Dying for a Donut (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 5) Read online

  “Why would you arrest that boy?” Gran asked. “He was only trying to keep your son’s mitts off my great-granddaughter.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Axel looked as confused as I felt. “This has nothing to do with Eric. I discovered Tony has been stealing from me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “That’s impossible,” Jenna cried. “Tony would never steal from anyone.”

  “Your loyalty to your coworker is admirable.” Axel’s bushy reddish-blond brows drew together in a frown. “But I’d appreciate the same loyalty to your employer.”

  “What did the kid steal?” Gran asked.

  “Several hundred dollars, according to my son. And this isn’t the first time. The cider house receipts were short a few weeks ago, too.”

  “But, but…” Jenna sputtered, but our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a deeply-bronzed, middle-aged man sporting the farm’s logo shirt, stained jeans and a matching red ball cap. He whispered something in Axel’s ear then walked off.

  “I’m sorry, ladies, but I need to address a few issues with Brent.” Axel thrust his bearded chin toward the man he’d just spoken with. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.” He strode off to a large warehouse across the huge parking lot.

  “That’s so unfair,” Jenna complained. “Tony would never steal.”

  “I’m sure Axel wouldn’t accuse your friend of taking the money if he didn’t have proof,” I said. “And it could be worse. He could turn Tony over to the police.”

  “Still sucks,” Gran muttered. “I have half a mind to throw away these donuts Axel gave us.”

  I glared at her, and she smiled at me with frosting-glazed lips. “Don’t worry, Laurel, my smart half would never let me do anything so drastic.”

  On that note, we all piled into my geriatric Prius. During the ten-minute drive down Highway 50 from Camino to Placerville, Jenna lamented about the unfairness of life in general and Axel Thorson in particular. I commiserated with her, but the situation was beyond my control.

  When we arrived at Gran’s turn-of-the-century Victorian, I noticed my ex-husband, Hank, standing on the front porch, the embodiment of things completely beyond my control. He was dressed in what he took to be sartorial splendor: a clean pressed blue shirt, khaki trousers and a navy-blue print tie. Hank was either going to a wedding or a funeral.

  When a powder-blue convertible pulled up to the curb, driven by an attractive longhaired brunette, I realized a third option existed. He was going on a date.

  Since our divorce four years ago, Hank had attempted to woo me back into his life. He finally realized a few months ago that we would not be getting back together. Ever. Although it took a long time for the hurt to dissipate, I’d eventually forgiven him for leaving me for one of his clients. We now maintain an amicable parental relationship.

  Besides, I’m in a committed relationship with Detective Tom Hunter, although I hadn’t seen my honey in over four weeks. In the two short years Tom has worked for the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Office, he so impressed the Sheriff that he’d recently been assigned to a joint strategic task force in Reno comprised of participants from law enforcement agencies from all parts of the country.

  The case was so super-secret that Tom hadn’t spilled any details during our pillow talks. Unfortunately, those conversations only occurred via our phone calls––Tom in his Reno hotel room and me in my lonely king-size bed with my multi-colored cat, Pumpkin. A girl’s gotta cuddle something.

  Gran greeted Hank, and he bent over to kiss her cheek.

  “Hey, Roomie,” she said, “looks like you’re ready for a hot date.” She smirked at him and he winked back. Hank had moved into Gran’s house over the summer. The two of them made the original Odd Couple look almost normal by comparison, but their peculiar living arrangement seemed to work for them. Hank, a general contractor, fixed all the things Gran broke on a daily basis. Gran loved to cook and bake, and Hank loved to eat and, well, eat some more.

  Jenna exchanged hugs with her father. While the two of them bonded, I stood off to the side, arms folded across my ample chest, watching as the driver of the convertible slid one long, tanned leg out of the car, followed by a matching one. As the woman straightened and smoothed down her snug silk wrap dress, I recognized her as Brooke Martin, a local CPA.

  Brooke fluttered slender fingers in our direction. Hank waved back indicating she should join us on the front porch. She sauntered up the driveway looking more like a runway model than an accountant. Not that I was jealous of her tall slim frame. I was perfectly happy with my chubby cheeks and hips.

  Yep. Perfectly. Content.

  Although I still sucked in my donut-filled stomach.

  Brooke smiled at us then moved in for a lip lock that might have gone on forever if Gran hadn’t nudged Hank with the pink box of donuts.

  Hmmm. This was obviously not a first date situation. I’d have to get the scoop from Gran later on. As Hank reached for the cardboard box, he laid his swamp-green eyes on me and did a double take.

  “Laurel, what happened to you?” he asked. “You look like you ran into the wrong end of a fist.”

  “It was an accident,” Jenna said. “Mom’s face was in the wrong place.”

  “Obviously.” Hank snickered.

  Gran pointed at the donuts. “Axel tried to sweeten the situation.”

  Hank lifted the cover of the box and reached inside, but before he could grab anything, Brooke pushed his hand away. “We need to get going, sweetie,” she said. “The fundraiser begins in a half hour.”

  Hank reluctantly returned the donuts to Gran before he transferred his attention back to me. “Hey, the four of us should double date sometime.”

  Yep. Double dating with my ex and his girlfriend was definitely on my top ten list of fun things to do.

  Right behind a colonoscopy.

  Hank kissed Jenna on her cheek. “I have a meeting in Camino tomorrow so I can stop by Apple Tree Farm and drive you home. Give your mother a break. What time do you get off?”

  “They changed my hours for tomorrow.” She threw a sideways glance at me. “I work from six until noon.

  “Six? In the morning? Are you kidding?” I yelped. “You need your own car.”

  Jenna beamed at me. “Awesome. How soon can we get it?”

  I watched as her father ushered his girlfriend down the driveway before I replied, “As soon as your father can pay for one.”

  Before the sun rose the next morning, Jenna and I were zipping up Highway 50 for the short commute from our Placerville home to Apple Tree Farm.

  I signaled then made a left turn off the freeway followed by another left onto Carson Road. The warning light on my gas gauge turned yellow, indicating a refill would be necessary. I sipped the coffee in my travel mug and pondered the wisdom of driving Jenna back and forth to a job that barely paid minimum wage. But teens must start somewhere, and her paltry paychecks contributed to her college fund. When your daughter maintains an A plus average, she deserves as much assistance as a mother can give. Even if it meant sunrise to sunset chauffeur service.

  We pulled into the parking lot, deserted except for a newer model black Mercedes.

  I shut off the engine. Jenna rested her head against the passenger window. I couldn’t tell if she was depressed about going to work or if she’d fallen asleep. She rolled both shoulders then peered out her window.

  “Are we early?” she asked. “I only see Axel’s car. We got here fast.”

  It’s easy to make good time when no one else is cruising up the hill at such an ungodly hour. Even God was probably still reclining in bed, swiping at his or her snooze button.

  A bright light shining out of the window of the warehouse caught my attention. “Is that Axel’s office?” I asked.

  “Yeah, although he’s not usually here before six. Axel’s not so bad. It’s his son that’s the problem.”

  Another vehicle pulled into the employee lot. Nina, the bakery
manager, stepped out of an older model SUV. Her long gray braid swung down her back as she reached over into the passenger seat. She yanked out a well-worn cloth purse, threw it over her shoulder and slammed the door shut. Nina waved, indicating Jenna should follow her into the bakery.

  “I’ll see you later,” Jenna said. “Assuming I don’t get fired, too.”

  “Honey, don’t worry about what happened yesterday. I’ll go talk to Axel right now. It might be a good time to catch him before the place fills up with tourists.”

  Jenna gnawed on her lower lip. “Okay, but don’t make him mad. I don’t want to lose this job.”

  “Are you kidding? Discretion is my middle name.”

  That remark finally elicited a smile from Jenna. She climbed out of the car and followed Nina into the bakery. I brushed my unruly reddish-brown curls in an attempt to make my hair look presentable, then eased myself out of the driver’s seat.

  Even though the sky had lightened to a pale bluish-gray, it was chilly this early in the day. I shivered and zipped up my lightweight fleece jacket. The cedar-scented air smelled fresh, hinting of autumn’s approach. I trotted across the parking lot hopeful Axel wouldn’t mind the early morning interruption. He might even have a fresh pot of coffee going. That thought put a smile on my face and increased the speed in my feet.

  I reached the large red-sided, metal-roofed structure that housed Axel’s office as well as the warehouse. He didn’t answer when I knocked so I peeked through the partially open mini-blinds. The room appeared well lit but unoccupied. He must be somewhere else in the building.

  I contemplated getting back in my car and driving home, but I hated to miss this opportunity to conduct a mother to father discussion about Eric’s unacceptable behavior. Maybe I could catch Axel somewhere else on the grounds.

  I strolled around the building and spotted a door standing ajar. The interior lighting was dim, and as I pushed on the door, I softly called out Axel’s name. No need to startle him.

  I walked down a narrow corridor lined with wall-to-wall boxes and empty crates stacked on both sides. It led to another corridor to the right. I called Axel’s name again, this time a little louder.

  I entered the cavernous storage facility. Enormous bags of sugar and flour were stacked on metal shelves next to supersized boxes of napkins and paper plates. Along with crates filled with apples and pears. A fine dusting of a white substance coated the concrete surface. My size nine Nikes skidded across the slick floor.

  I stopped and barely avoided crashing into a large white object sprawled on the floor next to the shelving. Seconds later, I realized I was face to face with Axel Thorson, covered from head to toe with a blanket of powdered sugar.

  I cringed as Axel’s lifeless blue eyes stared up at me in accusation.

  The Donut King was no more.

  .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I gazed in disbelief at the bakery owner. His hair, moustache and beard, saturated with powdered sugar, gave him the look of a frosted Colonel Sanders.

  Unfortunately, this was not a finger-licking moment.

  I knelt down and placed a finger on Axel’s carotid artery, but nothing pulsed back at me. To be sure, I rested my head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat, but I only succeeded in acquiring a layer of white stuff in my nose. I sneezed and powdered sugar flew everywhere.

  Great. I’d probably contaminated a potential crime scene by sneezing evidence all over the place. I stood and surveyed the vast space. Was I jumping to conclusions?

  Axel could have suffered a heart attack and accidentally knocked over the fifty-pound bag of powdered sugar from one of the shelves, which broke open after it landed on top of him. But Axel was only a year or two younger than me so that scenario seemed doubtful.

  I reached for Axel’s hand. It felt ice-cold, even colder than the chill enveloping my entire frame. My eyes moved to a rolling pin resting against the wall. Maybe he’d tripped on the heavy object.

  Or maybe someone used the utensil for something other than rolling out pie dough.

  My stomach clenched at the thought an assailant could still be on the premises. I scanned the room but didn’t detect another presence. Which still didn’t quiet my nerves. I reached into my purse, grabbed my cell and dialed 9-1-1, my teeth chattering louder than a band of chipmunks. The dispatcher assured me the ambulance should arrive in less than ten minutes. I told them to notify the sheriff’s office as well.

  Waiting alone in the vast warehouse did nothing to allay my growing fears, but it didn’t seem right to desert Axel. Common decency overrode common sense in this situation. When the sound of sirens finally pealed in the distance, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  I retraced my steps through the building and ran to the parking lot. I greeted the two paramedics, one of whom I remembered meeting when my grandmother fell a few months ago.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The expression on the EMT’s dusky face grew puzzled when he noticed my white-caked hands and cheeks. “Actually, you look like a ghost. What’s going on?”

  I haltingly explained the situation, and they took off for the warehouse. By now, the sirens had drawn the attention of the bakery staff. Both my daughter and her boss were headed in my direction.

  Jenna reached me first. “Mom, what’s happening?” she asked, her eyes wide and frightened. “Are you okay?”

  I grabbed her hands, which were almost as white as mine, although her palms were coated with flour. She must have been preparing the first batch of donuts. Jenna’s worry made me forget my own concerns.

  “I’m afraid something’s happened to Axel,” I said, wondering how to break the news to them.

  Nina placed a powdery palm over her heart, leaving a white handprint on the Apple Tree Farm logo. “Mercy me, will he be okay?”

  “I’m sorry. He’s…” The sound of additional sirens rolling up the long drive drowned out my reply.

  Nina’s eyes welled with tears. From what I recalled, Nina had run Apple Tree Farm’s bakery for over thirty years, starting back when Thor Thorson, Axel’s father had been in charge. I wrapped a sympathetic arm around Nina’s waist while Jenna peppered me with medical questions, courtesy of watching Grey’s Anatomy for years. None of which I could answer, or would answer, until the police investigated the scene.

  A few minutes later, a squad car and a plain tan sedan squealed to a halt next to my Prius. Two El Dorado County Sheriff’s Deputies jumped out of the official vehicle. A female dressed in a practical navy pantsuit, who sported an equally practical short chestnut-brown haircut, climbed out of the other car. She glanced in our direction then spoke briefly to the officers. They approached our small gathering, the two six-foot-plus deputies dwarfing the woman who looked to be close to my height and age.

  “I’m Detective Reynolds,” she introduced herself. “Who called 911?”

  “That was me,” I said. “I found the body, I mean Axel, in that building over there.” I pointed toward the large warehouse, now bathed in bright sunshine. An ominous gray sky seemed more appropriate for this sad situation.

  “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

  “Well, I touched Axel,” I admitted. “To make sure he was as dead as he looked.”

  She mumbled something about “amateurs” under her breath before she addressed the two deputies.

  Hey, I wasn’t an amateur when it came to finding dead bodies. Not that I planned to add that to my Facebook profile.

  “Deputy Everett will take your statements,” she said to Nina and Jenna. “You follow me,” she ordered as she hiked across the parking lot, not even glancing back to see if I was heeding her command. But I was used to following official orders. Most of the time.

  I could visualize my detective boyfriend silently shaking with laughter at that comment. I sure wished he was still in charge of homicide instead of away on his secret detail.

  Detective Reynolds led the way, and I reluctantly followed after her and the other
deputy. They stopped as soon as they reached the open door to the warehouse.

  Reynolds glared at my blurred footprints. “What were you doing in this building?”

  “I needed to discuss a situation with Axel that involved my daughter.”

  Her head whipped around so fast I thought she’d get whiplash, although her hair remained smooth and in place. I’d have to find out what products she used. Later on, after she warmed up to me.

  Which, given her cheery personality, could take a decade or two.

  “What kind of situation?” she asked.

  “Axel’s son has been harassing Jenna, but she was afraid to mention it to Axel. She didn’t want to lose her job.”

  Reynolds narrowed her eyes, causing me to wonder if Jenna and I had just been elevated to the suspect pool.

  “We’ll talk more. Stay,” she commanded as if ordering a pet spaniel at home.

  I stood outside the door while a parade of crime scene techs entered the building, followed by the departure of the paramedics.

  How soon would an official contact the Thorson family to inform them of the sad news? It would be horrible if Eric arrived for work and learned about his father’s death. And poor Dorie Thorson. What a tragedy to lose her husband so young.

  After twenty minutes had passed, I decided I was done playing the waiting game. For all I knew, the detective had forgotten about me. I was concerned about my daughter. The death, a possible murder of her boss, isn’t something a teenager encounters every day. Jenna’s needs took precedence over the detective’s.

  I plodded across the dew-laden grass and reached the asphalt parking lot, now filled with additional squad cars and forensic personnel. I waved at a young deputy whose path had crossed mine on a few occasions.

  “Ms. McKay, it’s nice to see you,” said Deputy Mengelkoch. “Well, not really, I mean, it’s not that nice,” he stammered, his face reddening.

  “This isn’t how I anticipated my morning turning out either,” I said. “It looks like the entire Sheriff’s Office is here. Can I speak to my daughter?”