Deadly Donuts by Jessica Beck Read Free Book Online

confidence.”
    “I appreciate that,” I said, hoping that my gut instinct that she was telling the truth was on the money.   “I just thought that it might bear repeating under the circumstances.”
    “Believe me, I get it,” she replied, though it was obvious she had been a little hurt by my statement.  
    So be it.
    I had a family to protect, and if some bruised feelings were the worst things that I caused, I would consider it a success.   I looked at our progress in the donut-making process, and I saw that I could leave the yeast dough in Emma’s hands when Momma showed up.   “Can you handle cutting out the donuts and bismarks with the wheels by yourself while I talk to my mother when she gets here?”
    “Of course,” she said.   “I can do it, but I won’t be nearly as fast as we are when we work together.   Should I call my mother in to lend us a hand this morning?”   Emma’s mother had stepped up and helped on the rare occasions I was away from Donut Hearts, and she’d said a dozen times over the years that she was available if we ever needed her again.
    “No, that shouldn’t be necessary.   I just need you to stay here and work while I have this chat up front.   If you need anything, improvise until I come back into the kitchen.   Do we understand each other?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” she said.
    “Thanks,” I answered, softening my stance a little and easing my voice.
    “I’m glad to do it.   No matter what happens, I don’t believe for a second that you or your mother are murderers,” Emma said.
    “I appreciate that, but I really don’t want to talk about it.   Do you understand?”
    “Absolutely.”
    I went up front to wait on Momma, and I saw her drive up.  
    Before she got out of the car, I met her at the door.   “Let’s chat outside at the table.”   The temperature was beginning to get uncomfortable, even though the sun wasn’t up yet, but it wasn’t unbearable, and we needed our privacy for this particular conversation.
    “That sounds prudent to me,” she said as she took a seat.   “I don’t suppose you have any coffee, do you?”
    “I’ll be right back.”   Inside, I grabbed two mugs, filled them up, and then rejoined my mother outside.
      My mother took a long sip, sighed, and then she said, “That is delightful.”
    “I’m glad you like it.   Now talk, Momma, and don’t leave anything out.”
    She nodded.   “I suppose we should have had this conversation years ago, but there never seemed to be a good time to do it.”
    “Right about now seems like the perfect opportunity to me,” I said.
    “Very well.”   It was clear that Momma was still reluctant to begin, but after a few moments, she sighed once, and then she began to explain.   “After your father and I were married just over seven years, we separated.”
    “What?” I asked incredulously, nearly coming out of my chair in reaction to her statement.
    “Suzanne, this will all go a great deal smoother if you keep your comments to yourself until I get through this.   There’s a reason that there’s a cliché surrounding the seven-year itch in marriage, and I’m afraid that your father had it.   At the time, he was dissatisfied with his life in general, including me, and so he moved out of April Springs to an apartment in Union Square, and it was seven months before he came home, begging me for my forgiveness.”
    “And you must have given it,” I said, forgetting her request that I keep silent, “since you two ended up together again.”
    “Oh, it was difficult enough swallowing my pride, but I finally found a way to do it.   I loved your father, and in a way, I understood his motivations.   But before I would let him come back home, I told him that I could forgive his behavior once, but that if he ever tried to leave again, we were through forever.   I wouldn’t recommend ultimatums for most couples, but it worked for us.   For the sake of our marriage’s fragile state,