Raspberry Revenge by Jessica Beck

start, so I had to get Dad to give me a ride.”
    “I bet he loved getting out of a warm bed to do that,” I said.
    “Are you kidding? He’s been up all night getting ready to put a special edition out. I’m not sure what he’s going to write, but I saw a glimpse of his headline.”
    “What does it say?” I asked as I moved the donuts to a drip rack before I placed them on trays.
    “Murder Hits Home Again.”
    “That’s not bad,” I said.
    “You should have seen some of the ones he crossed out. Councilman Killed in Mayor’s Chair, Harley’s Homicide, and my favorite, No One Is Safe From The April Springs Killer.”
    “That’s a little long for a headline, isn’t it?” I asked as I shook my head. None of them had surprised me. Ray Blake’s little newspaper was mostly a flyer for store ads and classifieds, but he aspired to be an investigative reporter, and sometimes it showed a little too clearly in the issues he published.
    “That’s the only reason he killed it,” she said. “Is the rumor I heard true?”
    “Which rumor might that be?” I asked her, careful not to say too much.
    “That George is on the run,” she said.
    “Not as far as I know.”
    “But he’s missing, right?”
    “I don’t know if you could say that he’s missing,” I said carefully.
    “But you don’t know where he is.”
    “Who’s asking, my assistant or the newspaper publisher’s daughter?” Emma and I walked a fine line when we discussed my investigations, and we’d learned, through painful trial and error, when not to cross it.
    “Suzanne, I promise you that this is all strictly off the record,” she said earnestly. “I never discuss our conversations with my father in any way, shape, or form anymore.”
    “I know that,” I said. “George isn’t in town, but that doesn’t mean that he had anything to do with Harley’s murder, no matter how it might look.”
    “I don’t think he did it, either,” she said. “Are you and Grace digging into Harley’s homicide, since it ties in so closely with the mayor? I know how close you all are.”
    “We might be,” I said.
    “Good,” Emma answered. “George Morris is a good guy in my book, and a great mayor. I’d hate to see this ruin him when it wasn’t his fault.”
    “I would, too,” I said.
    Emma sighed, and then she looked at the dishes I’d already piled up for her. “Well, those bowls aren’t going to wash themselves, are they? This morning, I’m kind of looking forward to burying my hands in some hot and soapy water.”
    “See what you can do in twenty minutes,” I said. “By then I’ll have the yeast dough ready for its first raise and we can take our break outside, if it’s not too cold for you this morning.”
    “I wouldn’t let a little chill in the air stop me,” she said, “and you know it.”

    We enjoyed our break outside, but soon enough, it was time to go back in and continue the process of making our yeast donuts. I’d had my eye on a new cutter that cut out donuts in the shape of Christmas wreaths, but I’d lost the online auction for it. On a lark, I’d bid on one that made Santas, but they hadn’t turned out as well as I’d hoped. Maybe I’d try again in July, when the seasonal cutters weren’t such a hot item, if anyone had one for sale. Finally, two minutes before we were set to open shop for the day, I was adjusting the last tray in the display case, having just finished setting up the cash register, when there was a knock at our front door. Ever since I’d pushed my opening to seven, folks got impatient for me to let them in, and on cold mornings like we were experiencing now, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to refuse anyone’s plea for sanctuary from the chill.
    I wasn’t expecting to see who was standing out there tapping, though.
    Grinning as though he didn’t have a care in the world was our missing mayor himself, George Morris.

    “Where on earth have you been?” I asked George as I opened the door