Krispy Kreme Brûlée

“Fletcher, tell me everything you know about the Krispy Kreme case. I need to hear the facts from a different point of view.”

Officer Fletcher patted his ample stomach as he collected his thoughts. “Three Krispy Kremes have been burned down in the last three weeks. One each week. All three are clear-cut arson cases. Acetone accelerant. Only clue is a pair of thin tire tracks. Which puts the prime suspects on bicycles. All done before the red light was on. Early risers.”

“What time does the red light usually come on?”

“Depends on which Double-K you go to. I usually hit up the one on 4th and Mission; it goes on around 5:30.”

“Downtown red lights at 6,” someone said nearby.

“Willow and Dale used to red light at 6:15,” another helpful officer said.

“You guys know your Krispy Kreme,” Detective Johnson said. He opened his lunch and saw carrots. His wife must’ve talked to his mom again. She was big on eating healthy.

“Best donuts ever.”

“No one does it better.”

“Thanks guys. Let me know if we get anything new. In the meantime, I want officers on location at the remaining Krispy Kremes with their eyes peeled for people on bikes.” Johnson walked to his office and shut the door. It had been five days since the last Krispy Kreme had been burned down; he knew he didn’t have long before the next one was struck. He just didn’t understand why Krispy Kreme was being targeted. A rival donut shop maybe? Krispy Kreme seemed to be pretty popular among the officers. There was a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

“Sorry to bother you, detective, but I’ve found something, I think,” a nervous young officer was at the door. He was holding a map.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well, sir, I’ve marked all the Double-K’s with red circles on this map. Circles, like donuts, red like the red light, y’see.” Johnson glared at the young man. He gulped and plunged ahead. “Sir, do you know where the closest Double-K will be if we lose those last two?”

“Where?” The officer flipped over the map. The reverse side showed a larger area encompassing the entire county.

“Bishopstown.”

“So?”

“Sir, if my calculations are correct, it will be impossible to get red lighted donuts and still make it to the station on time in the morning.”

“There are other donut shops in town, we’ll be fine.”

“Sir! I’m sorry, but Double-K is the only donut shop! Substitutes will not be accepted!” the formerly nervous officer stormed out of Johnson’s office.

Johnson mulled the conversation over in his head. Just as he seemed to be onto something, there was a new uproar. “NOOOO!”

“Sir!” the formerly haughty face of the formerly nervous officer was now pale with horror. “The last two Double-K’s were just hit. No donuts were saved.”

Johnson left the station dejected. They had found the same tire tracks that day, but no one had spotted any cyclists. He had let the station down. What were they going to do without Krispy Kreme? Clueless, Johnson drove to visit his mother at her retirement home.

“Hi Mom.” Johnson bent to kiss his mother in her wheelchair, clearly upset.

“What’s got you down?” The sharp scent of nail polish remover was strong. Johnson glanced at her fingernails: they were a crisp purple.

“This Krispy Kreme case; every shop in town has been burned down. Distracted, Johnson’s eyes wandered. He saw several large jugs of nail polish remover by her closet. Nail polish remover contained acetone…

“Well, whoever it was, I applaud them.” Johnson turned to look at her in disbelief.

“Why? I’ve had a couple of their donuts before, they’re pretty good.”

“More than a couple, I’d say. Look at your belly.” She jabbed a finger into his softening midsection. “It’ll do the entire department good with those Krispy Kremes gone. Your wives will appreciate it.” Johnson’s gaze sharpened as he examined his mother. Her wheelchair wheels were about right distance apart…

“Mom, what did you do today?”

“Knitting. That’s all we old people do in this place.” She pulled up a half-finished scarf that matched her purple nails. It couldn’t have been her, Johnson thought. Could it?