Sour Crime Donuts, page 10
I thought I recognized dark hair and a noble-looking forehead on a man all the way up in the backrow near the left aisle. I moved my head slightly.
How odd. Landon, Mr. Mystery, whose visit to Fallingbrook seemed almost random, was at the TWIG meeting. The door beside him opened, and the woman who’d left Deputy Donut with him slipped into the aisle seat beside him. He didn’t acknowledge her. He continued focusing on Ramona. I wanted to text Brent that Landon was in the town hall theater, but wrestling my phone from my backpack could have disturbed some of the few people nearby. I returned my attention to the front.
Ramona shook a finger. “But we can’t rest easy on the basis of one unfortunate incident, one police investigation, one possible end to a plan that would devastate our area. Wisconsin’s forests are still under threat of decimation. Our grandchildren could inherit nothing but a windswept desert.”
Several people around the auditorium responded with gasps and other comments, including Jocelyn, whose “Oh!” sounded a tiny bit sarcastic. I elbowed her. She turned what might have started as a laugh into a cough.
After long exhortations about contributing to TWIG’s cause, the lights over the audience brightened, and Ramona asked if there were any questions.
Jocelyn stood and called out, “Are you carpooling to the protests or are you each going in your own vehicles?”
On my other side, Olivia slumped lower in her seat and pulled the bill of her cap down until it hid most of her face.
Ramona fiddled with papers on the podium. Finally, she squinted into the audience. “When you sign up to accompany us on one of our protests, simply add a note that you need a ride, and one of us will try to accommodate you. Be sure to write down your contact information.” She waved an index finger back and forth, aiming it toward the audience until she chose another questioner. “Next?”
Jocelyn sat down. I whispered, “Did that answer your question?”
She winked. “Yes, but probably not the way she hoped.”
After a few “questions” that were more like rambling autobiographies, Ramona ended the meeting.
I turned toward the back of the room and told Jocelyn and Olivia, “Mr. Mystery is back there talking with the woman Izzy fears might be his girlfriend.”
Our mayor leaned against the doorframe nearest them. That door was now open, but it had been closed after the woman who resembled Izzy’s cousin came in. Had Jerry attended the meeting, or had he left his office to greet his constituents as they straggled out of the auditorium? He remained in the doorway, shaking hands and slowing everyone going up that aisle.
The three of us started up the other aisle. The older couple in TWIG T-shirts were in front of us. The woman leaned toward the man and said something.
He bellowed, “WHAT?”
“THAT GIRL SHOULD BE ARRESTED BEFORE SHE CUTS DOWN EVEN ONE TREE.”
“WHY?”
“MURDER!”
“WHAT?”
“TELL YOU LATER.”
Beside me, Jocelyn heaved a dramatic sigh.
Behind us, a woman asked someone, “Did you notice the police around that donut shop where Ramona wouldn’t let us eat the other day?”
Jocelyn heaved another sigh. None of the three of us turned around.
A man answered, “What’s that all about?”
“Probably something to do with that man’s death. I’ve heard that donut shop is good, but now I’m wondering. Someone there might be up to mischief. Or, you know, they could be lax on food safety, and maybe they’ve caused a few cases of food poisoning. You just never know these days. You can’t be too careful.”
Olivia, Jocelyn, and I all let out hefty sighs.
We made it to the lobby as Landon and the woman who resembled Izzy’s cousin headed outside.
I looked at my two assistants. Jocelyn whispered, “Of course we’re following them.”
Outside, the sun had set, but the sky was still light. The woman with Landon was dressed for a night out, in a sleek black sundress and high heels. Landon was dressed as he had been earlier, in black slacks and a white shirt, also dressy enough for a date. They turned left on Oak, toward Wisconsin Street.
Olivia suggested, “Let’s hang back until other people get between them and us.”
I texted Landon’s location to Brent, and then we headed west on Oak behind Landon, the woman, and two groups of people who walked so slowly that I expected Brent to catch up with us. He hadn’t answered my text, however, and might have been too busy to read it.
Landon and the woman crossed Wisconsin Street and headed south, toward Deputy Donut. The other people stayed on the east side of Wisconsin, so we did, too. The first group, two couples, went into the Fireplug. We dawdled near the pub’s crowded patio. As if totally uninterested in Landon and his friend, Olivia stared toward the pub’s front door.
Jocelyn pointed south down Wisconsin Street. “Is that Mr. Mystery’s rental car parked down there, on the other side of the street, just this side of Deputy Donut?”
I stared toward the dark sedan. “I think it might be.”
Landon and the woman stopped on the sidewalk beside the car. He opened the passenger door. After she was inside the car, he walked out into the street, got into the driver’s seat and drove south, the direction the car had been facing.
I asked my companions, “Could either of you read the license number? I couldn’t.”
Olivia shook her head. “It was too far away.”
Jocelyn peered down Wisconsin Street. “I couldn’t read it, either. He turned right. I’m going to follow them.” She took off, running.
Sending Brent another text, I sauntered with Olivia down the street after Jocelyn. We slowed when we were across the street from Deputy Donut.
A black police van was outside in front, and there were probably more police vehicles in the lot behind the building. Lights were bright inside, and we could make out several figures in white hazmat suits behind the half-height wall separating the dining area from the kitchen.
I muttered, “Great. Our reputation is probably done.” But I couldn’t blame Brent and Vic for doing their jobs. Also, we had loyal customers. They wouldn’t stay away.
We’d gone barely a block beyond Deputy Donut when Jocelyn ran back to us. “I was too slow. I don’t know where they went. Maybe west, or they could be heading north through the parking lots. Maybe he’s taking her to that dirt road we saw him turn onto Saturday evening.”
Olivia suggested cheerfully, “Police vehicles could be blocking the lot behind Deputy Donut. Maybe they’ll run into the detectives there.”
I texted Brent an update. He thanked me. I put my phone away and suggested to Jocelyn and Olivia, “Your picnic things are in my car. How about if we go there, and I’ll take you both home? Or to your bike, Jocelyn.”
“I left it at home this time.”
We turned around, walked back up Wisconsin Street, crossed Oak, and cut through the village square. We were close to where we’d eaten our picnic when a car sped north on Wisconsin. I asked, “Is that Landon?”
It wasn’t quite dark yet, but because of the square’s trees and flower gardens, none of us caught more than a glimpse of a car’s gleaming dark finish and red taillights.
We all got into my car, and I dropped Olivia and Jocelyn off.
Jocelyn grinned. “I bet you can’t wait for Brent to come home and tell you everything he’s allowed to.”
I laughed. “You’re right.”
Chapter 15
I had to wait until morning to find out more. Over breakfast in the still-cool catio, Brent told me, “The medical examiner concluded that Adam died of anaphylactic shock. A card in his wallet warned that he was allergic to almonds. He’d eaten donuts with almond flour in them. And ground-up peach kernels, but the peach kernels aren’t what killed him, and they probably wouldn’t have, by themselves. But they couldn’t have helped.”
My coffee, which had been delicious, became suddenly bitter. “How awful. Didn’t he have one of those injection thingies that can pump adrenaline into the thigh?”
“We didn’t find an autoinjector near him or anywhere on that property. People sometimes forget to carry them or don’t have a new one on hand.”
“How foolhardy. But I don’t understand why he would eat donuts. As Tom, Olivia, and Jocelyn told me, and probably told you, Adam didn’t buy donuts from us, so he didn’t get a chance to ask if they contained nuts. And our boxes say right on them that the contents might include allergens. The print might be too small for some people to bother reading. However, I’m positive that the peachy sour cream donuts we made didn’t contain almonds or ground nuts of any sort, especially not the kernels from inside peach pits. Isn’t there something about poisons in peach pits and some other seeds? I asked Vic, but he didn’t answer.”
“They contain a toxin that if ground and ingested can combine with enzymes in the digestive system to create cyanide compounds. However, Adam probably only ate one donut before he succumbed, not the four that we might have guessed. No one could hide enough peach pits in four donuts, let alone in one donut, to kill an adult man. The medical examiner determined that it was definitely the allergy that killed Adam.”
“Did you find anything incriminating in Deputy Donut?”
“I stayed out of the search, and so did Misty and Tyler, who were busy on other calls. Investigators found nothing in your shop besides the almond flour that you all told us was there. And you have cardamom on hand. As you folks told us, you’d sold all of the donuts you made from your peachy sour cream batter, plus you used up all of the icing, so we couldn’t send any of those things to be tested. There was no sign of peach pits. Your coffee, nut, and spice grinders were taken away for analysis.”
“We would never grind anything except coffee beans in our coffee grinders!” The thought horrified me. “But I hope they can analyze whatever crumbs they find in those grinders and prove that we didn’t grind the kernels from peach pits in any of them. What else did they take?”
“All of the trash on the premises, including from the compost and other bins outside. If everything comes back negative, you can open. I’ll let you and Tom know as soon as I can.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t have any of those donuts left over so they could be tested.”
“We’ll question everyone who bought boxes of them. I hope that at least one of them will still have a donut that forensics can analyze. Mayor Creavus bought some, you said, and Ramona from TWIG? And someone whose name might be Landon who is driving a car that he might have rented in Minnesota and who was still in the area last night. And Izzy.”
“Yes. Ramona’s last name is Schleehart.”
“Could any of you read the license number of the car this Landon person was driving?”
“It was too far away.” I speared a piece of bacon. “Didn’t you say that Izzy told you what it was?”
“The one she gave us didn’t match any records in Minnesota. But if he’s hanging around Fallingbrook, we’ll find him.”
“Speeding, perhaps. But maybe the driver that zipped past the square last night wasn’t him.”
“Tyler might end up contacting every car rental agency in Minnesota.”
“Lucky Tyler.”
We shared a warm goodbye, and Brent left for work.
I spent the morning the way I spent most Tuesday mornings, doing chores. Brent did his share on weekends, when he usually wasn’t working and I was. In the afternoon, I went kayaking on Chicory Lake. Wearing her life jacket with her leash attached to my life jacket, Dep rode on my lap. We startled one great blue heron into squawking flight and spotted two fish jumping. I was concerned that by being down on the lake where we had no cell phone reception, I might miss a call about getting Deputy Donut ready to open, but when Dep and I returned to the chalet, I checked. I hadn’t missed any calls.
I made a pot of chili, ate a bowl of it, saved some in the fridge for Brent, and froze the rest in single servings.
I was still up when Brent arrived home. Dep and I sat with him in the kitchen while he ate his late dinner. “Thanks, Em, this is what I needed. It’s a shame that you, Tom, Jocelyn, and Olivia won’t be able to show off your cooking skills at Deputy Donut again tomorrow.”
“I’m used to having Wednesdays off. Did you find any of those peachy sour cream donuts to be tested and compared to the ones Izzy and I found?”
“Both Jerry Creavus and Ramona Schleehart said they’d eaten all of the donuts they’d bought at Deputy Donut. Jerry threw his empty box into the dumpster behind the town hall, but that dumpster was emptied before we knew we might need to examine its contents. Ramona tore hers up and composted it at a community garden. Investigators will sift through that compost. And we haven’t tracked down this Landon character yet.”
“Maybe when we saw him drive north last night, he was heading back to Duluth, but I’m afraid he’s going to stick around in hopes of getting something from Izzy. Like all of her money.”
“We’ll find him.”
“Has Tyler located where Landon might have rented that car?”
“Not yet. Vic will probably do the local interviewing, and I’ll take over cold-calling car rental agencies in Duluth.”
“As long as you don’t have to dumpster-dive or sift through compost.”
He put his dishes into the dishwasher. “Tyler and Misty might enjoy those jobs.”
“You’re terrible,” I told him.
He hugged me. “I know.”
The next morning after Brent left for work, I shopped for groceries and then went home and baked and froze cookies and mixed up enough bread dough for several loaves. I wrapped the dough tightly and put it in the freezer.
Cleaning up after lunch and then folding a load of laundry, I kept thinking about Landon veering off County Road H onto a dirt road. Where did that road go, and why had Landon turned down it? Had he merely been trying to prevent us from following him, or was he renting a cabin or camping along that road? When Izzy saw him the next day, had he been fleeing after forcing Adam to eat donuts containing almonds? Izzy had said he’d been going west. If he’d been in the process of returning to that dirt road, he’d gone the long way around, which was easy to imagine if he was leaving the scene of a crime.
Standing in the middle of the great room, I put my hands on my hips and looked down at Dep batting at a catnip mouse on the floor. “The afternoon’s half over. Would you like another adventure today, or would you rather stay home by yourself and nap?”
She abandoned the toy and rubbed against my bare ankles. “Meow.”
She probably expected to go kayaking again, but I fastened her halter instead of her life jacket on her and put her into her carrier in the car. “You can thank me later,” I told my justifiably indignant furbaby. I drove south.
My turn from County Road H onto the dirt road was more graceful than Landon’s had been. The road was rutted, riddled with dried mud puddles. I drove slowly, but dust, golden in the afternoon sunshine, rose behind my car. I didn’t see anything other than tire tracks, weeds, and small shrubs. Nothing hinted that anyone had gotten out of a vehicle during the past few days. The road dwindled to two dirt tracks. Weeds brushed against the underside of my car. I muttered to Dep, “I hope I don’t have to back out of here.”
“Meow.”
I checked my mirrors again. “I also hope that no one comes in behind us. Not that I’d see them or they’d see us with all that dust we’re kicking up.”
“Mer-ow.”
“And I hope no one comes toward us.”
“Ow.”
Hemmed in by young, fast-growing aspens and poplars, the road curved and twisted. I reminded myself that Landon must have driven out of this narrow track, one way or another. Maybe the road was a shortcut leading to another county road, probably J. I didn’t think there was a County Road I. The track widened slightly, mostly because something, vehicles, perhaps, had broken and bent the twigs, branches, and even some of the trunks of sumacs and wild roses beside the track. And then the road, such as it was, went downhill, in more ways than one.
I crept down the slope. Ahead, a puddle or stream blocked both tire tracks. I stopped several feet from the water and got out, leaving my driver’s door open to give Dep fresh air.
The water turned out to be a stream, shallow but rocky, and not something I would consider fording. Level, sandy soil on both sides showed that the stream was wider and deeper in wet seasons, and there were tire prints of vehicles that had come this far and then turned around. I frowned down at the dirt. I couldn’t make out individual tracks, but several vehicles must have been here since the most recent rain, over a week before. There was no litter, but there were lots of shoe and boot prints. I shaded my eyes and peered at the track rising on the other side of the stream. It appeared that the vehicles that had driven up that hill had narrow wheelbases, like ATVs, perhaps. At the top of the bank on my side of the stream, an animal trail ran through the grasses and wildflowers. If a similar trail ran along the other side of the stream, it was hidden behind shrubs and weeds.
Dep’s plaintive mews reminded me that she was in the car. I returned, closed the driver’s door, and opened the rear one. “I promised you an adventure, didn’t I, sweetheart? How about a hike?”
“Meow.”
“You poor baby. I understand. I’ll get you out of there.” I unzipped the carrier, fastened her leash on her, set her on the ground, and then let her lead the way. She headed down to the stream, sniffed at its edge without getting her nose or paws wet, and then walked daintily along the sand in the dried-up part of the streambed.
Beside us, water flowed slowly around stones. As if hoping to see fish jump, Dep watched water striders glide over the stream and dragonflies hover above it. Eventually, she headed up the embankment, and we continued east on the animal trail. Judging by the boot prints we were still following, it was also a pathway that humans used.
Had I locked the car? I told Dep, “It’s time to turn around.”
