off a piece, she popped it in her mouth, the donut’s former allure suddenly restored to its full glory. “Mmmm . . . wow. This is delicious.”
“I’m glad. But keep going. I miss so much being here all day long.”
She popped a second bite into her mouth and swallowed quickly. “Kenny was mad—spittin’ mad, as Margaret Louise would say. And to listen to everyone talk, he has a habit of getting nasty when upset.”
Debbie nodded her agreement.
“In fact, I saw him earlier that day at Rose’s house. Not only was he angry, he also—” She stopped and stared down at her food, her mouth unwilling to share what her mind knew to be true.
“He also what?” Debbie asked, her louder-than-normal voice causing more than a few customers to look in their direction. Forcing a smile to her lips, she waved them off before turning back to Tori. “It’s not fair to take me so far and then leave me hanging . . . So spill it, Victoria.”
Leaning forward across the table, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “He threatened Martha Jane.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, positively sure.”
“When?”
“The day she was murdered.”
Debbie’s face paled. “Wait a minute . . .” She poked her head up and looked around the bakery, her pale blue eyes widening with relief when she spotted her youngest employee. “Emma? Victoria and I have some catching up to do. Can you handle things for a little while on your own?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Calhoun. Take all the time you need.”
Tori watched as Debbie mouthed a thank-you in Emma’s direction before resuming their conversation. “Did Martha Jane tell the police?”
“No.” She wrapped her hands around her to-go cup once again, the lingering warmth doing little to dispel the chill that had plagued her all morning. “She—she didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know?”
“He didn’t threaten her to her face.”
“Then how . . . Oh, wait. I get it.” Debbie scooted a crumb across the table and into her hand. “He threatened her in front of other people, right?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “Nope. Just me.”
“Did you tell the police?”
She closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears that threatened to inundate the mental barricade she’d erected against them, Debbie’s wording a near-perfect match to the question she’d asked herself again and again throughout the night. Unfortunately, the light of day hadn’t changed the answer. “No.”
“Oh.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on her friend’s face. “Honestly, Debbie, I thought it was just an idle threat. You know, something said in the heat of anger. I had no idea he meant it literally.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
It was the same argument she’d considered while lying in bed staring at the ceiling. “Then how do you explain the fact that she was murdered not more than seven hours later?”
Debbie shrugged. “I don’t know.
“He told me she’d be sorry . . . for making people think he was a crook.”
“Wow.”
Reaching out, she picked up the rest of her donut only to drop it back onto the plate. “ Wow is right.”
“Will you tell them now?” Debbie asked.
Her stomach lurched. “Who? The police?”
“Who else?”
It was a thought she hadn’t wanted to visit—her mind wrapped up in what she should have done, not what she still had to do. “But what about Rose? She’ll be even more crushed than she is now.”
For a moment, Debbie said nothing, her silence hovering above them like a thick cloud. When she finally spoke, her words were to the point. “Rose is one of the most honest people I’ve ever known. Sure, she loves Kenny. A person would have to be blind not to know that. But she wouldn’t want a murderer to walk free simply because he was a sweet and misunderstood kid thirty years ago.”
Tori thought back to her visit with Rose the day before, recalled the way the elderly woman had begun to see the possibility that Kenny
“I’m glad. But keep going. I miss so much being here all day long.”
She popped a second bite into her mouth and swallowed quickly. “Kenny was mad—spittin’ mad, as Margaret Louise would say. And to listen to everyone talk, he has a habit of getting nasty when upset.”
Debbie nodded her agreement.
“In fact, I saw him earlier that day at Rose’s house. Not only was he angry, he also—” She stopped and stared down at her food, her mouth unwilling to share what her mind knew to be true.
“He also what?” Debbie asked, her louder-than-normal voice causing more than a few customers to look in their direction. Forcing a smile to her lips, she waved them off before turning back to Tori. “It’s not fair to take me so far and then leave me hanging . . . So spill it, Victoria.”
Leaning forward across the table, she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “He threatened Martha Jane.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, positively sure.”
“When?”
“The day she was murdered.”
Debbie’s face paled. “Wait a minute . . .” She poked her head up and looked around the bakery, her pale blue eyes widening with relief when she spotted her youngest employee. “Emma? Victoria and I have some catching up to do. Can you handle things for a little while on your own?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Calhoun. Take all the time you need.”
Tori watched as Debbie mouthed a thank-you in Emma’s direction before resuming their conversation. “Did Martha Jane tell the police?”
“No.” She wrapped her hands around her to-go cup once again, the lingering warmth doing little to dispel the chill that had plagued her all morning. “She—she didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know?”
“He didn’t threaten her to her face.”
“Then how . . . Oh, wait. I get it.” Debbie scooted a crumb across the table and into her hand. “He threatened her in front of other people, right?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “Nope. Just me.”
“Did you tell the police?”
She closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears that threatened to inundate the mental barricade she’d erected against them, Debbie’s wording a near-perfect match to the question she’d asked herself again and again throughout the night. Unfortunately, the light of day hadn’t changed the answer. “No.”
“Oh.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on her friend’s face. “Honestly, Debbie, I thought it was just an idle threat. You know, something said in the heat of anger. I had no idea he meant it literally.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
It was the same argument she’d considered while lying in bed staring at the ceiling. “Then how do you explain the fact that she was murdered not more than seven hours later?”
Debbie shrugged. “I don’t know.
“He told me she’d be sorry . . . for making people think he was a crook.”
“Wow.”
Reaching out, she picked up the rest of her donut only to drop it back onto the plate. “ Wow is right.”
“Will you tell them now?” Debbie asked.
Her stomach lurched. “Who? The police?”
“Who else?”
It was a thought she hadn’t wanted to visit—her mind wrapped up in what she should have done, not what she still had to do. “But what about Rose? She’ll be even more crushed than she is now.”
For a moment, Debbie said nothing, her silence hovering above them like a thick cloud. When she finally spoke, her words were to the point. “Rose is one of the most honest people I’ve ever known. Sure, she loves Kenny. A person would have to be blind not to know that. But she wouldn’t want a murderer to walk free simply because he was a sweet and misunderstood kid thirty years ago.”
Tori thought back to her visit with Rose the day before, recalled the way the elderly woman had begun to see the possibility that Kenny
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