Drop Dead Chocolate (20 page)

She had a point. I’d have to find someone who would put up with my killer hours for not a lot of pay. It had been a miracle when Emma had fallen into my lap, but that miracle was about to end.

“I have to find someone to take your place,” I said, just now realizing it. I’m not a weepy kind of gal normally, but it took everything I had not to start crying.

Emma hugged me. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. I’ve got a few folks already lined up who might be interested, if you’d like some names and numbers.”

“That would be great,” I said.

“It’s going to be okay, boss,” she said, trying to show a brave smile.

“I hope you’re right.”

After Emma washed the donut dropper, she handed it back to me. “Can you make another batch of apple donuts?”

“Trust me, that’s the least of my worries,” I said.

As Emma ducked behind the door, I watched her go.

Whether I liked it or not, my world was about to undergo a drastic change. In less than three weeks, Emma would be gone, and I’d be on my own again until I could find a replacement for her.

*   *   *

“Suzanne? What happened to your window?”

I’d answered the question two dozen times already, so I gave my stock answer without even looking up. “Someone decided to redecorate for me. I’m having it fixed soon, hopefully this morning.”

“This is a bad time, isn’t it? Is there any chance that you’re ready for us?”

Ready for what? I wondered as I looked up to see exactly who was talking. I was still in a funk over Emma’s news, though it was nearly ten. We’d both tried our best to ignore the fact that she’d just given me her notice, but there was a very real uneasiness in the air between us.

I was surprised to see that it was Jennifer, the head of the book club that met at Donut Hearts once a month.

“Is that really today?” I asked. How had I managed to lose track of the time so thoroughly?

“If this isn’t going to work for you, we could come back tomorrow,” she said. “I’m sure the other ladies will be fine with it.”

I couldn’t let all of these outside events influence the way I behaved. Maybe having the book club meeting would give my life a little normalcy. “No, I’m ready. Let me get Emma to cover the front, and we can get started.”

Jennifer paused, and then asked softly, “Is everything all right? I’m guessing something bad happened to your front window, and we all heard about what happened to the mayor. You must be beside yourself, what with your mother directly involved in it all.”

“That’s not it. We’re fine,” I said. The words nearly stuck in my throat as I explained, “Emma just gave me her notice.”

Jennifer looked appropriately stricken. She knew how much I depended on my assistant. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that you’ll find someone else.”

“I hope so,” I said. There was no way I was going to let my gloom infect the club meeting. “Do me a favor. Don’t say anything to Hazel and Elizabeth, okay? I don’t want to bring the entire group down.”

“I promise,” she said. “Take your time. We’ll be over there when you’re ready.”

I called Emma up front. “Can you take over for half an hour? The book club is here.”

“Is it that time of the month already?” she asked, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“I know. It caught me by surprise, too,” I said.

“Go on. I’ve got this covered.”

I grabbed four coffees, added matching cinnamon swirl cake donuts, and headed to the couch and chairs where my group was waiting for me. The three women, as always, were dressed elegantly, and I felt a little out of place in my blue jeans and T-shirt.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for a month,” Hazel said as she swooped down on one of the donuts before I could even put the tray down.

“We serve them every day of the week, you know,” I said, smiling at Hazel despite my dour mood. “You’re welcome to come by any time, even if we don’t have a book club meeting scheduled.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That’s not it. She’s on a diet, and she’s just allowing herself one big treat a month, so you’re it for her this month.”

“Is one donut enough, then?” I asked. “You can have mine, too, if you’d like. I certainly don’t need it.”

Hazel looked tempted, but then finally shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got to stick to my diet this time.”

“Is there anything in particular going on in your life?” I asked.

Elizabeth grinned as she explained, “She’s renewing her vows with her husband. In two months. In Hawaii.”

“Wow, that sounds wonderful,” I said.

“The renewal, or the trip?” Hazel asked.

“Both,” I said. “Congratulations. How many years have you been married?”

“Thirty, if you can believe that,” she said.

“You must have been a child bride.”

Elizabeth started laughing, and I looked at her quizzically. “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I’m sorry, it’s not that. It’s just that I was at her original wedding, and that’s exactly what she was.”

“I was twenty-one years old,” Hazel said with an air of authority. “That’s hardly a child. I was a grown woman ready to start a new life with the man I loved.”

Jennifer added, “I didn’t think I was all that young when I was in my twenties myself, but it’s difficult not to look at it that way now. It’s funny, but the older I get, the later middle age becomes for me. I see people listed in the obituaries who have lived into their sixties and seventies, and the first thing I think of is how tragic it is that they all died so young.”

We all nodded at that, sharing the experience of starting to grow older. Jennifer clapped her hands together twice, and then said, “Now, on to our topic. Today we’re discussing men who write mysteries under female pseudonyms. In particular, we’ve got Lee Parsons on tap with his latest,
Half-Baked Murder Pie
, written under the name Melissa Brighton. Any thoughts, ladies?”

“I love all of his books, but I don’t know why he can’t just write everything under his own name,” I said. “He must have half a dozen names floating around out there, and most of them are women. It’s pretty confusing keeping up with them all.”

“Can you all honestly even tell that a man wrote these books?” Hazel asked. “Because I can’t. That man can really get inside my mind. It’s as though he knows how I think.”

“I wrote him an e-mail after I read
Half-Baked
,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“Did he answer?” I asked. I always wondered about the authors I loved, and if they enjoyed getting mail from readers, or if it was just a part of business for them.

“He did. I asked him why he used so many names, and he told me if it were up to him, everything he wrote would be under his own name, including his grocery list. Unfortunately, he said his publishers wouldn’t let him, so he does what he has to in order to stay in print.”

“That must be sad, not being able to claim his own work,” Jennifer said. “I honestly don’t care what name he’s using at the time, though: I love his books.”

I smiled. “I do, too. He used to do crafting mysteries as Amanda Bartilloni. It took me a while to get it, but I was watching a sitcom rerunning on television one day and one of the characters mentioned that another character must be a female impersonator, because he’d chosen the name Amanda: a man, duh. Lee must have seen it, too. I just love his sense of humor.”

Jennifer tapped the book in her hands. “How about his culinary mysteries? Did you all enjoy
Half Baked
?”

“I thought it was his best one yet,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m a donut maker by trade, but the guy honestly knows how to bake. I love the way he weaves the recipes throughout the plot, and you can tell he’s done his fair share of time in the kitchen as well as sitting at his computer.”

“I’m not so sure I agree. The murder weapon was a little too fairy-tale-like for my taste,” Hazel said.

“You didn’t like the poisoned apple in the apple pie?” Jennifer asked.

“I thought it was cute,” Elizabeth replied.

“That’s because you two are pen pals. Don’t worry, I like his books, too. Has anyone heard what the next book in the series is going to be called?”

“
Overcooked
, I read somewhere,” I said.

“Great title,” Jennifer said. “Now, what did you all think of his use of metaphor when he first picked the apples for the pie in the old, forgotten orchard on a dark, overcast day?”

“It was just creepy enough for me,” Elizabeth said. “I like my murder mysteries nice and clean.”

“Except for the whole dead-body thing,” Hazel said with a smile.

“Except for that, of course. If I could, I’d move right into any of the towns Lee’s built in his imagination over the years. They’re what home should be like.”

We chatted for another half hour about the book, and then it was time to break up. As I gathered the dirty dishes together, I asked Jennifer, “Any idea about what next month’s book is going to be, or should I wait for your e-mail?”

“I’ve got it right here,” Jennifer said as she reached into her massive purse. She pulled out a paperback with a signpost on the front. “It’s called
Coventry’s End
, and it’s a real corker.”

“I’ll see you all next month, then,” I said.

Jennifer held back and offered me a twenty. “It’s my turn to treat.”

“I thought this month was on me,” I said, refusing her money. I took too much enjoyment from being in the book club to ever charge my group for their refreshments, but they’d insisted, and in the end, I gave in.

“We took a vote this morning outside. You provide the location, so the three of us will be taking turns paying for the refreshments. You’re out of the rotation.” Before I could protest, she said, “Suzanne, you might as well take it. If you don’t, we decided we’d start ordering things we weren’t going to eat just to make up for it. You really don’t want us throwing away your delightful treats, do you?”

“No, I’d hate it, to be honest with you. Thanks,” I said as I took the bill and headed for the cash register to make change.

“No change is necessary,” Jennifer said.

“I insist,” I said, and handed her the remainder.

She took it with a smile, and then dropped it into our tip jar. I knew it was useless to protest, so I just did my best to smile and thank her for the tip.

“See you next month,” Jennifer said. “And don’t worry, things will start to look up soon, I’m certain of it.”

After the ladies were gone, Emma asked me, “What was that all about?”

“They heard we were looking into Cam’s murder,” I said, not wanting to lie to Emma, but not exactly eager to share with her that I’d told Jennifer she was leaving.

Emma accepted it at face value, then disappeared back into the kitchen. As I watched her go, I suddenly realized that what she was doing was exactly right. It was a big world out there, and she didn’t want to spend her years working in the back of my donut shop. I decided then and there that I was going to stop feeling sorry for myself and be happy that one of my dearest friends was doing something she’d always wanted to do.

No self-indulgence would be allowed. And then I looked at the display case and saw the apple fritters there, dark brown with sparkling glaze on them, and I decided that a little self-indulgence might not be so bad.

As I took my first bite, I knew that it was worth every calorie.

*   *   *

It was nearing eleven, and I decided that there was no way the glazier was going to show up to fix my window today. The police chief had done a solid job blocking out the opening, but I’d hoped for a little more than plywood for a view. Momma came into the shop, frowning at my front window.

“That hasn’t been taken care of yet?”

“I was hoping someone would be here before I closed,” I admitted.

She took out her cell phone and started dialing. “We’ll just see about that.”

The last thing I wanted was to give my mother something else to worry about. “Momma, it’s okay. You don’t have to go to any trouble on my account.”

“It’s no trouble, young lady, but even if it were, you’re my daughter. A little trouble comes with the territory,” she added with a twinkle in her eye. “I still wield a great deal of influence in this town. Don’t worry, you’ll have your glass soon.”

I knew better than to try to stop her. After a brief conversation, she hung up, and I was glad to see a full-blown smile on her face. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.” As she glanced at her watch, Momma added, “That’s a little after you close. Do you mind waiting around?”

“For new glass? No, ma’am, I’d be happy to,” I said. “Thank you.”

“No need, Suzanne. If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay until I’m sure they live up to their word.”

“Be my guest. Would you like some coffee or a donut while you wait?”

“Coffee would be great, and maybe one of those donut holes as well.”

The glazier did better than he promised, and two minutes before we were set to close, he walked in. After studying the plywood in place of the glass, he asked, “Who did this?”

“The chief of police,” I answered, and Momma looked at me quizzically, the surprise clear on her face. “Phillip fixed this for you?” she asked.

“He was off duty and he volunteered,” I admitted. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind? Of course not. I’ll have to thank him for it.”

“I already did, but I’m sure he’d like it better coming from you,” I said with a slight smile.

Emma came out to dispel any reply Momma might have made, something I was grateful for. “The back’s clean, so I’m ready to take care of the racks up here,” she said. “Hello, Mrs. Hart,” she added when she saw my mother. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hello, Emma.” Momma looked closely at her, and then asked, “Have you been crying, child?”

“Crying? No, of course not,” Emma said. “Why would I have any reason to cry?” She grabbed the racks and hurried back to the kitchen without even boxing the remaining donuts first.

“What’s wrong with her?” Momma asked as the glazier began removing the plywood.

“She’s leaving,” I said.

“You fired her?” Momma asked, incredulous.

“I would never do that. She turned in her notice; she’s finally going off to college.” As the plywood came down, I suddenly realized just how dark it had been in the shop. I needed that window, and was happy that Momma had pulled some strings to make it happen sooner rather than later.