“Anything I can help with?” She asked.
Ryan gestured to his colleague, then gave her a soft smile. “Honey, this is Detective Davidson. He’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The other detective, a tall, muscular guy with a black, clipped mustache extended a hand. She took it, and they shook once.
“Nice to meet you,” Heather said.
“Likewise,” he replied, in gravelly Morgan Freeman tones. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Of course, my office is right through here,” she said and gesture for him to follow, nerves burning in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t been questioned by police in a long time, and it wasn’t an experience she enjoyed.
Heather glanced back and smiled at Ryan, but he was already seated with Amy and Eva, his notepad out and a frown wrinkling his tan forehead.
Chapter 7
Heather picked up a ballpoint pen from her penholder, a wire rack decorated with hearts, and clicked it twice.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Shepherd?” Detective Davidson asked. “You seem nervous.” The burly guy sat across from her. His police uniform ironed strategically, and a notepad placed on the desk in front of him. He had a ballpoint too. However, he didn’t click his compulsively.
“I’m fine,” she replied, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
Davidson grunted. “I can imagine. I heard you’re studying to become a P.I. Is that correct?”
Heather raised her eyebrows. Had Ryan told him that or was it common knowledge in Hillside, thanks to the size of their city and the ratio of gossips to regular customers in Donut Delights.
“Is that true?” Davidson asked.
“Yes, but is that relevant to your line of questioning?” She asked a rebuttal. “I was sure you were here to question me about Jelly’s death.”
“Her murder,” the detective said, raising the ballpoint and waggling it at her. “Is that why you’re nervous? Because I’m here to question you about that?”
“No, I’m not nervous,” Heather replied, counting to ten in her mind. She’d met one officer, in her entire life, whose company she enjoyed, and that was the man she’d married. “I told you, detective, I have a lot on my mind.”
He didn’t reply, choosing to scrawl notes on his pad instead. His giant strokes scraped across the paper, unreadable to her.
“Mrs. Shepherd, I understand Jelly had your recipe book in her possession. A few of the pages had been ripped out of the book,” he said. “Do you have any idea where they might be?”
Heather gasped. “That’s news to me,” she said, shaking her head. Fury streaked through her limbs, tensing them instantly. “I can’t believe it. That was my grandmother’s recipe book. It’s what I built my business on and has a lot of sentimental value.”
“So, when it went missing you were angry, understandably,” Davidson said, making another note, the nib of his pen scrape, scrape, scraping along.
“What are you insinuating?” Heather asked.
“Nothing. Only that you were angry that the book had gone missing,” Davidson replied.
“If you’re here to ask me if I killed Jelly or not, just come out and say it,” Heather snapped. This cop was unnecessarily rude. He could’ve approached the questioning from a different angle, instead of using accusations and leading her towards a confession that would never come.
“Did you kill Jelly?” He asked.
“Of course not,” she thundered, tone deepening. “I was here the entire day until I went back to my office and found the book was missing. Then I went over to Geoff’s and found her there.”
Davidson made notes upon notes. He flipped the page on his notepad and wrote something in big letters at the top, blowing out breaths which disturbed his mustache. “Why did you go to Delightful Donuts?”
Heather restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Terrible name choice.
“Because Geoff was my competitor and I figured if anyone would want to get their hands on my recipe book, it would be him. It’s happened to me before.”
“And the last woman who stole the book turned up dead, is that correct?” Davidson’s nonplussed expression suited his tone. It was as if he was determined to insult her but didn’t realize it.
She counted to twenty this time. “Christa, yes. But the suspect was apprehended and, unfortunately, passed away.”
“Yes, there was a struggle, and you shot her, correct?”
“No,” Heather said, her lips curling back into a forced smile. “That’s incorrect. She fired the gun, not me.” She hadn’t thought back on that day in a long time and reliving it wasn’t high on her list of priorities.
She looked back over her shoulder, out of the window at the other buildings and trees the street over, leaves saluting her in the breeze. She had to calm herself, or she’d end up snapping at the detective for doing his job, and that wasn’t fair.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Mrs. Shepherd?”
“Not really,” she replied, meeting his gaze, once more. “Only that you can check my alibi with my staff. There’s no way I would’ve been able to get from here to Geoff’s store –”
“Delightful Donuts,” Davidson said.
“Ugh, yes, there. No way would I have been able to get to the store and commit a murder in that time span.” Heather hesitated then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Look, I want to help you with this. I have security cameras. You can take a look at the footage and confirm the fact that I was here with my staff, in the kitchen. Cross reference the time stamp with the time of death for your vic and I’m pretty sure you’ll realize I had nothing to do with this.”
Davidson blinked at her. “You seem to know a lot about police investigations and how they work. Maybe too much.”
Heather pictured chucking a donut at his head. She’d use a pistachio lemon, chuck it at him and it would stick to his forehead and just stay there. The humor of that image lightened her mood a tiny bit. “I am studying to be an investigator, and I have a real passion for this. For helping people or bringing them joy.”
Davidson grunted, but he clicked his ballpoint, then tucked it and his notepad into the top pocket of his shirt. He rose from his seat. “I’ll send someone down to collect those recordings, Mrs. Shepherd. And you can bet I’ll be in touch.”
Heather bobbed her chin down and up again. “Sure. Feel free to help yourself to a donut on the way out.”
He spun on his heel and frog marched from the room. He didn’t stop for donuts.
Chapter 8
Amy, Heather, and Dave walked down the dirt road which wound between the trees. Texas Persimmons, Pecan, and Ash, and other varieties which Heather couldn’t place. They were all beautiful, old organisms, stretching their long arms to the blue heavens.
The afternoon sweltered, a muggy heat without a gust of wind, and the sweat dripped down Heather’s spine.
“I wonder if anyone else will go.” She asked.
“Nancy Donnelly told me about it, and she said she was going to go. You know how she is,” Amy replied, wiggling Dave’s leash. “She can’t stay away from a bargain, even if it is from an old, crazy guy.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s just as old and crazy,” Heather said and chuckled. Nancy was a certified town gossip. She’s initially spread a rumor that Heather and Ryan were on the rocks about to get divorced.
She couldn’t bring herself to get angry about it because it was the furthest thing from the truth.
Apart from the fact that she was now a suspect in Jelly’s murder case.
“You know what’s suspicious?” Heather asked, after a second.
“What?”
“That Pops Polinski is having a yard sale right after Jelly’s death. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
“I dunno. People deal with grief in different ways. Remember how I freaked out after what happened to Kent?” Amy plucked at the front of her top to loosen it, then fanned her face.
“Yeah, but the other day he seemed so set on being left alone, now he’s inviting everyone to his trailer for a sale? Seems like he’s trying to get rid of evidence,” Heather said.
Dave padded along in front of them, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. His head swiveled from side-to-side, and he checked out the undergrowth, barked for a bird, and then continued his scanning.
He grew edgier the closer they got the Pops’ trailer.
Heather and Amy focused less on talking and more on not passing out in the heat. They paused just short of the trailer and Heather bent to give Dave a drink of water from his doggy bottle.
The once she’d caught Ryan about to drink from it before he’d realized that Dave had a doggy drinking bottle in the first place.
Dave lapped up the water, gratefully, and Heather stared at Pops’ trailer. Men, women, children, it looked like most of the town had turned out to swarm around the plastic trestle tables loaded with boxes and the old man had laid out.
“Yup, there’s Nancy,” Heather said, pointing to the elderly woman with her conical updo and bright red fingernails. She rummaged through a box, examined a plate, then dumped it back where it’d come from and moved on to the next section.
“Nothing like a yard sale to drive Nancy Donnelly wild,” Amy quipped. “They could make a new DVD series. Donnelly Gone Wild. Just follow her around to different yard sales and record her shopping and gossiping sessions.”
“Now, that’s good TV,” Heather replied, screwing shut the cap of Dave’s doggy water bottle.
“Really?”
“No,” Heather said. She straightened and brushed off the knees of her faded blue jeans. “Shall we join the party?”
“Let’s,” Amy replied, and led the way. They weaved between the crowds of people, pausing at tables or when decided he needed a good sniff of someone’s ankles.
Amy got super excited about the shopping and rummaged through a few boxes of clothes. She lifted a flowery top from the pile and held it up. She went pale and donut frosting and gibbered wordlessly.
“What is it?” Heather asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“This was Jelly’s. It’s got her name on the tag. This was Jelly’s shirt,” Amy said and threw it down as if it was a cobra instead of an item of clothing. She made a ‘yuk’ face, then shivered and shook off her hands.
Heather frowned and looked down at the table, gaze traveling from box to tray to the books on the other end. “They’re all Jelly’s.”
“Are you sure?”
Heather traced the tips of her fingers over the cover of a thick, bound book. She grasped it and lifted it from the table, then flipped it open. She gasped.
“What?” Amy asked, hustling over, practically dragging Dave from a particularly intrepid sniff of a pair of hairy ankles. “What is it?”
“It’s Jelly’s journal,” she whispered, then snapped the book closed and glanced around. “I need to buy this, Ames, but if I go near Pops to bargain, he’ll probably chase me off his property.”
Amy shuddered one last time, then held out her palm. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Here, you take Dave. Wait here. I’ll be back in a sec.” She shoved the end of the leash into Heather’s hand, then disappeared between the crowds, in the direction of the front of the trailer.
“Looks like coming here was a good idea, after all, Dave.”
He didn’t pay her any attention. He’d spotted a disgusting brown patch under a far table and was determined to investigate. Thankfully, the leash was too short to get him there.
Heather tapped her foot in the dirty and waited, folding and unfolding her arms again. Nancy Donnelly was at the other end of the table. She spotted Heather and gave a cheery wave.
“Oh, please don’t come over here,” Heather murmured. “Please.”
Nancy put down the china pot she’d been eying and started walking toward Heather.
“I got it,” Amy said, appearing in the nick of time. “He didn’t even look at what book it was. Just asked for five bucks and told me to move along.”
“Nice guy, isn’t he?”
“Is Nancy coming this way?” Amy asked, handing Heather the journal.
She tucked it under her arm, nodded and gestured to the road. “Yeah, I suggest we get out of here.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter 9
Ryan had a late night at work to attend to, and Dave was over at Amy’s for a friendly sleepover. Not because Heather needed a babysitter, just because Amy and Dave had had an unshakeable bond ever since the wedding in Paris.
Amy didn’t mind the pee-stained carpets, now. That was part of Dave’s natural charm – and his weak bladder.
Heather strode down the sidewalk, clutching her purse to her side and her Taser in one hand. The lampposts illuminated circles of the street, and she kept just behind them, mind racing ahead to what she’d find.
“Probably nothing,” she mumbled.
Heather had spent the afternoon paging through Jelly’s journal, reading the ravings of a seriously depressed and confused your lady.
Jelly’s writing trailed across the page, traversing margins and the center of the book. Long lines of text, which had highlighted two main points for Heather.
That she despised her sister Plum, who she called a stuck-up know-it-all.
And that she’d been having secret meetings with a man she’d adored. She’d scribbled about him at length, never mentioning his name as if she knew that someone would pick up the diary and read it.
That was the part that creeped Heather out.
She checked her watch by the light of one of the lampposts, then squared her shoulders and turned right.
The entrance to the back of the park was guarded by a tiny gate which didn’t close, no matter the time of day or night. She slipped between the rails and strode through the grass, beneath the canopy of leaves. The night sky sparkled with stars, gems winking at her from afar.
Her stomach bubbled, and she rubbed it with her free hand, the other still clutching her only protection.
Hillside wasn’t a bad town, but it did have its downsides. After all, Jelly’s killer was still on the loose.
“Almost,” Heather whispered, and circled a tree, heading for the hidden park bench Jelly had detailed as the meeting place.
She stumbled over a rock, arms flailing, but quickly regained her composure. She squinted through the relative darkness – the pathway through the park was lit by quaint lamps, but the area beneath the trees wasn’t.
The park bench was just ahead. She could make out its silhouette, and on it sat what looked to be a man.
Heather swallowed nervously. This was the exact meeting time which Jelly had noted in her book. Either the lover didn’t know Jelly was dead, though that didn’t seem possible since the entire town knew, or he’d come for another reason.
Could it be a sinister reason?
Better to be safe than sorry.
Heather raised her Taser, drawing in breaths of warm night air, and exhaling through her nose. “Don’t move, I’m armed, and I’m not afraid to defend myself.”
“Who is that?” A man grumbled. “What do you want?”
The silhouette shifted on the bench and a flashlight clicked on. He shone it through the darkness and illuminated her.
Heather raised and arm to shield her eyes and stuck out her Taser just in case. “Heather Shepherd. Who are you?”
“Typical. Of course, you’d be here. I can’t even mourn in peace.” The grunts and shifts were familiar.
“Geoff?” Heather asked. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” he replied, and aimed the torch at the ground in front of his feet. The light splayed across the dirt and highlighted a rock. A heart had been etched into the stone, the letters G and J scratched in its center.
“So you were together, then,” Heather said, dropping the Taser to her side. She didn’t put it away, though.
“No, we weren’t. Maybe once we were, but not for years now
. Not since she got out of high school.” Geoff sighed, a whoosh of air which disturbed the dust. He was a massive man.
A thrill of fear traveled up Heather’s spine. He could easily overpower her, kill her the same as Jelly had died.
“What happened?” Heather asked.
“Why should I tell you?” Geoff didn’t shift the flashlight, leaving it to illuminate the carved rock.
“I don’t know,” Heather said.
“Well, I’m sold. Sit down. I’ll tell you my life story,” Geoff replied, sarcasm dripping from his lips.
“Seriously, Geoff, I don’t know why you should tell me and not anyone else.” Heather shuffled forward, stopped beside the park bench, and then lowered herself to sit beside him. “Maybe, because you need to get it out? I’ve lost people before. I know what it’s like to grieve.”
“Oh yeah?” He asked. “Anyone in this way? Any of your friends or family members been murdered?”
“Yeah, actually.”
Geoff didn’t reply. They sat in silence, staring at the initials carved into the rock. Leaves rustled behind them, a snake or small critter hurried through the grass. Night noises which should’ve scared her, but didn’t.
“Jelly was unstable,” Geoff said. “She never let go after we broke up. She kept trying to visit, kept sending me notes. She was determined to continue our relationship, even though I told her we couldn’t.”
“Why?” Heather asked.
“Maybe because of the way I ended it. I didn’t give her a real reason, and I did still love her.” The flashlight shook in Geoff’s grip. “Her father threatened me to stay away from her, and I figured Jelly would need her family more than she needed a high school boyfriend.”
Pops’ attitude wasn’t limited to Heather, then.
“But she never let go,” Geoff continued, “she sent me a message every day to meet her here at this time. 11pm. I never came. Not once. Never.” He sniffed, then coughed twice. “I don’t have a chance to tell her how I feel now. She’s gone. This is all my fault.”
Pistachio Lemon Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery- Book 12 (Donut Hole Mystery) Page 3
