Glazed Murder Read Free

this morning?"
     
George nodded, and I grabbed two pumpkin donuts and a large glass of whole milk for him. I wasn't going to tell him about my new recipe. If he couldn't tell it was different, I had more work to do on it.
     
As I delivered his food, George said, "Come on, there's nobody else around right now. Tell me what really happened."
     
I frowned at the question, not wanting to relive what I'd witnessed, but also realizing that I wouldn'tbe able to get him off the subject until I did. "I was here at two, just like always, and I was getting ready to turn on the lights when I heard a car race by and a body hit the pavement." I shuddered involuntarily as I remembered the dull thud of the impact. I wondered if I'd ever be able to wipe it out of my mind.
     
George surprised me with an instant of tenderness as he lightly touched my hand. "It's okay; the memory will fade. Just give it some time."
     
"Thanks," I said. "I hope so."
     
He looked around the shop. "Where's Emma?"
     
"It's her day off," I said.
     
"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."
     
I managed a smile for him. He was a sweetheart, and for some odd reason, I felt guilty about causing him sadness, which I know is ridiculous, but I can't help how I feel. If I could, I would have been able to save myself a bucketload of pain over the years, most especially from my ex-husband. Then again, if there hadn't been a Max once upon a time in my life, I wouldn't be running my own donut shop now, so maybe it was good I didn't have as much control over things as I would have liked.
     
I looked at George. "Did you hear who the victim was? It was Patrick Blaine."
     
He shook his head. "They didn't say over the scanner. That must make it twice as hard for you. You were fond of him, weren't you?"
     
"I was," I admitted. "I wonder if they know anything else about what happened."
     
George glanced at his watch. "Let's listen to the radio. Maybe Lester knows something about it."
     
I reached up to a shelf behind the register andturned the radio on. It was permanently tuned to WAPS, and if there was any news about the murder, Lester Moorefield would have it in his morning report.
     
Lester's voice came on just as Toby Keith finished his latest song about cheating and retribution. It seemed to be a popular theme on the country music charts these days, one for which I had a great deal of sympathy myself. Lester said, "In local news, there was a homicide reported on Springs Drive in front of Donut Hearts this morning. The body has been identified as Patrick Blaine, a local banker and a resident of nearby Maple Hollow. The cause of death has yet to be released, but this reporter has learned that it was not a hit-and-run, as was first described, but a shooting."
     
I turned off the radio. "Nobody said it was a hit-and-run. What was Lester talking about?"
     
George shook his head. "The man loves to embellish the news, and one of these days it's going to bite him where the sun doesn't shine." The retired cop pushed his plate away as he stood. "Hate to eat and run, but I've got a few things I need to take care of before work. I'm filling in at the courthouse this morning."
     
George supplemented his retirement income by working as a substitute bailiff at the courthouse, which kept him in touch with his old pals, as well as new ones. He saluted me with two fingers to his forehead, then he said, "I'll touch base with you later."
     
I said, "You're not going to say anything to Lester, are you?"
     
George shook his head. "Why bother? It wouldn't do any good, would it?" He looked around the empty donut shop. "Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"
     
I nodded. "I'll be fine. Go on."
     
I'd miss him, but I wasn't about to admit it to him. Oftentimes George kept the place from feeling too lonely during some of the morning lulls I faced every day. If I'd looked into the razor-thin profit margin in the world of selling donuts before I bought the place, I never would