"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help."
I hung up, and Grace whistled softly. "I caught enough of that to get what's going on. It makes you wonder why Rita really went on a bender, doesn't it?"
"Enough to go ask her. Are you up for it?"
"Are you kidding? Let's go."
THE EASIEST DONUT RECIPE IN THE WORLD
I hesitate to call this a recipe, it's so simple, but the results are spectacular, and the process is the easiest I've ever come across. Try them when you've got hot oil for a different batch of donuts, and I think you'll agree.
INGREDIENTS
1 can, biscuit dough (I like the sourdough recipe)
DIRECTIONS
Take the biscuit rounds from the can, then use your hole cutter only to cut out the center. Add the rounds and holes to 375-degree oil, and turn after 2 minutes on each side. A trick here is that the centers often turn over in the oil on their own when they're done.
After draining them on a rack or on paper towels, you can eat these plain, or dust with powdered sugar. It's amazing how pretty they turn out, and they taste good, too. What more could you ask for?
Makes 4 to 8 donuts.
CHAPTER 10
The door was locked when we got to Rita's place, and no amount of banging would bring her to answer.
"Maybe she's gone," Grace said.
"More likely, she's passed out on the floor," I said.
We were walking back to the car, though, and something made me turn around. I saw a face duck away from a window in the living room, and just before it vanished, I recognized it as Rita's.
"She's watching us," I said.
Grace asked, "How do you know that?"
"I just saw her."
"Then we're going back."
I grabbed her arm. "Grace, she obviously doesn't want to see us."
My friend had a determined look on her face. "If she's in there, and she's awake, I'm going to make her come to the door."
"Grace, we can't make her talk to us. It's not like we have badges or anything."
"That doesn't mean she can just ignore us."
I shook my head. "Sorry, but that's exactly what it means. Let's just go. We'll figure out something else."
"Fine, but I think we're giving up too easily."
"Maybe, but it's been a long day. I'm tired and hungry, and in a few hours, I've got to get up to make donuts again."
"Do you want to grab a bite while we're out?" she asked.
"No, I just want to get home and forget about the world tonight. Do you mind dropping me off at my Jeep?"
"Not a problem," she said. As we drove, Grace asked, "So, what do you make of all we saw today?"
"It's going to take some time to digest it all, but one thing's certain."
"What's that?"
"Nobody recognized me," I said, smiling. "I won our bet. I can't wait to have lunch at Napoli's."
"You were right, so I'll pay up. I can't believe nobody knew who you were."
"Like I said, it's all about context," I said.
We arrived at my Jeep back in April Springs, and I got out of Grace's car. "Thanks for helping out this afternoon. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Are you kidding? I had a blast. Suzanne, I know you're sick of the entire town worrying about you, but be careful, okay? I've got a feeling somebody we've talked to in the last few days is a murderer."
I would have loved to be able to disagree, but I couldn't. "I think you're right. I just wish we knew which one."
"That would make life easier, wouldn't it?"
After she drove off, I noticed something tucked under my windshield wiper. It couldn't be a parking ticket. I was in front of my own shop.
Instead of a ticket, I found a note.
"Sorry I missed you. I'll catch up with you later. Jake."
He wasn't the only one who was sorry. Though we'd just had one date--and it had ended less than perfectly--I found myself becoming attached, something I hadn't planned on, or been expecting.
I was still smiling when Max, my ex, walked up, with a dozen long-stemmed red roses in his hand.
And suddenly, the lightness of my good mood was gone.
"There's my Suzie girl. These are for you."
I made no move to take them. "You should have saved yourself the money," I said. "I don't want them."
Max frowned gently. "Hey, I'm trying to apologize here. The least you could do is let me." His words were a little slurred, not enough for most folks to be able to tell that he had been drinking, but I'd been around him a long time.
"How much have you had to drink?"
He held up his thumb and index finger about two inches apart. "A little, I admit it. So, how about it? You wanna go out with me tonight?"
"You must be out of your mind," I said. "Right now I wouldn't go out with you again on a bet, and that doesn't even have anything to do with the fact that you wrecked my date last night."
"Are you seriously telling me you'd rather date that cop than me? Suzanne, we had something special."
"I thought so, too. I wonder what Darlene would say?"
"Would you drop that once and forever?" Without realizing he was doing it, Max swung the roses down, smacking them on the hood of the Jeep. Petals flew off onto the asphalt, and I took a step backward.
Keeping my voice calm, I said, "Your temper has gotten a lot worse since we split up, hasn't it?"
"I'm going crazy trying to get you to forgive me," he said. I could swear he looked like he wanted to cry.
"I'm sorry, but I can't." This was a scene I'd been dreading since we ended our marriage. Max almost never drank, because when he did, his emotions dictated his actions, and he hated losing control.
"I want you back in my life," he said, after he'd managed to compose himself. "I'm not giving up."
He started to try to hand me the flowers again, then noticed their beaten appearance. After flipping them into a trash can, Max walked away, and I finally started breathing again.
What was I going to do about him? I thought we'd worked out a way to be around each other without scenes like this, but evidently, I'd been wrong. At one time, he'd been the most important part of my life, and he'd thrown it away with one stupid, thoughtless indiscretion.
But it was all I could think about when I saw him, and I wondered if the image of him and Darlene together would ever go away.
Momma was waiting for me by the door.
"Don't you look all grown-up," she said.
"I just picked it up today. I got it at Gabby's."
She brushed a bit of lint off one shoulder. "It suits you. Did you have another date with Jake Bishop tonight?"
I looked down at my outfit. "Dressed like this? I don't think so."
"Then why were you wearing it?"
"I had an appointment I wanted to look nice for," I admitted. "Momma, it's been a long, hard day. Can we leave it at that?"
"Fine," she said, surprising me with her instant capitulation. "I made some cheesy chicken for dinner."
That was one of my favorites. "Did I do something special? It's not even my birthday."
Momma smiled. "I know you've been having a hard time lately, so I thought you could use a treat."
I kissed her cheek.
She asked, "What was that for? I've fixed dinner for you before."
"For understanding what I'm going through," I said. "Do I have time to change?"
"Absolutely. You'll have the suit dry-cleaned before you put it in your closet, won't you?"
"First thing tomorrow morning," I said.
I changed into some jeans and an old sweater, clothes I was much more comfortable in. Momma had the table set, and we enjoyed a quiet meal, filled with small talk and skirting my recent activities.
After we had some brownies she'd just made, it was time for her attack.
"Suzanne, we need to talk."
"I've never liked that particular phrase," I said. "I thought we had been."
"This is serious. I'm not sure you realize how dangerous your behavior has been lately. You're taking far too many chances."
"Who have you been talking to? Not Grace, I know that much."
"I have my sources," she said. "Don't try to deny that you are meddling in police affairs. Let the chief handle this. And if you don't trust him, surely you must feel Jake is competent."
"Momma. I can't just leave this alone. If I don't figure out who killed Patrick Blaine, I'm afraid nobody's going to. He wasn't some stranger; he was my friend."
She reached for the telephone.
"Who are you calling?" I asked.
"I'm going to speak with the chief and see if he can come by here and talk some sense into you. Clearly, I can't."
I couldn't believe I was hearing this from my own mother. I grabbed a heavy jacket by the door. "Call whoever you like, but don't expect me to just sit here. I'm going out."
"It's dark," she said. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to take a walk in the park. I need some fresh air."
"There you go again, taking chances that aren't necessary. I'm calling the chief this instant."
I had to get out of there before we both said things we'd regret.
The park was my happy place, somewhere I could go to get away from the world. There was more to it than most folks saw. It had a distinct personality; it was a place with a soul. I found myself walking directly to my thinking tree, a gnarled old oak whose trunk was twisted into a saddle where I could sit comfortably off the cold ground.
As I stared into the night sky, stars ablaze with wintry fire, I thought about who might have killed Patrick Blaine. His ex-wife, Rita, was a candidate, especially if she hadn't known he'd let his insurance lapse to nearly nothing. That seemed to let Deb Jenkins off the hook, but then again, I'd seen her being awfully cozy with Lincoln Klein, the builder who was also a suspect on my list. Had she simply moved on to another man after hers had been killed, or was there more to it than that? And what about the builder himself? That model we'd found destroyed was a sign that all was not well there. But was it because of Blaine's death, or was the banker's murder a direct result of a failed project? And then there was the sleazy investor, Mr. Rand. I didn't like him, but I tried not to let that cloud my judgment. If I was being honest with myself, I had to admit that particular lead had petered out. I wouldn't have invested money I found under a seat cushion with him, but that didn't make him a murderer. Was that it, then? Did my entire list of suspects include the ex-wife, Rita Blaine, the ex-mistress, Deb Jenkins, the ex-business partner Lincoln Klein, or another party I wasn't aware of yet? Was there someone else lurking in the background, someone I'd spoken to, but not been aware of their stake in the murder? Could Vicki Houser have
more motive than I'd found? Was her leaving town simply a ruse to divert suspicion? I had to admit it was possible if I was being fair about it. In fact, it might not even be anyone I'd talked to. Chief Martin and Jake might very well be on the killer's heels, and I'd just been going around annoying people for nothing. It wasn't a possibility I was ready to accept.
I wasn't sure where to turn next, but I did know it was time to go back home. My fit of pique had dissipated with the cold, and I knew my mother's intentions--no matter how much they frustrated me--were well meaning. She loved me, and I couldn't fault her for that.
I was a hundred yards from home, and could see the soft glow of the lights inside, when someone jumped out of the bushes and grabbed me from behind.
I struggled against the attacker's grip, determined to go down swinging. The assailant might get the better of me, but I was going to make sure whoever had me knew they'd been in a fight. One of the attacker's forearms covered my mouth, while the other hand pinned my right arm behind my back. I could feel the rough texture of some kind of ski mask on my cheek, and the heat from their breath sent cold chills through me. I was alone in the darkness with someone who wanted to harm me, and I didn't even have a house key on me to jab at them with. If I ever lived through this, I promised myself I'd be better prepared the next time.
I had enough to deal with at the moment, though. I tried to struggle free, but it was useless. I was
strong--or at least I liked to think so--but my attacker was stronger.
"Stop fighting me, or I'll really have to hurt you," the voice whispered in my ear.
"You're going to hurt me anyway," I said as I tried to kick backward.
The assailant's grip tightened on my arm, forcing it higher up my back, and I stopped struggling, at least until I could get some kind of advantage.
A rough voice whispered, "If you don't butt out of this and mind your own business, I'm going to do more than hurt you, and that's a promise."
There was more of a threat in the voice than I could imagine, not because of the intensity of the words, but from the lack of it. If the tone of voice was real, the attacker would have no more compunction hurting me than swatting an annoying fly.
I had to do something.
I took a deep breath, then drove the fingernails of my free hand into the arm that covered my mouth. I don't have much in the way of nails, since they interfere with working the dough at my shop, but they were long enough to make the attacker's grip ease as I jabbed them downward into the arm. I hoped I'd drawn blood with the attack, but I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that I was suddenly free.
