Diamonds & Donuts Read online

  Diamonds & Donuts

  Murder on the Equator, Book 4

  Becca Bloom

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Thank you!

  Potato Patties (Tortillas de Papa)

  Cinnamon Rolls

  About the Author

  Other Books by Becca Bloom

  “Diamonds & Donuts: A Jessica James Cozy Mystery”

  Murder on the Equator: Book 4

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Becca Bloom.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Becca Bloom

  Facebook: @BeccaBloomWrites

  Twitter: @BeccaBloomWrite

  Email: [email protected]

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  Copyright © 2018 Becca Bloom

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-1-944795-15-3

  Chapter 1

  “You’re a thief!” Salvador Lopez shouted, the strength of his breath as potent as my growing dislike for him — and that was saying a lot. As a rule, I tended to like most people.

  Sal had become increasingly troublesome over the past two months while I helped Tia Rosa gut and remodel the building she’d bought. The outdated ice cream parlor on the first floor was now my dream doughnut shop. Our grand opening was only one week away, and Sal’s jabs and glares had become bolder and tiresome.

  Stretching all five feet five inches of my frame so that he and I stood eye level, I tried to ignore the long strands of his comb-over gently wafting in the breeze. I’d left the front door open as soon as I realized what he was up to in the hopes that his exit from my building would be quicker for it. But I wished I’d have closed it when his long wisps of hair stood on end and swayed above his shiny head. It was mesmerizing … and distracting.

  I forced my eyes down to his and replied calmly, “I didn’t steal anything. I offered Martha a better deal, and she accepted it.”

  Martha and her daughter Fernanda stood beside me. On second glance, I saw Martha hold Fernanda back. Her teen daughter’s color of the week (to accent her usual head-to-toe black) was fluorescent pink which she wore on her nails and streaked through her ebony hair. Fernanda was the type to wear something bold, then scowl at anyone who dared to notice her.

  Fernanda lunged forward. “You’re the thief! You never tried to make doughnuts before Jess decided to open a doughnut shop.”

  Yeah, there was that. I’m all for equal opportunity pastries, but it was painfully obvious Sal hoped to cut into my bottom line with the cheap, round atrocities he advertised in his bakery. I don’t know what they were, but I couldn’t call them doughnuts in good conscience.

  But that was the least of Sal’s offenses, and he knew it.

  “I added to my menu. So what?” he shrugged, folding his arms over his girth and widening his stance like he’d never leave.

  I gave him my best glower, wishing I was as talented at the withering glare as Fernanda. The girl had skills.

  Before Sal had invaded my shop with the express purpose of ruining my morning, I had been twirling in the middle of the floor, admiring the charming, vintage design. The black-and-white checkered floors were accented with bright pastels. Gleaming glass cases just waiting to be loaded with cream-filled, jelly-stuffed, creamy-frosted, sprinkle-topped doughnuts swirled around me in a rainbow of promise. I’d been singing along to the hard rock station with a fistful of assorted neon chalks and an empty blackboard waiting to be doodled on with my carefully planned menu. It was a happy place. Until Sal had decided to pick on my friends.

  He needed to leave. Pointing out the door, I said, “If you insist on calling those things you sell doughnuts, then I’m going to insist that you leave Martha alone.” I added as an afterthought, “Please.”

  Abuelita would have rolled her eyes at my need to be polite, but I felt better for saying it.

  He huffed, smoothing the hairs swirling around him, plastering them against his head and leaving a slick residue from his greasy fingers behind like a slug trail. “Is that how you plan to treat your customers? You throw them out?”

  “What? Are you here to buy something?” I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling sassy for spouting off a great comeback while my nemesis still stood in front of me. That pretty much never happened to me. It was exhilarating!

  Fernanda stepped toward him, her lips nearly twitching into a rare smile when he stepped back. “You’re not a customer. You’re a spy. You know your doughnuts don’t stand a chance against Jess’ with your over-fried dough and waxy frosting.”

  Sal covered over his fear of the adolescent with mock bravado. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked.

  Fernanda tapped the toe of her scuffed Doc Martin boots against the floor and crossed her arms. “It’s Saturday, Genius.”

  He pointed his finger at her. “You’re too young to be here. I could report Señorita James to the authorities for employing a minor.”

  I wasn’t worried.

  Fernanda rolled her eyes. “Unlike you, Jess lets me hang out with my mom at her work because she recognizes the value of family. What is it to you if I choose to learn a trade that can serve me well in the future while I’m here?”

  Sal’s face turned red. “Smart-mouthed punk—”

  I’d had quite enough of him. I opened the door and swooped my arm through the entrance. “I doubt your intention in coming here was to exchange insults with a high schooler. Good day, Sal. You have a business to run, and it’s time you got back to it.”

  That was the problem though. What was a business without customers? And, right now, Sal didn’t have any customers. He’d convinced himself that my shop (which wasn’t even open yet) was luring people away. It had nothing at all to do with his overpriced bread and charming personality. Oh, no. Far be it from the man to take responsibility for his mediocre rolls and repellent attitude.

  He pointed his finger in my face as he stopped in the doorway, and I got another whiff of his breath before I thought to hold mine. “I’m not done with you yet, Señorita James. Your business won’t last a week.”

  “Is that a threat?” I crossed my arms in front of me and leaned back before I passed out. Seriously, the dude needed gum or something.

  He sneered. “More like a prediction.”

  “I have a prediction too, Sal. Let me tell you exactly what will happen if you show up here again to harass my friends and threaten me. See the police station down the street? I have several buddies over there wh
o have a vested interest in the success of my doughnut shop. I’m sure they’d love to hear about your ‘predictions.’ Oh, look! There’s Officer Rivera.” I waved at Gus, who had appeared at the perfect moment to add weight to my counter-threat — prediction … whatever. Two zingers in a row! I was on a roll.

  Gus returned my salutation with a large smile. He had a thing for my doughnuts and for my best friend and next-door neighbor, Adi.

  Sal grumbled, walking away stiffly.

  I tried not to gloat, but I couldn’t wipe the pleased grin from my face or dampen the elation I had earned in coming off the winner in a confrontation I would have avoided months ago. Maybe it was the high elevation in the Andes Mountains depriving my brain of oxygen, maybe it was the warmth of the tropics that stirred my blood, maybe it was the influence of my bolder friends rubbing off on my character, or maybe I was finally getting more comfortable with myself. I didn’t know. But I liked it.

  Fernanda joined me in the doorway, watching Sal leave. “He’s going to be a problem. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to sabotage your grand opening. He’s always sniffing around like he’s looking for something, and he won’t leave my poor mom alone.”

  Martha nodded. “You be careful, Jess. Sal think he deserve to be only baker in all the town. The other bakers, they hate him. I am happy I no work there no more.”

  Fernanda put her arm around her mom, her surly expression melting into a smile of pride. “Your English is better than Jess’ Spanish.”

  Martha glowed at her daughter’s compliment.

  I tried not to be too disappointed with Fernanda’s blunt letdown, but what with my quick comebacks, I had been getting a bit full of myself. Perhaps she’d done my inflating ego a favor. I’d been in Ecuador for three months now, and while I no longer had to carry a Spanish/English dictionary everywhere, I was still a long way from fluent.

  Sal walked into his bakery, a mere half of a block down the street from me, and I stood in my doorway for a while longer to make sure he stayed there. I nudged Fernanda with my elbow. “You think you can teach me how to glower?”

  She raised her eyebrows, her face devoid of expression. How did she do that?

  After a few more seconds of scrutiny, she declared, “You’re too nice.”

  “Is that a ‘no’?” I asked, unwilling to let it go so easily.

  Martha laughed. “Jess nice, but she determine. If she want to learn, she to learn.”

  “See? Your mom says I’m determined. At least someone has faith in me,” I teased.

  A pickup rolled past the one-lane street in front of my shop, parking beside the square where tourists ate ice cream on benches and parents watched their kids ride bicycles around fenced-in flower beds. It was my gardener — Patricio Aguilera and two of his helpers. They were creating a doggy park paradise for my dog, Lady, on the terrace.

  Lady barked her welcome from upstairs.

  Fernanda sighed, resuming her bored, slumped posture. “You don’t need me when you have Abuelita. Half of Baños is scared of her. I don’t know how you two get along so well. You couldn’t be more opposite.”

  Chapter 2

  Speaking of the Devil…

  Abuelita marched out of the restaurant next to my soon-to-be-open shop. Her polished black pumps clacked against the sidewalk as she rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and crossed her rail-thin arms over her bony figure. Tia Rosa waddled behind her, struggling to keep up when her bedazzled, horn-rimmed glasses slid repeatedly down her button nose. Like her sister, she wore thick-heeled, black pumps (which added a couple necessary inches to their diminutive statures), a knee-length wool skirt, and a button-down blouse — the picture of the perfect Ecuadorian housewife of a certain age.

  Though they dressed similarly, the Jimenez sisters couldn’t be more opposite. Abuelita’s only accessory was her disapproving sneer while Tia Rosa’s rouge matched her hot pink glasses. The orange silk scarf around her neck provided a bright contrast that would’ve clashed on anyone else. Somehow, it suited Tia Rosa.

  The two elderly sisters stood together, waiting for Patricio and his crew to cross the street to them.

  Fernanda shook her head. “Abuelita has too much free time to boss other people around now that Sylvia took over the restaurant. She needs to be kept busy.” She looked at me expectantly — like it was my job to entertain Abuelita.

  Sylvia was Abuelita’s daughter, an elegant woman who reminded me of my own mom. She could spend all day in a hot kitchen and still have perfect makeup and hair.

  My beauty routine was a success if I didn’t poke myself in the eye with the mascara wand. If I remembered to wear the tinted lip balm Mammy sent me, then it was a special occasion indeed. My dear, sweet Mammy (who was far too cool to be called something so generic as “Grandma”) had the philosophy: If the barn needs painted, paint it! She would approve of Tia Rosa’s look.

  Abuelita tapped her toes impatiently when Patricio removed some tools from the back of his pickup. He wasn’t in a hurry, like most people here. Everything was done in slow motion in Baños.

  “You late,” Abuelita said, looking at her watch.

  Patricio nodded at me with a smile before answering. “Only by fifteen minutes. That’s nothing.”

  Fernanda was right about Abuelita. She needed to be kept busy, or she’d pick fights just to pass the time. She thrived on conflict, unlike Tia Rosa who followed her to soothe the feathers her sister had ruffled.

  It wasn’t just for my landscapers to suffer because Abuelita was bored. And I knew that if I didn’t put a stop to her interference, she’d only grow bolder.

  “I’d better go,” I told Fernanda and Martha.

  Martha said, “You go. Help Patricio. We stay, see everything okay for grand open.”

  I wished the grand opening was tomorrow. Everything was ready, and the wait was excruciating.

  “Thank you,” I said over my shoulder, stepping out onto the sidewalk. I felt like I was interrupting a shootout when neither Abuelita nor Patricio blinked or flinched at my approach.

  I extended my hand to welcome Patricio and his crew. Everyone shook hands here. That helped break the tension.

  Tia Rosa jabbed Abuelita in the side. “No is you business, Bertha. Patricio work with Jessica, no with you. She the boss.”

  “Is there a problem?” I asked, glaring at Abuelita. I knew her tricks, and I still had some chutzpah left over from my earlier success with Sal.

  She looked down and grumbled.

  Patricio signaled for his workers to go up to the terrace before turning his attention to Abuelita. “I charge by the job, not the hour, Abuelita. Now, if you’re done complaining, I would like to get to work.”

  Abuelita huffed.

  Tia Rosa chuckled, saying, “He tell you, Bertha!”

  I opened the thick, metal security door for them. Long, switch-backed stairs passed Adi’s apartment and fashion studio above my shop, past my apartment on the third floor, then up to the open, flat terrace where Lady ran back and forth excitedly. She liked Patricio and his helpers. It was as if she knew that what they built was for her benefit. She was a clever pup.

  Abuelita and Tia Rosa huffed and puffed once they reached the top of the stairs. Abuelita making a beeline toward the workers. Tia Rosa hobbled behind her, pulling out pieces of candy and handing them out. A little sweet to counteract her sister’s sour.

  I went over the plans with Patricio again while one of the gardeners tuned their portable radio to an upbeat merengue song. He turned it up, starting a battle of volume between Abuelita and the radio.

  Trying to give due attention to Patricio and his plans, I focused on the blueprint he held up. Raised beds of grass stretched across the terrace in a fun, geographical design. Potted palms provided shade and strategically placed plants added splashes of color around the strips of grass. Patricio had even added a dog house with an overhanging roof.

  It was so cool, I wanted to live in it.

  He rolled up his drawing.
“It’ll be Lady’s own private park. We’ll be careful to distribute the weight evenly over the terrace and include proper drainage in the beds, so you don’t get moisture issues in your ceiling.”

  “I can’t wait to see it! How soon can you have it finished?” I was almost as excited as Lady. If I brought up a lounge chair and a big umbrella, I could read in the shade while she napped under her lean-to.

  “If we work hard, we can have it done in a week,” Patricio said.

  Tia Rosa joined us, and he showed her the plans. She inspected them with her owl-sized eyes. “Is more nice than apartment of Jessica.”

  I frowned. I’d been too busy with the shop, and now the terrace, to give much attention to my place.

  Patricio tapped his chin in thought, looking over to the corner where his workers stashed the flowers and trees they’d use. “We usually have spare plants after a project of this size. I’d be happy to trade them for some lovely houseplants to decorate your apartment. I have a kid who has a special talent for cultivating orchids. He’s amazing.”

  His smile broadened — as well it should. I didn’t know much about horticulture yet, but even I knew that orchids required a delicate touch.

  “Thank you. I’ve been so busy lately, but I really should try to turn my place into a home.”

  Tia Rosa clucked her tongue. “You have too much white wall. Too open space. Is sad.”