Chapter 2
Barbara Collins had a bad case of nerves.
She walked slowly up East Lake Road, carefully checking the house numbers. It seemed strange that a private eye’s office would be in a house, but that’s what the guy said.
She’d found his business card on the corkboard at the local Krispy Kreme. As a recent graduate of the Atlanta Culinary Institute, she didn’t eat out much, except for donuts. There was something about a good donut; the yeasty aroma, the sweet sweet icing, the nutty flavor when fresh from floating down a river of grease, the way they seemed to melt against the tongue…
Some things were too dangerous to make at home. Every sinful bite meant fifteen extra minutes at the Y, but she had plenty of time.
She couldn’t open her restaurant until she had money, and for money sh
