Boston Scream Murder. Ginger Bolton
It wasn’t a question.
Holding her wooden spoon by its bowl, Nina pointed the frosting-covered handle at him. “I’ll be perfectly safe with Emily. She has all that extra training from her days as a 911 operator.”
“That was a few years ago,” I pointed out. “And our training wasn’t exactly about defending ourselves from people who were obsessed with crab cakes and lobster bisque.”
“But you’ve kept up with first aid,” Nina reminded me.
“I hope we won’t need first aid!”
Nina turned back to Tom. “And I loved martial arts when I was a kid. Emily and I will look after each other.”
Tom backed playfully away from the fudge-covered spoon handle. “Good. Take that death-by-chocolate spoon with you, and I won’t have to tag along.”
I asked Tom, “Do you think Rich might have had something to do with his wife’s death?”
“It was ruled an accidental drowning. Don’t go asking him if he had anything to do with it.”
“Would I do such a thing?”
Tom pierced me with those dark eyes. “No!” he answered so firmly that I had to laugh. “Certainly not.”
I glanced over at Rich. He was sitting with his back to me, but I heard the word “Boston” again. Facing him, Cheryl dabbed frosting off one corner of her mouth and winked at me.
When Rich and Cheryl left Deputy Donut, Rich was the perfect gentleman, holding the door for her. Before it closed, I heard again, “In Boston . . .”
The retired men and the other Knitpickers departed around noon as usual. We fed assorted fried goodies like deep-fried dill pickles and arancini, delicious Italian rice and cheese balls, to a lunch crowd that included police officers and firefighters.
Although the Knitpickers met in Deputy Donut weekday mornings and seldom showed up other times, Cheryl returned by herself later in the afternoon. She sat at a table for two, facing the door as if watching for someone. Did she already have a second date with Rich?
I asked what she’d like.
“Just a coffee. That donut I had this morning was filling.”
“Too much fudge frosting?”
Those blue eyes twinkled. “Can there be?”
“Rich requested the extra frosting. Also, he asked me for suggestions for redecorating his cottage and renovating its kitchen. Nina and I will meet him there after work this evening. Would you like to come along?”
“No, thanks. I heard enough about Boston this morning to last the rest of my life. He’s not bad, but I don’t have to have everything mansplained.” She lifted an index finger to her lips. “Sh. I arranged to meet a different man here this afternoon. I didn’t expect so many choices from one dating site.” She stared toward the door for a second. “Wow,” she whispered. “This one looks as good as the picture he posted on the site.”
The man coming into Deputy Donut was tall and broad shouldered. His new-looking khakis and brown-striped shirt fit him well. At first, I was afraid that he might be a lot younger than Cheryl, but as he approached, I realized that his brown hair was graying at the temples. He had the amiable sort of face that made me feel like I already knew him. His most striking features were his hazel eyes and the smile wrinkles that deepened when he shook Cheryl’s hand. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I’m Steve.” He ordered a coffee and looked at the card on the table listing the day’s special donuts. “What’s a jack-o’-lantern donut?”
I explained, “It’s an unraised pumpkin donut with orange frosting and candy corn eyes.”
Cheryl asked, “What about the mouth?”
“That’s the hole in the donut.” Between the open mouths and the way Nina had been placing the eyes, the expressions on our jack-o’-lantern donuts ran the gamut from comical to benign to scary. Well, almost scary.
“I’ll try one,” Steve said.
Rich Royalson walked in.
A pixie-like woman clung to his arm. Although the younger woman’s short hair, turned-up nose, and complexion with its sprinkling of freckles were girlish and cute and her sleeveless wool dress showed off arms that were firm and muscular as if she worked out, she appeared to be about fifty. Rich had told me that he was turning seventy the next day. He was old enough to be the woman’s father.
The way she was clinging to him was not daughterly.
Reminding myself that gaping at customers wasn’t polite, I closed my mouth.
Rich glanced toward Cheryl, turned red, gave her a curt nod, and hustled the woman to a table on the other side of the dining room.
Cheryl lowered her head. For a second, I thought she was embarrassed or maybe even hurt, but when she looked up at me, I realized that her shoulders were shaking with laughter, not sobs. She gave me another wink. I was glad she’d already told me she wasn’t interested in Rich. Still, I hoped that the new guy wouldn’t hurt her. Steve seemed younger than Cheryl. Would he drop her as quickly as Rich apparently had?
In the kitchen, I chose a cheerful jack-o’-lantern donut for Steve and poured his coffee. When I set them in front of him, he was asking Cheryl what he should see in Fallingbrook.
Rich ordered Boston cream donuts and coffee for himself and his date. I plated a couple of fudge-frosted and pastry cream–filled donuts before Nina could carve screaming faces into them. Rich and his date sat with their arms stretched across the table toward each other and their fingertips touching. It’s like Valentine’s Day in here, I thought, instead of almost Halloween. . . .
I gave them their plates and returned to the kitchen for mugs and a pot of coffee.
The front door opened with a bang.
A blond man in dirty-looking jeans and a torn, sleeveless hoodie over a T-shirt strode to the table where Rich was making eyes at his date. “How dare you!” the blond man shouted. He appeared to be a little younger than the pixie-like woman, perhaps in his midforties. Biceps bulged beneath his shirt sleeves.
Rich and his date thrust their chairs backward and stood up. Her chin up and her eyes blazing, the woman demanded, “What are you doing here, Derek?”
The man she’d called Derek snarled out one side of his mouth, “I’m just here to warn your new boyfriend.” He turned toward Rich and raised his voice. “She’s only after your money.”
I set the mugs on the nearest table and carried the heavy pot of hot coffee closer to Derek. Despite the whimsical hat on my head, I attempted to look formidable. “Please, sir.” No one seemed to hear me.
Rich boomed, “I’ve known Terri for a long time. She’s the love of my life. I’m thrilled that we managed to reconnect.”
Derek yelled, “She tricked me! She got me to rent your cottage for all of last week, encouraged me to have a party there, and called you and reported me so’s you’d come and toss me out and she could seduce you and pretend to be the victim of a party that she threw. You owe me for the two nights I paid for that cottage and didn’t get to use.” He peppered his speech with swear words. His blue eyes bulged. His hands balled into fists at his sides.
Rich’s face became a deeper red than it had been when he walked in and noticed Cheryl. “And you owe me for the damage you and your drunken friends did to my cottage. The rental contract clearly stated that there were to be no parties. None. And no more than four people. You were letting a fifth person sleep on the couch. You don’t get a refund, and you don’t get your damage deposit back, either.”
His fists now up near his waist, Derek took a step closer to Rich.
Customers were staring at the three enraged people. This was not the atmosphere we liked in Deputy Donut. Besides, someone might