keep adding flour until the dough is no longer sticky to the touch. Knead for one minute, then roll the dough out to
1
⁄
4
to
1
⁄
2
inch thick.

Fry the donuts in canola oil heated to 365°F, turning once as they cook. They should take 2–4 minutes total to cook. Drain on paper towels, then dust with sugar or add your own glaze.

CHAPTER 12

“What is it?” I asked. “Did someone else die?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she said.

“Grace, it’s got to be bad; don’t try to tell me it’s not. I can take it, go ahead and tell me.”

“I have a meeting with my boss in Charlotte this afternoon,” Grace said softly. “I’ve got two hours to get there, and I was told to pack an overnight bag. She said that I’d be staying overnight at the Stansbury Hotel.”

“That doesn’t sound like the end of the world to me,” I said. “That’s a really nice hotel. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been able to afford to stay there, myself.”

Grace looked as though she wanted to cry. “The roads are still slick, but she didn’t care. She said this couldn’t wait. Add to that the fact that we never meet at the Stansbury. It’s where my boss takes people she’s about to fire or promote, and I’ve got a feeling I’m not climbing the corporate ladder.”