Tragic Toppings (28 page)

As he hit me, I heard the branch in my hands crack under our combined weights, and it snapped as suddenly as a broken shoelace, putting us both on the ground.

I waited a split second to die, but then I realized that in the fall, Orson must have dropped the knife. Scanning the ground around us, I stood and searched frantically in the fading light for the blade.

In retrospect, that might have been a mistake.

Orson’s hands went around my throat, and I saw that he’d decided to change murder weapons. Abandoning the knife hunt, he was now trying to crush the breath right out of me.

I fell to my knees under his weight and pressure, and the world started to go dark.

As I braced myself on the ground for my last breath, I felt something touch my hand.

It was the knife.

Groping for it as I started to lose consciousness, I finally managed to pick it up and drive it blindly backward.

I’d been hoping to hit his heart, but it buried itself into his leg instead.

The howl of pain from him was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard in my life.

The pressure suddenly eased, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last. Forcing myself to my feet, I decided it was time to run again.

Maybe this time he wouldn’t be able to follow.

How I wished I was right.

I’d given up all pretense of ambush or confrontation now. All I could do was run, and hope that he couldn’t follow with a wounded leg.

When I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw that Orson was on his feet as well, tugging at the knife still stuck in his leg as he ran after me. Where was this lunatic getting his strength?

I was nearly back where we’d first started when I felt a hand grab my shoulder, dragging me back down to the ground. He was on top of me, and I did the only thing I could think to do. I hit him as hard as I could squarely on the nose.

That brought another scream, but he didn’t move as blood dripped down his nose onto my T-shirt.

It appeared that I’d fought hard, but not hard enough.

*   *   *

“You’re going to pay for that,” he snarled at me, his words hitting me like hardened fists. I groped on the ground for something else that I could use as a weapon, but all I could scrape up was some loose dirt. I took a handful and threw it into his face, and as he screamed and put his hands to his eyes, the knife dropped harmlessly to the ground. He rolled off me, writhing in pain, and I grabbed the knife before he could retrieve it. I wasn’t sure if I’d blinded him for life, and at the moment, I couldn’t say one way or the other if I cared.

“Get up,” I said, not recognizing my own voice as I said it.

“You ruined my eyes.”

“You don’t need to see to stand up. If you don’t move in ten seconds, I’ll give you a reason to. I’ve got the knife, now, remember?”

He stood a little unsteadily, and I got behind him and shoved him in the direction of the house. Orson stumbled a little as we moved, but I had no mercy on him.

We were almost to the house when I saw the first police car approach.

It was Officer Grant, and from the odd look on his face, I wasn’t sure he even recognized me.

“What happened here?” he asked as he pulled out his weapon. “Someone saw you two fighting and called it in.”

I screamed, “He killed Tim, and then he got rid of Betsy when she threatened to expose him. He confessed everything to me.”

“She’s lying,” Orson said, his voice suddenly calm. “This lunatic lured me out here, and then she attacked me with that knife. Look at my leg. I’m bleeding.”

The police officer looked at me again, and I said, “It all started when I found one of his toothpicks near the crime scene.” It was true. That was where it had been when it had managed to get lodged in my pant cuff, at any rate.

“I dropped it when she cut me,” he protested.

“What happened to your eyes?” Officer Grant asked Orson.

“When I broke away from her, she tried to blind me.”

“After he attacked me first,” I said.

Orson wasn’t going to let it go at that. “She’s lying.”

“I have proof,” I said calmly.

Orson looked worried for a split second, but he knew that he’d seen me throw that toothpick away. “Let’s see it. You’re bluffing.”

I pulled the card from under my T-shirt and opened it. I’d waited to hit the button at the precise moment he confessed so they would find some kind of proof that he’d done it if he managed to kill me.

Instead, it was going to help put him away for two murders.

I didn’t get Jake’s lovely message when I opened the card this time. Instead, I got Orson’s voice, muffled but still recognizable, saying,
“You should have seen her face when I choked Tim with the rope. Betsy fought me, can you believe it? What did he do to earn her loyalty? She should have helped me—”

It cut off abruptly, but I knew that I’d gotten enough.

“Let’s go,” Officer Grant said as he slapped his cuffs on Orson, and I finally let the knife slip out of my hand and into the grass.

Chief Martin and Momma pulled up as Officer Grant was putting Orson in the back of his squad car. “What happened? Didn’t the date go well?” I asked as I rubbed a little dirt off my chin from where I’d fallen.

“It was wonderful,” Momma said, “but we heard the sirens and came running. Suzanne, are you okay?”

“Not yet, but I will be,” I said, though I was sore in a few places where I’d hit the ground, and I could barely speak from the pressure Orson had used trying to choke the life out of me. I knew a long soak would take care of most of that, and I’d be good as new soon enough.

At least on the outside.

I brought them both up to date, then replayed the confession from the card for them.

The chief took it from me, and then said, “That was smart thinking, Suzanne. I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse than you were.”

“So am I,” I said with a grin. “Jake’s going to kill me, though. He left a really special message in that card, and I erased it.”

“I think he’ll find it in his heart to forgive you,” the chief said.

As he started to go, he turned to my mother and said, “Dorothy, this evening was delightful, even if it was cut short.”

To my surprise, Momma laughed and gave him a quick kiss. After that, she said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get better at it. Just give us a little time.”

I don’t know who was more surprised to hear that, the chief or me.

*   *   *

I finally managed to get Jake on the phone after a long soak and a quick change into some clean clothes. It still hurt my voice to talk, but it was something I was just going to have to deal with. Jake deserved to hear everything that had happened. As I brought him up to speed, my voice choked up a little when I explained how I had recorded over his message to me.

“It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, for some reason starting to cry. “And now it’s gone.”

“It’s okay, Suzanne,” he said soothingly. “I’ll make you another one tomorrow. I’m sorry I’m not there to hold your hand. You were really brave tonight.”

“Just hearing your voice is all I need,” I said.

“Are you going to close the donut shop tomorrow?” he asked.

“No, we’re going to be open as usual.”

I loved the sound of Jake’s chuckle on the other end. “Why am I not surprised? I’d better let you go, then. I’m glad you’re okay, Suzanne. Good night.”

“Good night,” I replied as I hung up.

I knew I needed sleep, but too much had happened to allow it. I went downstairs, and to my surprise, Emma and her mother were sitting on the couch with Momma.

“Hey, I didn’t know we had visitors,” I said.

“You were on the telephone, and we didn’t want to disturb you,” my mother said with a smile.

Emma’s mom stood, and I noticed there was a plain white box in her hands. “Suzanne, I hope you can forgive me, but I did something without your permission.”

“I can’t imagine it being that bad,” I said. “Besides, I’m in a very forgiving mood tonight.”

“Give her the box,” Emma said, grinning at us both.

“By all means,” I said. “I’d love to have whatever it is you’re offering, though I can’t imagine what it could be.”

Her mother smiled and handed me the box in her hands, and as I opened it, my heart started to flutter.

There, in my own handwriting, was a photocopy of the front of my recipe book. As I quickly flipped through the pages, I saw that she’d managed to get everything but my very last musings.

As I raced through it, she explained, “I’ve had a hard time with the recipes when I’ve helped out in the past, so I made a copy of it without telling you about it. My notes are in the margins, but everything you wrote down is still there. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I thought I’d lost this forever,” I said as I dropped the box to the floor and hugged her. I was openly crying now, maybe from the stress of the last few days, or it could have simply been because something I cherished had been returned to me.

Emma rubbed my shoulder and said, “Suzanne, you don’t ever have to worry about losing it again. I scanned it all into my computer and I’ve backed it up in a dozen different places. Cool, isn’t it?”

“About the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said as I wiped away my tears. I turned back to Emma’s mother and said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Not being angry with me is all the thanks I need,” she said.

“Trust me; I couldn’t be happier.” I turned to Momma and asked, “Do we have any pie left? I feel like a snack. Come on, let’s have a party.”

Emma looked at her watch. “You’re kidding, right? We have to be up in seven hours if we’re going to open on time.” She turned to my mother and added, “Not that we don’t love your pie.”

Momma said, “Why don’t you children run off to bed and let the grown-ups have a little time together? Good night, ladies.”

“Good night,” we said in unison, and Emma headed back home while I went upstairs to my room. I knew I should go straight to sleep, but I couldn’t help leafing through the pages of my life in that copy of my recipe book.

The last, and most important part of it, was all there in black-and-white.

It was a special donut I’d been planning to make for Jake, but hadn’t had a chance to do yet.

There was just one more thing I had to do.

As I punched in Jake’s telephone number, I thought about how delicious it would be to share my news with him.

And that was why it was really so special having someone in my life again.

And now a look at the next Donut Mystery,

KILLER CRULLERS

—available soon from

Jessica Beck and St. Martin’s/Minotaur Paperbacks!

“Give me a dozen of whatever you still have on hand,” a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties asked me curtly at my donut and coffee shop in April Springs, North Carolina. I’d aptly named the place Donut Hearts, since my name is Suzanne Hart, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else than in my shop, a reclaimed train depot on the edge of our small downtown business district. He added with a frown, “I don’t care what they are. Just make sure they’re loaded with icing.”

It was near closing time, and I wasn’t sure what I could give him, since even my glazed donut stock had been depleted at that time of day, but as I studied the case, I realized that Simon Henson had neglected to pick up his special order for the second time in a month. Simon always made a big fuss over my crullers, and the first time he’d ordered a dozen nearly drowning in icing, he’d paid for them in advance. The next time, he “forgot”—both to pay and collect his order—and when he didn’t pick them up, and I was stuck with his crullers and had to give them away, I told Simon if it happened again, he was going to lose his ordering privileges, and he’d sworn that he’d remember the next time.

Only he hadn’t.

“Are crullers okay?” I asked.

“Let me see one.”

I held up an iced monstrosity and was afraid he’d back out of his offer, but instead, the man surprised me by saying, “Those are perfect.” I boxed a dozen crullers and put them on the counter, and he shoved a twenty across the counter toward me.

As I handed him his change, I said, “I hope you enjoy them. The icing might be a little much for most folks, but the crullers themselves are really good.”

“That doesn’t really matter. I’m not going to eat them,” he answered as he took the box and jammed his money into his front pocket.

That was certainly an odd response. “Do you mind if I ask you what you’re going to do with them, then?”

“Sure, why not? I’m going to throw them at the woman next door,” he said with a grim nod as he walked away.

That could only mean that he had a problem with Gabby Williams, and now I was going to be drawn into the middle of it, whether I liked it or not.

“Emma, cover the front,” I yelled out to my assistant in back as I raced outside after him.

I didn’t even wait to see if she’d heard me.

I hurried to Gabby’s shop and found my customer doing exactly what he’d threatened, throwing those heavily iced crullers at the door, window, and brick façade.

“Stop that,” I screamed as Gabby herself came barreling out of ReNEWed, her gently used clothing store that was beside Donut Hearts, barely missing getting pelted as well.

“Not a chance until you admit what you did,” the man said as he hurled another cruller.

Gabby snapped, “Knock it off, Desmond Ray, or I’ll call the police.”

“Go ahead. Call them,” he said as he hit the door again. With the heavy icing, some of them hit, stuck for a moment, and then slid down the side of the building, while others seemed to explode on impact.

“Gabby, I had no idea what he was going to do with those,” I explained.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Gabby said as she glanced over at me for a bare second. When she turned back to the man, she said, “That’s it; I’ve had enough. I’m calling the cops.”

The threat didn’t even faze him. “Fine, go ahead. Then you can tell them how you stole from my aunt.”

That certainly got my attention. As a fellow shop owner, I was acutely aware of how important our reputations were to us, and if this man was slandering Gabby, whether if there was merit to his complaint or not, it could end up doing some real damage to her business.