Maple Frosted Murder (Donut Hole 2) by Susan Gillard

pick up donuts for your friends, let me know, and
I’ll throw in a box for the nurses.”
     
    “You’re
very kind,” Eva said, smiling.  “Thank you again.”
     
    Heather
watched the elderly woman make her slow but steady way to the door.  “52
years,” she mumbled to herself.  “Wow.”  Too bad she and her ex-husband, Don,
hadn’t lasted 52 years. 
     
    Would
Sheila and Stan have lasted 52 years? she wondered, as she turned back towards
the kitchen.  Doubtful. 
     
    Speaking
of Sheila…she still needed to ask Ryan about the suspects’ alibis for the night
of the murder.
     
     

Chapter 8
     
    She
got her opportunity when the door opened, and a gust of wind blew Ryan inside. 
“Wow, it’s brisk out there,” he said.
     
    “You’re
a Southern boy, aren’t you?” she asked.
     
    “Born
and bred right here in Texas,” he said.  “You from somewhere else?”
     
    “I
lived in New York for a few years,” she said.
     
    “Ah. 
Then you’re not impressed by what we call ‘winter.’”
     
    She
smiled.  “Not so much.  It’s nice not to have to deal with snow and ice,
though.  So, how may I help you?  Are you back for more donuts?”
     
    “And
a large coffee.  You may not be cold, but I am.”
     
    “What
kind of donut would you like?” she asked as she reached for the coffee pot and
a cup.
     
    “Hmm.” 
He walked up and down in front of the glass display cases, peering into them,
until she set the cup of coffee on top of the case next to him.  “I can’t
decide,” he said finally.  “What do you recommend?”
     
    “Try
the White Christmas,” she suggested.  “Frosted in white vanilla frosting with
peppermint crumbles.”
     
    “I’ll
try it,” he said.
    “Are
you going to be eating here, or getting these to go?”
     
    “Here,
I think.”
     
    “Good. 
I have some questions for you.”
     
    “I’m
not surprised.”
     
    “Have
a seat, and I’ll bring your order to you.”
     
    “Thank
you,” he said.  He chose a table by the window as she placed the donut on a
plate and then put the plate and the coffee cup on a small tray along with a
thick paper napkin.
     
    “I
remembered you like your coffee black,” she said as she set the tray on his
table and sat down across from him.
     
    “Thanks,”
he said as he dug into the donut.
     
    “I
try to make it a practice to remember all my customers’ likes and dislikes,”
she said.
     
    He
nodded, his mouth full.
     
    “So
is that what you’re going to be?  A regular customer?”
     
    Ryan
chewed deliberately, tried to swallow the bite, and choked.  He took a sip of
coffee to help wash it down, coughed a few times, then looked at her.  “Maybe,”
he said.  “You said you had some questions?”
     
    “I
was just wondering who had an alibi for the night Stan was murdered.”
    “I
did, for one,” he said.  “So you can be sure I didn’t kill him.”
     
    She
rolled her eyes.  “I suppose you were out partying where a hundred people saw you?”
     
    “No,”
he said slowly.  “I was at the emergency vet clinic with my cat.  She choked on
a chicken bone that she got to before I had a chance to throw them out.”
     
    “Cat? 
You like cats?”
     
    “Bella
was my wife’s cat.”
     
    “Your
wife?  I didn’t know you were married,” she said, glancing at his ring finger. 
It was bare.
     
    “I’m
not,” he said.  “I’m widowed.”
     
    “Oh. 
I’m sorry,” she said simply.
     
    “Thank
you.  Now, as for your question.  You want to know which suspects had an alibi
for the night Stan was murdered.  Why don’t you tell me whom you consider a
suspect, and we’ll go from there?”
     
    “Stan’s
wife.  Sheila.”
     
    “She
has an alibi,” he said.  “She was the one who was out partying where a hundred
people saw her.”
     
    “How
about Rob Gingrich, Stan’s accountant?”
     
    “At
some sort of meeting with a bunch of other accountants.”
    “What
about