Chapter Seventeen

As I readied for work the next morning, I skipped breakfast to hit Dee’s Delicious Donuts for one of my favs—er, two…no, three—buttermilk cake donuts with vanilla glaze. In case someone snagged those before I did, I could settle—not a hardship—for the chocolate cake variety.

I slipped into my Jeep and drove to the strip center across the street from Super Saver Grocery Store’s parking lot. My family and I were donut fanatics and visited Dee’s hundreds, almost thousands, of times. Lately, I skipped an indulgence or two so the bridesmaid’s dress would fit. I tended to snag a granola bar and slam down a glass of milk instead of a healthy, first meal-of-the-day. Jenny banned me from bringing home my favorite food group—cake—as she was dieting as well. Since I didn’t have to be at the store until nine thirty, I usually indulged in extra shuteye.

I slotted my car in a space next to an oversized, crew cab truck with a huge lift kit. The tires were comparable to those on an 18-wheeler. I’m fairly tall, but even I would have to use a stepladder to climb inside this truck. I hoped-prayed-wished the owner didn’t ding my Jeep baby when he hopped in his ride.

The breeze ruffled the ends of my hair across my lipstick as I exited the Jeep. I spluttered them away, tamed my flyaways, and headed for the donut store. Once inside, I opened the tall refrigerated case by the door to grab a carton of low-fat milk. I stepped in line behind a mom and her four-year-old, most likely on their way to daycare, determining which treats they couldn’t live without. At his age, I would have been overwhelmed by the selection, too. They should take one of each and be done with it.

Finally, Dee cashiered out mom and tot.

A gentleman, approximately my dad’s age, stepped forward. Cropped white hair styled into a businessman look, charcoal suit, lean frame. He picked two sausage rolls and ordered a black coffee-to-go.

I bet the man visited the store habitually, like a coffeehouse regular.

Dee dumped three, extra donut holes in his bag and smiled. Another satisfied customer on his way to nine to five.

Finally, my turn. “Hi, Dee.” Instantly, overwhelming, yet happy, feelings caused by all the deliciousness behind the display cases transformed me into a child. I fought the urge to press my nose to the glass and lick my lips.

“Hattie!” Dee tucked escaped hair strands under her red kerchief. “You haven’t visited in a while.”

I bobbed my head, resting my hands on top of the case. “I know. I guess a girl can’t live on donuts alone. And I must fit in the bridesmaid dress. Tracey’s picked a pink, skinny sheath number.”

“Pink is your color, girl. You’ll look fab. You always do.”

“Thanks.” I looked out the window and found the big truck had moved on. Must have belonged to the guy customer before me.

Dee slid open the display cabinet door and grabbed a bakery tissue. “What’ll you have?”

I pointed to my selections, ordering two vanilla and one chocolate buttermilk confections.

Dee dropped the treats in a white paper bag embellished with a dancing donut cartoon. “How are the wedding plans? Is your mom arranging for a huge shindig?”

“Lordy. Parents. Especially my mother.” I rolled my eyes. Everyone I went to school with knew stories about my mom, just as I knew stories about theirs. “My mother is driving everyone crazy. Dad keeps wondering how he’ll pay for the wedding, even though Tracey and Stuart are pulling their weight financially.”

Dee walked over to the cash register and pushed buttons. “Three donuts. Six ten.”

I held up the carton of low-fat. “Did you get the milk?”

“Oops.” She worked another button. “For a total of eight thirty-four. What about you? Any wedding bells in your future?”

With a snort, I passed her my debit card. “No wedding bells in my future.”

Dee made the “all-knowing sideways” look. “I hear…differently.”

I lifted one eyebrow and slanted my head. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Your mother said something to my mother over grapefruit at Super Saver.”

Dee handed over my card. “Just a minute. I want to hear more. But first, let me help Mrs. Scott.”

I nodded to Mrs. Scott, another Sommerville Library Board member, and an intimate friend of my mom and Mrs. Wellborn. After her sedate “Hattie,” I sat at a café table by the door. Picking up a napkin, I dug my hand in my bag and lifted one buttermilk cake. I took a big bite, then glanced at my shirt. I wore a black silk top, and sure enough, white icing decorated my chest. I shifted the donut to my other hand and brushed the spots. Undoubtedly, I would be sporting the “flocked” look by the time I finished indulging. Totally worth it.

Mrs. Scott paused by my side with another “Hattie.”

Geez. “Bye, Mrs. Scott.”

The shop door dinged after her.

“I’m back.” Dee sat across from me. “Rumor says you and Allan Wellborn are quite an item.” She cradled her chin in her palm. Her eyes took on the I-remember-when dream gaze. “In high school, I used to have a crush on him.”

Wow. Who knew? I took another bite. “You did?”

“I did.” She kicked back her chair and went to the backroom. She returned with a roll of paper towels and spray cleaner. Spying something, my friend unwound a paper towel from the roll. “Lots of us did. He was two years older and even with those glasses, the pocket protector, and the trombone—he was hunky.”

Goes to show, everyone has different tastes. “Dee, I have a question.”

Spritz, spritz. Wipe. After she cleaned the register area, she changed her course to polish two tables opposite me. Dee set her bottle on the empty chair and toweled crumbs and bits into her hand. “Ask away.”

“You know Jonson Leggett the Third—”

“Who doesn’t? The moron.”

“Gee, Dee.” My eyes rounded and my brow lifted. I was surprised my friend expressed herself out loud, but she stated what I believed. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“It’s true.” Dee shook her head. “Jonson met his doomsday across the street. The Sommerville Express reporters camped out in the lot for most of the day.” Spritz. Wipe.

I didn’t utter the descriptive words I wanted to. “I know.”

“Ya.” She pushed the paper towel roll against her hip. “I remember reading the article about Tracey’s split from him in the paper. Scandalous for Sommerville.”

I bit into a chocolate cake. While chewing, I said, “Mom hibernated when the story broke. You know, the gossip.”

She shrugged. “She shouldn’t have. Since nothing much happens in Sommerville, their divorce was big news. Didn’t something about a rabid raccoon in Sandy Sanders’ backyard supplant it?”

“Could be. Mom lives the old ways of personal business being personal.” I brushed my hands on a paper napkin. “Changing the subject, Dee. I wondered—do you have security cameras?”

She halted her polishing on the chrome trim at the coffee bar. “Why?”

I looked over my shoulder and out the window toward Super Saver Grocery and pointed. “You know how Jonson died?”

“Of course.” Dee lifted her chin. “But what does that have to do with my security cameras?”

I looked at my friend. How do I explain about needing her help? “The police questioned Tracey about his murder.”

“Nooo waay.” She shook her head. “You girls are the essence of Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

I let loose a short snort. “You might be the only person who believes so.”

Dee giggled, then spritzed. “I know the truth. I joined some of your escapades, mostly toilet papering. Mild stuff.”

I trailed my finger along the table’s edge. “Is it possible your cameras recorded something?”

She walked to the front door and rested her hands against the glass, leaving fingerprints. She squirted and mopped. “You think maybe my security cameras—I have two, one aimed at the door and one focused on the parking spaces—maybe-maybe-maybe someone else might show up, the someone who could have possibly murdered Jonson, and hopefully, exonerate Tracey.”

“Bingo.”

Dee pivoted and walked behind the counter. “I can look. I want to look. Anything to help your sister. Just as soon as the morning rush subsides.”

“Thanks, Dee. Would you mind sending the file to my email?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Sure. Same address?”

“Same.” Yipee!!

Dee pursed her lips. “Think once the police see the video, and someone else will be on it, Tracey’ll be out of the hot seat?”

“I pray daily for good news. The police haven’t finished interviewing. They’ll check with a lot of stores and people. You know.” I waved a hand toward the outside.

“I’m guessing sooner or later”—Dee returned to the register, stowing the spray and tossing the used paper towels in a trash can under the counter—“they’ll come by here, wanting the same recording.”

Remembering my conversation with Allan and what he said about the police checking out the strip center’s cameras, I pressed a napkin to my lower lip. “If they do, Dee, don’t say you shared with me…okay? I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

Dee batted her lashes. “But if it’s your hunky detective, I might be persuaded.”

I gave her the “you hussy” look.

“Just kidding. Mum’s the word.” She swiped the age-old finger zipper across her mouth. “By the way, the photo of Tracey leaving jail—priceless. Cool handbag, though.”

Oops. Wonder what Mom would think about that?

****

In my car and on my way to work, I crammed the rest of donut number two in my mouth and chomped, washing all down with a healthy swallow of low-fat milk. I used both hands to maneuver a right-handed turn. I didn’t want to be late for work. Once settled at a traffic light, I glanced to my left. A cop car with two police officers inside had stopped next to me. They stabbed fingers my way and laughed.

Jerks. Bet they’re friends of Allan’s. I'll show them. Removing donut number three ever-so deliberately from the bag, I very slowly and deliberately teethed a bite, then ran my tongue very slowly and deliberately along my lips with my eyes mostly shuttered, all the while watching them from the corner of my eye. From the look on their faces and the one they shared, realization punched them. The moment the light changed, they made a fast u-turn in the direction of Dee’s.

He-he-he. The power of donuts. If I did visit Dee’s more often, I should negotiate for a percentage from the new business she garnered. I shoved a chunk in my mouth, drank, and fished my hand in the bag for a clean napkin.

I parked my car a few rows back from Wedding Wonderland’s entrance. I carried the now-empty bag between my teeth. Before exiting, I grabbed my almost-empty milk container and my handbag. With a glance at my watch, I bumped the door with my hip. Three minutes to spare.

Inside the store, I dropped my things at reception, dumped the trash in the can, and pulled out the credenza drawer. “I’m here, Miss A.”

“Good morning, Hattie,” she called from the fitting area.

I stuffed my handbag inside the drawer. “Morning.”

“I’m such a klutz, dearie.”

I took a few steps in her direction, noticing her bent over. “Oh?”

“Yes, well”—with her hand on her lower back, she straightened—“I dropped a container of straight pins.”

“Which could happen to anybody.”

“Still frustrating. I have no explanation. The box exploded, sending pins everywhere.”

“Need help?”

“No, thank you,” Miss A. said. “I am mostly done. I wouldn’t want anyone to step on one accidentally. I’ll run the vacuum to be sure.”

Returning to my desk, I set my morning diet cola caffeine-fix next to the monitor.

Miss A. plugged in and turned on the sweeper.

I hit the computer’s power button, hearing the hums and beeps resurrect it to life. After a few more clicks, I found today’s updates and forwarded reminders to the soon-to-be brides.

The vacuum shut off.

Miss A. had finished retrieving the pins and joined me, leaning terribly close to my shoulder, obviously monitoring my tasks. I could smell the coffee she drank on her breath. Popping the soda tab, I imbibed a reviving swallow. As I raised the can to my lips for a second shot, my phone dinged.

I checked. Dee’s name popped up. I nearly danced a jig and opened her message. “Just sent security camera link.” I shuttered my phone. “Yay.”

Miss A. straightened the business cards for Wedding Wonderland in the silver-plated tray on the desk. “Good news?”

“I think so. My parents are frantic because my sister was once married to Jonson Leggett. The police have questioned her and not in a good way.”

“Oh my. Of course, your family is upset. The police talk to everyone.” Miss A.’s hands fluttered. “No sister of yours could perform such a heinous act.”

Maybe I could share the rest of my news with Miss A. “My grade school friend owns Dee’s Delicious Donuts across the street from Super Saver Grocery. I wanted to talk to Dee about her security cameras and if they might have recorded something.” I shrugged. “You never know.”

“A sound plan.”

“My friend sent me the security video.”

“Great news.” Miss A. rested her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you’re eager to look.”

“Do you mind?” I opened my phone. “It won’t take long.”

A shake of her head sent her tight curls bouncing. “Not at all. Can I peek over your shoulder?”

“Absolutely.” I rotated the device where she could see, too.

I swiped back to the home screen and found my email icon, pressed the button, and my messages appeared. I scrolled to Dee’s name and opened her note.

Dee wrote, Here’s the link, Hattie. I hope it helps.

I muttered a small prayer something miraculous would materialize, and even better, a view of someone in the vicinity of Jonson and his car parked in the Super Saver lot. Now or never, and bam, the video link opened to what I identified as coming from the front entrance of the donut store. I observed many customers who passed into and out of Dee’s Delicious Donuts.

“I don’t see anyone near Jonson,” Miss A. said.

“Me neither. Wish I could zoom in.” Pensive, I twisted my mouth to one side. “I believe this image is from the front entry and customers.”

Miss A tapped the screen. “Could she have sent the wrong link?”

I turned off the video. “You know, Dee did mention something about having a second camera, one aimed at the parking lot. I want to check my emails one more time to be positive.”

I glided my finger over the Back To Mail words in the upper left-hand corner, which took me to the list of emails. I eyed them, looking for a second email from Dee, but no, nothing. Nada. Zip. Not a thing.

“Rats.”

Miss A. set her finger on her chin. “Ask your friend for the other view. She probably sent the first one without looking.”

“All great minds, Miss A… I’ll do so and then get back to work.”

“I’d like to see it, too, if you don’t mind, just in case I can help.” She straightened, sending her gaze to the front door. “It’s nearly ten. Time to open Wonderland.”

“Almost done.” I concentrated hard on composing the email, hit Send, and waited for a moment while my message winged its way to Dee.

I tossed my phone in my handbag, which I locked in the credenza drawer and pocketed the key. Waiting is hell. I tapped my toes. Come on, Dee. Situations like this tried my patience.

****

Wedding Wonderland was super busy all day. And the popularity thrilled Miss A. More prospective brides and friends and family investigated the store. From their comments, Miss A. would have a huge success on her hands—a good thing.

After the shop closed and in my car, I took off my shoes for the drive home. My feet hurt badly, especially the toes. I ached to massage them. Once parked in the apartment lot, I put on my heels to stagger to my door and inside, kicked them off. Then I let loose and plopped my body on the khaki sofa, propping my feet on the coffee table. Funny how a little elevation made them feel better. Grabbing my toes, I rubbed. I closed my eyes. Catching a few winks sounded like a superb idea.

“Hey.” Jenny shut the door I hadn’t closed properly. “You're home on time.”

I cracked open one eye. “For what?”

Moving to stand in front of me, she stuck her hands on her hips. “Dinner’s ready.”

Both of my eyes went wide. “You…cooked?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“Let me get this straight. You cooked by yourself. No one helped you. No delivery. No takeout.”

Jenny pointed a spatula at me. “Give the girl a Kewpie doll.”

I scrunched my nose. “You know what a Kewpie doll is?”

“I get around.”

“Where did you hide my friend?” I slid deeper in the couch cushions and let my eyelids shutter. I mumbled, “I’m pretty hungry. Better be good.”

“It’s awesome.” Her shoes clacked as she walked to the kitchen and did the same when she returned. “Dig in.”

Jenny set a plate laden with homemade enchiladas on the coffee table. A napkin fell in my lap, and she stuck silverware in my fist.

Reluctantly, I roused and moved my feet off the furniture. “Do you want to feed me too?”

“Lordy, no.”

The tantalizing aroma of cheese and chili sent me to Mexican food heaven. I hovered the fork over the food while deciding where to dive in. Cheese or chili? Chili or cheese? As I shoveled a bite in my mouth, I caught Jenny watching.

Her light laugh trailed her back to the kitchen. She returned, carrying a pitcher filled with a pale green liquid and two glasses containing limes and crushed ice, the rims coated with salt. “I prescribe margaritas on the rocks. You need it.”

“You’re a saint.” Never one to turn down a good cocktail, I took what she proffered. “Pour away.”

Jenny filled my glass.

I squeezed the lime, stirring the juice with the end of my fork. After licking the liquid off the handle, I imbibed deeply. “Great food takes the edge off a long day.”

“Tell me about it.”

I squeezed my eyes into thin slits. “I swear you’ve been listening to Allan Wellborn too much. He utilizes the ‘tell me about it’ phrase all the time.”

“You’ve made that comment before, and like before, I don’t consciously mean to copy him.” Jenny waved her glass. “So, are you eatin’?”

I plowed my fork into the enchilada a second time, scooping all the melty cheese, onion, and chili. What I tasted exploded delightfully with delectable deliciousness in my mouth. I took a third bite. “Really yummy, Jenny. You’ve surpassed yourself.”

“Yup, the family recipe. Never fails.”

“Since your family’s from the country, shouldn’t you fix the traditional fare—cornbread and beans? Fried bologna sandwiches?”

“I’ve never eaten fried bologna and don’t plan on it either.” Jenny studied the bite she’d forked. “If’n I’m eatin’ calories, they’d better be good ones.” She slid the food in her mouth and shut her eyes. “What was the best thing about today?”

“Word is getting out about Wedding Wonderland. Business is growing—a lot. I’ve never worked so hard. Like Christmas time at Tucker's.” I patted my mouth with a corner of the napkin. “Changing the subject… This morning, I had an idea about checking the security cameras at Dee’s to see if she had footage of Super Saver’s lot and Jonson’s car. Dee told me one of her cameras points that way.”

Jenny took another mouthful. “Why haven’t the police talked with Dee?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Dee said no one contacted her. Maybe SPD needs manpower. They seem to be behind. Anyway, she sent me a link, but from what I could tell, the camera’s aimed at the door, not the one looking at the lot.”

Jenny scraped her plate for the last bit of food. “Emailed her back?”

“Yes.” I drank from my cocktail. “No answer—yet.”

She dropped her silver on the cleared plate. “Sometimes, no news isn’t good news. Dee’s probably sleeping by now.”

“Undoubtedly. I think she’s at the shop by the ungodly hour of four a.m.”

“Ick. Early mornings are against my constitution.” Jenny motioned to my plate. “Finished?”

“No, one more little…bit.” I ate the last speck and let the utensil clatter on top of an almost spotless surface. “Done, and thank you.”

“More for tomorrow.” Jenny set my plate on the coffee table and reclined in her chair. “You get to do dishes.”

I nodded. “Fair trade.”

Jenny sipped her margarita until nothing remained but cubes. She held the glass to the light, looking for more to drink. “Hattie, does Allan know about Dee’s footage?”

“Not from me.”

My statement got me The Look—a sideways glance lined with skepticism. She plopped the empty glass on the coffee table.

“Seriously, Jenny. Wipe the ‘you’re gonna be in trouble’ off your face. Like I told you, Dee told me no one from the Sommerville PD has called. She said if Allan asks, she’ll send him a link, too. I just happened to be first. I want to update my family.”

Jenny pleated her forehead with her forefinger and thumb. “We need some good news for Tracey.”

“Finding good news for Tracey also means good news for Jonson by identifying his killer.” I tilted my head. “I might try Little Egypt, the pizza joint next door to Dee’s—”

“Isn’t it funny a pizza store is named Little Egypt?”

“A local legend about the second owner not wanting to spend money on a new sign—something about him being a tightwad. I can say so with all honesty since I've known them before babyhood. The current owner is a longtime family friend. I doubt they have cameras.”

Jenny’s cellphone beeped. As she read the text, a long gradual smile shaped her mouth.

My friend is in love. A large hollow space in my chest formed. I envied how her boyfriend captured her heart and soul. I missed what she experienced. I wanted what she experienced.

I licked the rim of my glass before swallowing the last lime-y drop. I studied the depths. “Mr. Who-Uses-All-The-Hot-Water?”

“Maybe.” Jenny rose, giving me an enigmatic grin. As she made her way to the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, “Maybe a fifty-gallon water heater would be a good idea.”

I swung my feet to the floor and stood, gathering the plates. She didn’t hear me mumble softly, “Especially if he’s a permanent roomie.”