Killer Donuts

Book 0: Deputy Donut Mystery

by Ginger Bolton

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Mystery; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

It’s fall in Fallingbrook, Wisconsin, and Emily Fyne, owner of the popular local Deput Donut café is on a trail—a Donut Trail, that is—to tour pre-Halloween treats and activities, not to mention check out the competition. It’s all fun and games, until a murder that’s no trick . . .

Emily and her friends Izzy and Monique are traveling the Donut Trail in style in Deputy Donut’s vintage, donut-topped car. With them are Emily’s cat, Dep, and Monique’s tiny dog, Gigi. Amid the spectacular fall foliage they stop at an orchard that includes a bistro and a vast corn maze. But while sampling some apple cider, they find that not everyone shares their friendly, festive mood . . .

A cranky tourist not only scolds them for bringing their pets, but she also says she hates dogs—with cats a close second. No matter, Emily and company, their pets leashed, go off to enter the maze. But soon, boisterous teens barge in, wreaking havoc, tossing pumpkins, uprooting cornstalks—and attempting a dog-snatching . . .

As everyone scrambles to regroup, it turns out the dog-hating woman is missing. And when her dead body is finally discovered—with Gigi’s hair ribbon in her pocket—Emily and her friends are the top suspects. To clear their names, they’ll have to throw a killer off their trail while diving even deeper into a dangerous labyrinth of clues . . .

Release date: August 25, 2026

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

A ruckus of hissing and yelping broke out underneath the tall barnboard table where I stood with Madame Monique and Izzy.

Grasping the handle of my cat’s leash, I bent and peeked at the ground near my feet. Dep had puffed herself up and was spitting insults at Madame Monique’s tiny dog, who was wearing a red gown matching Madame Monique’s. Gigi was not shy about telling Dep exactly what she thought of my short-haired tortoiseshell tabby. Both pets were harnessed and leashed and couldn’t touch each other. Maybe that was why their derogatory comments were so fierce.

I whispered, “Dep! Behave yourself.” With one of her funny kitty growls, Dep backed farther from the silky brown dog.

Also stooping and peering underneath the table, Madame Monique said something in French. Gigi’s ears were perky points beside a palm tree–like fountain of brown hair sprouting from the top of her head. A red ribbon bow secured the ponytail.

Still gripping our pets’ leashes, Madame Monique and I straightened.

Izzy teased, “I thought Dep and Gigi had signed a truce.”

I made a pretend sad face. “Maybe that is only when you’re sitting between their carriers in the donut car’s rear seat, Izzy.”

Izzy winked. “Dep and Gigi have been pretty good during the past two days of traveling with us in your vintage police cruiser, Emily. Maybe if we had an entire week and could visit all of the donut shops on the Donut Trail, Dep and Gigi would become besties.”

The corners of Madame Monique’s mouth drooped in exaggerated mournfulness. “Alas. We all need to get back to work.” She erased the fake sadness. “Not that we don’t love what we do, but this road trip has been fun, and I hate for it to end.”

I raised an index finger in the air. “We can do this again, and if there’s somewhere else we want to go, we don’t have to wait until next year’s Donut Trail.” Izzy and Madame Monique were both single. My husband was a detective whose long hours and kindness made him encourage me to go have fun with friends. Besides, I was co-owner of Deputy Donut, a shop named after my cat. For me, tasting donuts that other people made counted as research.

We all gazed at the small and charming red barn near us. A sign near the barn’s white double doors said CIDER SHACK in artsy, hand-painted letters. The outside of the building was decorated with fake spiders and spiderwebs, grinning jack-o’-lanterns, and tied-up corn shocks. Pumpkins and fantastically shaped gourds were arranged around haybales where three women sat with their backs against the barn’s outer wall.

Madame Monique bit into her donut. “Delicious. This is the best donut shop on the tour. Gigi and Dep can be with us, and we don’t have to make someone stay outside with them while the other two buy the donuts and bring them to us, and we don’t have to find a park where we can eat.”

Izzy teased her, “Here at Sliding Waters Orchard, you and I waited outside with Gigi and Dep while Emily went into the Cider Shack and ordered for all of us.”

“Research,” I reminded them. “It’s not only about tasting everyone’s donuts. I need to see the insides of the shops. Inspiration can come from anywhere.”

Izzy tilted her head and asked me, “And was the inside of that mini-barn inspiring?”

“It’s cute and perfect for here, but it didn’t make me want to change anything about Deputy Donut’s décor.”

Also, something about the people inside the little red barn had been … off.

A middle-aged woman behind the counter had pointed at the words SLIDING WATERS ORCHARD printed on her apron along with pictures of apples. “I own this place.” She’d said it in a way that was proud but also challenging, as if she expected me to dispute her ownership of the farm sprawling over acres of knolls and valleys.

Two young women wearing aprons like the owner’s had also been inside the building. Head down as if she didn’t want to make eye contact, the tall, wiry one had begun plating our donuts. The other one, who looked even younger, had turned her back to me and started adjusting the positions of jugs of cider on plank shelves. Then the owner had shooed me outside, and the lanky server had brought us our donuts and drinks.

In comparison to the dim interior of the Cider Shack, the dining area outside it was bright. The tall trees surrounding it had lost most of their leaves, and the early afternoon’s sunshine held a surprising amount of warmth for mid-October in northern Wisconsin. Sliding Waters Orchard was east of where Izzy, Monique, and I lived. It wasn’t really close to Lake Michigan, but that vast body of water could have been keeping the temperature higher than we were used to.

The golden crust of my donut showed through translucent glaze. I took a bite. “Mmmmm. I think this is the best donut of all the ones we’ve tried on the Donut Trail.” The outside was crisp, the inside was soft, and I could taste the cider.

Madame Monique sipped at her cider. “I agree. And this drink is superb.”

Izzy started her donut. “Killer. These are killer donuts. They’re almost as good as yours at Deputy Donut, Emily.”

I licked flakes of yummy, cidery glaze off my lips. “I can think of some improvements I’ll want to try when I get back to work tomorrow, before many more people on the Donut Trail have a chance to compare ours to these.”

Izzy licked sugar from her fingers. “Yours are perfect. Don’t change anything.”

Underneath our table, Gigi apparently tried to have the last word in her argument with Dep. “Yip!”

One of the women sitting on haybales glared at us and shouted, “Dogs! I hate the beasts. They’re noisy and dirty, and cats aren’t much better. You folks have a lot of nerve bringing animals where people are supposed to be able to eat in peace.” I could read, just barely, the name WANDA scrawled in black marker on the woman’s white stick-on name tag. Her voice sounded as brittle and dry as the tied-up corn stalks. She and her two companions balanced plates of donuts on their knees and rested their plastic glasses of cider, rather precariously, on the haybales.

The problem with having very pale skin was that my embarrassed flush had to be noticeable, and the scattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks would do nothing to conceal it. I called back, “Sorry.” I didn’t point out that although health regulations would not have allowed Gigi and Dep inside a room where food was being served to the public, we were outside and not breaking any rules.

Wanda made a loud, scornful grunt. Her beige pants, shirt, and jacket, her drab, hay-like hair, and her colorless, careworn face made her look older than she probably was. I thought that she and the woman next to her, wearing a neatly tailored pumpkin-orange pantsuit and a name tag that said KRYSTAL, were probably in their late forties or early fifties.

Krystal called out, “You folks aren’t wearing name tags. Does everyone in your tour group have to wear red so your tour leader can find you when you wander off?” Izzy and I wore bulky red sweaters over our jeans, and Madame Monique was in one of her voluminous, floor-length gowns. Like Gigi’s miniature version of it, Madame Monique’s dress had short, puffed sleeves and ruffles around the neck and hem.

Ignoring Krystal’s mocking tone, I answered, “We’re not part of one of the Donut Trail’s organized tours. It’s a coincidence that we’re all in red today.”

Krystal’s dark eyes gleamed. “Mother and daughters out for some bonding time?” She made bonding sound like a nefarious activity.

Izzy, Madame Monique, and I glanced at one another and laughed. All of us were below medium height, and all of us wore our hair short and curly, though my hair was almost black and Izzy’s and Madame Monique’s hair was dark brown. Although I was about ten years older than Izzy, she and I could have passed as sisters. Also, my eyes were a vivid blue that sometimes caused people to ask if I wore cobalt-colored contacts. Izzy’s eyes were hazel. Madame Monique’s eyes were the brown of melted semi-sweet chocolate. She might have been old enough to be Izzy’s mother, but she couldn’t have been old enough to be mine. I made my reply sound upbeat. “Friends.”

Carrying a heavy-looking pitcher of cider, the taller young woman came out of the Cider Shack.

Krystal shouted at her, “Bring me a chair!” Krystal’s harsh voice clashed with her tailored suit and her gleaming dark brown hair in its severe bun. “This is by far the worst stop on the Donut Trail. There must be spiders in this haybale you’re forcing us to sit on. They’ll bite my—”

Madame Monique called out, “Derriere!” Her r’s were perfectly French.

As if trying to stifle a giggle, Izzy shoved the remains of her apple cider donut toward her mouth.

The blond girl who’d had her back toward me inside the Cider Shack peeked out between the double doors. With her rounded face and rosy cheeks, she looked about sixteen. Hiding a grin with one hand, she ducked back into the relative darkness of the building. The doors closed. Why wasn’t she in school on a Wednesday in the middle of October?

At our feet, Gigi yapped again. Dep started climbing my jeans.

Madame Monique crouched down and cooed to her dog.

Krystal bellowed at the server, “Where’s my chair?”

The young woman stood gaping at Krystal as if she didn’t know what to do or say. Grasping the pitcher of cider with both long-fingered hands, she finally came up with an answer. “Ma’am, look around you. This is an orchard. Orchards don’t come equipped with chairs. And besides, we have other tables”—she pointed toward me and my friends—“like where they are. You could stand at one of those if you don’t like sitting on haybales.” With her long, thin arms and legs and her limp, dark blond hair, the server looked like she’d been running around, harassed by customers, most of her life. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty.

Wanda snapped at her, “The customer is always right.”

The woman with Wanda and Krystal wore a name tag that said PEGGY. She hadn’t said a thing to us or to the server. She gave the young woman an uncomfortable half smile. Although Peggy looked older than Wanda and Krystal, she didn’t have frown wrinkles like theirs, and she appeared happier and more fit. Maybe the three women were part of a larger tour group, and Peggy had ended up wandering around Sliding Waters Orchard with two women she didn’t know well and might not have chosen as friends.

Partly because of the way she wore her softly waving, shoulder-length brown hair loose, and partly because of the bright red jacket that she wore over khakis and a white blouse, but mostly because she appeared to have a sense of humor, Peggy looked like she would fit in better with Izzy, Madame Monique, and me.

Standing again, Madame Monique cuddled her tiny, long-haired dog against her. Turning her head, Gigi gazed around with nearly black eyes that seemed to radiate knowledge that humans could never know or guess. The pert ponytail on top of her head quivered, and the red ribbon glistened in the sunlight.

Dep clawed her way up to my waistband. Before she could puncture my sweater, I scooped her into my arms. Gigi was silent, but I felt Dep’s quietly vibrating disapproval.

Krystal and Wanda screamed and jumped to their feet, sending cider and donuts flying.

Standing and screaming, Wanda and Krystal clutched at their hearts. A hand-sized, fuzzy black spider scurried on chubby but strangely jiggly legs across the ground toward them.

As if unconcerned but curious, Peggy remained seated and gazed at the spider skittering toward her feet.

Dep jumped out of my arms. I managed to hang on to her leash. Crouching close to the ground, she stalked toward the furry, eight-legged creature.

Her leash stopped her. The spider sped into a dark niche between the haybales where Wanda and Krystal had sat.

With her rump up and her tail twitching, Dep stared toward the spider. It turned around and faced us.

I managed not to laugh at its googly, almost human eyes.

Still sitting and holding her plate and glass of cider, Peggy tucked in her lips as if fighting a smile.

Wanda and Krystal stopped screaming. Wanda pulled the hem of her rumpled jacket down over her hips and taunted, “You’re such a scaredy-cat, Krystal!”

Krystal tried to brush bits of glaze and drops of cider off her tailored orange slacks. “You jumped and screamed as much as I did.”

Wanda pointed at the ground. “You spilled your food.”

Krystal sneered, “You dropped yours, too.”

Wanda folded her arms. “You knocked everything out of my hands.”

Peggy suggested in low, calm tones, “Let’s not cry over spilled cider. Let’s go inside and order more for you. I’m paying.”

Krystal argued, “No, you’re not.” She pointed at the server. “She is.”

The gawky young woman’s face reddened. “What did I do?”

The woman who owned the orchard slammed the white double doors open and strode out of the quaint red building. Her body was almost as angular as the tall server’s, but her nose and chin were pointed, and her dark eyes seemed unusually close together underneath a fringe of unruly, graying brown bangs that her hairnet didn’t quite cover. Standing with her feet apart, she parked her fists on her hips. “What’s going on?”

Wanda and Krystal gestured wildly and ranted in clipped, high voices. I doubted that the orchard owner understood much of what they said. I didn’t.

Izzy and Madame Monique also watched the mostly incomprehensible drama. The blond teenager peered out between the double doors again. Her pale blue eyes were wide, and her mouth formed a small O.

Finally, the orchard owner thrust a forefinger toward the server and her pitcher of cider. “Get your pet tarantula out of here before it bites our visitors.”

The server blushed even more. “I don’t own a tarantula.” She plunked the pitcher she’d been carrying onto our table, rocking the wobbly structure. Izzy, Madame Monique, and I steadied it. The server tore off her apron and threw it onto the neatly clipped grass. “And I’m not working in this stupid orchard one second longer.”

The girl in the doorway gasped, “No!” Again, she backed into the Cider Shack. Its doors closed.

The server who had quit her job marched jerkily around the corner of the building toward its rear.

Krystal turned toward the orchard owner. “You have to reimburse my friends and me for the donuts and cider we didn’t get to eat thanks to your irresponsible employee.”

The orchard owner sighed. “Come inside and we’ll get you some more.”

Peggy lifted her plate and cup higher. “I’m fine.” Repeating, “I’m paying,” she set her plate and glass on a haybale. She picked the server’s apron up, shook it, and followed the other three toward the Cider Shack.

Madame Monique aimed a small black object toward the haybales where the three women had been sitting.

The supersized black spider crawled out into the open. Madame Monique pressed buttons, and the spider obediently trundled to her. She picked it up and pulled black fuzzy fabric, complete with jiggly legs and googly eyes, off a two-inch-long toy car. She tucked the car and its spider costume into her bag, displayed the remote control on an open palm, and then dropped it into her bag, too.

Izzy burst out laughing and grabbed Madame Monique’s arm. “You did that, Madame Monique?”

“Of course I did, and I’m sorry it wasn’t capable of biting that horrible woman’s derriere. But now, what a pity! I can’t use it as part of my darling Gigi’s outfit in the pet costume contest. Never fear. I shall devise. And stop calling me ‘Madame.’ We’re friends. Even when the day comes that I’m sewing your wedding gown, Izzy, you may call me ‘Monique.’ You too, Emily. After all, our shops are neighbors, and it’s about time for you to drop my business title. I made your wedding gown many years ago.”

I protested, “Not that long!”

“Long enough that you can call me by my first name.”

Facing us from the Cider Shack’s doorway, Peggy winked at me, glanced over her shoulder for a second, and held a forefinger to her lips. Then she turned and went inside.

Behind the Cider Shack, a noisy engine started. Seconds later, the server drove past us in a compact, rounded car that appeared to have been repainted fuchsia with purple fenders. The server’s face was still a deep shade of pink, almost matching her car.

Monique waved at her as if trying to flag her down, but the server kept going, toward the orchard’s main entrance. Monique slipped the handles of her tote bag over one shoulder. “I did not mean to cause trouble for that young lady. Maybe I can find her and apologize. And help her in some way, like finding a new job.”

Izzy watched the brightly colored car drive away over the bumpy ground. “I’ve seen her around Gooseleg, but I don’t know who she is. I wonder if she’s leaving the orchard entirely.” Izzy squinted toward the golden dust ballooning behind the car. “On her way out, she’ll pass the corn maze. It’s near where we parked. Do we have time to find our way through the maze before the pet costume contest?”

I checked the time on my phone. It wasn’t quite two. The pet costume contest was supposed to be at three. I shoved my phone back into my jeans pocket. “Sure, as long as we don’t get lost in the maze.”

Monique stated firmly, “We won’t. My petite Gigi will guide us out in time.” She gave the cat in my arms a skeptical look. “And maybe Dep will help.” Carrying Gigi, she started toward the parking lot near the maze. “Meanwhile, we should decamp before that Krystal woman comes outside again and causes more trouble.”

Laughing, Izzy linked arms with Monique. “Who was causing trouble?”

Monique clapped a hand over her red neck ruffles. “Not me.”

I looked down at the ruby satin slippers peeping out beneath Monique’s gown. “Are you sure you’re dressed for traipsing around a maze?”

“Of course I am. I look a-maze-ing, no?”

Izzy and I groaned.

Peggy caught up with us. “You three seem to be having more fun than some of the people on my tour.” She pointed to the name tag stuck to her jacket. “I’m Peggy.” FIRST ANNUAL NORTHERN WISCONSIN DONUT TRAIL was printed across the top of her name tag.

We introduced ourselves. Izzy told her, “We’re going to check out the corn maze. Want to come?”

Grimacing in fake horror, Peggy backed two steps away from Izzy. “Thanks, but no thanks. I retired from teaching in June, and I’ve supervised too many school groups through mazes and things like that to ever go into one again.”

Monique reached into her tote and offered Peggy a fistful of bills. “It is my fault you had to buy those two women more cider and donuts.”

Peggy held up both hands, refusing the cash. “It was worth it.”

Monique tucked the bills into Peggy’s jacket pocket. “Please. You don’t want me to be unable to sleep for the next fourteen nights.”

Peggy teased, “You’re right. Fourteen nights are too many. Ten would be okay, though.”

Monique patted her arm. “I like you, Peggy.”

Izzy peered around Monique and informed Peggy, “Next, Monique is going to ask you if you need a wedding gown.”

Peggy squeaked as if being strangled, “Need? I don’t think so.”

Monique marched sturdily over tufts of dry grass. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring, so who knows?”

“No one.” Peggy waved at a group of women coming toward us, maybe on their way to the Cider Shack, the pumpkin patch, or the pick-your-own-apples section of the orchard. The women wore name tags like Wanda’s, Krystal’s, and Peggy’s. They smiled and called out greetings. I guessed that most of the people on Peggy’s tour were friendlier than Wanda and Krystal.

I suggested to Peggy, “You might need a bridesmaid’s dress or a special-occasion gown. Monique sells those, too.”

Monique asserted, “Anyone might need one!”

We reached the edge of the orchard’s main parking lot. Because of hedges and trees surrounding the two mown hayfields that had been combined to form a parking lot for the harvest season, I couldn’t see the entire lot or all of the vehicles in it, but the fuchsia car with the purple fenders was parked near the maze. I didn’t see the young server who had driven it there.

Peggy pointed at a blue-trimmed white bus, one with seats for about twenty people plus space for luggage. “That’s our bus.” Pictures of pink-frosted donuts and the words FIRST ANNUAL NORTHERN WISCONSIN DONUT TRAIL decorated a festive banner on the side of the bus. “I’ll wait with the driver for the other passengers.” A tall young man in a navy chauffeur’s uniform and cap leaned against the bus and looked down at the phone in his hand. Peggy gave us a sincere-looking smile. “It was nice meeting you three. And your pets.” She waved and headed toward the bus.

Still carrying Gigi and Dep, Monique and I walked with Izzy to the maze’s entrance. We stopped and read a list of rules. There was to be no running and no touching the cornstalks. If we got lost, we were to contact orchard staff, who could direct us to the exit with the help of a drone.

Izzy asked Monique and me, “If we’re lost, how will we contact staff, shout?”

I pointed at another rule. “Apparently not. There’s to be no yelling or unseemly noise.”

Monique studied the sign. “Aha. There’s no rule against pets.”

“Not even tarantulas.” Izzy managed to say it without laughing. “Let’s go!” She skipped into the maze.

Monique and I followed with Gigi and Dep.

Rustling cornstalks surrounded us. Dep squirmed. I set her down. “You can sniff at the cornstalks, but don’t touch them.”

Monique put Gigi on the well-trodden earth and gave her similar instructions.

Both pets dawdled. Izzy darted ahead, ran back, and gestured. “Not that path, and not that one either.” We took a third route, and Izzy kept reconnoitering and guiding us toward pathways that might lead us through the maze and out the other side.

The maze was larger and more complicated than I’d guessed. The rows of corn between the aisles were too close together to see through. In places, the aisles widened, allowing for cute displays of stacked haybales and pumpkins.

Monique pointed at rowed-up haybales. “More seats for that Krystal woman and her derriere!”

We passed women wearing name tags like Krystal’s, Wanda’s, and Peggy’s. One woman joked, “We might nev. . .