Blame the Beignets

Book 9: Deputy Donut Mystery

by Ginger Bolton

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths; Mystery

Synopsis

As the weather cools down, business heats up at Deputy Donut Café for owner Emily Westhill. But is a stubborn tabby cat, a mysterious new employee, and a murder case with a baker’s dozen worth of suspects too much to manage?

With mouthwatering treats selling fast in October, Emily is delighted to welcome her assistant’s younger sister, Hannah, to help at the donut shop while taking a semester off from college. But Hannah’s talent for dishing powdered pastries without dropping a crumb attracts some unusual customers, as two admirers with opposite personalities begin to show up during her shifts—much to her older sister’s disappointment . . . 

Real trouble comes afterhours in the dark forest surrounding Emily’s lakeside house. Emily follows a trail of her freshly-made beignets—just like those purchased by the two admirers—to a dead body. And while the victim may have burned a few bridges, there’s no way to sugarcoat the discovery of Hannah’s hairclip at the crime scene. Now, as suspicions fall on her own employee and unsavory rumors swirl around town, it will take far more than a sprinkle of good luck for Emily to learn the truth and expose a killer with a very deadly craving . . .

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Behind me, dishes and glasses collided. I turned around. In our dining area, Hannah, our new assistant at Deputy Donut, grimaced and balanced a tray of dishes. Nothing broke or landed on any of the day’s last customers lingering in our café.

Blushing, Hannah threw me a rueful grin. The lanky college sophomore looked younger than ever, partly because her Deputy Donut hat, a fake police hat with a plush donut where a real police officer’s badge would be, was crooked. Wisps of long blond hair had escaped from both the hat and her ponytail. She brought the tray into the kitchen where her older sister Olivia and I were.

Olivia cautioned, “Careful.”

“I know.” Hannah stomped past us into the storeroom. I couldn’t see her, but I heard dishes being loaded more forcefully than necessary into the dishwasher.

Olivia sighed. “Emily, I’m sorry I told you she was looking for a job.” Olivia’s luxurious, wavy brown hair was still neatly tied back, her hat was on straight, and her Deputy Donut apron, embroidered with the silhouette of a cat wearing a Deputy Donut hat, was nearly pristine. Like her much younger sister, Olivia towered over me.

In addition to the hats and aprons, we wore white shirts embroidered with the same logo, and black jeans or knee-length shorts. Hannah and I were wearing shorts that day. Olivia’s jeans showed hardly any specks of frosting, dough, sprinkles, or sugar.

My apron seemed to have attracted some of the powdered sugar that I was practically dumping onto warm beignets, and my shorts hadn’t fared much better. I was never sure if my Deputy Donut hat was on straight. My nearly black curly hair had a mind of its own, and it often seemed to tilt my hat by itself. “You shouldn’t be sorry, Olivia. Tom and I are glad we hired her.”

Olivia carefully wrapped a ball of dough for the next day. “She almost dropped a tray of dishes.”

“She caught it in time.”

Hannah returned from the storeroom. “Emily, what do you want me to do next to help close up shop?” Before I could answer, she gasped and stared in something like horror toward the window between the kitchen and our office, where my cat Dep stayed while I was at work.

My sometimes mischievous tortoiseshell tabby was behaving herself, more or less. She was standing on the back of the office couch. Although short-haired and smaller than the average cat, she looked enormous. She had puffed up her fur and arched her back. Her suddenly huge plume of a tail twitched back and forth. Her mouth open in a hiss we couldn’t hear on the kitchen side of the glass, she glowered toward the door leading to the parking lot behind our building.

One of us must have neglected to lock our back door.

Two strange men were in our office.

The tall, clean-shaven man in the aviator sunglasses and black leather jacket ran his fingers through his tousled dark brown hair, making the waves even more unruly. He removed the sunglasses and peered toward Olivia, Hannah, and me. Licking his lips, he gave us a jaunty wave. His boyishly crooked grin would have added to his appeal if he hadn’t been inside our office, where he definitely did not belong. I had never before seen him or the bearded guy in the blue plaid shirt and the worn, tan canvas jacket.

The bearded guy glanced toward us and then let his longish light brown hair fall forward, hiding most of the side of his face.

He was too close to my precious kitty.

Fearing that the two men might be trying to kidnap Dep, I could suddenly move. Yelling, “Call 911,” I skidded around the end of the half wall. Mentally willing Dep to leap to one of her narrow stairways and trot up to the safety of the catwalks and tunnels that Tom and I had built for her near the ceiling, I turned and stormed between the half wall and our serving counter toward the office door. A dog yapped.

A dog?

The handsome man in the leather jacket opened the office door. Smiling, he strode into the dining area.

Ears back, fur still puffy, Dep streaked out of the office, closely followed by . . . I wasn’t sure what. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again.

It was a dog, a tiny one. She—I assumed it was a she—was wearing a miniature, lace-trimmed white satin gown. A white tulle veil was attached to the brown ponytail sprouting from the top of her silky head. The garments were probably slowing her down.

Nothing, apparently, was going to slow Dep.

The bearded man ran out of the office, pausing only long enough to close the door that his accomplice had opened.

Dep leaped onto a woman’s lap and then onto the woman’s table. The woman yelped, pushed her chair back, and stood up, brushing at the front of her jeans. Neither she nor Dep spilled anything.

Apologizing to the woman and darting an angry glare at the man in the leather jacket, I dashed to the table and reached for Dep. The canine mini-bride barked shrilly, pranced on her back feet, and pawed at my bare shins.

Dep flew to the next table, an unoccupied one. As if she’d planned it all ahead of time, she gracefully slid across the glass top to the far side, touched down momentarily on one of our leather-upholstered dining chairs, landed on the floor, and sprinted toward the glass front door.

Olivia, Hannah, the bearded man, and I all ran toward my kitty. The bearded man must have learned Dep’s name. He was calling her along with the rest of us. Some of the other diners jumped up and were trying to help corral the animals.

A grumpy-looking trio in the corner near one of our large front windows didn’t seem to notice anything except their own argument.

The handsome interloper in the black leather jacket stood off to one side, observing the chaos as if we were putting on a show just for him.

Frantically trying to catch Dep before someone opened the door and let her escape into the dangers of downtown Fallingbrook, Wisconsin, I didn’t have time to ask Olivia and Hannah if they had called 911.

Dep hesitated near the front door, looking out through the glass. Closing in on her, the yapping dog risked having her elegant gown and veil torn if my almost cornered kitty decided to defend herself.

The bearded man scooted between Dep and me, stooped, and reached for my cat.

I couldn’t help it. I screamed. It came out like a pathetic wail, one that would never frighten an attacker.

The man turned around, holding Dep in his arms and cooing, “It’s okay, kitty. I’ve got you.”

Olivia brushed past me. “Zachary! What are you doing here?”

“Herding cats, I guess.” His smile was sheepish, and his bluish-gray eyes seemed considerate, but I wasn’t about to be fooled by these intruders, no matter how attractive they might have looked in less frightening circumstances. The man—Zachary—extended Dep toward Olivia. “Is she yours, Olivia?”

To my amazement, Dep lowered her hackles and unpuffed her tail. She wriggled, climbed to Zachary’s shoulders, wrapped herself around his neck, and rubbed her chin on the side of his beard. I had to stop my mouth from dropping open. Dep was an affectionate cat, but she seldom warmed that quickly to strangers.

Again dancing on her hind legs, the furball in the wedding gown and flowing veil pawed at one leg of Zachary’s jeans. Hollering to make myself heard over the dog, I managed a curt, “She’s mine.” Unceremoniously, I reached up and tried to pluck Dep off Zachary’s shoulders.

My head barely came up to her level. She must have known that allowing me to take her from Zachary would bring her closer to the dog. She dug her claws into Zachary’s jacket. Bending and twisting, Zachary helped me reach her and unlatch her claws. They hadn’t penetrated the thick canvas. Maybe that was a good thing, but I would not have minded if Zachary and his friend decided that visiting Deputy Donut wasn’t good for them or their clothing.

Frowning, feeling like my annoyance at the two men and the mess they’d created might be causing steam to rise through my curls and seep around the edges of my Deputy Donut cap, I cradled Dep in my arms.

The dog jumped and yapped.

Hannah picked her up, smoothed her gown around her little body, and made shushing noises. The dog stopped barking, but with an almost laughable attempt at a growl, she pointed her muzzle toward Dep, thinned her lips, and displayed a set of tiny teeth.

I carried my unintimidated kitty to the office. She was not purring. I locked the back door, set Dep down, and closed her inside the office. Still inwardly fuming, I returned to the group near the front door.

Looking totally comfy in Hannah’s arms, the little dog panted. I could have sworn she was wearing a triumphant smile.

Hannah repeated her sister’s question. “What are you doing here, Zachary?” Her usually soft voice had gained a knifelike edge.

“Research,” Zachary answered, “for my master’s thesis.”

“Oh.” Despite returning the little dog’s kisses, Hannah managed to sound totally bored. “Mushrooms.”

Zachary nodded toward the other man. “And Joshua came along.”

Joshua gave Hannah a warm smile. “Actually, I hoped to see you, Hannah.” Was that his normal voice or was he deepening it to what he thought might be a sexy drawl?

Hannah dismissed both men. “I’m working.”

Olivia contributed, “And she’d better get back to it. Why did the two of you come in through the back, and why did you bring your dog?”

Zachary reached out, and Hannah eased the tiny bride into his hands. Zachary held the dog up at face level and stared into her eyes. “She’s not mine. Or Joshua’s. She was at the door back there, wanting to come in. We figured she belonged here, so we let her in and followed her.”

Olivia was apologizing to the woman whose lap and table Dep had invaded. Zachary cuddled the dog, who still seemed perfectly content, as if she’d planned all along to have Hannah pick her up and Zachary snuggle her against him. Joshua watched Hannah make a show of thoroughly cleaning the table that Dep had skidded across.

A woman’s voice carried from the sidewalk out front. “Gigi!”

In a billowing yellow ball gown, the woman put her hands to her mouth like a megaphone. “Gigi! Gigi!”

I pointed to her. “That’s Madame Monique. She owns the bridal salon in the building on the other side of the alley. She probably knows whose dog that is.”

Still holding the little dog, Zachary opened our front door. “I’ll check.” He went outside and called, “Madame Monique?” The door closed behind him.

Madame Monique turned around. With a teary-looking smile, she trundled in yellow satin kitten-heeled shoes toward Zachary and held her arms out. “Gigi!” Zachary tenderly placed the little dog in Madame Monique’s arms.

Joshua beamed down at Hannah. “Sorry about that.” Was he apologizing for Zachary? I suspected that he was as much to blame as Zachary was for barging in through the back door, and Joshua was definitely responsible for opening the office door and letting animals into Deputy Donut’s dining area.

As far as I could tell, the sour-looking couple and the man conferring in the corner had not looked up during the commotion. Their muttered syllables quick and hissing, they continued their apparent argument. The man who didn’t appear to be part of a couple leaned forward, his hands in fists on either side of the plate of beignets he’d barely touched. The other man shoved his glasses higher on his nose. They immediately slipped down. Frowning, he pushed at the nosepiece with his middle finger. I couldn’t tell if the gesture was a habit or if he meant to be rude to the man across the table from him.

Customers who had tried to help catch the animals sat down. They laughed and talked as if the pets’ interruption had been a special treat.

Although it was warm for early October, we’d already closed our front patio and put the chairs, tables, and umbrellas away for the season. Zachary stopped on the patio, brushed his jacket and pants with his hands, and then came back inside. He explained, “Madame Monique adopted Gigi only today. Gigi must have gotten out of Madame Monique’s shop and lost track of which door was hers. Sorry, Hannah, Olivia, and . . .” He gave me a questioning look.

Olivia folded her arms and rapped out in a tart voice, “Emily. She’s our boss.”

Zachary blushed. “And Emily. Sorry for the disruption. We’ll buy some donuts or something and then get out of your way.”

Joshua tilted his head at Hannah. A laughing invitation lit his brown eyes.

Hannah turned her back on the two men and flounced toward our serving counter. “Come to the display case and choose what you’d like.”

Joshua followed her, peeked in through the glass, and called back, “Hey, Zachary, come see these. They look more like your mushrooms than like donuts.”

“That’s impossible,” Hannah retorted. “Which ones?”

“Those puffy things with white powdery stuff all over them. The card says, what? Beige nets? Being et? Bag nets?”

Hannah rolled her eyes in more of a flirtatious than a sarcastic way. “They don’t look a thing like mushrooms, and they have nothing in common with them. You pronounce it ben YAYS. Beignets are originally French, but the ones we’re making are more like the beignets in New Orleans. They’re really good, especially fresh like these are.” I had to admire her. Our beignets were good, and they were fresh, but time was the enemy of all donuts, and beignets were best fresh and warm. Hannah knew what she was doing. We wouldn’t be able to sell them the next day, and there were too many for the three of us to take home, even though I hoped that Brent, my recently acquired husband, would eat some of them.

At the thought of Brent, I couldn’t help a little smile. In less than two hours, I should be with him, out in the country in the home he’d owned since before we married, and I’d find out what he’d been doing there all week when he wasn’t in our Fallingbrook home with me. He’d had the week off from his job as Fallingbrook’s detective.

Joshua seemed happy to flirt back at Hannah. “They all look good, Hannah. We’ll have to stick around in the area for a long time to try them all.”

Behind him, Olivia asked, “Where will you two be staying?” Her chilly tone clearly stated that she wasn’t going to let the two men sleep on the floor in the small apartment that she and Hannah shared.

Joshua tossed off, “We’ll find a place.”

Olivia pointed north. “Keep going up Wisconsin Street, and eventually you’ll come to motels.”

Joshua stared toward Hannah’s averted face. “Okay.”

Zachary told her quietly, “I’d like to try a beignet. And a coffee.”

Joshua shrugged. “I guess that’s what I’ll have, too.”

Hannah asked, “For here, or to go?”

Joshua answered promptly, “Here.”

Olivia waved a hand toward our menu board. “What coffee would you like? We always serve a medium roast Colombian. Today’s special coffee is similar—a mild, slightly fruity medium roast from Santo Domingo.”

I added, “And we’re also serving chicory coffee like they serve in New Orleans. It’s delicious with the beignets. It’s extra strong, and you can have it black or half coffee, half steamed milk. Café noir or café au lait. And sugar’s on the table if you want to add some.”

“Colombian,” Joshua said.

Zachary glanced around the nearly empty dining room. “Not many people order coffee at this time of the afternoon. Are you going to need to make a fresh pot just for us?”

Hannah seemed to be avoiding looking at Zachary. “I’ll make you each whatever you want. We use a French press for single cups.”

Zachary gazed toward a painting hanging on our peach-tinted white walls. “I’d like to try the chicory coffee. Au lait, please, unless steaming the milk is too much bother.” The painting was of ferns growing next to the base of a tree. No wonder Zachary found the painting interesting. A trio of mushrooms peeked out from underneath the ferns.

Hannah told him, “Steaming the milk’s no bother. Choose a table, and I’ll bring you the coffee and beignets.”

At a table for four in the middle of our dining room, Zachary and Joshua pulled out chairs and sat down.

Olivia and I helped plate the beignets and make the coffee. I told Hannah that since we weren’t very busy, she could sit with her two friends.

Hannah picked up the tray and thanked me.

Olivia reminded her, “But if we do get busy—”

Hannah interrupted. “Don’t worry. I’ll pitch in.” With exaggerated care, Hannah carried the tray to Joshua and Zachary’s table.

Olivia watched Hannah set everything down without spilling, and then confided to me, “I like Zachary. He and Hannah were dating, and I think their breakup had something to do with Hannah deciding not to go back to college this semester.”

“He must be older, if he’s working on his master’s degree.”

“He is. That could be part of the problem—he could be more ready to commit to a relationship than she is. And it doesn’t help that the other guy, Joshua, is turning on the charm, and she’s falling for it.”

“Have you met Joshua before?”

“No, so I don’t know more about him except what I’ve observed just now, but from the way he acts, I’m wishing even harder that she’ll go back to Zachary.”

I hoped Olivia wouldn’t say that to her sister. Hannah would be sure to fall for Joshua. I reminded Olivia, “Hannah has a good head on her shoulders.”

Olivia snorted. “I’m not so sure. I bet she’s the one who forgot to lock the back door. I locked it when I came in, and I know you wouldn’t forget.”

“I could have.” I didn’t think I had, but I didn’t want to blame Hannah.

Olivia had more complaints. “She’s ignoring Zachary and flirting with Joshua. How could anyone choose that playboy type over Zachary? Did you see how caring Zachary was with Dep and the little dog?”

“Yes, and they were immediately comfortable around him. That would have been enough to win me over, but I’m not Hannah. Or her age.”

Olivia cleaned one of our marble rolling pins. “Me neither, but Joshua just stood around and sort of sneered. Besides, Joshua was the culprit who opened the door and let the animals into the dining room.” She set the rolling pin down with a thump on the marble counter.

I tried to hide my wince at the sound of stone hitting stone. “I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose.” Both the rolling pin and the counter appeared to be unscathed.

“I’m not.” Olivia glared at the table where the three college-aged kids sat chatting.

Hannah’s laugh rang out. It sounded brittle and forced.

I had chosen a good man when I was not much older than Hannah. Alec, my first husband, had become a detective shortly before he was killed. Brent had been Alec’s best friend and work partner. It took us a long time, but Brent and I had each stopped blaming ourselves for Alec’s death. Although Brent had been present, he could not have saved Alec. I’d been a 911 dispatcher, but had taken that evening off. Brent and I had finally convinced each other that neither of us could have gotten help for Alec in time to save him. Both of us would always miss Alec, but now we were finally, after several years of avoiding each other, crazy-happy together.

I was glad I was past Hannah’s angst-ridden age.

A man came inside. He appeared to be in his fifties and was wearing a navy-blue blazer over a white polo shirt and khakis. His unscuffed, pointy-toed leather shoes were in a shade that might be considered tan but was not quite brown and not quite orange. He headed straight for the table where Hannah sat with her friends.

The newcomer must have said something to the three young people. Barely glancing at him, they shook their heads.

Olivia put the French press she’d just cleaned away. “Who’s that, Emily?”

I tried not to make my scrutiny of the man obvious. “His careful grooming, extra-short hair, new clothes, and exaggerated, shoulders-back-and-chest-out posture are giving me salesman vibes. I’ll go take his order.”

I arrived at the table in time to hear the man tell Hannah and her friends, “This investment is a guaranteed winner.”

A guaranteed winning investment. There was no such thing. I braced myself to intervene.

I didn’t need to. Hannah, Zachary, and Joshua again shook their heads. Zachary stared at his plate, Hannah placed her palms flat on the table and studied the backs of her hands, and Joshua gazed at the side of her downturned face. She blushed as if wishing she could pull out her hairclips and let more of her long blond hair slip out of her ponytail and hide her face.

Waving my hand toward the mostly empty room, I told the newcomer, “Choose any table you’d like.”

He smiled down toward Hannah, Joshua, and Zachary. “I thought I’d sit with these three young folks, if they’ll let me.”

His pushiness stunned me into momentary silence.

Zachary, however, stood up. “We were just leaving.”

Joshua unfolded himself from his seat. “See you later, Hannah.”

Without looking at any of the three men, Hannah picked up the tray. “Yeah.” She started loading dishes onto it.

I regained my ability to speak, though my smile was far from genuine. I pointed at a small table in a corner near the office. “How about over there? That table’s cleared and ready.”

“Okay.” However, the man in the navy blazer didn’t accept my suggestion. He went to the table next to the three people who had been arguing in whispers and sat down almost back-to-back with the woman. I followed him to take his order.

The woman behind him made an exasperated-sounding sigh and thrust her chair away from the table so swiftly that it rammed into the back of the newcomer’s chair. She marched out, slapping the soles of her sandals against the floor’s gleaming hardwood surface and tugging her yellow floral tunic down until it covered the hips of her bright green capris. Carrying the bag of beignets he’d ordered and shoving the nosepiece of his glasses higher again, the man who’d been sitting beside her caught up with her on the patio. His jeans were loose, and his dingy, no-longer-white T-shirt appeared due for a one-way trip to the rag bag.

I asked the man in the blazer, “What would you like? We have fresh beignets today.” I explained what beignets were.

“I’ll take two of those. And just water to drink. Tap water.”

In the kitchen, Olivia was putting clean coffee carafes in a row on a shelf. Judging by the sounds, Hannah was tidying our storeroom next to the kitchen. I placed a couple of sugar-covered beignets on a plate, filled a glass with ice, and added water.

The newcomer had turned in his chair and was gazing out the front window at Zachary and Joshua, now on the sidewalk with the couple who had just left. The man in the ancient T-shirt was talking, pointing north with the hand holding the bag of beignets, and waving his other arm. Zachary nodded. Joshua stared toward our front windows as if studying his reflection or trying to see Hannah.

The newcomer faced his own table again. With a doleful expression, he shook his head. “Young people. They should be investing, putting money aside for their old age.”

I set his plate and glass in front of him. “They probably have educational debts.”

“All the more reason for them to grab a sure thing when they see it. They could pay their bills and then some.” He focused on my face. “Now, you. You’re older and wiser.”

I laughed. “Not that much older!”

“But you’re waitressing. Wouldn’t you like to free yourself from this dead-end job? You should be getting ready for your own retirement, buying stocks. . .