There was something clean and honest about hardworking hands. Besides,I always chipped my polish and with my hands in dough every day it really wasn’t the best to cover my fingers with polish. “Baked donuts are healthier,” I said. “Besides, I don’t have a fryer.”
“You should invest in one.” Grandma nodded. “You could fry everything from donuts to fruit to candy bars. I bet they would sell better, too.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledged. “But I think there’s enough sugar and fat in gluten-free food without frying. Besides, I read somewhere that a fried diet was responsible for an increase in stroke risk.”
“A person has to die sometime,” Grandma said. “At least I’d die happy.”
I raised my right eyebrow and put my hands on my hips. “You don’t have to eat my pastries.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with your baked goods. They’re good . . . and they’re baked. Just saying you should get a fryer, too.”
“Grandma, why are you here?” I returned to mixing cookie dough.
“They identified the body,” Grandma declared. “It was Harold Petry.”
CHAPTER 5
“H ow do you know it was Harold Petry?” I asked. Harold was Tim’s best friend. I think I would have recognized him. Of course, I hadn’t seen him in four years, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t know him when I saw him. Did it?
Besides, Tim would have definitely known him. Hadn’t they shown Tim pictures of the dead guy?
“I can’t reveal my sources,” Grandma said and slurped her coffee. “Tim’s going to be a wreck when he finds out.”
I bit my bottom lip. “It can’t be Harold. Both Tim and I would have known it was him.”
“They showed Tim pictures of the body?” Grandma asked with a scowl. She shook her head. “It’s going to kill Tim. It was definitely Harold,” Grandma stated. “Dental records and fingerprints ID’d him.”
“But Harold was a heavy guy with dirty-blond hair. . . .”
“The kid lost a lot of weight lately. He claimed that he found a miracle weight-loss drug.” Grandma drummed herlong square fingers on the red Formica top of the table. “The kid tried to sell me some, but I refused to fall for that a second time.”
“Fall for what?”
“The weight-loss thing,” Grandma said. “Back in the day my doctor told me cigarettes would keep me slender. We all know how that turned out. Besides I think whatever he was selling made his hair fall out. He tried to cover it up with a bad comb-over but he wasn’t fooling anyone.”
“Do you think Harold was dealing drugs?” I finished making the pistachio cookies and put the dough in the fridge to chill. Then I grabbed a chilled bowl of oatmeal raisin dough and scooped the dough out of the bowl and onto oversized aluminum cookie sheets. Oatmeal raisin cookies were a staple in the bakery. I baked mine soft so that they were chewy and large enough that the little kids had to use two hands to hold them.
“I have no idea,” Grandma said. “Are those donuts done yet? Or do I have to go snitch a couple from the counter?”
I put the cookie sheet in the top oven and checked the donut pan in the bottom. “These look done.” As I pulled them out, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the air. “They’re hot,” I said. “When they cool, I’ll throw a couple in frosting for you.”
The fastest way to frost donuts was to literally toss them into a tub of frosting, twist, and set them on a wire rack long enough for the frosting to set. I had made a batch of cream cheese frosting for the donuts and the carrot cake cupcakes I planned to make before noon.
“I’m just saying the kid lost something like eighty pounds and claimed it was a miracle pill he took.” Grandma watched as I popped the donuts out of the pan to cool. “You don’t have to frost the first one. I’ll sacrifice and eat it plain.”
“Well, he didn’t die of an overdose,” I said. “There was blood everywhere. I’m certain he
“You should invest in one.” Grandma nodded. “You could fry everything from donuts to fruit to candy bars. I bet they would sell better, too.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledged. “But I think there’s enough sugar and fat in gluten-free food without frying. Besides, I read somewhere that a fried diet was responsible for an increase in stroke risk.”
“A person has to die sometime,” Grandma said. “At least I’d die happy.”
I raised my right eyebrow and put my hands on my hips. “You don’t have to eat my pastries.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with your baked goods. They’re good . . . and they’re baked. Just saying you should get a fryer, too.”
“Grandma, why are you here?” I returned to mixing cookie dough.
“They identified the body,” Grandma declared. “It was Harold Petry.”
CHAPTER 5
“H ow do you know it was Harold Petry?” I asked. Harold was Tim’s best friend. I think I would have recognized him. Of course, I hadn’t seen him in four years, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t know him when I saw him. Did it?
Besides, Tim would have definitely known him. Hadn’t they shown Tim pictures of the dead guy?
“I can’t reveal my sources,” Grandma said and slurped her coffee. “Tim’s going to be a wreck when he finds out.”
I bit my bottom lip. “It can’t be Harold. Both Tim and I would have known it was him.”
“They showed Tim pictures of the body?” Grandma asked with a scowl. She shook her head. “It’s going to kill Tim. It was definitely Harold,” Grandma stated. “Dental records and fingerprints ID’d him.”
“But Harold was a heavy guy with dirty-blond hair. . . .”
“The kid lost a lot of weight lately. He claimed that he found a miracle weight-loss drug.” Grandma drummed herlong square fingers on the red Formica top of the table. “The kid tried to sell me some, but I refused to fall for that a second time.”
“Fall for what?”
“The weight-loss thing,” Grandma said. “Back in the day my doctor told me cigarettes would keep me slender. We all know how that turned out. Besides I think whatever he was selling made his hair fall out. He tried to cover it up with a bad comb-over but he wasn’t fooling anyone.”
“Do you think Harold was dealing drugs?” I finished making the pistachio cookies and put the dough in the fridge to chill. Then I grabbed a chilled bowl of oatmeal raisin dough and scooped the dough out of the bowl and onto oversized aluminum cookie sheets. Oatmeal raisin cookies were a staple in the bakery. I baked mine soft so that they were chewy and large enough that the little kids had to use two hands to hold them.
“I have no idea,” Grandma said. “Are those donuts done yet? Or do I have to go snitch a couple from the counter?”
I put the cookie sheet in the top oven and checked the donut pan in the bottom. “These look done.” As I pulled them out, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the air. “They’re hot,” I said. “When they cool, I’ll throw a couple in frosting for you.”
The fastest way to frost donuts was to literally toss them into a tub of frosting, twist, and set them on a wire rack long enough for the frosting to set. I had made a batch of cream cheese frosting for the donuts and the carrot cake cupcakes I planned to make before noon.
“I’m just saying the kid lost something like eighty pounds and claimed it was a miracle pill he took.” Grandma watched as I popped the donuts out of the pan to cool. “You don’t have to frost the first one. I’ll sacrifice and eat it plain.”
“Well, he didn’t die of an overdose,” I said. “There was blood everywhere. I’m certain he
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