Glazed Murder Read Free Page A

have gone through with it. I was still glad I'd purchased the business, though. There were more profits to be made than those that could be shown on a spreadsheet, and I'd gained in immeasurable riches when it came to new friends. I had a nice sociable place where people could come to relax, enjoy a donut and a cup of coffee, and grab a few moments of sanctuary from a troubling world.
     
The first thing I'd done when I bought the shop was remodel the former train depot. The stiff booths and wobbly tables of the old donut shop went first, replaced by couches and comfortable chairs. As dingy beige paint on the walls was replaced with a plum faux finish--and the harsh concrete floor painted to match--the place transitioned from a utilitarian space to one where people liked to congregate. At least that had been my plan when I'd spent the last dime, literally, of my divorce settlement making Donut Hearts into the kind of place where I would like to hang out myself.
     
George said, "I'm going to nose around the precinct before I'm due to report and see if I can find outanything else about Patrick Blaine. There's got to be some reason he ended up dead in front of your shop."
     
"Is Chief Martin going to let you walk right in there and start investigating the case? You're retired, remember?"
     
"He cuts me a little slack most days," George said. "As long as I stay out of his way, it works out fine. Don't tell me you two are still having problems."
     
I shrugged as I wiped his section of counter down with a clean cloth. "I don't think he's ever forgiven me for being my father's daughter." The police chief had dated my mother back in high school before my dad had come onto the scene, and there were rumors that Chief Martin had never been able to let her go. He was clearly unhappy in his current marriage, and seeing my mother around town didn't make life any easier for him, I was sure. Dad had been dead and buried for six years, but he might as well have still been alive. My mother had mated for life, and she wasn't interested in anyone else, something she made sure the chief knew whenever the opportunity to tell him arose. I fully realized why he was so unhappy, but did he have to take it out on me?
     
George was nearly out the door when I called out, "Let me know what you find out, okay?"
     
He shot me with his finger, then grinned. "You betcha." He stopped out front and talked to a man in uniform, not Officer Moore or the chief, but another young cop named Stephen Grant who came in occasionally to get donuts on his days off. Officer Grant was slim, despite his love for donuts, and was barely over five feet eight, the height minimum for the force, he'd once told me.
     
"Good morning," I said, as he walked in. "Are you here for professional reasons, or personal?"
     
"Would you believe a little of both?" he asked. "If I could get a bear claw and a coffee to go, that would be great."
     
As I poured him a cup and grabbed one of the fried cinnamon treats I'd just finished making, I asked, "What part of your visit is professional?"
     
"I just wanted to ask you about what happened this morning. The chief's got everybody keeping their eyes open, so I thought I'd see if you might have remembered something else."
     
I frowned. "Nothing I didn't tell Officer Moore."
     
He slid money across the counter and grabbed his breakfast. "Then I guess this stop wasn't a total loss, was it? See you later."
     
"Come back any time," I said.
     
My mother came bursting in through the front door of the donut shop ten minutes later. "I'm going to horsewhip Lester Moorefield and then hang him up on the Patriot's Tree for everyone to see."
     
She had always been overprotective of me, and that had only intensified since the divorce. Though my mother was six inches shorter than me--barely five feet tall--she was a force to be reckoned with. I couldn't have her flying off the handle, though.
     
"Calm down, Momma. It's all right."
     
"The blasted fool