Sour Crime Donuts, page 20
What had Landon done with the donuts he’d bought? Although Hope had said she barely knew him, that had obviously been a lie. Had Landon spent part of the previous Sunday afternoon in the kitchen here? Had Hope or Glenn known what he was doing?
He could have been using my coffee grinder to grind the kernels from peach pits, and then he might have realized that the kernels had damaged the grinder. He could have discarded it. The trash should have been picked up on Maple Street at least once since then.
And then I thought of something else. When I’d peeked for a moment in the lower cabinet that housed the baking trays and cooling racks, I’d seen something that had not been there the last time I looked. I had a couple of pans that were specifically designed for baking circular cake-like pastries and calling them baked donuts, similar to but smaller than the baking pans we’d used in Deputy Donut to make our peachy sour cream donuts. Because I seldom used those pans, I stored them in the basement, not in that kitchen cupboard where I’d just seen them.
Adulterating the frosting had seemed simpler than replicating our donuts from scratch, but Vic Throppen had implied that the donuts themselves had contained ingredients that we hadn’t used in ours.
Izzy had gone up to Gooseleg and shared donuts with her neighbors on Sunday afternoon. She could not have had time to be in this kitchen grinding the insides of peach pits and mixing them into donuts. I still ruled her out of harming Adam.
Hope claimed that Glenn did all of the cooking, and he was certainly clever enough to taste a donut and copy it, with a few additions, like substituting almond flour for some of the wheat flour, and seasoning with cardamom in an attempt to disguise the slightly bitter ground-up peach pits. But how could he, Landon, or Hope have known about Adam’s almond allergy?
Why would any of them have tried to harm Adam?
I didn’t know of a connection between Adam and Hope or Glenn.
Landon had at least one reason to be angry at Adam, but being yelled at hardly seemed like a motive for murder.
However, the afternoon that Landon and Izzy had first encountered each other, Landon had looked at Izzy like she was the sun, the moon, the stars, plus a few waterfalls and rivers, all combined. Could Landon’s eyes be smoldering not only with adoration but also with an obsession to protect Izzy? Not that he’d been great protection. Thanks to him, or whoever had given Adam donuts laced with almond flour, she was possibly in danger of losing her freedom.
Not if I could help it.
How quickly could I leave this difficult dinner party without making it obvious that I might be running to my detective husband?
I tasted the raspberry macaron. Perfect. It would be a pity not to stay and savor the macarons, and although the tea was cooling in the thin china cups, it was still too hot to drink.
Hope must have thought so, too. Without taking a sip of tea, she set down her cup and leaned toward Landon, more or less across the table from her. “Landon, are you in this area to spy on both Isabella and me for the old man, or just on me?”
Landon blushed. “I’m not spying on anyone.”
Izzy had been about to bite into her green tea macaron. It slipped from her fingers and landed on her plate.
With her forefinger and thumb, Hope spun a lemon macaron on her plate. “Don’t be ridiculous. The old man gave Isabella and me both money, and we’re to report to him in a year about how we spent it. But I know the old man. Mere reporting wouldn’t be enough. He would want someone else, like an untested new lawyer, to make certain that we weren’t spending the money in ways he wouldn’t approve of.”
Landon set a half-eaten yellow macaron on his plate. “No. Mr. Korinth knows you, Hope, or at least he knows the side you choose to show him.”
Hope’s icy demeanor cracked slightly, and she displayed some heat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Landon didn’t take the bait. “He knows about your plans to start a restaurant chain with one of the country’s best chefs. He approves. But how could he have sent me here to spy on you? You told him you’re doing a staycation in the city.”
Izzy said in a small voice, “Are you saying that you work for my, I mean Hope’s and my grandfather, Landon?”
“Yes, but—”
Hope interrupted him. “And the old man, our grandfather, is in the process of adjusting his will. My father should be the one inheriting the most, and then me, because we have always cooperated with the old man, unlike Isabella and her father.”
Glenn held up one hand and spoke loudly. “Wait. What are you saying? That you and your cousin are heiresses?”
Hope’s hazel eyes flashed flames at him. “Well, I won’t be one if Landon and Isabella gang up and cut me out of the will. Not that it can be possible.” She poked an index finger toward Izzy. “You and your ridiculous farmer-girl schemes shouldn’t have a chance. If Landon were any kind of a man, he would tell the old man that.”
Anger welled inside me.
I must not have been the only one. His face burning, Landon pushed his chair back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I have very little influence with Mr. Korinth.”
Hope picked up her teacup by its dainty handle and swirled the tea. The lemon slice threatened to slosh out. “You mean you haven’t been chasing after Isabella to learn more about her?”
Landon’s face became an even brighter red. “I have not.”
“You’re going to tell the old man that Isabella should be his sole heir, but you weren’t going to tell Isabella you knew about her prospects until you safely had a ring on her finger.”
Izzy flung her chair back so hard that I thought it might tip over. “Tell me the truth, Landon Bafter. Have you been spying on me? And you dropped in at my place last night, not because you were interested in me and tracked me down on your own like you implied, but because my grandfather told you to come see me, and he also told you where I live? You were spying?”
Landon must have gone back to her place after I stopped following him in Gooseleg.
Izzy turned to Hope and spat, “It was only one innocent conversation out on my deck, not a date.” She brushed the back of one hand across her eyes, ran into the living room, and grabbed her purse off the couch.
Landon leaped to his feet. “Izzy, you don’t understand.” The linen napkin that had been on his lap floated to the floor.
Izzy pushed the screen door open. “I understand perfectly.” She might have sounded as icy and sarcastic as her cousin if her voice hadn’t caught on something like a sob. She fled out onto the porch.
The screen door banged against the jamb.
Landon picked up the napkin, flung it onto the back of the couch, and strode out onto the porch. “Izzy, wait!” I heard his footsteps on the wooden steps. He was running. “I told Mr. Korinth . . .”
I didn’t hear the rest.
A car door slammed.
Chapter 30
Her smile even more smug than before, Hope pulled a raspberry macaron apart and snapped the top meringue in half. “That’s the way the cookie crumbles. My cousin hasn’t outgrown her snot-nosed brat stage. So much for a nice, civilized dinner party.”
Hope had planned this all along. That was why she had invited Izzy and Landon to dinner. And now I knew why I’d been included. Hope had wanted to humiliate Izzy in front of Izzy’s Fallingbrook friend.
In that moment, I didn’t care if Hope was one of Izzy’s few relatives. I had to get out of the house—my house—before I let Hope see how much I disliked her.
She rose gracefully and picked up Izzy’s and Landon’s dishes.
Clutching my ridiculously small purse, I stood, too, and placed my napkin beside my plate and my uneaten green tea macaron. “Thank you for the delicious dinner. I should go, too. It must be after ten, and I have to be at work at six thirty in the morning.”
Glenn picked up his and my plates. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
It was all I could do not to dash outside like the other two had. I managed sincere-sounding praise. “I can hardly wait for you to open your restaurant.” At the door, I slipped my feet into my sandals, and then I went out, shutting the door carefully behind me. I maintained a sedate pace until I reached my car. Izzy’s car was gone, and I didn’t see Landon anywhere, either. I flung myself into my driver’s seat. Planning to turn around, I pulled into the driveway I was renting to Glenn.
My headlights shined on a slim leather portfolio in the grass next to the left side of the driveway.
Landon had arrived late. In his hurry, either then or when he left only moments ago, had he accidentally pushed the portfolio out of the car he was driving?
I eased forward until my door was next to the portfolio. I glanced toward the house. I didn’t see anyone on the front porch or looking out windows. I opened my car door, stepped out, grabbed the portfolio, and threw it onto the passenger seat. I quietly backed out of the driveway and onto Maple Street. Still seething at the way Hope had treated Izzy, I drove at the speed limit for a couple of blocks toward Wisconsin Street, and then I pushed harder on the gas.
Where was Izzy? Was Landon chasing her to her tiny home in that almost isolated clearing? And then . . . what?
Maybe he wasn’t going to harm Izzy. Maybe he was driving to Duluth to catch the next flight to New York.
I didn’t see either of their cars. Remembering my promise to let Brent know when the party was breaking up, I swerved into the parking lots behind the buildings on Deputy Donut’s side of the street. I stopped and texted Brent that Landon might be following Izzy, possibly to her place outside Gooseleg. I gave Brent directions to Izzy’s caboose. I took a deep breath and added that Hope and Glenn might have been involved in Adam’s death, and that Landon could have given them the peachy donuts, and the box they’d come in, that he bought at Deputy Donut. Or Landon might have used their kitchen to create similar donuts.
I didn’t wait for a reply. I bumped north through the parking lots as far as Deputy Donut, drove down our driveway, and turned north on Wisconsin Street.
Passing the square on my right, I spotted Olivia and Jocelyn strolling south, laughing and talking. I pulled off the road into the parking lane, opened the passenger window, and called to them. They ran to the side of the car.
Bracing myself with my left hand on the steering wheel, I leaned toward the window. “Landon might be following Izzy to Gooseleg, and I’m afraid of what he might do. Want to come with me to make sure she gets home safely and locks him out of her house? It might take a while, but I’ll bring you back to Fallingbrook.”
My two assistants didn’t hesitate. Olivia climbed into the rear, and Jocelyn picked up the portfolio and sat in the passenger seat. With my foot on the brake, I waited while they fumbled with seat belts.
A late-model dark sedan sped north past us, and I caught only a glimpse of the driver. Glenn? Last I knew, he was cleaning up after the dinner party.
Another dark sedan, possibly a navy one, followed the car that I thought Glenn was driving. The license plate was JC MAYOR.
Jocelyn pointed. “There goes Jerry Creavus! Or that must be his car, anyway.”
As far as I knew, Jerry had not arranged a meeting with Izzy some evening in his office. Had he decided that chasing after her in her car would work as well for whatever he had planned for the so-called meeting? Had someone alerted him to where she might be driving? I asked, “Seat belts latched?”
“Almost,” Olivia answered. I heard the click, and then she said. “Go, Emily!”
I couldn’t. Another car was coming up fast behind us. The car passed, and I groaned. “That was Landon, Mr. Mystery.”
Jocelyn settled the portfolio on her thighs. “What’s going on, Emily?”
Pulling into the road and starting north behind Landon, I summarized the dinner party, including Hope’s rudeness, Landon’s apparent job of spying on Izzy and his probable interest in her money, and my surmises about my coffee grinder going missing and the donut baking pan showing up in the kitchen.
Ahead of us, Landon was driving fast. His taillights diminished to two red blurs in the misty darkness. I couldn’t see either Jerry Creavus’s or Glenn’s cars.
Jocelyn looked over her shoulder and teased Olivia, “Maybe we should call your new friend.”
“It was only a walk,” Olivia said. “And you were with us most of the time.”
“I just happened along, and you both invited me to go with you.” Jocelyn was bouncing on her seat almost as much as Izzy would have, at least before the dinner with her cousin. Jocelyn crowed, “Olivia was with Tyler Tainwright, that yummy policeman. You didn’t see him, Emily, because he had already left us to get ready for his next shift, patrolling with Misty.”
I realized then that Olivia was wearing her chestnut hair down, with soft waves settling on her shoulders, and her jeans were topped with a frilly, untucked blouse, mostly white with pink roses scattered over it, and I thought I remembered seeing sandals on her feet. She definitely looked dressed for a date. I met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I hope it’s just the first of many walks with him. And maybe some Poohsticks. But I don’t think you need to call him yet about people possibly following Izzy, Olivia.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Olivia could sound very prim, but I heard the undercurrent of excitement in her voice.
Jocelyn turned toward me, “Poohsticks? I read Winnie-the-Pooh , but why would Olivia be playing Poohsticks with Tyler?”
I explained, and Jocelyn clapped her hands. “He’s perfect for you, Olivia.”
Olivia merely said, “Pooh!”
Jocelyn laughed. Unlike Olivia, Jocelyn didn’t appear to have dressed for a date. She wore black jeans, a black, long-sleeved shirt, and a black ball cap. Her sneakers were red.
Wisconsin Street became County Road C. Houses were farther apart, and the road was mostly bordered by forest.
Jocelyn complained, “There’s no moon.”
Olivia corrected her. “It’s only a quarter moon tonight. We’d see it in the southwest if it weren’t for the trees, but it’s setting. It’ll disappear in about forty-five minutes.”
Jocelyn was silent for a second, and then she asked, “Were you and Tyler moongazing before I caught up with you tonight, Olivia?”
“Sort of. He keeps track of things like that when he’s on the night shift.”
Barely able to make out Landon’s taillights ahead of us, I stepped harder on the gas. “I’ve already told Brent that Landon might be heading north toward Gooseleg, maybe going to Izzy’s cute tiny home, so Brent might arrive there before we do. I wonder why Landon let Izzy get ten minutes ahead of him. But he doesn’t need to follow her home.” I explained why Landon knew where she lived, and asked, “Can one of you text Brent?” It wasn’t the first time I’d been glad that we had one another’s emergency contacts in our phones.
Jocelyn pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I will.”
“Please tell him that Glenn and Jerry might also be following Izzy, and that we’re not doing anything besides trying to see where Landon goes. But we won’t follow him all the way to Duluth.”
Jocelyn worked on her phone and then pocketed it again. “Brent wasn’t able to leave right away and he’s still at the police station. What’s this thing that was on your passenger seat when I got in?”
“I found that in the yard after I left that horridly tense dinner party. I guess Landon dropped it in his hurry to chase after Izzy. Then, maybe he went back for it, but I’d already picked it up.”
Jocelyn laughed. “Good for you. So, I can look inside?”
I grinned. “I would if I weren’t driving.”
Chapter 31
Jocelyn shined her phone’s light into the portfolio’s interior, pulled out a messy sheaf of papers, laid the portfolio flat on her lap, and used it as a desk as she looked through the pages. She was quiet for a long time.
Olivia asked, “What is it, Jocelyn?”
“I don’t think these documents are Landon’s. They all seem to be about Glenn Sitherby.”
I guessed, “Maybe Landon lied about not spying on Hope. Maybe he was collecting information about both her and Glenn.”
Jocelyn picked up a page. “Here’s a letter to Glenn from ten years ago, offering Glenn a position as manager of a restaurant.”
I asked, “What’s the company name? Is it anything to do with Adam Nofftry?”
“Not obviously. The company is Wilson Family.”
Olivia groaned. “That’s a huge conglomerate owning everything from rail lines to greeting cards. Who signed the letter?”
“Ted Wilson. Do we know a Ted Wilson?”
Olivia and I said that we didn’t.
Jocelyn turned the letter over. “Someone wrote on the back, a column for pros and a column for cons.” She was silent for a few seconds. “One of the cons is that Glenn would have to sell something called Hot Pepper, both words capitalized.”
I told Jocelyn and Olivia, “Izzy and I searched him on the Internet. Hot Pepper was a popular, successful restaurant. It closed about five years ago.” I took my right hand off the wheel to point toward the documents on Jocelyn’s lap. “Can you tell if those are originals or copies?”
Jocelyn rustled through papers. “I can’t tell. Copies can be really good. Oh, here’s an employment contract with Wilson Family. An unusual stipulation, that Glenn appears to have signed, is that the restaurant Glenn manages, Purple Pepper, will never serve almonds or almond products.”
Olivia breathed, “Wow! When did Glenn sign that?”
Jocelyn turned the page over. “Ten years ago. And the other person who signed it was this Ted Wilson, whoever that is.” Still using her phone’s light, she scanned more pages. She pulled one out, put it on top, and slapped the entire set of papers onto the portfolio. “Here it is, a possible link to lots of things. A termination letter. From two years ago. Glenn was fired from Purple Pepper for cause, but it doesn’t say what the cause was. And Ted Wilson signed that letter, too. But someone scrawled across the bottom of the letter, ‘Who snitched? He wasn’t there, so he couldn’t have been affected.’ ” Jocelyn raised her head. “To me, the writing looks like the writing of the pros and cons of accepting the job as manager of Purple Pepper.”
