Killer Crullers (7 page)

“There are reporters at your front door?” I asked, incredulous that the murder had brought attention to our small town.

“I had to close the shop,” she said, the worry clear in her voice. “They’re from Charlotte, Asheville, and Hickory, and of course Ray Blake is out there, too. Emma’s dad appears to be enjoying himself.”

“Be by the back door, I’ll be there in two minutes,” I said.

I was tempted to walk outside to see the reporters stalking the shop next door, but fought the impulse and walked into the kitchen instead. “Emma, you can lock up after you finish the dishes. I’m going next door.”

“That was Gabby on the phone?” she asked.

I nodded. “She needs me over there, and she sounded desperate. She even asked me to come in the back way.” I didn’t want to tell Emma about the press in front, especially her own father. The two of them had had their share of clashes in the past, and I didn’t want to do anything to add to them.

“Go. I’ll take care of things here.”

I grabbed my jacket and headed out the back door, relocking it once I was outside. I glanced down the grass strip between our businesses, and found it still hard to believe that someone had been murdered there the night before, despite the police tape still in place and the trampled grass all around where the body had been found. What had Desmond been doing there, and why had the killer chosen that spot to strike? An unintended, or perhaps fully planned, result of the location was that suspicion had been cast both on Gabby and me. I was no stranger to police investigations from both sides, but I realized that it was new to Gabby, and no matter how brave a front she put on, I fully understood how devastating an accusation could be, whether it was voiced or just unspoken.

Someone must have spotted me as I lingered, because I heard a shout, but before they could do anything, I hurried to the back of ReNEWed.

I knocked on the door where Gabby sometimes took deliveries, and then had to knock again before it finally opened.

“Sorry,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. It was obvious that she’d been crying for some time, and I felt real sympathy for the woman, despite her general attitude and the grief she’d given me over the years. Normally a stylish fashion plate, Gabby looked haggard in rumpled clothing and her hair in disarray; for the first time since I’d known her, every moment of her real age showed on her face and the stoop of her posture. “Thanks for coming, Suzanne.”

“Of course. Gabby, I’ll do whatever I can to help,” I said as I came inside. The door to the shop was closed, and we were in the storeroom.

“Let’s go into my office so we can talk,” she said, and I followed her in. While I’d had room for just a small office space in my donut shop/restored train depot, Gabby hadn’t been constrained by square footage, and had put in a lavish desk, bright wallpaper, and three chairs in hers. She sat comfortably behind her big desk, and I settled into one of the chairs opposite her.

“How are you holding up?” I asked, desperate for something, anything, to say.

“It was awful. I was at the police station most of the night, and when they let me out, I came here instead of going home. That’s what I should have done, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Would you like me to take you home now? You could leave your car here, and I’ll bring you back to get it later. My Jeep’s just across the street.”

I started to get up, and Gabby’s commanding voice broke through, for just a moment. “I appreciate the offer, but before we do that, we need to talk,” she insisted, and I settled back into the chair.

“I’m listening,” I said.

“First, let me get this off my chest. I didn’t steal from Jean Ray, and I didn’t kill Desmond, either.” The words came out in a rush, as though she’d repeated them over and over in her mind before she trusted herself to say them out loud.

“I never thought that you did,” I said. At that moment, I believed it, no matter how many doubts I’d entertained in the past. Gabby was many things, several of them quite unlikable, but I didn’t see her as a thief or a killer.

“You’re in the minority, then,” she said as she dabbed at another tear. “Chief Martin is acting as though I’m some kind of menace to society. I was amazed when he let me go, but I have a feeling that it’s just a matter of time before he finds a reason to throw me in jail. That’s where you come in.”

I still wasn’t sure what she had in mind. “What can I do?”

“Find out who killed Desmond Ray for me,” she said. “You can do it, Suzanne. I’ve seen the way you’ve worked in the past on other cases. You’ve even enlisted my help on occasion, and now I’m asking you to return the favor.”

“Gabby, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

She frowned at me. “That should be obvious. You need to speak with Jean Ray. I have a feeling she holds the key to what really happened.”

“You don’t think Jean murdered her own nephew, do you?” I asked. Jean didn’t have a malicious bone in her body, at least as far as I’d ever seen. I knew that no one could tell what a murderer looked like, but Jean was as far from the stereotype as one woman could be.

“I don’t know what to think,” Gabby admitted. “It’s difficult to imagine, but then again, I never thought of her as a liar before, either. If she didn’t do it, I’m willing to bet that she has a good idea who might have killed her nephew. The two of them were really close.”

Gabby was right about that. If I were going to investigate, it would be the perfect place to start. But I still wasn’t convinced it was something I should be doing at all, despite her urging and George’s expectation that I would dig into Desmond Ray’s murder.

I had one last very real concern that I had to voice. “Why would Jean talk to me? I was there when you and Desmond fought yesterday. He threatened me, too, remember?”

“Don’t you see? That gives you a perfect excuse. Tell Jean that you feel bad about the way you and Desmond spoke yesterday, and you want to find out who killed him to make amends. If you make yourself her ally instead of her adversary, she’ll tell you anything.”

“Even if her finger points straight at you as the murderer?” I asked.

“I would expect nothing less, given the circumstances,” Gabby said, “but you have to push her until she tells you something more.” Gabby opened a drawer, pulled out a long envelope, and then pushed it toward me. “I don’t expect you to do this for free, Suzanne. I’m willing to pay you for your help.”

I was tempted to peek inside to see how much she thought my aid was worth, but I knew better. I shoved the envelope back and said, “I don’t charge to help my friends, Gabby.”

She looked startled by my admission. “Then you consider us friends, as well? There have been times in the past when I haven’t been sure.”

Gabby had a point, and there was no use denying it. “We have our disagreements from time to time, but you said it yourself. There aren’t many women who own small businesses in April Springs, and those of us that do need to stick together.”

Gabby frowned, and after a moment, she said, “That wasn’t exactly a declaration of fealty, was it?”

“We’re friends, okay?” I said, probably just a little too tartly, but Gabby had a tendency to bring that out in me.

Instead of being offended by my tone of voice, she actually looked pleased. “Good. That’s better. You are not to use kid gloves with me, Suzanne. Is that clear?”

“Be careful. I’m willing to bet you’re not going to be happy with my questions for you,” I said.

“I’m a tough old broad, as we both know,” she said with a slight smile. “Ask away.”

I took a deep breath and plunged in, realizing just how inflammatory what I was about to ask would be.

“Gabby, have you ever stolen anything from any of your clients in the past?”

CHAPTER 5

“What possible relevance does that have to your investigation?” Gabby asked coldly. Her good nature had plummeted to a frigid stare in an instant, but I couldn’t let that stop me.

“It’s something I need to know,” I said. “I don’t want to tell Jean you’ve never done it before if it’s not true.”

Gabby appeared to think about that, and then shrugged. “I suppose it’s relevant. You need to define your idea of stealing.”

Was she
trying
to be difficult? “Taking something that’s not yours. It’s pretty much everyone’s definition, isn’t it?”

Gabby seemed to consider that, and then finally said, “Suzanne, who is to say what true ownership means? If I buy a box full of books at a yard sale and find a hundred-dollar bill inside one being used as a bookmark, don’t I own it, though it wasn’t specifically being offered for sale?”

“Are you saying that there actually
was
ten thousand bucks and a diamond brooch in Jean’s jacket?” I couldn’t believe she was confessing the theft to me.

“Of course not,” Gabby said, a little too quickly for my taste, as though she’d been prepared to make the denial as soon as I’d asked the original question. “But from time to time, I discover small, forgotten things. Is it my obligation to always return them?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. “I’d have to think about it before I could give you an answer one way or the other,” I said.

“I’ve wrestled with my stance countless times since I’ve been in business,” she admitted. “Would you like to hear the standard I’ve set for myself?”

It was an intriguing conversation about an issue that I’d never have to deal with in my donut and coffee shop business. I had to wonder exactly where I would have drawn the line myself. “Please enlighten me,” I said.

She nodded. “First, if its value is equal to or less than that hundred-dollar bookmark we discussed earlier, second, if I don’t know beyond a doubt exactly who the original owner was, and third, if I can possess it in clear conscience, then I usually keep whatever I find as a sort of salvage fee.”

“And if its value is greater?”

“I do everything in my power to track down the original owner and return it. Believe me, that’s not always easy, considering the estate sales and blind buys I make throughout the year. Things have a way of getting jumbled, and for all I know, I unknowingly pass along objects of even greater value myself without even realizing it.”

I doubted Gabby let anything go out onto her sales floor without a thorough inspection first, but I wasn’t about to challenge her on that. “I can use that, I guess.”

“You’ll have to. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Make yourself comfortable. We’re just getting started.”

She was clearly surprised by the instruction, but she nodded her agreement. “Go on, then. I’m at your disposal.”

I took a deep breath, and then plunged in. “When was the last time you saw Desmond Ray, to the minute, if you can remember?”

Gabby just huffed instead of answering.

“If you want my help, you’re going to have to tell me,” I said. “I’m not being nosy. I don’t have access to police interviews, so we have to start fresh.”

“I understand,” she said. “The last time I saw him was when I was with you.”

“In front of your shop when he was throwing crullers,” I clarified.

“Yes, of course.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment, and she added, “But you saw him later than that, didn’t you?”

“Like I told you, we ran into each other at the bank,” I admitted again. Had Gabby already forgotten her telephone call to me when she’d admitted seeing him staked out in front of her place all afternoon the day before? “You didn’t see him again by yourself? I thought you told me that he was in front of your shop yesterday.”

Gabby looked at me a little petulantly. “I assumed you meant when I actually spoke to him face-to-face. We spoke briefly on the telephone, and he camped outside my shop, but when he was there, we didn’t share a single word. I’ve already gone over my telephone conversation with the man with you. Surely you still remember what I said.”

It was another jab, but I didn’t mind. Maybe Gabby was getting some of her spirit back, and if she was going to fight this, she was going to need every ounce of spunk she could muster. “I remember,” I admitted.

“And when was the last time you spoke to Jean?” I asked, an innocent question that was voiced more out of curiosity than anything else.

“At the police station this morning,” Gabby admitted.

“What did she have to say?” I asked. This was certainly new information.

Gabby looked uncomfortable recounting it, but when she started to protest, she must have noticed how intent I was on getting an answer. “She asked me why I killed Desmond,” Gabby reluctantly admitted. “I told her I was innocent, but she didn’t believe me. Neither did anyone else at the station, as far as that’s concerned. I could see the accusations in their gazes as I walked past them.”

“Nobody said this was going to be easy,” I said. “You may have to endure worse than that before we can prove you didn’t do it.”

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked.

“Let me get my Jeep,” I said as I stood. I’d probably gotten all I was going to out of her at the moment, but at least the dam had been broken and she knew our ground rules. “I’ll run you home.”

“I appreciate the offer, but you’ve got work to do, don’t you?”

“The donut shop’s closed for the day,” I said. Being up all night must have skewed Gabby’s sense of the time of day, and I noticed she wasn’t wearing a watch. Her office was without a window, so it could have been any time of day or night as far as we were concerned.

“I’m talking about your investigation,” Gabby said.

“Right, I get that. But how are you getting home?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll call Muriel. She owes me a few dozen favors, so I’m going to collect one right now.” I knew Gabby had done a great deal for Muriel Stevens in the past, even driving her to West Virginia to stay with family so she could escape a killer on the loose in April Springs who was intent on doing her in. This was a small thing to ask in return, and I imagined Muriel would be happy to oblige.

I stood, and headed for the front door without realizing it.

“You can’t go out there, Suzanne,” Gabby said as she took hold of my shoulder.