Beyond a Reasonable Donut (A Deputy Donut Mystery Book 5) by Ginger Bolton

Author:Ginger Bolton [Bolton, Ginger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-05-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Except for grocery shopping, my parents seldom ventured out of the campground at Fallingbrook Falls, where they lived in their RV during the warmest month or two of every summer. I ran out of the office and hugged first my mother and then my father.

Tom was right behind me. “Annie! Walt! Welcome. What can I get you?”

My mom said, “Nothing, thank you. I’m fine.” She was in tight jeans and a peasant blouse she’d made and embroidered when I was a kid. As always, she wore strings of colorful beads over the blouse. Her hair was curly like mine, but hers had turned silver.

My dad said, “Coffee.” He also fit into jeans that he might have had since 1968. He wore his loose blue chambray shirt untucked. Except for his hair, now white, and a few wrinkles, he had barely changed since I was a kid. My parents were in their early forties when they had me, and I’d always thought of them as old, but because of their youthful and idealistic outlook on life, and the way they’d always treated me as a beloved but surprising equal, they now seemed ageless.

Tom told me, “Sit down with them, Emily. I’ll get the coffee.”

I sat down.

My mother placed her hand over mine and squeezed. “How’s Nina?” Her eyes, the same brilliant blue as mine, were concerned.

“She didn’t do it.”

My mother patted my hand. “We know. She couldn’t have.”

Jocelyn brought them each a coffee and a lemon meringue donut, filled with lemon and topped by points of meringue. “How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Young?” Jocelyn’s parents also spent their summers in an RV in the Fallingbrook Falls campground. My parents would be returning to Florida right after Samantha and Hooligan’s wedding. Jocelyn’s parents were much younger and commuted to their jobs near Fallingbrook during the summer. The rest of the time, they lived in a Victorian house in my neighborhood. When Jocelyn wasn’t away at college, she stayed in their home and biked to and from work.

“We’re fine,” my mother said, “or we would be if you called us by our names, Walt and Annie.”

My father added, “And when Nina is released from jail.”

Without complaining, my folks ate the donuts they hadn’t ordered and drank the coffee that my mother had pretended she didn’t want. Although they were obviously concerned about Nina, they didn’t make suggestions about how I could help her. They had always trusted me to do what was right, and except for a few little rebellions when I was a teen, I had attempted to live up to their expectations. Similarly, I seldom interfered in their lives, although I worried about them, and I loved visiting them out at the falls and listening to them play their guitars and banjos around a campfire. I might have inherited my mother’s lack of height, blue eyes, and curly hair. I hadn’t inherited either of my parents’ musical abilities.

Although Tom and I told them the coffees and donuts were on the house, they insisted on paying for them, and on leaving a large tip for Jocelyn.

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