Lemon Larceny (The Donut Mysteries) (10 page)

“Doesn’t it
bother you that we’re letting one of our suspects back into the house?” I
asked.

“What real choice
do we have,” Momma asked.
 

I looked around
and spied an old broom leaning up against the wall.
 
It had been snapped off at one time, and
why my aunt hadn’t thrown it away I couldn’t even begin to guess.
 
“Let me try something that might hold in
the meantime,” I said as I took the broom segment and shoved it between the two
handles that opened the bulkhead door.
 
It made for a nice brace that managed to keep the door shut just
fine.
 
When I pushed on the doors, they
moved a little, but there was no way that they could be opened completely now.
 
“There, that should hold it for now.”

Momma frowned at
my makeshift work.
 
“It’s hardly
permanent.”

“It’s not meant
to be,” I said.
 
“I just wanted
something there while I was looking for another solution.”
 
I spied a cordless drill with a
screwdriver bit chucked in it, found a few loose screws on the workbench, and
then I grabbed a section of two-by-four lumber that looked as though it would
work just fine.
 
I held the wood in
place with one hand over the bulkhead entrance and screwed it home under the
broomstick, adding a few smaller screws in the end to mate the broom with the
wood.
 
Now there was no movement in
the door at all.

“Let them try to
get back in that way now,” I said, satisfied with my rustic carpentry.

“It’s hardly
usable in this condition, though, is it?” Momma asked.

“We don’t need it
to be a door; we need a wall.
 
It
doesn’t have to offer us access in and out at the moment; it just needs to keep
us safe.”

Momma looked
startled by my comment.
 
“Do you
honestly think that whoever was down here meant to hurt us?”

“It has to be a
possibility we consider.
 
After all,
we’re investigating a murder, at least that’s what it appears to be.”
 
I looked at the footprints, even now
starting to dry.
 
Why hadn’t I
brought my phone downstairs with me so I could take a picture before the
footprints all evaporated?
 
“Momma,
you don’t happen to have your phone with you, do you?”

“No, it’s
charging upstairs in my bedroom.
 
Why, do you think we should call Hank after all?”

“Maybe, but
that’s not why I wanted your phone.
 
I thought that it might not be a bad idea to take a picture of those
footprints before they faded away completely.”

“That’s smart
thinking,” Momma said.
 
“I’ll be
right back.”

As she went to
retrieve her phone, I knew that she was going to be too late.
 
I could barely make out the footprints
at it was, and they were all fading rapidly.
 
Putting my foot beside the most legible
remaining print, I saw that whoever had been down there had clearly been someone
with much larger feet than I had, and no one had ever called me petite.
 
That made our unwelcome visitor most
likely a man.
 
Then again, it could
have just as easily have been a woman wearing a man’s boots to throw us
off.
 

Either way, there
was no way to capture the true size of the print now.

Momma came down
the steps a few minutes later, proudly carrying her cellphone.
 
“I’ve got it.”

“Thanks,” I said,
“but it’s too late.”

She glanced down
at where the tracks had been, and then she frowned.
 
“Oh, well.
 
I still think that it was a brilliant
idea to take a snapshot of it.”

“For all of the
good it did us,” I said.
 
I yawned a
bit, and then I asked her, “I guess the most important question besides the
identity of our unauthorized visitor is whether they got what they came for?”

“They might have
if you hadn’t been so alert, but I doubt they had time to do anything but run,”
Momma answered.
 
“It’s a lucky thing
that you were awake to hear them down here.”

“I couldn’t
sleep,” I admitted, “so I was a little restless.
 
Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t
apologize.
 
Honestly, I’m amazed
that I managed to fall asleep at all.
 
Is there any chance that you can grab a little more rest before we have
to get up and get started with our day?”

I realized that
though I was awake, I was still tired.
 
“I’m willing to try if you are.
 
Is there the slightest possibility that either one of us will be able to
nod off after someone just broke into the house?”

“Why shouldn’t
we?” Momma asked as she rubbed my shoulder reassuringly.
 
“After all, you just fixed the door, didn’t
you?”

“Sure, but what’s
to keep them from trying again?”

“I don’t think
they will tonight,” Momma said emphatically, “and even if they do, I can’t
imagine another access point open to them.”

“Maybe not, but
just in case, I’m going to barricade the basement door from this side,” I said
as we walked up the steps and closed the door behind us.

“Don’t you need
more wood and those tools to do that?” Momma asked.

“No, we’re going
to do this the old-fashioned way.”
 
I grabbed a kitchen chair and tilted it at an angle until I could wedge
it under the doorknob to the basement.
 
“Let them try to get through that, even if they do manage to break in downstairs
again.”

“Suzanne, I feel
better already, but I may do the same thing with the door in my bedroom.
 
Let them take what they want as long as
they leave us alone.”

“It’s probably
not a bad idea at that,” I said.
 

Once we were on
the second floor, Momma said, “Good night again, Suzanne.”

“Night,
Momma.
 
I love you.”

“I love you, too,
my sweet child,” she said with a smile.

I didn’t think
I’d ever be able to sleep, but to my surprise, sunlight peeking in through the
blinds woke me up again a little after seven.

After I took a
shower and got dressed, I headed downstairs.

It was time to
tackle Aunt Jean’s suspects in the light of a new day and see if we could
figure out who had killed her.

“How long have
you been up?” I asked Momma as I walked into the kitchen to find pancakes
waiting for me, along with all of the fixings.

“Not long.
 
Did you manage to fall back asleep?”

“Surprisingly I
did.
 
How about you?”

“I did as
well.
 
It’s a beautifully bright day
out there, isn’t it?” Momma asked as she handed me a plate with two pancakes on
it.

“Quite a bit
different from the storm we had last night,” I admitted.
 
I took a bite, and then I said, “These
are delicious, as always.”

“Don’t give me
too much credit.
 
I found my
sister’s mix in the pantry.”
 
My
mother took a bite from the pancake on her own plate and smiled.
 
“It’s the same recipe I use.
 
Our mother taught us well.”

“They are amazing
for breakfast,” I said, and then I took another bite.
 
“I wonder how Emma and Sharon are doing
at Donut Hearts this morning?”

“Why don’t you
call them and find out?” Momma suggested.

I was tempted,
but then I realized that it probably wouldn’t be a good time for either one of
them to chat.
 
“I would, but they
should be in the middle of the school rush right now.”

“Are your
customers really
that
predictable?”
Momma asked me as she took another small bite of her own.
 
She used a dab of syrup that barely
covered the pancake, and I wondered why she even bothered.
 
Then again, my mother had always been
petite, whereas I tended to err a little on the heavy side of life.
 
Taking another syrup-and-butter-drenched
bite, I decided that it was worth the extra calories for the taste alone.
 
If I really wanted to, I could always
lose a little weight, but it wasn’t going to be today.
 
At the moment, I needed every bit of
nourishment I could get so we could tackle our suspects and see if we could
make some progress in finding Aunt Jean’s killer.
 

“Suzanne, did you
hear what I asked you?” I heard my mother ask, though I didn’t have a clue what
the original question might have been.

“Sorry, I was
daydreaming,” I said, not willing to admit to her that I’d been thinking about
pancakes while eating pancakes.
 
Even my own mother might think that was a little weird.
 

“I asked you if
your customers were truly that predictable.”

“Oh, I heard
you.
 
It’s mostly true.
 
I have some customers you can set your
watch by, and others who are so erratic that it would drive you mad trying to
predict their eating patterns.
 
Still, there are noticeable trends in the day, and Emma and I have
learned them through and through by now.”

As we ate, Momma
asked, “So, what’s on our agenda today?”

“Well, I’ve had
some time to think about it, and I believe that we have to treat this
investigation as people just wanting help from our suspects making sense of
things.
 
Asking them for their
assistance should put them off-guard, and that will allow us to ask them some pressing
questions while they are under the impression that they are helping us instead.”

Momma
smiled.
 
“That’s an interesting
approach, but let me ask you something.
 
Why don’t we just come right out and ask them all if they killed my
sister?”

“Because only a
lunatic would admit it, and as far as I’ve been able to tell, none of our
suspects are crazy, at least not that crazy,” I said.
 

“Does Jake
approve of your methodology?” Momma asked me.

“The inspector
approves of results, and I get them this way.
 
It’s important to remember that we can’t
make anyone talk to us or answer our questions.
 
All we can do is ask, and nicely, at
that.”

“I see,” Momma
said.
 
“It’s a great deal more
complicated than just asking direct questions, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes we do
that, too,” I said with a smile.
 
“I
don’t always know how it is going to work, but we get results, and that’s really
all that counts.”

“You must miss
having Grace here with you.”

I considered her
question carefully, and then I admitted, “I always miss her when we’re apart,
but I think you’re going to be a fine detective yourself.
 
Remember what you told me when I was a
little girl.”

Momma
laughed.
 
“You’re going to have to
be a great deal more specific than that, I’m afraid.
 
I told you more things than I can even
recall.”

“Okay, how about
this?
 
I’m talking about the times
you told me that you learn a great deal more by listening than by talking.”

“It holds just as
true for adults as it does for children.”

I nodded.
 
“Agreed, but do me a favor.
 
Let me ask the questions, and don’t be
in a rush to jump in.
 
It’s amazing
what a little silence can do to make someone feel compelled to fill it,
especially if they are feeling guilty about something.”

“That’s another
good strategy,” Momma said.
 
“I hate
the circumstances, but it’s honestly going to be nice seeing you in
action.
 
You’re much more
accomplished at this than I’ve ever given you credit for in the past.”

“You’d better
hold onto your praise just yet.
 
We
haven’t accomplished
anything
yet,” I
said.
 
“Now is when the real fun
begins.”

“Do you honestly find
this entertaining?” Momma asked me, the disapproval clear in her expression as
well as her voice.

“Of course not,
at least not the murder part, anyway.
 
Playing cat and mouse with a killer can be intoxicating, and don’t
forget, every bad guy and gal we help put away saves the lives of potential
future victims.”

“Well put.
 
So, given your strategy, which name is
first on our list of folks we need to interrogate?”

I was happy that
I had an answer ready for her.
 
“I
thought we’d give Hank Caldwell a call and see if he can fix my rough
patch-job.
 
While he’s here working
on site, it will be natural for us to ask him questions about his relationship
with Aunt Jean, and if we do it cleverly enough, we might even get an alibi out
of him.”

“Are you always
that brazen in your line of questioning?”

“Oh, I won’t come
right out and
ask
him anything too
specific, though Grace and I have been known to do that in the past.
 
There are other ways of getting the
information, though.”

“I look forward
to the lesson,” Momma said.

I pushed my plate
away, even though I could probably have eaten another pancake, or maybe even
two.
 
“Then why don’t we get started?”