Assault and Batter(13)
“I agree, but Debbie and her baby died in childbirth, and he’s never gotten over it. The man lost his wife to cancer, and then soon after, his daughter and granddaughter, all in the span of three months. It would be too much for anybody to stand.”
“What does Jude’s murder have to do with any of that?” I asked.
“Who do you think the baby’s father was?” the chief asked. “Jude denied it, but Debbie was positive. He rejected her completely, and Reggie believed that she lost the fight in her when Jude turned his back on her. The man doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder, either, so he’s near the top of my list.”
“I didn’t know about any of this,” I said. “I heard something around the edges, but I guess I was so busy trying to keep Max in line that I didn’t notice what was going on in town.”
“You had your hands full as it was,” the chief conceded. “Anyway, that’s all that I’ve got right now. If you hear anything else, let me know, okay?”
“Likewise,” I said.
Chief Martin stood and took another drink from his coffee cup. “I’d better get back out there and see what I can come up with.”
“Shouldn’t you go home and at least try to get a little sleep?” I asked.
“I’ve got a cot at the station I can use later,” he said. “Thanks again, for the coffee and the cooperation.”
“Anytime,” I said.
After the police chief was gone, I started my routine, turning on the fryer and getting out my photocopied recipe book. As I started the first round of cake donuts, I began to consider the possibilities of who might have killed Jude Williams and how this was going to impact the impending wedding. I was glad for the quiet, since Emma didn’t come in for a little while, but I was no closer to reaching any conclusions than I’d been after I’d heard the news. I hoped that Grace had some free time coming. I could use her help in my investigation.
“Did you hear the news?” Emma Blake asked me as she reported for work a little later. “Gabby’s nephew was murdered last night.” It wasn’t all that unusual for Emma to have information about the current events in April Springs, since her father ran the newspaper.
“I heard,” I said as I continued to work on the cake donuts. As far as I was concerned, Emma didn’t need to know about my arrangement with Chief Martin. As a matter of fact, it might not be a bad idea for me to keep that particular little tidbit to myself. After all, I doubted the chief would appreciate seeing the fact that he’d spoken with me about the case spread out across the front page of the newspaper.
“Man, news travels fast in a small town, doesn’t it?”
“You have no idea. Do you mind setting up the front?” I asked her. “I’m going to drop some donuts.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said as she beat a hasty retreat. Our donut dropper was large, clunky, and heavy. It had slipped out of my hands once, and I’d made a conscious decision not to fix the dent in the wall it had made on impact. It was a good reminder just how dangerous donut making could be. It also had the added benefit of ending a conversation with Emma that I didn’t particularly want to have. She frequently walked a fine line between being my assistant and being her father’s daughter, and she’d crossed it a few times in the past, sharing things with him that I hadn’t wanted known. I’d decided after the last incident to be a little more discreet about what I shared with her, and so far, it had worked out just fine. I hated to cut off a friend, but my ability to act freely depended on it. Folks had to feel able to speak with me about murder, and they wouldn’t do that if they started reading what they’d told me in the newspaper.
After I dropped the last of the cake donuts, I put the dropper in the sink and called out, “It’s all clear, Emma.”
She rejoined me promptly and got to work on the first round of dishes. As I pulled the last of the cake donuts from the oil and iced them, I said, “We should try something new. I’m afraid things might be getting a little stale around here. Do you have any ideas?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” she said as she reached in the pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out a tattered piece of paper.
“What’s that?” I asked her with a smile.
“It’s my list of new ideas,” she said. “Here goes. I’ll just read them off, and you tell me if anything sounds interesting to you. Mango Sherbet. Apricot Honey. Blueberry Jalapeño. Neapolitan. Ginger Ale and Strawberry. Pineapple Ham.”