Sour Crime Donuts, page 4
Izzy stared toward the rapidly fleeing tall man but addressed the balding man. “Fine, Adam. We’ll leave you to it. Come on, ladies and cat.” She turned her back on Adam and strode down the hill.
The younger man was about to disappear beyond the pines closest to the road. Izzy started running. Jocelyn quickly caught up with her. Olivia and I rushed down the trail behind them.
Dep mewed a complaint, probably about being jostled in my arms as I negotiated the uneven ground.
Before I reached the base of the trail, I looked over my shoulder.
Adam still stood where he’d been when we left him. He was watching us.
I didn’t like his scheming smirk.
Chapter 6
I hurried down the trail with Olivia. We stopped between the lowest rank of pines.
Izzy and Jocelyn had not crossed the ditch. Standing on our side of it, they watched the tall man fold himself into a new-looking gray sedan.
Olivia admitted grudgingly, “The sun is glaring off that car, so it’s hard to see, but I think that his front license plate does have those greenish swaths at the top and bottom like Minnesota plates have, so maybe he didn’t lie when he said he came from Duluth.”
He pulled away slowly and then did a cautious U-turn, backing up once as if to make certain he didn’t roll the car down the slope on the south side of the road. I squinted, trying to see past the reflected sunshine. “I think I see a sticker that could mean it’s a rental car. Maybe he only came from Duluth today.”
“Aha! Pants on fire.”
This time when she said it, I laughed aloud. “Could you read the license number?”
“No. Could you?”
“I was too busy looking for a rental sticker.” Still carrying Dep, I charged down through the weeds to Izzy and Jocelyn.
Izzy watched the gray car head eastward, away from us. She placed her hand on her heart. “Doesn’t Mr. Mystery have the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard? And did you notice how kind and caring he was? Not to mention superhot?”
I admitted, “He does seem to have a certain quiet strength.” I wanted to warn Izzy not to trust him.
Olivia beat me to it. “There’s something off about him.”
Izzy looked genuinely perplexed. “Like what? I’m tempted to follow him and see where he goes.”
Olivia warned, “Don’t. Not by yourself. C’mon, Emily and Jocelyn, let’s get Dep into the car. Mr. Mystery’s going east, like we will to get back to Fallingbrook. And, Izzy, didn’t you say you lived in Gooseleg? Drive west, the way your car is pointing, and then take the road curving northeast.”
Izzy gazed toward the gray sedan. It wasn’t going fast. “Okay, I do have plants to water at home, but if you three learn anything about him, let me know, okay? I’ll see you in Deputy Donut.”
Jocelyn, Olivia, and I said goodbye and then hurried past the enormous, black, and very shiny SUV that Adam must have parked between Izzy’s and my cars.
Olivia placed Dep into her carrier and sat beside her in the rear seat. Jocelyn and I got into the front. When everyone was buckled in, I made a tire-squealing U-turn, with no backing up, and accelerated toward where we’d last seen Mr. Mystery in his ponderous gray sedan.
Jocelyn checked the passenger-side mirror. “Izzy’s not coming this way.”
“Good.” I floored the gas pedal.
Jocelyn turned toward me. “What’s wrong, Emily? You always want people to be in love and live happily ever after, and romantic sparks were flying between those two.”
Olivia called toward us, pitching her voice above Dep’s grumbling, “Izzy doesn’t need to fall for a fake.”
I told Jocelyn, “I thought he was making up stories about why he was there. What if unscrupulous people heard about the money Izzy says she received from her grandfather? She certainly wasn’t shy about telling us, who are basically strangers, about it. Mr. Mystery could have learned about her windfall and also about her intended purchase of that land. He could have gone there so he could meet her and eventually help himself to some of her money. Or maybe he’s working with that Adam guy, who definitely gives con-man vibes, and their argument was staged to make Izzy trust Mr. Mystery. Olivia and I didn’t read his license number. Did you, Jocelyn?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
Olivia asked us, “And did you two notice Mr. Mystery’s accent? He didn’t sound like he was from around here or Duluth. I watch lots of movies and shows, and even though his car has Minnesota plates, I swear he talks like someone from the Northeast. And Emily thought she spotted a sticker from a rental company on his car.”
Jocelyn concluded, “Maybe that explains why he’s driving a geezer car. Except, he kind of drives like a geezer, too, the way he turned around back there.” She made a show of leaning forward and grasping the dash with both hands. “Emily doesn’t drive like a geezer. I’d tell you to drive faster, Emily, so we could check his license number, but you’re already approaching warp speed.”
I pointed ahead. “There he is, still driving cautiously and slowly. Hang on! And tell me if you see any police cars.”
The only one who complained was Dep. Maybe my suddenly increased speed was making Jocelyn and Olivia too scared to speak. Jocelyn, scared? That would be a first.
I didn’t manage to pull close to the sedan. Spewing gravel, it swerved onto the right-hand shoulder and then made a sharp left turn onto a one-lane country road that was little more than a cow path. I slowed and watched the car skid and fishtail through the dirt. “I’m not following him down that.”
Jocelyn poked fun at me. “Chicken!”
Olivia commented over Dep’s complaints, “He doesn’t appear to have driven much, at least not on country roads. Either that, or he’s purposely trying to keep us from getting a good look at his license plate. I don’t see that as a geezer move. Izzy’s right that he’s a mystery.”
Dust ballooned behind Mr. Mystery’s car. I couldn’t read the plate, and I definitely couldn’t tell if the car was a rental.
“Someday, Emily,” Jocelyn warned in ominous tones, “you’ll regret not following him.”
I pushed down on the gas and continued along the highway. “I doubt it.”
Olivia called from the back, “What I regret is those men coming along when they did and distracting Izzy from our tour. I wanted to see more. Waterfalls and ponds? It has to be beautiful.”
Jocelyn agreed. “I wanted to, too. Maybe she’ll invite us back. ”
I glanced into the rearview mirror. As far as I could tell, no one was following us. “I think we can almost depend on that, maybe after she takes possession. She wants to share her excitement.”
Olivia asked, “But what if Adam is right, and he can stop the sale? If he’s the developer the mayor was talking about, he might know more about real estate than Izzy does.”
Turning south on County Road C toward Fallingbrook, I suggested, “He also might know more about using any means to get what he wants. I hope Izzy has a good lawyer.”
The conversation changed to donut flavors and recipes. We came up with an idea for unraised sour cream donuts containing fresh, chopped peaches. “Baked donuts,” Olivia suggested, “so that we don’t lose the pieces of peach in boiling oil.”
I dropped her off at the store below her second-floor apartment, took Jocelyn to her parents’ home, and headed north up County Road C again. Several miles beyond the intersection with H, County Road C entered Chicory Lake State Forest and started down a hill. Near the top, still high above Chicory Lake, I turned right, onto our nearly straight driveway. It ran almost a quarter of a mile between strips of lawn separating it from forests on both sides. Sunlight gilded the tops of pines on the land slanting down toward the lake to the left of the driveway and up toward the state forest to the right.
As always, our log chalet appeared like an enchanted home from an Alpine fairy tale. The golden-brown peeled logs almost glowed, and cheerful petunias and impatiens nodded in flower boxes hanging from the railing on our wide front porch. Brent had bought this place when we were already spending lots of time together, but I’d still been in denial that he and I were more than friends. I loved our lakefront hillside and the chalet.
I took Dep into the great room and freed her from her harness. With its log walls, wood floors, high ceilings, and huge windows overlooking forests, the room was both awe-inspiring and comfy. Dep dashed to the kitchen end of the room and checked on her bowls of water and kibble. I let her outside into the catio that Brent and Tom had built on the eastern side of the house. They had built a roof over an existing deck and surrounded the new outdoor room with two kinds of screens, one that was insect-proof and a stronger mesh one that would keep a little cat inside and wild animals out. Dep could climb up to perches and safely watch the woods for wildlife. In the kitchen, I marinated chicken pieces and made aluminum foil pouches of potatoes, onions, garlic, seasonings, and olive oil. I went out to our vegetable garden beside the catio and picked big, ripe, red tomatoes. I cut them in half, sprinkled them with olive oil, and put them in a grillable wire basket.
Whistling, Brent came in through the front door. He was wearing navy-blue shorts, a navy-blue Fallingbrook Police Department T-shirt, sneakers, and no socks. I ran to my tall, handsome, muscular husband, whose warm gray eyes always sent me messages of love, and threw myself into his arms. He picked me up and twirled me around. We shared a long kiss. He set me down. “Where’s Dep?”
“Apparently, she finds the catio more interesting than you. Your fault for building it. How was the Lights and Sirens Fair?”
“Great. The kids loved it. And who knows? Maybe we inspired some of them to become first responders.”
In the kitchen, he picked up the bowl of marinating chicken and the basket of tomato halves. Whistling again, he took them out to the barbecue in our catio’s outdoor kitchen. He grilled the chicken and tomatoes, and I made a salad from our homegrown cucumbers and red peppers. We ate at our catio dining table.
I described Izzy, her plans, and our too-short tour of the land she was buying. I also told him about Adam Nofftry’s threats about preventing Izzy’s purchase of the land and about the man who Izzy nicknamed Mr. Mystery.
Brent cut off a bite of chicken. “That acreage has been on and off the market. I considered it before I bought this place, but I fell for this one. And I was sure you’d like it.”
“We weren’t together yet.”
“I know.”
“But I did fall for you before you bought this place.”
“I know that, too.”
Purring, Dep came down from a kitty hammock and inserted herself into our hug.
By the time we cleared the dishes, it was completely dark outside. Brent asked, “Want to check for remnants of the meteor shower again?”
“Sure!” The annual August sky event known as the Perseid meteor shower had mostly ended a few days before, but we’d discovered that we might still see a few falling stars if we went out onto our lawn, stretched out on lounges, and watched the sky. I leashed Dep and took her with us. The night was nearly silent except for her purring and the chirping of insects. I don’t know how many meteors Dep saw. Brent and I saw three.
Chapter 7
The next day was Sunday. Brent had the day off, but since he was always on call, and we didn’t want to possibly leave our sociable cat at home alone for hours, I took her to Deputy Donut.
Tom was back at work. Olivia, Jocelyn, and I described the peach donuts we’d mentally devised in the car the evening before, and Tom joined us in experimenting with them. We added bits of delicious fresh peaches to our non-yeast recipe for baked sour cream donuts. We topped them with thick sour cream frosting flavored with peach extract. We decided to feature the peachy sour cream donuts that day along with a coffee from Costa Rica, a medium roast with hints of plums and dark chocolate.
Izzy came in after lunch. Her brand-new leather briefcase contrasted with her slashed jeans and her cropped and boxy green cable-knit cardigan. She was also carrying a long cardboard tube like the kind used for mailing posters. She chose a table for two, ordered one of our peachy sour cream donuts and a mug of the Costa Rican coffee, and then she pulled a roll of paper out of the cardboard tube, unrolled it, and rolled it backward until it lay flat on the table. She explained, “I’m working on plans and drawings for where to put my greenhouses.” She’d had a drone operator take aerial photos of the property, and this enlargement showed the entire acreage. She’d also cut out shapes representing greenhouses, sheds, and barns, and was positioning and repositioning them on the photo. “It’s still in the dreaming stage.”
I studied the photo. “Four ponds?”
“Four mostly level plateaus, four ponds, four dams, a meandering stream, and here are the little waterfalls.” She traced a sinuous line between the plateaus. “With a driveway connecting the plateaus. But I won’t own the top of the hill. Yet.” She looked up at me. “Did you see where Mr. Mystery went after we left?”
“He turned north onto a dirt track off County Road H.”
She asked wistfully, “Did you follow him?”
“That track looked bumpy.”
“Do you think he lives there? No, I guess he doesn’t. He said he was from Duluth.”
I reminded her, “Didn’t he correct that to ‘came from Duluth’?”
“I guess so, maybe.”
“I think he was driving a rental car.”
“He seemed too caring to subject a rental car to a bumpy track.” I didn’t say anything, but I probably showed skepticism. She asked, “Didn’t you think he was caring?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
She repositioned one of the greenhouse-shaped rectangles on the photo. “I suppose I’ll never see him again.”
“Be cautious, Izzy, about going alone to that isolated property. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but it seems like too many people seem to treat it like it’s theirs, and they might not like your showing up there, too.” I was probably being overprotective.
“It was only two people.”
“Only two people in a short amount of time.”
“I’m not worried about those two. Adam Nofftry is all bluster, and Mr. Mystery is all”—she wriggled her shoulders in a fake shiver—“intriguing.”
“Do you have a boyfriend, Izzy?”
She bit into a donut and gave me a saucy grin. “Not yet, but if I ever see Mr. Mystery again . . .”
I made a show of shaking my head in a way that implied I had no hopes for her. Behind me, the front door opened. Heavy footsteps approached us.
Izzy gazed at the remains of the donut in her hand. “These are delicious. Can you pack a half dozen of them for me to take home?”
A gruff voice came from, it seemed, only inches from my left shoulder blade. “You know, young lady, TWIG is going to stop at nothing to prevent you or anyone else from cutting down trees on that land.”
Izzy dropped the half-eaten donut onto her plate and cupped both hands over the greenhouse shapes she’d been moving around like paper doll furniture. “I’m not going to cut down many trees.”
The woman who Izzy had said was an environmentalist and the head of TWIG snapped, “One is too many. Why don’t you build your greenhouses farther south in a better area for raising crops? Maybe on some barren wasteland.”
Izzy remained calm. “Ramona, people around here deserve fresh produce in all seasons, and I mean fresh, not something that has been wilting for days in a train or a truck. Or in a container on a ship.”
With a disdainful sniff, Ramona marched toward our serving counter.
I gave Izzy an apologetic smile and followed Ramona. She stood expectantly near the cash register. I asked her, “What can I get you?”
“Six of the kind of donuts that Izzy ordered.” Ramona seemed to bite down on a triumphant smile. Did she hope that by buying those donuts, she’d deprive Izzy of hers?
“We’re calling them peachy sour cream donuts. They have—”
Ramona waved a hand to stop me. “Just box them up for me.”
I opened the display case and told her, “We have only three of those peachy sour cream donuts at the moment.” I started to tell her we’d have another batch ready in a few minutes.
Ramona interrupted me again. “That’s fine. Just throw in three other donuts.”
I selected three of our consistently popular donuts—a raised donut with vanilla glaze, an old-fashioned cake donut dusted with cinnamon and sugar, and a chocolate cake donut with chocolate icing. I showed Ramona the open box. She nodded a curt approval. I taped the box shut.
She paid me and pulled a sheaf of flyers from a green tote bag with TWIG printed on it in white. “You can give these notices about our next TWIG meeting to your fellow workers and to customers.” She shot a quick glance toward the front of the dining room, where Izzy was again poring over her enlarged photo and cutouts. “But not her. We don’t need protesters disrupting our meeting.”
I placed the flyers on the counter next to the cash register. Carrying her box of donuts, Ramona stomped past Izzy and left.
Izzy shot me an impish look. Admiring her spirit and gumption, I smiled.
Our mayor came in. He spotted Izzy, saluted, strode to her table, and boomed, “There’s the young entrepreneur who is going to bring fresh food and prosperity to Fallingbrook!”
It was Sunday afternoon, so the Knitpickers and retired men weren’t in Deputy Donut. Jerry found a different group of people and tried to convince them that a flashy resort would not be good for the community. He went from table to table. Some of our customers agreed with him, some argued that the resort would provide jobs and attract tourists, and others pointed out that Fallingbrook and the area around it could support and benefit from both a resort and a business supplying produce year-round.
Finally, I began to understand Jerry’s objection to the resort. Standing in the middle of the dining room where everyone could hear him, he announced, “When the election comes around, remember that people need to eat. A vote for me is a vote for wholesome fresh food and permanent jobs, while a vote for a newcomer like Adam Nofftry is a vote for money to flow out of the area.”
