"You surely could have fooled me."
"Jake?"
He stopped. "What?"
"I'm sorry. I should have called you last night."
"Yes, you should have." He smiled as he said it, and I felt my heart flutter again. At least we were back on good terms, something that had become surprisingly important to me.
After Jake was gone, I sat there a second, trying to catch my breath before I rejoined my customers out front. The worst part was, he made perfect sense. If I had a lick of brains, I'd do what everyone was advising me to do.
But there wasn't a hole in all of April Springs big enough to hide me, and even if there were, I wouldn't use it.
I had donuts to make, and a killer to catch, and I wasn't going to be able to do either one if I was in hiding.
MOMMA'S CHEESY CHICKEN
INGREDIENTS
4 chicken breasts; skinned, deboned, and pounded thin
4 oz. sharp cheddar cheese, cut into long rectangles
4 oz. mozzarella cheese, cut into long rectangles
Coating
4 oz. Parmesan cheese, grated and divided in half
4 oz. Italian bread crumbs
1 tablespoon Italian seasoning
And
1 tablespoon Italian seasoning
Cooking spray
DIRECTIONS
Lay the chicken breasts on a sheet of foil, then spray each with the cooking spray just enough to coat.
Lightly sprinkle the Italian seasoning over each breast, then take 1/2 oz. of Parmesan mixed with 1/2 oz. Italian bread crumbs and spread out over each breast. Then, to each breast, add on one of the narrow ends 1 oz. cheddar rectangle and 1 oz. mozzarella rectangle.
Roll each chicken breast into a cylinder, being sure to keep the cheese inside. Lightly coat the outside of the rolled breasts with cooking spray, then sprinkle each with the 1/2 oz. of Parmesan and 1/2 oz. Italian bread crumbs mix.
Cover and refrigerate for 2 to 4 hours.
Preheat oven to 425 degrees, and cook the chicken breasts until they are no longer pink inside, approximately 30 minutes.
This cheesy chicken is great together with a salad, cooked baby green peas, and a fancy rice dish.
Serves 4.
CHAPTER 11
When I walked back out front, George motioned for me to join him. I wasn't in any mood to rehash my conversation with Jake, but I owed him that much, since he'd gone to so much trouble to help me.
"What's up?" I said as I refilled George's coffee cup.
"I've got an idea how to find out who attacked you last night," George said. "I think you must have scratched him. Or her."
"I appreciate the offer, but he was wearing a coat, and my nails aren't that long to begin with. I broke one, but I doubt there was any skin under it."
"But you could have bruised his arm," George said. "Isn't it worth trying to figure out who might have done it to you?"
"If you can come up with a way to look at some forearms without causing suspicion, I'm all for it, but I'm afraid it's hopeless."
George took a sip of coffee, then he said, "Don't
worry, I'll come up with something plausible, or I won't do it."
"I should hope not," I said.
George stared outside for a minute, then asked, "Suzanne, do you still have that parking ticket you found in Patrick Blaine's house?"
"Sure, it's at the house. Why do you want to see it?"
"I keep thinking that it might be significant. I'd like to see if it's the same kind of ticket used in April Springs, or if it's some kind of novelty blank meant to be a joke."
"I've never had a parking ticket, so I couldn't say," I said. "Would you like to swing by and get it this afternoon? It's at home, on the desk in my room."
"Is your mother there?" George asked. "I'd rather find out now if it's another dead end, or if it might actually be a real lead."
"Okay, let me call her."
"Don't wake her on our account," George said.
"Are you kidding? She gets up at five because she likes to, if you can believe it."
I made the call, then hung up and turned to George. "She'll put it in our mailbox, since she's going out in a few minutes."
George stood. "I'll be right back, then."
I put a hand on his arm. "Do you really think it's important?" I was starting to feel guilty about how dismissive I'd been of my discovery.
"Probably not, but I'd rather know, one way or the other."
After he was gone, a rash of customers came into
the shop, and Emma and I were busy filling orders long after George returned.
When things finally slowed down again, I approached him. "Was I right? Was it just a gag?"
"No, it's real enough," George said. "I think somebody on the April Springs police force was meeting with Blaine, and they didn't want anyone else to know about it."
"I don't get it," I said. "Why go to so much trouble? Wouldn't it have just been easier to call him and set up an appointment?"
George studied the ticket. "You can't be sure who's listening on the other end, can you? Here's the thing. If you saw someone slipping a note under a driver's windshield, you'd think something was going on, but if it was a cop putting a ticket there, nobody would pay the least amount of attention to it. It's really pretty clever."
"I guess. But I'm still not sure what it means."
George stood. "I keep wondering if it has something to do with the dirty cop I keep hearing about. I'm just not sure how it's tied to Blaine, but I'm going to find out. Let me do more digging, and I'll get back to you later."
After he was gone, I grabbed my jacket and told Emma, "I'll be back in an hour. Can you handle things until I get back?"
"You know I hate running the shop without you," she said.
"Come on, it'll be good practice for you when I go on vacation this summer."
Emma frowned. "You haven't taken a vacation in two years."
"Don't you think it's time, then?"
I swear she looked like she was going to cry. I quickly said, "Take it easy. I was just kidding."
"The thought of making all of those donuts by myself is just too much," she said. "I don't mind helping you, but I can't imagine doing it all alone. How do you do it on my day off?"
"I know it's hard to believe, but somehow I manage. See you in an hour."
"I'm setting one of the alarms in back the second you walk out that door," Emma said.
I walked out onto the sidewalk, wondering where to look next, when my neighbor Gabby spotted me. She was putting out a sandwich sign near the sidewalk proclaiming special deals, something she trumpeted every day. Honestly, how special could it be if she never missed a day?
"Suzanne, where are you off to this morning?"
I hadn't planned it, but seeing her gave me an idea. "Actually, I came over to talk to you. Do you have a minute?"
"For you? Always."
I followed her inside, realizing that if I wanted the scoop on what was going on in April Springs, I didn't have to go farther than next door.
"Do you have time for tea?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, but I shouldn't leave Emma alone any longer than I have to. If it weren't so important, I never would have left her."
"She's a sweet child," Gabby said, "but the young lack our stability and dedication, don't you think?"
I wasn't about to get into Emma's personality and character description with my gossiping neighbor. "I
need your in-depth knowledge of April Springs," I said. "Only someone with your keen sense of what's happening can help me."
Gabby looked at me with a stony glance. "Honestly, do you think idle flattery will get you information that a simple request would not? Suzanne, were you under the impression that I wasn't aware that the entire town thinks I'm nothing but a gossiping fishwife?"
I didn't even know how to sidestep that one. "I wouldn't put it like that."
"No, of course you wouldn't. You're kinder than that, but you'd be in the minority, and we both know it. I'm nosy," she said, "and I don't mind who knows it. I don't have much of a life of my own, and watching the twists and turns people's lives take keeps me interested in getting up every day. Is that honestly such a bad thing?"
I thought about all of the times I'd heard Gabby say something malicious and intended to draw blood, making it a bad thing, indeed, but it wasn't the most prudent time to bring that up now. I decided to ignore the question completely, on the grounds that I didn't want to get struck by an errant thunderbolt for lying. "As I said, I need your help."
She nodded. "I will, if I can, and you know it."
"I'm looking into a possible connection between Patrick Blaine and anyone on the April Springs police force. Have you ever seen him chatting with any of them around town?"
She thought about it a moment, then nodded. "As a matter of fact, I did see him speaking with an officer once after dark in the park here in town. I thought it
looked odd at the time, but I'm afraid I just dismissed it out of hand."
"When did this happen?"
She stared at the ceiling of her shop for a full minute. "Unless I'm mistaken, which I highly doubt, it was two nights before the man was murdered. Do you think that's significant?"
"It might be," I admitted. "You didn't happen to see who it was, did you?"
"All the officers on the force look alike, the way they're dressed in uniforms. It wasn't the chief, but that's about all I can say for sure." She paused, then added, "I can ask around, if you'd like."
"Don't do anything too obvious," I said. "I'd hate for you to get the wrong kind of attention."
She patted my arm. "Dear child, I've been snooping so long, I've got it down to an art form. No one will even realize they are being grilled. Give me an hour, and I'll come find you next door."
I nodded. "Thanks, Gabby. I mean it."
She took my hands in hers. "Yes, I can see that you do."
When I left her shop, she was already on the telephone. Could it be that I'd been underutilizing a deep source of information about the activities of the residents of April Springs?
I glanced at my watch and saw that I had forty-one minutes of freedom left. How should I use it? Then I noticed a school bus parked in front of Donut Hearts. One look inside, and I saw that Emma was swamped behind the counter, a gaggle of elementary school students all vying for her attention at the same time.
"Okay, settle down," I said as I waded through
the crowd of kids in the shop. "I need you all to line up in an orderly fashion, or no one will be getting any donuts today."
A harried-looking teacher came out of the restroom in back. "What happened to my line, children? Do as the nice lady asks. Now."
They hadn't listened to me, or Emma, either, but this woman had managed to whip them into shape without raising her voice.
"How do you do that?" I asked her.
"They've learned to read me pretty well," she said. "When I stop smiling, they know it's time to straighten up. I'm Missy Dunbar."
I took her hand. "I'm Suzanne Hart. I own the donut shop."
She lowered her voice, and said, "Listen, I'm really sorry about barging in on you without any warning, but we were going to take the Krispy Kreme tour in Hickory, and the bus broke down. We missed our slot, so I was wondering if you'd mind stepping in."
It wasn't the most sincere compliment I'd ever gotten in my life, but she was in a jam, and I hated to disappoint all those little faces. "Sure, we can show them how we make donuts here."
I turned to Emma. "If you watch the front, I'll give the tour."
"That's a deal," she said. "Hey, Suzanne."
"Yes?"
"Thanks for coming back in, even after you saw the bus."
"You'd have done the same thing for me," I said.
"Don't be so sure," Emma said with a grin.
I took a deep breath, then clapped my hands.
"Listen up. Welcome to Donut Hearts, a place where we put a part of ourselves in every donut."
A little girl up front said, "That's gross. What part do you use?"
"Fingernails and belly fuzz," a little boy next to her said.
"Yuchhhh. I'm not eating that."
"And frog's legs," the little boy added with a malicious grin.
I knelt down in front of the little girl and said, "We use the same things your momma uses in her kitchen every day."
"My mommy's dead," the little girl said.
Great. I'd managed to put my foot into it again. "Then your daddy."
She giggled. "Daddy doesn't cook. We eat out a lot."
"Okay, so the folks who make your meals use the same ingredients I do." I saw that the little boy was about to say something, when I added, "Every boy and girl who listens and doesn't talk will get a special donut hole after we're finished. Okay?"
They cheered, and I saw the teacher nod her thanks. There was no comment from junior, and I hoped the lure of a donut hole was enough to keep him silent.
I led the group back into the kitchen, and said, "The first rule here is not to touch anything, okay?"
They nodded, and Miss Dunbar added, "If anyone misbehaves, there will be no snacktime for a week."
It was as if she'd instituted martial law. I wanted them quiet, not petrified, but it was her class, not mine.
I put on a tall chef's hat, though I usually just wore a hairnet when I worked. "Now, here is where we
store the flour we use. Can anyone guess what's inside a donut?"