Sour Crime Donuts

Book 10: Deputy Donut Mystery

by Ginger Bolton

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

Synopsis

With Emily Westhill’s popular Deputy Donut Café rolling out seasonal summer treats, everyone in Fallingbrook, Wisconsin wants a taste. But when a limited batch box turns up near a dead body, Emily and her curious tabby are pitted against the worst kind of customer—a cold-blooded murderer!

Emily feels like a protective big sister around bubbly twenty-something Izzy—a new regular whose enthusiasm for peaches and cream donuts is surpassed only by her dream to start her own business. As if blown in by an August breeze, Izzy pulls Emily into her plan to buy a property at the edge of town to grow and sell fresh produce. But she’s not the only fan of Deputy Donut’s peachy delights . . . or the only patron vying to own the lush parcel of land. And the competition is fiercer than the two women imagined . . .

Petty squabbles turn deadly when a developer with a mean streak is found murdered on the vacant stretch of land. Worse, Emily’s signature donuts are spotted nearby, leading to several potential suspects who could have left their sugar-frosted fingerprints all over the crime scene—including the mayor, a handsome out-of-towner, and even sweet-to-the-core Izzy. When her detective husband discovers poisonous ingredients in the discarded desserts, a shocked Emily must reveal holes in a collection of very fuzzy facts and nab the killer before someone else takes their last bite . . .

Release date: August 26, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

The young woman striding into Deputy Donut threw me a tentative grin as if she expected me to recognize her.

I felt like I should....

We could almost have been sisters. We were both petite, and her hair was short and curly like mine, but while mine was nearly black, hers was mid-brown, and her eyes were hazel. Mine were so blue that people sometimes thought I wore royal-blue contact lenses.

On this morning in late August, the woman was dressed for the heat in faded denim cutoffs, a pale-yellow T-shirt, sneakers, and no socks. Her fresh-faced innocence almost shouted that she was from rural northern Wisconsin, perhaps not far from our village of Fallingbrook.

She walked through our dining room to our serving counter and looked across it at me. Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “Are you Emily?”

Her smile was contagious. I returned it. “Yes.”

“I can tell you don’t remember me. No wonder. I was little and you were, I don’t know, in your late teens, I guess. I was totally in awe. We spent only part of one day together, at a campground at Fallingbrook Falls.”

I mentally transformed her features into rounded, childish ones, and her name came to me. “Isabella?”

She twined her fingers through her curls, pulling at them. She let go, and the curls sprang back. “I go by Izzy now. I was a little pest back then.”

“No, you weren’t. You were imaginative and creative. I had fun that day, but I don’t remember seeing you again after that, until now.”

“That was the only time my folks ever took me there. We were visiting the people camping across from you. You showed me all of the places you liked when you were little. We went hunting for treasure, and I actually found some. Years later, I realized that you had somehow snuck those stickers and beads into tiny rock caves when I wasn’t looking.”

I touched my fingers to the Deputy Donut logo embroidered near the top of my apron. “Who, me?”

She grinned. “Hardly anyone else was around. You and I explored together, like hiking past this immense waterfall, and the mist made me think I understood the word ‘mystical. ’ You were kind and gentle. Patient, too.”

“You were bubbly and adventurous, ready for anything.”

Izzy slid onto one of the rotating stools next to our serving counter. “And now we’re both grown up, and you have this darling donut shop. What do you serve here?” She glanced over at the display case. “Lots of beautiful donuts.”

“And things to drink with them. We always have a rich Colombian coffee available, and a special coffee for the day. And all sorts of teas and other beverages. Peaches are in season, so lately we’ve been making peaches-and-cream donuts. They’re sour cream donuts split in half, covered with fresh sliced peaches, and topped with whipped cream. They’d be messy if we didn’t serve them with spoons.”

“Peaches are my favorite fruit! I’ll have one of those. And some coffee.”

“Are you sure you’re old enough?” I winked to show I was teasing. “Today’s special is a slightly fruity medium roast with hints of honey and chocolate from a small farm in Ethiopia.”

“I’d love to try that.” Izzy didn’t seem to have outgrown her enthusiasm. She was almost bouncing on her stool.

I walked around the half-height wall to the kitchen. From there, I could see over the wall and watch for customers who might need something.

Our full-time assistant Olivia was frying a batch of plain raised donuts, and our summer assistant Jocelyn was dipping cooled donuts into a bowl of vanilla glaze.

Jocelyn nodded toward Izzy. “I overheard your conversation. I’ll make your friend a peaches-and-cream donut.”

I poured Izzy’s coffee, took it to her, and watched her take the first sip. “To die for,” she said.

With a flourish, Jocelyn placed a donut mounded with peach slices and whipped cream in front of Izzy. “You were talking about Fallingbrook Falls. I’ve spent a lot of time there, too.”

Izzy’s face relaxed into dreaminess. “I remember it as being an otherworldly, magical place.” She stared down at the confection Jocelyn had brought her. “And this looks almost as magical.”

The café’s front door opened. Five women and one man, all in matching green T-shirts with the word TWIG printed in big white letters in front, started inside.

Jocelyn and I were facing the door. At the sound of voices, Izzy turned around.

A sturdy, ruddy-faced woman in front of the group looked toward us, stopped walking, and said in a voice that carried through our crowded dining room, “We can’t hold our meeting if she’s in here.”

The woman who had made the peculiar and very rude announcement herded the other five people outside to our patio. The door closed behind them. They marched to the sidewalk and stood in a row, looking up and down Wisconsin Street as if trying to decide where to go for their meeting.

Jocelyn tilted her head in obvious confusion. “What was that about? Some of those people looked familiar, like I’ve seen them around Fallingbrook, but not in here. Do you know any of them, Emily?”

“Maybe I’ve seen them in town, but not dressed alike. I don’t know what I could have done to make them react like that.”

Jocelyn called toward Olivia at the deep fryer, “Maybe they were afraid of Olivia and her boiling oil.”

Olivia gave Jocelyn a side-eye. “Dream on. They were probably afraid you’d do a backflip and kick them in their chins.”

Izzy spun her stool and faced us again. She was examining Jocelyn’s face the same way she’d stared at me earlier, as if she knew her. I explained, “Jocelyn is one of Wisconsin’s top gymnasts.”

Jocelyn corrected me. “Was. I’ve retired from competition.”

I defended my statement. “You’re still one of the best ever.”

Izzy placed her hand on her heart as if she were about to swoon. “No wonder you look familiar, Jocelyn. I was terribly disappointed when you didn’t make it onto the Olympic team.”

Jocelyn’s nearly black eyes flashed. “So was I. But I’m doing something even more fun. I’m about to start my teaching career, with a kindergarten class at Fallingbrook Elementary.”

Izzy clapped her palms together. “Lucky kids!”

I agreed and added, “Jocelyn’s going to help us here on weekends, and she also coaches gymnastics part-time. You can see why we think she might intimidate strangers in green shirts.” I was only partially joking.

Izzy shook her head. “It wasn’t Olivia’s boiling oil or Jocelyn’s backflips or your imagination and empathy that scared that group away, Emily. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I did it.” She slipped a peach slice into her mouth and sighed, either because the peach was delicious or because the woman had upset her.

Izzy couldn’t have changed much from the sweet and bubbly child I remembered. How could she have frightened anyone? I asked her, “What makes you think they left because of you?” Behind me, I heard Olivia remove a basket of donuts from the oil and hook it onto the side of the deep fryer.

Jocelyn inserted her own question. “Who were they, besides a bunch of random people wearing matching T-shirts with TWIG on front?”

Izzy answered Jocelyn’s question first. “They’re an environmental group, Toward Wisconsin in Green, and they hate me.”

I spluttered, “Hate?” She had to be exaggerating. Olivia came to stand between Jocelyn and me. We must have been quite a sight, the tall, chestnut-haired woman standing between two short women, Jocelyn with her straight black ponytail and me with my short, dark curls. All of us were wearing our Deputy Donut hats, fake police caps with fuzzy donuts in front. Our uniforms matched in other ways, too. We all wore white polo shirts, black knee-length shorts, and white aprons. A cat wearing a hat like ours was embroidered on our aprons and shirts.

Izzy gazed down toward her donut. “They thought the property I’m buying should be turned into a park, with not even the tiniest blade of grass to be touched. But I’m planning to cut down trees, and they know it.” She looked up at us. “I won’t cut down more than I have to, but I have the opportunity to fulfill a dream.” With her spoon, she mashed the tallest peak of whipped cream.

Olivia glared toward the street where we’d last seen the group wearing green shirts. “Maybe those TWIG people should buy the property you’re talking about instead of spending money on T-shirts.” Having raised a much younger sister who was now almost as old as Izzy, Olivia was going into mother mode. And so was I, even though I had never raised a child.

Izzy pointed at her chest. “I’m buying the property. It’s too late for them. The sales contract is signed, and the lawyers are working on it.” A dimple showed beside one corner of her mouth. “Besides, it would take a lot of T-shirts. I can’t imagine any group of volunteers raising enough to buy the property.”

Jocelyn let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

Izzy blushed. “I didn’t win a lottery, but that’s what it feels like. About two months ago, out of the blue, my grandfather sent me money. I’m supposed to report back to him in a year about what I did with it. I could have invested in stocks and bonds or something, but what do I know about those things? What I do know is that here in northern Wisconsin, fresh produce is hard to find, especially during colder months, so I plan to do my part by growing veggies in greenhouses. When the year is up, I want to be able to say that I’ve started a viable business that will, before long, be profitable.”

Olivia asked her, “Did you major in agriculture or something?”

Izzy ran fingertips along the marble counter. “Biology. But I’ve read lots about growing in greenhouses, and I even have a tiny greenhouse of my own. Imagine fresh, green, leafy lettuce, still crunchy because it doesn’t have to be trucked long distances.”

I took a deep breath. “That would be amazing. I grow a few veggies, but the season is short.”

Olivia cautioned, “We’re pretty far north here. It’s cold during the winter, and we don’t always get a lot of sunlight.”

Izzy gazed toward the window into our office, though she seemed to be focusing beyond that, probably through the office’s back windows and glass door toward trees lining the far side of the parking lot behind our building. “That’s why we need someone to grow produce in the winter, and that someone can be me.”

My business partner Tom and I had planned carefully before opening Deputy Donut, and I knew a few things about starting and running a business. I didn’t want to crush Izzy’s spirits, but I thought I should remind her, “You’ll need power for heat and extra light. And water. Will you be able to recoup your costs for those plus your original outlay, not to mention maintenance and staffing costs, through sales?”

Izzy stirred the peaches and whipped cream over the donut. “Maybe not the first year or the second, but after that, yes. I’ve figured it all out. I’ll be able to do most of the work myself, except for building the greenhouses, and maybe I can do some of that, too. Also, the property I found is perfect. It’s on a south-facing hill. It will get lots of sunshine. I’ll have to add light and heat during the colder and darker seasons.”

Jocelyn leaned to one side as if she were about to topple over. She was good at defying gravity. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of greenhouses on slopes.”

Izzy’s laugh was still charmingly girlish. “That does conjure up a funny image. But my greenhouses won’t tip, tilt, slide, or go downhill. Because of the bedrock underneath it, the hillside is naturally terraced, with nearly flat, level plateaus.” She moved her hands, palms down, above the counter as if she were smoothing the tops of shelves. “I can put the greenhouses on those flat sections without having to blast into rock. Well, not much. The place even has a great water supply—a spring-fed stream runs down between man-made, dammed-up ponds on each plateau—there will be tons of water that I can capture, clean up, and pump back into the stream.”

I jerked my head back in surprise. “How big is this property?”

“Acres and acres. It’s huge.”

Olivia was looking as surprised as I felt. “It sounds like it.”

“It’s fabulous.” Izzy ate another slice of peach. “Peaches are so good! I love them. I’m going to start out small, with one or two greenhouses where I’ll grow salad greens. I’d like to work my way up through tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers, and someday I’d really like a greenhouse where I can grow fruit trees. Especially peaches. The trees don’t have to be tall. Maybe I’m going overboard in my dreaming. Do you three think I am?”

Olivia thinned her lips into a serious expression that was not quite a frown. “Maybe.”

Jocelyn straightened her hat. “I know about dreaming big and following your heart. You just keep doing it.” Apparently, Jocelyn could also go into mother mode, Jocelyn-style. She added, “Not all of my dreams came true, but I don’t regret trying.”

Olivia did know how to be encouraging. “You accomplished much more than most people do, Jocelyn.”

I gazed out at the charming donut shop that Tom and I had created. Tom was the father of my late first husband, Alec. With the help of Tom’s artistic wife, my mother-in-law Cindy, Tom and I had painted one large donut on each of our tabletops. We’d covered the paintings with glass. Our almost white, peach-tinted walls featured art for sale by local artists, and our floors were rock maple, a lovely honey-like shade. In addition to offering welcoming surroundings, we carefully prepared the drinks and food we served. I was proud of what we’d accomplished, and our growing numbers of customers loved our shop. I took a deep breath. “With vision, enthusiasm, and persistence, you can aim for your dreams.”

Olivia pointed out, “And hard work. You and Tom worked seven days a week in the beginning.”

“And now we don’t have to, because you and Jocelyn do.” Tom and I enjoyed our two days off each week, while Jocelyn and Olivia wanted to put in as many hours as possible. Jocelyn had educational debts, and Olivia was helping put her sister, who had earned great scholarships, through college. And maybe, someday, Olivia would continue her own education, which she’d halted to look after her sister.

Izzy raised her fork like a flag. “Hard work and money. I don’t mind hard work, and my grandfather sent me gobs of money. Also, I wrote and told him all about the property and my plans, and he wrote back, ‘Go for it!’ ”

I rested my palms on the smooth, cool, marble counter. “Money helps. My first husband Alec hadn’t been a detective for very long when he was killed on duty. His life insurance paid for my share of Deputy Donut and helped with the mortgage on the house that he and I bought.”

Izzy studied my face. “I’m so sorry, Emily.” She glanced at my left hand. “You’re still wearing your wedding and engagement rings.”

I straightened the rings on my finger. The sapphire on my engagement ring sometimes slid around as if trying to hide. “I recently married again.”

Olivia stood up straighter. “Her new husband Brent is Fallingbrook’s detective. We all have to behave.”

Jocelyn’s fake cough made it clear that Izzy wasn’t supposed to take Olivia seriously.

Izzy spun her stool in a complete circle. “Is that why you called your shop Deputy Donut?”

I pointed at the window into our office. “See the small, short-haired cat lounging on the back of the sofa? Her full name is Deputy Donut. We call her Dep for short. Tom and I fitted out the office for her so she can spend her days here when I’m working. She has food, water, a litter box, toys, and an entire playground near the ceiling, with ramps and stairways going to and from it.”

Izzy placed her right hand over her heart for a second. “A tortoiseshell tabby! She’s adorable. I just want to kiss that cute orange stripey patch on her forehead. Is her name because your husband is a detective?”

“Actually, it’s because Alec was. If Dep turns a little, you’ll see the circles on her sides. They’re sort of like donuts. When she was a tiny kitten, Alec called her his deputy, and we named her Deputy Donut. Tom and I opened this shop shortly after Alec was killed, long before Brent and I became a couple. Tom and I stole Dep’s full name for our shop.”

Olivia bragged, “Tom used to be Fallingbrook’s police chief.”

Izzy grinned. “You all really do have to behave.”

Olivia folded her arms in an obviously phony attempt to look stern. “We would anyway.”

Jocelyn pretended to hide another cough.

Izzy cut into her donut with the edge of her spoon. “Me, too.”

I joked, “Except you might cut down trees that environmentalists want you to keep.”

Jocelyn defended Izzy. “Those environmentalists will just have to find another park. Where is this sunny, terraced hillside you’re buying?”

Izzy waved a hand. “Northwest of here. About the same distance from Fallingbrook as it is from Gooseleg, where I live, but west, so if you draw lines between the three places, you make a triangle. Would you three like to see my gorgeous hillside?”

I said I would. “It sounds as magical as Fallingbrook Falls.”

Olivia asked, “Didn’t you say you haven’t taken possession yet, Izzy?”

Izzy’s bouncing made it difficult to focus on her. “That doesn’t matter. The land is vacant, and the owner said I could go out there anytime and look around. You know, bring an architect or contractor or whoever to help me plan. Meanwhile, I’d love to show it off if any of you want to go admire it with me. I know you’ll love it, Emily. I remember how you felt about all those hiking trails around Fallingbrook Falls and how good you were, and obviously still are, at imagining and envisioning things. My new property isn’t as forested, and the waterfalls aren’t dramatic, but . . . well, you’ll like it for sure. When do you finish work?” Her look embraced all three of us. “Want to meet me there?”

We looked at one another, and all of us said we would like to. I had many reasons for wanting to see her property. Mainly, I was curious, but I also wanted to give Izzy emotional support. However, if Olivia, Jocelyn, and I didn’t think Izzy’s plan was likely to succeed, we might be able to dissuade her before she locked herself into major problems.

I asked my two assistants, “Shall I drive? I’ll bring you both home afterward.”

Olivia protested, “You live north of here. Bringing us home would be out of your way, and you like spending your evenings with Brent. I could go get my car, and after we tour the property together, I could bring Jocelyn back to Deputy Donut for her bike.”

I made a sad face. “Taking you two along will be more fun for me than going separately. And Brent’s at the event that Tom’s attending.” Ordinarily, Tom worked on Saturdays, but he and Brent were two of the organizers of an all-day event where citizens, especially kids, could meet Fallingbrook’s first responders and tour their vehicles. And there would be hot dogs and ice cream. And donut holes, thanks to Tom. “Brent won’t be home until after he helps clean up the fairgrounds.”

Olivia gave me a high five. “Okay. Let’s.”

I turned to Izzy. “We finish here around five.”

Izzy drew directions on a napkin. “It should take you about a half hour to get there from here.”

We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet Izzy at the property around five thirty.

Olivia returned to the deep fryer, Jocelyn arranged donuts in our display case, and I served other customers.

Izzy finished her donut and coffee. Passing me on her way to the front door, she told me she’d never eaten a better donut or drunk better coffee. “They were perfect!” She waved goodbye and left.

I cleaned the serving counter. Izzy had left a ridiculously high tip. Frowning at her extravagance, I took her dishes to the dishwasher in the storeroom.

Something clanked behind our building.

I peeked through the glass window in the storeroom door that led to the parking lot.

The lid of the large, bright green metal container where we put food scraps and other compostable materials, like brown paper bags, was raised, hiding the person holding the lid except for the tips of three fingers. The lid lowered slowly.

Izzy turned away from the bin. She glanced left and right and then, with her head down, she scurried south between vehicles shimmering in the hot August sunshine. I didn’t think she’d seen me.

She’d been carrying a brown paper bag. When she left Deputy Donut, she’d been empty-handed.

I was almost certain that I recognized the brown paper bag that Izzy was carrying. Our peaches had come from the farmers’ market in that bag or one like it. After we’d peeled and pitted the peaches, I’d put the peels and seeds in the bag. Dampness had soaked through it even before I took it out to the compost bin, and the bag Izzy had been carrying looked even wetter. She’d held it away from her body as if to avoid getting peach juice on her clothes.

I might have thought that someone carting away compost might have been hungry enough to eat fuzzy peach skins, but that hardly seemed to be the case with Izzy. She’d told us she wanted, in the future, to grow peach trees in greenhouses. She must have noticed that the peaches topping our sour cream donuts were fresh and extra delicious, and maybe she hoped to grow peaches that were as good. I could easily imagine that in her excitement, she’d decided to plant the stones from peaches immediately.

I returned to the kitchen. Standing at the deep fryers, Olivia squinted toward the dining room. “Here’s another new customer. Could he be your new tenant?”

A short-term tenant was supposed to be moving into the Victorian cottage that Brent and I owned a few blocks from Deputy Donut. The tenant should have everything he needed, including the code for unlocking the doors. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if he came to Deputy Donut to meet me. The man Olivia had pointed out was little more than a tall, thin silhouette near our glass front door. Behind him, sunshine spilled over the street and our patio.

Olivia asked me, “Are you happy about renting out your house?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes and no. It’s a great way for Brent and me to keep that house so we can use it during the winters to stay within walking distance of our jobs, but being a landlord is new to me, so I’m nervous, too. What if the guy doesn’t like the place?”

With a wooden rod, Olivia deftly turned donuts in the boiling oil. “Your house is darling. How could he help loving it? I’d be more worried about him damaging things.”

“There’s that, too. But he comes with good references. He’s a chef. He liked the photos of our kitchen.”

She gave me a sly grin. “Is he single?”

Now that Olivia’s sister was away at college, Olivia had time . . .