Makes approximately 1 dozen donuts.
CHAPTER 3
I shifted two boxes of glazed donuts in my arms as I walked into the bank where Patrick Blaine had worked until yesterday. Funny, but he'd never talked about his work when he came to the donut shop, and if I hadn't seen him wearing a conservative suit every time he came in, I would have had a hard time believing it.
There were a pair of police officers digging into the files in one of the executive offices, and I realized I was already too late to get any information on my own. The chief's men had beaten me to the punch.
Or had they?
I saw a plump woman sitting at a nearby desk dabbing at her cheeks with a delicately embroidered handkerchief.
As I approached her, I asked, "Are you all right?"
It took her a second to focus on me, and when she did, I could see that her eyes were bloodshot, most likely representing her state of mourning. As she
dabbed at her cheeks, she said, "I'll be fine. It was just so sudden, you know?"
"Did you work for Mr. Blaine long?"
"Seven years," she admitted as she dabbed at her cheeks again. She seemed to actually notice me for the first time as she stared quizzically at me. "Why are you carrying two boxes of donuts?"
"They're for you," I said, making it up as I went along. "My name's Suzanne Hart, and I own Donut Hearts over in April Springs."
She looked puzzled. "Are you certain you've got the order right? My name's Vicki Houser, and I can't imagine why
anyone
would send me donuts."
"Mr. Blaine was a good customer of mine," I said. "I thought bringing donuts by where he worked would be better than just sending flowers."
She took the boxes from me as if I were carrying contraband instead of the leftovers from today's donut sales.
"I'm on a diet," she said sternly.
"You don't have to eat them yourself. Feel free to pass them around. It's just my way of saying goodbye."
Vicki nodded. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said in a sudden moment of emotion. "I'll miss him terribly."
"I'm sure you will. Do you happen to know what he was working on lately?"
"Why do you want to know that?" The suspicion was back in her eyes, and I knew I had to come up with something good, and it had to be done quickly. I thought of another lie, one that was pretty audacious, even for me.
"Actually, he wanted me to deliver a dozen donuts this morning to one of his clients, but I lost the address somewhere in my shop. I know your heart is breaking, but is there any way you could help me? He would have wanted it that way, I'm sure. It would be like you were complying with his final request." It was a little dirty, but I didn't know how else to get her to help me. To my credit, I did feel bad about it.
Vicki nodded as she took one donut from the top box and devoured it in two bites. Through a mouthful, she said, "Sorry, I skipped breakfast."
"Go on. I hope you enjoy them. That's why I make them."
She nodded. "Sometimes the only place I can find comfort is in food, you know?"
"You don't have to tell me. I run a donut shop, remember? Every now and then, it's good to spoil yourself." I wasn't lying now. It was something I firmly believed.
Vicki smiled softly at me, and then said, "Give me a second so I can check his schedule for this week."
She turned on the computer at the desk where she was sitting and started typing. After studying the screen for a few moments, she said, "There are only two pending loan applications on his schedule right now, Allied Construction and BR Investments. He's been meeting with representatives from both companies quite a bit lately. Could it be for one of them?"
"It must be, but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take a dozen donuts to each company, and that way I'll be covered. Could you call and tell them I'm on my way, so they'll be expecting me? I'd like to give them
directly to the people in charge. After all, I'm sure that was what Mr. Blaine would have wanted."
She fought back a sniffle, then said, "I'll take care of it right now." As she made the calls, she jotted a few things on a sheet of paper, and when she was finished, she handed it to me. "Here are the contacts, as well as the company addresses. Thanks so much for thinking of him. It was sweet of you to come by."
"I'm only doing what I feel I have to do," I said, and that was the complete and utter truth. If it had been a stranger dumped in front of my shop, I wasn't sure I'd go to this much trouble, but I'd known Patrick Blaine and I'd liked him, and that made all the difference in the world to me.
As I walked out of the bank, I felt excited--as well as nervous--about what I'd just done, and what was ahead. Getting that information from her was the most productive use of two dozen donuts I'd ever given away. I had two more boxes in my Jeep, and allotting one dozen for each place, I was hoping I had the right currency to buy the information I was after. So far, it had worked remarkably well; I only wished everyone else involved in this sordid murder had the same love for free donuts as Vicki. I felt a stab of remorse about being the cause of the death of her diet, but I couldn't let that stop me from digging into Patrick Blaine's life. There had to be a clue as to why someone had chosen to kill him and dump his body in front of my shop, and I'd use every last bite of the glazed donuts I had at my disposal to find the truth.
BR Investments wasn't anything like I'd expected. There was a section of professional buildings in April
Springs, but I drove right past them in search of the first address on my list. Instead of at one of the nicer offices where many of the best companies in town operated, I found myself in a strip mall on the outskirts of April Springs. BRI, as the sign over the door proclaimed, was between a manicurist and a Korean grocery whose name I could not read. Who in the world would invest their money in a place like this? As I walked in, I wished I had more than a dozen donuts with me, maybe an armed guard and a weapon of my own.
One man sat alone at a cheap desk in the center of a large room, carpeted entirely in ugly green. There was one other chair, which looked as if it had been stolen from a 1950s coffee shop. A large whiteboard stood on an easel, lettered with acronyms and matching numbers. I noticed that the sevens all had slashes through them, something I'd seen a lot of lately. The desk was a cluttered mess, and a typewriter sat on one edge of it. The man behind the desk was a rumpled mess. His shirt collar was frayed, his tie sported spots of marinara sauce from a long-forgotten meal, and what little hair he had was fighting in vain to cover his sweating head.
I put on my best smile as I asked, "Are you Donald Rand?"
"I must be. That's what it says on my driver's license, anyway." He studied me a second, whistled softly, then said, "Nice."
"Are you talking about me, or my donuts?"
I swear, he had the gall to leer openly at me. "Why can't it be both?"
This guy was too much. But then again, I wasn't
there soliciting new business for my donut shop. I was looking for information. "I believe you were expecting me."
"Just about all my life," he said.
I was painfully aware that we were alone, and I wished I'd had the foresight to bring someone with me. George would have been my first choice, but I would have even preferred my mother's company to being alone.
It was time to guide the conversation in the direction I wanted. "I understand from the bank that you were dealing with Patrick Blaine. It's quite a shock, isn't it? Did you know him well?"
"We did business together a time or two," he said. At least his open leer was gone.
"It's terrible what happened to him, isn't it? Can you believe someone murdered him?" I kept looking for some kind of reaction, but I got nothing from him.
He shrugged. "These things happen. It's a tough world, you know?"
I looked around his office and pointed to his whiteboard display. "Why the slashes through your sevens?"
"I had a teacher in elementary school that started me doing it, and I haven't been able to break the habit since. It's hard to tell how many people around here do the same thing because of one teacher."
At least I had my answer. "What kind of business did you and Patrick Blaine have, if you don't mind my asking."
"You can ask all you want," he said. As he gestured
toward the box in my hands, he asked, "So, those are for me, right?"
I handed him the donuts, and he flipped the lid up. "Now that's what I'm talking about."
"I'm glad they meet with your approval. So, about Mr. Blaine."
He looked up at me. "You're the curious type, aren't you?"
How should I answer that? I smiled. "I just like to know why things happen."
He pushed the donuts aside. "Tell you what. Why don't you come back at nine tonight, and we'll talk all you want. I'm kind of busy right now, but I'd be willing to make time for you later."
You wish. "That sounds great. That way you can meet my husband." Okay, it wasn't strictly true, but I knew Max would come with me if I asked him, and maybe this time, an ex would be as good as the real thing.
He frowned. "No, come to think of it, tonight's no good for me."
His phone rang, and I stood there, hoping to hear something that might help.
That wasn't going to happen, though.
Mr. Rand said into the receiver, "Hang on a second." Then he turned to me. "Was there something else?"
"That's okay. Finish your call. I don't mind waiting."
"Sorry, but this might take a while."
When I still didn't move, he refused to say another word. It was clear he wasn't going to let me hear even
the smallest bit of his conversation, so I left, although reluctantly.
As I drove to the next place, I wondered what kind of racket BRI was running. Try as I might, I couldn't see Patrick Blaine sitting in that office. Why would a well-respected banker working for a major institution do business with the man I'd just seen? There had to be a reason for it, and if I could find that out, it might help me discover who had murdered him, then dropped off his body in front of my shop.
I wasn't expecting much from the construction company after what I'd seen at the investment firm, but Allied actually surprised me. It was housed in a decent section of town, and the building looked brand-new.
A perky young receptionist met me at the door, and tried to take the donuts from me before I could even introduce myself.
"The bank called ahead. We appreciate the sentiment," she said as she fought to wrestle them away from me.
I held on tight, though. "I'm sorry, but my orders were clear. I'm supposed to give these to Mr. Klein directly," I said.
"Sorry, but he's in a meeting. He wanted me to tell you that he thanks you for the donuts, and hopes you have a nice day."
She had one corner of the box within her grasp, and I had the other. "Are you sure he doesn't have a minute? I'd be more than happy to wait. This will just take a second, and it was Mr. Blaine's wish that he get them."
For a little thing, her strength surprised me. I don't
know how she did it, but she managed to snatch the box from me completely. "As I said, he's in a meeting and he can't be disturbed."
"Do you honestly mean to say he can't give me thirty seconds to deliver them personally?"
"Not even one. He's with the head building inspector for the county. I'll be sure to tell him you dropped by, though."
Then she practically shoved me out the door, and I found myself sitting in my Jeep, without a clue as to what had just happened. I had to hand it to her, she was good.
I thought about what I should do next, but I was tired from my long day, and was already getting hungry again. It was nearing dinnertime for the rest of the world, six o'clock, and two hours past when I normally ate. That was another problem with my schedule. I tended to be out of sync with everyone else. Maybe I could use that to my advantage this time, though I wasn't quite sure how to do it; not yet, anyway.
I drove home, knowing I would get a barrage of questions from Momma, but frankly, not caring. I usually fussed at her for being a mother hen, but just this once, I hoped she had a hot meal waiting for me, and some quiet conversation.
As it turned out, I might as well have wished for the next day's winning lottery numbers, because it was clear the second I walked in the door that I wasn't going to get either dinner or a nice chat.
"There's no food?" I asked as I walked into the kitchen. Momma was sitting at the table doing a
crossword puzzle. We lived in a lovely little cottage together, with lots of built-in cabinets and beautiful wood molding and trim everywhere. It wasn't a huge place, but so far, we'd managed to make it work.
"I just didn't feel like cooking tonight," she said.
"When did you ever not feel like cooking," I said as I slumped down on the chair beside her. The day had taken a toll on me, a bigger one than I was used to. My mother was known for her Southern-style food, and I'd been counting on some comfort coming my way with a knife and a fork.
"I didn't feel like it today," she said. "When you didn't come home at your regular time, I assumed you'd get something to eat on your own."
"So you already ate," I said.
She snapped the paper. "No, I waited for you, just in case." She studied me for a second, then asked, "Have you eaten?"
"No," I admitted.
"Suzanne, you have to start taking care of yourself. I'm not going to be around forever, you know."
"Why, where are you going? Is it someplace warm? Can I tag along?"
