Current Audio Book Glazed Murder
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North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
trust me when I say that I usually lead a pretty ordinary life. It's not every day that I stumble across a body while I'm working at Donut Hearts, my handmade donut M premium blend coffee shop perched on the edge of the downtown district of April Springs, North Carolina. Population 5000 and one. But this was anything but ordinary. Someone had dumped a body in front of my shop in the darkness of night as I watched and then sped off into the shadows. Before I could react to what I'd seen. I worked the graveyard shift of the shop. There's no other way to put it. My hours are off kilter in relation to the rest of the world from 2 a.m. When I mixed the first batch of dough until I sweep up and locked the doors sometime around noon. It kills all possibilities of dating after eight PM but I haven't been all that interested in going out since my divorce from my ex husband Max, the great impersonator. He's an actor in prides himself on his ability to fake his way through any role, including husband, something I found out much to my consternation. The man had been so smooth when he lied to me during our marriage that I doubted a polygraph could have picked up his deceit. He had an unsteady income doing nationally distributed commercials now and then, and I have been urging him to try his luck in Hollywood, not because of his talent, of which there was little, but because it would get him out of my hair once and for all. No such luck. He refused to leave April Springs, the small town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains where we both grown up. And I wasn't about to budge, either. Sorry, that's attention. Time in no mood to take. Let's get back to what happened. I watched in stunned silence, says something heavy, was dumped out of a speeding car just after I walked into the shop. As a matter of fact, my hand was on the switch to light the donut hearts sign. When I heard the noise outside at 12 past two in the morning, I was used to having the world to myself. Emma Blake, my assistant of the doughnut shop and my honorary niece, never made it in until 2 30 she wasn't coming in today at all, since it was her day off. On the one day of the week, I was opening by myself and working in the shop all morning alone. The world had conspired to throw my life into turmoil. The presence of the car itself had been enough to make me look up when I heard it outside. We don't get much traffic on Springs drive that time of the morning. Before I could grasp what I'd seen. I flip the switch up, lighting the world just outside my shop and turning the shadowy lump lying on the street into what was clearly a body all I really caught of. The person dumping the body had been a face covered with a black ski mask in the flash of a faded tiger in Boston. A dark hooded sweatshirt, the car door slam to the second I spotted him in. The killer drove off before I could manage to do much more than scream as it disappeared into the darkness. Did you check for a pulse when you found him? Mrs Hart, the young police officer, asked as I finished brewing a pot of our specialty coffee blend. I usually needed a jump start in the morning before I start on the dough. And today it was true. More than ever, I told you before, Officer More. It's miss and you should call me Suzanne. I ran outside after I called you all, but I'm not sure I could find a pulse if I had to. I shivered a little as I remembered my fingers probing the man's neck as he lay sprawled face down on the pavement. When I rolled him over to try to help him, I nearly lost it when I realized it was Patrick Blaine. Patrick came by for doughnuts once a week since I had taken over the shop, and I've grown quite fond of him over the years. He didn't look peaceful. It all now like they sometimes show in the movies, hadn't been all that surprised when there've been no indications that he was still alive. His face grimaced in a death mask that nearly made him unrecognizable. He joked with me about being my honorary uncle, and now he lay dead in the street in front of my shop. Officer Moore asked, Did you catch a glimpse of the driver at all. I frowned, then finally admitted, not enough to identify who it waas. It was dark out and whoever was driving wear a ski mask and a hooded sweatshirt. I paused and then added, There was a faded tiger on the front of it. At least I think that's what it waas. It could have been a dog. Or maybe even a race car. I don't know. I only saw it for a second. More knotted, jotting again in his notebook. He was a hearty, robust young man with jet black hair and eyes that nearly matched. And you don't know what kind of car you saw. Is that right? I shrugged. I'm sorry. It was dark and it all happened so fast. Is there a chance Patrick is still alive?