Читать книгу Boston Scream Murder - Ginger Bolton - Страница 9

Chapter 3

I gave Cheryl a reassuring smile. “I’ll get your coffee and donut.”

In the kitchen, Tom and Nina were watching old-fashioned unraised donuts dancing among golden bubbles. Although Rich was conventionally handsome, I preferred Tom’s sturdy good looks. I said just loudly enough for him and Nina to hear, “The Boston Screamer’s name is Richmond P. Royalson the Third, call me Rich. Does that ring a bell?”

Nina shook her head.

Tom lifted the basket of donuts out of the oil and spoke quietly. “About twenty years ago, his wife drowned in Lake Fleekom.”

Nina and I moved closer to Tom.

He hung the basket on the side of the fryer to drain. “I was a patrol cop and not involved with the investigation, but I remember it.” He lowered another basket into the oil. “That fall was colder than this one, and the lake was slushy. She overturned her canoe. There were no witnesses. She was supposedly a good swimmer, but she was wearing heavy clothing and boots. Between hypothermia and waterlogged clothing, she didn’t make it to shore. The last I knew, Royalson was the manager of the Fallingbrook Mercantile Bank. I never met the man.”

Nina tilted her head. “I would have thought that bank managers and police chiefs would, I don’t know, hang out together or join the same men’s clubs.”

“Not this police chief,” Tom stated emphatically. “I prefer being home with my wife and my woodworking toys. I mean tools.”

Near the front of the dining area, Cheryl smiled stonily at the widower waving his arms and shouting words like “Boston,” “New England,” and “lobster.” I told Tom and Nina, “He wants a Boston cream donut for Cheryl, not a Boston scream donut, and he wants us to double the fudge frosting. He ordered today’s special coffee for her.”

Nina turned toward the coffee makers. “I’ll get the coffee.”

I sliced a round raised donut without a hole in it and slathered a double load of frosting on the top half. It was impossible to eat these extravagant treats neatly, and the cream filling I dolloped on the lower half wasn’t going to help. I carefully balanced the top of the donut on the cream filling. Nina took the coffee and donut to Cheryl while I spread extra fudge frosting on the top halves of donuts. They did look and smell even better than the ones with less frosting.

Nina returned from Cheryl and Rich’s table. She carved screaming faces into the thicker fudge frosting. She and Tom agreed that we could easily make the extra donuts for Rich’s party the next morning in time for me to deliver them at eleven fifty-five.

Tom told us, “You two will be careful visiting Royalson at his cottage this evening, won’t you.” 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 get hurt.

The carafe in my hand was becoming heavy. I held it in front of me like a shield. “Sir,” I said to Derek, “if you’re not going to sit down and stop harassing other customers, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Derek turned one hand into a fake revolver, pointed it at Rich, and stated, “You’re going to be sorry for stealing Terri. And she’s going to be sorry she ever snuck around behind my back and made a fool of me.” He marched to the door. Chains on the backs of his scuffed black boots clanked. He slapped the door open with one hand against the glass and stomped outside.

Shoulders shaking, Terri ran toward the ladies’ room.

The other customers in Deputy Donut had been quietly observing the drama. Now they chattered, leaning toward other tables to talk to people whether they knew them or not. Wherever Derek had gone, his ears must have been burning. Cheryl caught my eye, gave her head a quick shake, and mouthed, “Wow.”

I retrieved the two mugs, went to Rich’s table, and poured coffee for him and his date.

Rich’s face was almost purple, and a pulse beat in his neck. He handed me an envelope and spoke quietly but jerkily, as if his anger was affecting his breathing. “The directions to my cottage and the key to the back door are in the envelope. The renovations are a surprise for Terri. I have a date with her tonight, so I can’t meet you at my cottage. Is your talented assistant coming with you, Nina Lapeer?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent! I called one of my former banking clients and told him about her. He has important contacts in the art world, and he trusts my good taste. He’s interested in seeing Nina Lapeer’s work. What do you think of that?”

I gave him a genuine smile. “I like it. Thank you.”

“Hey, I do what I can to help others, especially up-and-comers. That painting of hers that you’re displaying—is it for sale?”

“It is.”

“I’m going to think about where I could put it. It’s too big for any wall in my cottage, but maybe it would fit in my house. What do you think about that idea?”

“It’s great. You can contact The Craft Croft to make the arrangements.”

“Will do. It should be a good investment. That’s the name of my game—quality investments. I’ve done very well with them, so when it comes to renovating my cottage, money’s no object. You and Nina can suggest whatever luxuries you think renters and Terri and I might like, especially in the kitchen. And Nina should keep in mind that I could be in the market for a smaller painting, maybe to go on the wall above the fireplace.”

“I’ll tell her.” I would have to thank Cheryl for causing Rich to visit Deputy Donut.

“I’ll have a look at The Craft Croft to see if I want to buy any of her other work. Meanwhile, you’re bringing donuts to my party tomorrow at eleven fifty-five, aren’t you?”

I tucked the envelope into one of my apron’s wide front pockets. “Yes.”

“You can return the key to me at the party. Tonight, while you’re figuring out what I should have my contractors do, take a platter out of one of the upper kitchen cupboards near the sink. It’s a big platter, so it’s probably near the bottom of the stack. Be careful. It’s fragile, but it’s decorated with sailboats and will be perfect for you to arrange your donuts on. Now, what do you think of that? Perfection!”

I wasn’t sure what I thought of a version of perfection that involved platters at the bottom of undoubtedly teetery stacks of breakable dishes, but I answered, “It sounds good.”

“After the party, you and Nina and I can meet at the cottage and discuss your ideas, and if she has any suitable paintings, she should bring them. Tomorrow night at seven? My party will be over by then.” He quoted what he would pay us. “Plus, I might buy a painting. Or several.”

I decided that I didn’t mind spending the next two evenings playing with decorating and renovating ideas. It should be fun, and Nina could use the publicity. If what Rich had said about telling a former client about her work was true, he’d already been promoting her. I gave him a big smile.

Terri came toward us. She frowned. Her redone makeup did not conceal her red eyes and puffy eyelids.

Rich patted my arm. “Mum’s the word,” he whispered.

I started toward Cheryl and Steve’s table.

Rich pulled out Terri’s chair. She didn’t sit down. “What were you two talking about?” Her voice was shrill.

Rich answered quickly and loudly, “Tomorrow’s party. But don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Let’s leave, Richie. I don’t feel safe here. He might come back.”

“Rich,” he corrected her.

“Rich.”

I asked Cheryl and Steve if I could bring them anything else. They didn’t have time to answer. Instead of escorting Terri outside, Rich brought her to Cheryl and Steve’s table. “Cheryl, meet Terri. Terri, meet Cheryl.” He looked pointedly at Steve. “And you are?”

“Steve Quail.”

“Well, Steve Quail, congratulations on dating such a sweet little lady. And Cheryl, I hope there are no hard feelings. Since the time two weeks ago that you and I arranged our date for this morning, I reconnected with Terri. I thought I’d lost her years ago. I didn’t want to disappoint you, Cheryl, by breaking my date with you, so I came here to meet you this morning, anyway. Isn’t it great how things turn out?” Cheryl opened her mouth, but before she said anything, Rich announced in hearty and patronizing tones, “You’ve already found someone else.”

Both Cheryl and Steve blushed. Cheryl regained her composure first. “It’s okay, Rich.”

Rich squinted at Steve. “Have we met before? I was a bank manager, with dozens of people coming into my corner office every day.”

Steve looked as uncomfortable as I might be if someone as boomingly annoying as Rich publicly claimed to have a connection with me. But then, Steve’s blush at Rich’s assumption that he and Cheryl were already a couple hadn’t yet subsided. “I don’t think so,” Steve said.

“Tell you what,” Rich burst out. “We can all be friends. I’m having a birthday party tomorrow out at Lake Fleekom. First house you come to at the lake. Noon, for lunch and the afternoon. Why don’t you two join us? No presents, only good wishes.”

Terri nodded. “Yes.” She didn’t exactly sound sincere.

Cheryl glanced at Steve as if for confirmation, then said quietly, “Thank you, Rich. That would be nice.”

Terri reminded Rich, “We were leaving.”

He escorted her out. She had not touched her coffee or her lavishly frosted Boston cream donut.