Sour Crime Donuts, page 1
Books by Ginger Bolton
SURVIVAL OF THE FRITTERS
GOODBYE CRULLER WORLD
JEALOUSY FILLED DONUTS
BOSTON SCREAM MURDER
BEYOND A REASONABLE DONUT
DECK THE DONUTS
CINNAMON TWISTED
DOUBLE GRUDGE DONUTS
BLAME THE BEIGNETS
SOUR CRIME DONUTS
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Sour Crime Donuts
GINGER BOLTON
Kensington Publishing Corp.
kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
RECIPES
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
900 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2025 by Janet Bolin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Without limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights, any unauthorized use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies is expressly prohibited.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
The K and Teapot logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4964-2 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4963-5
The authorized representative in the EU for product safety and compliance
is eucomply OU, Parnu mnt 139b-14, Apt 123
Tallinn, Berlin 11317, hello@eucompliancepartner.com
Acknowledgments
Ever since I was very young, I wanted to write books. Many thanks to everyone who has helped make that happen.
Deputy Donut Mysteries exist thanks to my agent, John Talbot, and my editor, John Scognamiglio.
Using something like magic, the team at Kensington Publishing Corp. transforms my manuscripts into real books. I thank the magicians Carly Sommerstein and Kristine Mills, who also recruited the talented artist, Mary Ann Lasher, to create the cute covers and make the reader wonder what mischief Dep might get into next.
Larissa Ackerman works wonders publicizing Kensington Cozies. Watch for her fabulous cozy mini-conventions and plan to attend every one of them that takes place near you. Readers and authors getting together—what could be better?
Also, thank you to my writer friends who are always ready to talk about writing, even if it means taking a break from writing (we don’t call it procrastinating)—Catherine Astolfo, Allison Brook, Melodie Campbell, Laurie Cass, Krista Davis, Daryl Wood Gerber, and Kaye George.
Thank you to booksellers and librarians who help us discover books and authors.
I’m glad my family and friends understand my love of writing, even when deadlines loom.
As always, my sincerest thanks to you, the reader. I hope you enjoy the book that you now hold in your hand.
Chapter 1
The young woman striding into Deputy Donut threw me a tentative grin as if she expected me to recognize her.
I felt like I should....
We could almost have been sisters. We were both petite, and her hair was short and curly like mine, but while mine was nearly black, hers was mid-brown, and her eyes were hazel. Mine were so blue that people sometimes thought I wore royal-blue contact lenses.
On this morning in late August, the woman was dressed for the heat in faded denim cutoffs, a pale-yellow T-shirt, sneakers, and no socks. Her fresh-faced innocence almost shouted that she was from rural northern Wisconsin, perhaps not far from our village of Fallingbrook.
She walked through our dining room to our serving counter and looked across it at me. Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “Are you Emily?”
Her smile was contagious. I returned it. “Yes.”
“I can tell you don’t remember me. No wonder. I was little and you were, I don’t know, in your late teens, I guess. I was totally in awe. We spent only part of one day together, at a campground at Fallingbrook Falls.”
I mentally transformed her features into rounded, childish ones, and her name came to me. “Isabella?”
She twined her fingers through her curls, pulling at them. She let go, and the curls sprang back. “I go by Izzy now. I was a little pest back then.”
“No, you weren’t. You were imaginative and creative. I had fun that day, but I don’t remember seeing you again after that, until now.”
“That was the only time my folks ever took me there. We were visiting the people camping across from you. You showed me all of the places you liked when you were little. We went hunting for treasure, and I actually found some. Years later, I realized that you had somehow snuck those stickers and beads into tiny rock caves when I wasn’t looking.”
I touched my fingers to the Deputy Donut logo embroidered near the top of my apron. “Who, me?”
She grinned. “Hardly anyone else was around. You and I explored together, like hiking past this immense waterfall, and the mist made me think I understood the word ‘mystical. ’ You were kind and gentle. Patient, too.”
“You were bubbly and adventurous, ready for anything.”
Izzy slid onto one of the rotating stools next to our serving counter. “And now we’re both grown up, and you have this darling donut shop. What do you serve here?” She glanced over at the display case. “Lots of beautiful donuts.”
“And things to drink with them. We always have a rich Colombian coffee available, and a special coffee for the day. And all sorts of teas and other beverages. Peaches are in season, so lately we’ve been making peaches-and-cream donuts. They’re sour cream donuts split in half, covered with fresh sliced peaches, and topped with whipped cream. They’d be messy if we didn’t serve them with spoons.”
“Peaches are my favorite fruit! I’ll have one of those. And some coffee.”
“Are you sure you’re old enough?” I winked to show I was teasing. “Today’s special is a slightly fruity medium roast with hints of honey and chocolate from a small farm in Ethiopia.”
“I’d love to try that.” Izzy didn’t seem to have outgrown her enthusiasm. She was almost bouncing on her stool.
I walked around the half-height wall to the kitchen. From there, I could see over the wall and watch for customers who might need something.
Our full-time assistant Olivia was frying a batch of plain raised donuts, and our summer assistant Jocelyn was dipping cooled donuts into a bowl of vanilla glaze.
Jocelyn nodded toward Izzy. “I overheard your conversation. I’ll make your friend a peaches-and-cream donut.”
I poured Izzy’s coffee, took it to her, and watched her take the first sip. “To die for,” she said.
With a flourish, Jocelyn placed a donut mounded with peach slices and whipped cream in front of Izzy. “You were talking about Fallingbrook Falls. I’ve spent a lot of time there, too.”
Izzy’s face relaxed into dreaminess. “I remember it as being an otherworldly, magical place.” She stared down at the confection Jocelyn had brought her. “And this looks almost as magical.”
The café’s front door opened. Five women and one man, all in matching green T-shirts with the word TWIG printed in big white letters in front, started inside.
Jocelyn and I were facing the door. At the sound of voices, Izzy turned around.
A sturdy, ruddy-faced woman in front of the group looked toward us, stopped walking, and said in a voice that carried through our crowded dining room, “We can’t hold our meeting if she’s in here.”
Chapter 2
The woman who had made the peculiar and very rude announcement herded the other five people outside to our patio. The door closed behind them. They marched to the sidewalk and stood in a row, looking up and down Wisconsin Street as if trying to decide where to go for their meeting.
Jocelyn tilted her head in obvious confusion. “What was that about? Some of those people looked familiar, like I’ve seen them around Fallingbrook, but not in here. Do you know any of them, Emily?”
“Maybe I’ve seen them in town, but not dressed alike. I don’t know what I could have done to make them react like that.”
Jocelyn called toward Olivia at the deep fryer, “Maybe they were afraid of Olivia and her boiling oil.”
Olivia gave Jocelyn a side-eye. “Dream on. They were probably afraid you’d do a backflip and kick them in their chins.”
Izzy spun her stool and faced us again. She was examining Jocelyn’s face the same way she’d stared at me earlier, as if she knew her. I explained, “Jocelyn is one of Wisconsin’s top gymnasts.”
Jocelyn corrected me. “Was. I’ve retired from competition.”
I defended my statement. “You’re still one of the best ever.”
Izzy placed her hand on her heart as if she were about to swoon. “No wonder you look familiar, Jocelyn. I was terribly disappointed when you didn’t make it onto the Olympic team.”
Jocelyn’s nearly black eyes flashed. “So was I. But I’m doing something even more fun. I’m about to start my teaching career, with a kindergarten class at Fallingbrook Elementary.”
Izzy clapped her palms together. “Lucky kids!”
I agreed and added, “Jocelyn’s going to help us here on weekends, and she also coaches gymnastics part-time. You can see why we think she might intimidate strangers in green shirts.” I was only partially joking.
Izzy shook her head. “It wasn’t Olivia’s boiling oil or Jocelyn’s backflips or your imagination and empathy that scared that group away, Emily. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I did it.” She slipped a peach slice into her mouth and sighed, either because the peach was delicious or because the woman had upset her.
Izzy couldn’t have changed much from the sweet and bubbly child I remembered. How could she have frightened anyone? I asked her, “What makes you think they left because of you?” Behind me, I heard Olivia remove a basket of donuts from the oil and hook it onto the side of the deep fryer.
Jocelyn inserted her own question. “Who were they, besides a bunch of random people wearing matching T-shirts with TWIG on front?”
Izzy answered Jocelyn’s question first. “They’re an environmental group, Toward Wisconsin in Green, and they hate me.”
I spluttered, “Hate?” She had to be exaggerating. Olivia came to stand between Jocelyn and me. We must have been quite a sight, the tall, chestnut-haired woman standing between two short women, Jocelyn with her straight black ponytail and me with my short, dark curls. All of us were wearing our Deputy Donut hats, fake police caps with fuzzy donuts in front. Our uniforms matched in other ways, too. We all wore white polo shirts, black knee-length shorts, and white aprons. A cat wearing a hat like ours was embroidered on our aprons and shirts.
Izzy gazed down toward her donut. “They thought the property I’m buying should be turned into a park, with not even the tiniest blade of grass to be touched. But I’m planning to cut down trees, and they know it.” She looked up at us. “I won’t cut down more than I have to, but I have the opportunity to fulfill a dream.” With her spoon, she mashed the tallest peak of whipped cream.
Olivia glared toward the street where we’d last seen the group wearing green shirts. “Maybe those TWIG people should buy the property you’re talking about instead of spending money on T-shirts.” Having raised a much younger sister who was now almost as old as Izzy, Olivia was going into mother mode. And so was I, even though I had never raised a child.
Izzy pointed at her chest. “I’m buying the property. It’s too late for them. The sales contract is signed, and the lawyers are working on it.” A dimple showed beside one corner of her mouth. “Besides, it would take a lot of T-shirts. I can’t imagine any group of volunteers raising enough to buy the property.”
Jocelyn let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Izzy blushed. “I didn’t win a lottery, but that’s what it feels like. About two months ago, out of the blue, my grandfather sent me money. I’m supposed to report back to him in a year about what I did with it. I could have invested in stocks and bonds or something, but what do I know about those things? What I do know is that here in northern Wisconsin, fresh produce is hard to find, especially during colder months, so I plan to do my part by growing veggies in greenhouses. When the year is up, I want to be able to say that I’ve started a viable business that will, before long, be profitable.”
Olivia asked her, “Did you major in agriculture or something?”
Izzy ran fingertips along the marble counter. “Biology. But I’ve read lots about growing in greenhouses, and I even have a tiny greenhouse of my own. Imagine fresh, green, leafy lettuce, still crunchy because it doesn’t have to be trucked long distances.”
I took a deep breath. “That would be amazing. I grow a few veggies, but the season is short.”
Olivia cautioned, “We’re pretty far north here. It’s cold during the winter, and we don’t always get a lot of sunlight.”
Izzy gazed toward the window into our office, though she seemed to be focusing beyond that, probably through the office’s back windows and glass door toward trees lining the far side of the parking lot behind our building. “That’s why we need someone to grow produce in the winter, and that someone can be me.”
My business partner Tom and I had planned carefully before opening Deputy Donut, and I knew a few things about starting and running a business. I didn’t want to crush Izzy’s spirits, but I thought I should remind her, “You’ll need power for heat and extra light. And water. Will you be able to recoup your costs for those plus your original outlay, not to mention maintenance and staffing costs, through sales?”
Izzy stirred the peaches and whipped cream over the donut. “Maybe not the first year or the second, but after that, yes. I’ve figured it all out. I’ll be able to do most of the work myself, except for building the greenhouses, and maybe I can do some of that, too. Also, the property I found is perfect. It’s on a south-facing hill. It will get lots of sunshine. I’ll have to add light and heat during the colder and darker seasons.”
Jocelyn leaned to one side as if she were about to topple over. She was good at defying gravity. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of greenhouses on slopes.”
Izzy’s laugh was still charmingly girlish. “That does conjure up a funny image. But my greenhouses won’t tip, tilt, slide, or go downhill. Because of the bedrock underneath it, the hillside is naturally terraced, with nearly flat, level plateaus.” She moved her hands, palms down, above the counter as if she were smoothing the tops of shelves. “I can put the greenhouses on those flat sections without having to blast into rock. Well, not much. The place even has a great water supply—a spring-fed stream runs down between man-made, dammed-up ponds on each plateau—there will be tons of water that I can capture, clean up, and pump back into the stream.”
I jerked my head back in surprise. “How big is this property?”
“Acres and acres. It’s huge.”
Olivia was looking as surprised as I felt. “It sounds like it.”
“It’s fabulous.” Izzy ate another slice of peach. “Peaches are so good! I love them. I’m going to start out small, with one or two greenhouses where I’ll grow salad greens. I’d like to work my way up through tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers, and someday I’d really like a greenhouse where I can grow fruit trees. Especially peaches. The trees don’t have to be tall. Maybe I’m going overboard in my dreaming. Do you three think I am?”
Olivia thinned her lips into a serious expression that was not quite a frown. “Maybe.”
Jocelyn straightened her hat. “I know about dreaming big and following your heart. You just keep doing it.” Apparently, Jocelyn could also go into mother mode, Jocelyn-style. She added, “Not all of my dreams came true, but I don’t regret trying.”
