Sinister Sprinkles (29 page)

“What did I say in that editorial that wasn’t true?” There was an edge in his voice as well now. It was clear that he was no longer amused by my reaction. Good, that made two of us. “Suzanne, you sell death, and you know it. Heart disease is a mass murderer in this country, and you’re part of the reason it’s so prevalent.”

“Seriously? You’re actually blaming me for heart attacks?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You contribute to the problem,” he said, jabbing his cigarette at me as if it were some kind of knife. “I wasn’t lying. I saw what your customer base looked like today.”

“Donuts don’t kill people,” I yelled. “I’m the first to admit that no one should eat them every day, but there’s nothing wrong with a treat now and then. Skinny people come to my shop, too, and I know a lot of them did throughout today. Did you see them and choose to ignore them, or were you even there?”

“The heavyset outweighed everyone else,” he said, pointing at me with his cigarette again.

“What about your cigarettes? Don’t you think they’re killers?”

“We’re talking about donuts, remember? You might as well give up. I’m not about to back down from I said tonight.”

I got up in his face this time. “This isn’t over.”

I heard Cara from a few feet away. How long had she been standing there? She looked as though she wanted to die as she spoke. “Lester, you’ve got a call from Mr. MacDonald.”

That got his attention. “What does he want?”

“He didn’t say. Do you want me to tell him that you’re on your break?”

Lester threw the cigarette down and ground it out with his heel. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take the call.”

“It’s line three,” she said.

As Lester disappeared back into the building, Cara’s tense face blossomed into a smile. “Wow, I thought you were going to slap him there for a second.”

“You saw that?” Suddenly I wasn’t so proud of my outburst. What had I accomplished, after all? Did I think Lester would air an apology and a retraction if I could bully him into it? Maybe I should have let Momma come along after all. She might have been able to keep me in check. The fact that I was even considering that option was enough to tell me that I’d overstepped my bounds. When my mother was the voice of reason, it was often time for me to reevaluate my position.

Then again, she could have just as easily led the charge, and things could have turned out even worse.

“I just saw the last bit,” Cara admitted.

“Thanks for making up that call, then.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. Mr. MacDonald owns this station, along with a dozen other investors.”

I grinned at her. “Maybe he’s a donut fan, and he’ll fire Lester.”

As Cara hurried back into the building, I realized that I’d done enough damage for one night. I looked at my watch and saw that it was nearly nine. I just had a handful of hours until it was time to get up. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get to sleep, not after what had just happened, but I owed it to myself to try.

As I drove back home, I thought about how personal that attack had been on me. I knew Lester wasn’t a fan of mine, but I had no idea he disliked me that much. Had he come up with his little diatribe on his own, or had someone else put him up to it? I had my share of enemies in April Springs, but small towns could be like that. Sometimes folks took a disliking to someone else for no apparent reason, and no doubt a few felt that way about me. But which one of them might have enough influence over Lester to get him to come after me so openly?

I needed to find out, and sooner, rather than later.

*   *   *

My alarm woke me way too early. It had taken some time for me to get to sleep after recapping my confrontation with Lester to Momma. Maybe I’d be able to grab a nap at some point after work. I wasn’t sure how many customers I’d have today, given Lester’s diatribe on air against me. Then again, how many of my customers actually listened to our local radio station, especially at night? Only time would tell how effective Lester had been in trying to lead a boycott of Donut Hearts.

I didn’t make it to the shop until five after two, late by my normal standards. As I walked past the coffee machine, I hit the start button and then turned on the fryer. It took a while for all of that oil to heat up for the first run of donuts at three hundred degrees, and I’d learned early on to start it warming as soon as I walked in the front door.

Emma Blake, my assistant and young friend, wasn’t due in for nearly half an hour. That was one bonus I gave her that didn’t cost me a dime. She claimed that the extra half hour of sleep was better than any raise I could afford. I checked the answering machine, hoping for a big order in case Lester’s boycott worked, but there weren’t any messages. Normally I fussed about people who waited until the last minute to order massive amounts of donuts, but I would have gladly taken a spontaneous order at the moment.

I’d have to hurry a little to make up for lost time, but I’d still have plenty of opportunity to mix the batter for the cake donuts, then move on to the yeast donuts, proof them, and be ready when we opened. I always started with the donuts that required a lower oil temperature, and then turned up the heat so I could finish with the yeast donuts.

For the cake donuts, I liked to offer something new every now and then without knocking any of the old favorites off the menu. For example, I offered a peanut donut, a basic cake recipe covered in glaze and then buried in peanuts, but I wanted to try something different that might complement them. The new recipe I was working on was for a peanut butter and jelly donut, something that might be a hit with my younger crowd. I planned on a peanut butter-based dough, and was going to use some reduced grape jelly as a topping, but so far, I hadn’t been able to come up with anything I would be proud enough to sell.

I had just finished mixing the cake donut offerings for the day when Emma walked in, rubbing her eyes as she grabbed her apron. She was petite, with a figure I envied but knew would never emulate, and sported red hair, freckles, and pale blue eyes. “Morning,” she said.

“There’s coffee,” I answered as I added plain cake donut batter into the spring-loaded dropper.

Emma nodded. “Coffee. Yes. Good.”

She went out front to get a cup, and I swung the dropper in the air like a pendulum, driving the dough to the extruding point. The donut rounds were dropped straight into the oil, and I always marveled at how perfect they were formed as they began to fry. It had taken me a while to get the right distance to drop them. Too close to the oil and the donuts barely had holes, but on the other end of the spectrum, if I dropped them from too high, they were anything but round by the time they hit the oil.

I’d finished the plain cake and was moving onto the strawberry cake when I realized Emma hadn’t even poked her head through the door since she’d gone to get some coffee.

Putting the cleaned dropper aside, I peeked out front to see what was keeping her.

I was surprised to find her sitting at the counter, fast asleep, and the mug in front of her ignored.

My laughter must have woken her up.

As she lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, Emma asked, “What happened?”

“You dozed off,” I said. “If you want to take the day off, I can handle things here on my own today.”

Emma stood and stretched. “No, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“I mean it. It’s okay.”

“Suzanne, if I’m taking the day off, I don’t plan on getting up at two in the morning to do it. I’m here, and I’m awake. Let’s get started.”

“You’ve got a few minutes,” I said. “I have a few more cake donuts to make.”

“I’ll get busy here then.”

I finished up the cake donuts for the day, adding half a dozen rounds of my latest peanut butter batter to the fryer. As they fried, I rinsed the dropper, and then called out to Emma. “You can ice them now.”

She came in, grabbed the pan, and began icing the cake donuts I’d made, drowning them in a cascade of sugar from the reservoir. I flipped the peanut butter donuts with long chop sticks, and after they were done on both sides, I pulled them out.

Emma noticed the small batch. “Another experiment?”

“You know me. I’m not satisfied unless it’s the best.” As I put them on the rack to cool, Emma started icing them as well.

“Just do three,” I said. “Leave the other three.”

“You’re the boss.” She took a deep breath. “Should we split one?”

“I haven’t made the grape jelly glaze yet,” I said.

Emma crinkled her nose at that. “Why ruin them? Why don’t we offer them like this and see what happens?”

I grabbed one of the glazed donuts, broke a piece off it, and tasted it.

She was right. It didn’t need jelly at all.

It wouldn’t be the PB&J I’d planned to offer, but it was certainly a different flavor than the peanut-crusted donuts I’d been selling. I just hoped none of my customers had peanut allergies.

I decided to hold one out for George Morris, my friend and a good customer who had retired from the police force several years ago. A balding man in his sixties, George had been invaluable in some of my amateur investigations in the past. “Go ahead and glaze the rest of them, but hold one plain donut back for George.”

“Just one?”

“He’s been complaining about his waistline, so I’m trying not to tempt him too much with free samples.”

“I think he looks fine,” Emma said.

“Tell him that when he comes in. I’m sure he’d love to hear it. If he comes in, that is.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Emma asked as she pulled that last rack of cake donuts off the icing station.

“With Lester Moorefield’s rant last night, I’ll be surprised if anyone comes through our front door today.”

Emma looked confused. “What happened? What did Lester say?”

I brought her up to speed, including my confrontation with him in the radio station parking lot. After I finished, Emma reached for the radio we kept in back.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I want to see if they might be rebroadcasting it.”

I glanced at the clock, and didn’t try to stop her. WAPS was still off the air, and would be until six a.m., when Lester started his broadcast day.

“Nothing but static,” Emma said.

“Trust me, you aren’t missing much. I just hope his boycott doesn’t work.”

She patted my arm. “Don’t give it a second thought, Suzanne. Our customers love us too much to turn their backs on us, especially on Lester Moorefield’s say-so.”

“I hope you’re right.” His attack had shaken me more than I cared to admit, and self-doubt began to creep in. We didn’t make a fortune at Donut Hearts on our best days, and there was a fine line between paying our bills plus a little extra and coming under what we needed to meet our daily operating expenses. I’d played with several ideas about how I might increase our income, but nothing had appealed to me. One of my friends and fellow donut makers in Hickory had added a bistro to serve lunch and dinner when the shop wasn’t busy making donuts, but he was a trained chef, while I was just a humble donut maker. If I was going to generate any extra income, it would have to be within the confines of the donut world.

*   *   *

At five-thirty, the donuts were ready, displayed proudly in their cases, and we had two different brews of coffee going, along with a carafe of hot cocoa made from my special recipe.

Now all we needed was a customer or two.

As I unlocked the front door, I was surprised to see a police cruiser drive up to the shop. Our chief of police didn’t like being seen at my donut shop because of the old jokes about cops and donuts, but some of his officers liked to come by occasionally. One in particular, Stephen Grant, was even becoming a friend, though it was clear Chief Martin wasn’t all that excited about the prospect of one of his officers getting closer to me.

I was in luck; it was my friend, but as Officer Grant got out of his squad car, I knew he wasn’t there for an early morning donut.

There was trouble, and I had a feeling from the expression on his face that once again, I was right in the middle of it.

ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES

BY JESSICA BECK

Glazed Murder

Fatally Frosted

Sinister Sprinkles

Praise for the
Donut Shop Mysteries
!

“A tribute to comfort food and to the comfort of small town life. With great donut recipes!”

—Joanna Carl, author of
The Chocolate Cupid Killings

“If you like donuts—and who doesn’t?—you’ll love this mystery. It’s like a trip to your favorite coffee shop, but without the calories!”

—Leslie Meier, author of the Lucy Stone mysteries
New Year’s Eve Murder
and
Wedding Day Murder

“The perfect comfort read: a delicious murder, a likeable heroine, quirky Southern characters—and donut recipes!”

—Rhys Bowen, Agatha and Anthony Award–winning author of the Molly Murphy and Royal Spyness mysteries

“Jessica Beck’s
Glazed Murder
is a delight. Suzanne Hart is a lovable amateur sleuth who has a hilariously protective mother
and
great donut recipes! Readers will have a blast with this book.”

—Diane Mott Davidson

“Jessica Beck’s debut mystery,
Glazed Murder
, is a yummy new treat in the culinary mystery genre. Skillfully weaving donut recipes throughout a well-plotted story, the author proves that life after divorce can be sweet; all you need are good friends, your own business, and comfort food. Delicious!”

—Tamar Myers, author of
Death of a Rug Lord
and
The Cane Mutiny

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

SINISTER SPRINKLES

Copyright © 2010 by Jessica Beck.

Excerpt from
Evil Eclairs
copyright © 2010 by Jessica Beck.

All rights reserved.

For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.