“Of course they do. But like whom? Whom are we talking about here?”
“Like Verna’s co-volunteer at hospice,” he said. “At first, when I showed up at her house to talk to her, she thought I was there to arrest her for theft. Said she knew Verna had turned everyone against her. When I explained that no one from Caring Hearts was pressing charges, and that I wasn’t here about any thefts, that I just wanted to ask her some questions about Verna, she said—get this—she said, ‘I didn’t kill her. But I don’t blame whoever did.’”
“Nice,” Heather said. “Do you know if she was a good marksman? Markswoman? Whatever.”
“Reasonably decent. She owns one handgun, which her late husband—who, incidentally, was cared for by Caring Hearts—taught her to shoot for her own protection. For after he was gone.”
“Is it the same kind of gun as the one used to shoot Verna?”
“Yes,” he said. “Same caliber.”
“Same gun?”
“Don’t know. She wouldn’t let me take it so we could fire a test bullet and do a comparison. But once ballistics gives us its report, we’ll at least know if the guns were made by the same manufacturer. Then maybe we can get a court order.”
“Hmm. I wonder why she wouldn’t let you take it if she really was innocent. She could eliminate herself as a suspect.”
“She claimed it was because she needed it for protection. That she was an elderly woman living alone. That her late husband wanted her to have it for that reason, and if he thought she needed it, that was good enough for her.”
“All righty, then.”
“Yeah. Exactly. Then there’s this doctor at the hospital where Verna worked. Dr. Edward Banner, a Vietnam vet who’s now Chief of Internal Medicine at Hillside Regional. Apparently, the two of them—he and Verna—had an argument over a patient who died recently. The witness didn’t hear details, just saw them arguing, and heard the patient’s name mentioned Said Banner looked angry, and Verna looked upset.”
“I wonder if it was the same patient whose death upset Verna so that she missed her next volunteer shift.”
“Same one.”
“What do you make of their argument?”
“Dr. Banner says there was no argument. He says Verna was upset and he was trying to calm her down. That he has no idea why someone thinks they were arguing.”
“Of course he doesn’t. Speaking of people who like to argue, have you talked to her neighbor, Mr. Smith? Whatever his first name is?”
“Wilbur Smith’s a good ol’ boy who can drop a deer with one shot at a hundred yards. Says he doesn’t own a handgun. And it’s true that he doesn’t own a registered handgun, at least.”
“So who do you think killed her?”
“I don’t know,” he said flatly, setting the beer bottle down on the coffee table. “But we’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Ryan didn’t answer. He remained sitting the way he was, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, his gaze fixed on the beer bottle in front of him.
And suddenly, some vibe in the air changed, and Heather knew what was coming.
“Heather—” Ryan began, his voice strained.
“You don’t have to say it,” she said, hearing her own voice coming from what seemed like a thousand miles away. “It’s over, isn’t it?”
“I do have to say it,” he insisted, finally facing her. “And it’s not over. Not necessarily. That depends on you.”
“On me?” she said incredulously.
“Heather, you know my wife died a few years ago. Elizabeth. Liz.” He paused, took a deep breath, let it out. “When she died, I missed her like you can’t imagine. I didn’t want to go on without her. But of course I went on. What else could I do? I tried to keep myself busy with work. I got drunk a few times. More than a few. And finally, gradually, things started to seem better. I still missed her, but I realized that I still had to go on living. Wanted to go on living. Does any of this make sense?”
She nodded, a small, jerky movement, her lips too frozen to speak.
“I even started to enjoy life again. Started to notice when the sun was shining. Started to want to be around people again. And then one day, I realized I might be ready to date again, if I met the right woman. I wanted to find again what Liz and I had shared. And when I met you, I thought maybe you were that person.” He glanced away from her and cleared his throat. When he looked back in her direction, his eyes seemed to glisten.
“I still think you might be that person. You’re incredible. You’re smart, and strong, and beautiful. But I was wrong about being ready to date. I’m not ready. I still miss Liz.”
“Of course you do,” she said, surprised that she could speak. “There will always be a part of you that misses her.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m okay with that, and I know you’re okay with that. That’s one of the things I love about you. But I’ve realized something. And that’s that I never really grieved her. I knew she wasn’t coming back, and I tried my hardest to push the pain away. I didn’t want to feel it. I thought it couldn’t do any good. But lately, I’ve realized that until I do feel it—until I really come to terms with it—I won’t be ready to give my heart to someone else. Not my whole heart. I’d only be able to give part of it. And that’s not fair to either one of us.”
For a moment, there was silence, as Heather felt her own eyes filling with tears. She tried to blink them back, but they seemed to have a force of their own, and they spilled over. She bowed her head and let them fall.
“I’m so sorry,” Ryan said, his voice husky. “I’m sorry I did this to you. You don’t deserve this.”
In the ensuing silence, she thought of a thousand things she wanted to say. Things like, Why don’t you let me be the one to decide what’s fair to me? and How can this be happening?
In the end, all she managed to say was, “I think you better go.”
“Heather—”
“Go,” she insisted, waving a hand toward the door, her gaze fixed on the geometric designs in the area rug at her feet. “Just go.”
A few beats passed, and then he stood up. She could tell by the creaking of the leather chair. And then she heard his footsteps as he slowly crossed the floor to the front door, the squeak of the doorknob turning, and the final click as he pulled the door shut behind him.
Heather buried her face in her hands and sobbed. When Don, her ex-husband, had walked out of her life for the last time, that had been one thing. After the rancor and bitterness that had existed between them, she was almost relieved.
This was different. Way different.
Heather got up and made her way into the bathroom, still sobbing. She pulled off a length of toilet paper, wadded it up, and wiped her eyes, then her nose. It did only momentary good.
Gotta pull it together, she told herself. Gotta move on. Isn’t that what he did?
A whimpering at her feet caused her to look down. Dave stood gazing up at her pitifully, as if he knew something was wrong.
“Mama’s okay,” Heather said, reaching down to scratch his furry head.
Dave licked her hand.
Heather sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and allowed Dave to crawl into her lap. She stroked his silky fur from head to tail, over and over, until she realized that his fur was wet. That’s strange.
But when another tear fell onto the back of her hand, Heather didn’t try to stop it, or any of the ones that followed. She closed her eyes, cuddled Dave close, and let herself cry.
Chapter 8
The next morning, when she arrived at Donut Delights, Heather busied herself with frosting a huge batch of Cadbury Crème donuts. Making the crème, spreading it on top of the donuts, and breaking the chocolate bars into tiny chunks which she placed on top of the crème all helped to keep her mind focused on work instead of her disastrous personal life.
Jung, Marice
la, and Angelica let her keep to herself, speaking to her only when necessary and trying not to ask her for anything. Several times, she caught their concerned gazes on her, but they always looked away when she caught them watching her.
She considered telling them what had happened. But the middle of the business day was no time for discussing her personal problems. She’d tell them later. When she felt like she could talk about it without crying.
Heather picked up a coffee pot and walked around the end of the counter and into the customer dining area to offer refills. Normally, she enjoyed the chance to spend a little time chatting with each person who came in, or at least those who wanted to chat. In addition to providing the wrought iron tables and chairs, faux-distressed brick walls, gorgeous wooden flooring, and Parisian décor, she wanted to offer customers a place they could be known. Cared about.
“What’s wrong?” Eva asked simply when Heather reached her table.
“Oh, just my personal life,” Heather said breezily, as if it were no big deal, avoiding her favorite customer’s gaze.
“Did you break up with your young man?”
Heather sighed. “It’s more like he broke up with me. Said he still missed his wife and wasn’t ready to give his heart to anybody else yet.”
“Oh, boy, I do understand,” Eva said. “But give him time.”
“Time? It’s over.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Eva cocked her head and looked up at Heather, her blue eyes serious. “Your young man sounds like he knows his heart. Knows what he’s ready for and what he isn’t ready for quite yet. Give him some time to work things out. And don’t be too sure that once he gets everything straight, he won’t come back, and be very sure he wants to be with you.”
“Maybe so,” Heather said. “Maybe so.”
The bell above the front door jingled, and Heather glanced at the new customer entering her shop. She looked familiar. Wait, was that the nurse she’d talked to about Verna Dixon? “I’ll be right back,” Heather said to Eva.
“Kristen?” she said as she walked toward the new arrival.
“You remember me! Yes, I just thought I’d treat myself to a donut or two or three,” Kristen said. “It’s been a long day.”
“Well take your time, and see what tickles your taste buds,” she said, gesturing to the glass display cases. “We have several varieties I think you’d really enjoy.”
“Mmm, they all look delicious,” Kristen said, perusing the selection as Heather retreated behind the counter and got ready to serve her. “I think I’ll have a…let’s see…a Southern Pecan Pie donut, and a Cadbury Crème donut.”
Heather boxed up the two donuts and handed the box across the counter to Kristen. “On the house,” she said. “As a thank you for your time in talking to me the other day, and because you’ve had a hard day.”
“Yeah, it’s always hard when a patient dies,” she said. “And this particular patient was one of Dr. Banner’s. Dr. Banner always takes it pretty hard when he loses a patient.”
“I bet,” Heather said, trying to figure out how to broach the topic of Banner’s argument with Verna. Finally, she decided the straightforward approach was best. “You know, I heard that he had an argument with Verna when another patient of his died. The one who died right before Verna was murdered.”
“I don’t know about that, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” Kristen said, tucking a strand of blond hair that had escaped from its clip behind her ear. “It’s almost like it’s a personal thing with him, you know? Especially when the patient was a Vietnam vet.”
“Was the patient who died today a Vietnam vet?”
“Yes. And so was the one who died right before Verna—left.”
“What did they die of?”
“Well, they were both very sick for awhile. The first man had been in a car accident and got banged up pretty badly. The man today was just sick. He had been homeless ever since Vietnam.”
“That’s too bad,” Heather said, frowning. “It’s sad.”
“Yes, it is,” Kristen said. “Are you sure I can’t pay you for these donuts?”
“Positive,” Heather answered. “Just enjoy. And come back and see us soon.”
“Oh, I will. Thanks. You have a good day.”
“You too,” Heather said, watching the young nurse walk out the door.
***
When her doorbell rang that afternoon, Heather wondered for a brief instant if it could possibly be Ryan. She immediately dismissed the notion, shaking her head. That part of her life was over.
Peering out the curtain next to the door, she saw Amy standing on her porch holding a plastic Walmart grocery bag. “Hey, there. Come in,” she said, opening the door and standing aside so Amy could enter.
“I brought reinforcements,” Amy said, holding up the bag. But all Heather could see inside was some kind of box.
“What’s in there?” she asked.
“Cheesecake,” Amy answered. “Each slice has a different topping, so you can try them all. Perfect remedy for the Jerk-Boyfriend-Just-Dumped-Me blues.”
“He’s not a jerk,” she said, accepting the bag. “But I’ll take the cheesecake.”
“I’ll help you eat it,” Amy said. “What are friends for?”
“Thanks for the sacrifice,” Heather said, feeling an honest grin tug at the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, any time. Whenever there’s a cheesecake to be eaten, I’m there for you.”
Heather placed the cheesecake in the middle of the kitchen table and reached into the silverware drawer for forks. Grabbing two small plates out of the cabinet, she sat down across from her friend. “Thanks for this,” she said. “Seriously.”
“You’re seriously welcome. Let’s get you started on a piece of cheesecake, and then you can give me some details. You didn’t say much in your text.”
Heather selected a piece of cheesecake topped with chocolate, caramel, and pecans. “Good choice,” Amy said, choosing a raspberry piece for herself.
“You like the plain stuff?” Heather asked.
“It’s not plain. Although I would rather have it topped with actual raspberries and served by a guy named Carlos.” She paused, fork in midair. “Oh, wait. Guys. That’s what’s the problem. Okay, so spill it. How’d he dump you?”
Heather swallowed a bite of cheesecake. “Well, he came over last night. You know I texted him saying I had some questions for him. So he came over, and we talked about the case for awhile.”
“Find out anything interesting?”
“Interesting, maybe, but not terribly helpful. Apparently Verna had an argument with a doctor at the hospital. The Chief of Internal Medicine. Something about a patient who had died. The doctor denies ever arguing with her. Says she was upset, and he was trying to calm her down. But a nurse at the hospital says that he always got upset when he lost a patient. Oh, and he was a Vietnam vet, so presumably, he knows how to fire a gun.”
“Go on.”
“Then there was the volunteer that Verna got fired at Caring Hearts. The volunteer’s husband had been cared for by that organization. After he died, she began volunteering with them. She had a gun, too, and knew how to use it, because her husband made her learn before he died. Said she would need it as an elderly woman living alone. And she wouldn’t let Ryan have her gun so ballistics could fire a test bullet for comparison with the one that killed Verna.”
“That’s suspicious,” Amy said. “Does Ryan suspect anybody else?”
“I don’t know how much he suspects her neighbor, Wilbur Smith. But Mr. Smith is a crotchety old guy, and he’s also a country boy. Apparently, he’s a pretty good shot with a rifle, but he denies owning a handgun.”
“So lots of people who might have done it, and no way to figure out which one actually did.”
“That’s about the long and the short of it.”
“So go on. After you two discussed the case, then what?”
“Ryan got all quiet. And somehow I just knew what
he was going to say. He said he had thought he was ready to date again, thought I was the right one for him, and even that he loved several things about me. But then he said he was wrong, he wasn’t ready to date again. That he was still in love with his wife, Liz, and couldn’t fully give his heart to somebody else until he dealt with losing her.”
“That’s so romantic!”
“What? Whose side are you on?” Heather demanded. “He broke up with me, remember?”
“True,” Amy said, suddenly serious. “But any guy that can love like that is a guy who’s worth waiting for. Give him some time to grieve his wife, or whatever he wants to do. He’ll be back.”
“You’re the second person who’s told me that today,” Heather grumbled.
Cadbury Creme Murder Page 5
