Lavender Grape Dust Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 32

by Susan Gillard

  Vera opened her mouth, then hesitate. “No,” she said. She clapped the door shut in Heather’s face, then latched it.

  “Nice lady,” Amy said. “Kind of reminded me of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.”

  Heather bent and kissed the top of Cupcake’s furry head, but didn’t stop frowning. She needed more evidence, or she’d never ask the right questions. And she got the distinct impression she’d asked Vera Bain all the wrong questions.

  “Are we done for today?” Amy asked. “Donut Delights?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I could use a donut to lift my mood. Let’s drop the animals off, then go fetch Lils for a treat.”

  Chapter 9

  Heather marched around the corner of Hillside Manor and through the short-clipped green grass. The staff tried their best to keep it watered, and the care showed. Though, splotches of mud broke the smooth green façade beneath Heather’s pumps.

  “You think this is the answer?” Ryan asked.

  “I don’t know about the answer, but we haven’t checked the outside of the window, yet, and if it’s the main entry point for our murderer, it only makes sense to do that.”

  Another morning had dawned in Hillside, and each day brought the end of one year closer, and the start of something new with it.

  Heather counted the windows along the brick-faced wall. She halted across from Thaddeus’s rusted frame and wriggled her nose. “Strange that his window is the neglected one. You said it was reported?”

  “Yeah, but only a short while ago. Apparently, Thaddeus through a mini-tantrum over it, because he didn’t want it fixed.”

  Heather frowned at her husband. “Wait, what? The grand movie star, the man who sought perfection and autographed pictures of himself on the wall, didn’t want his window fixed? That’s suspicious.”

  “I never thought about it like that,” Ryan said and squished through the wet grass to the window. “I guess, I’ve still got a case of the Christmas brain.”

  Heather folded her arms over her cardigan and studied the window frame.” Why would an old man, a famous, snobby old man, want his window to stay broken?”

  “Hey, what’s this?” Ryan asked, and pointed to a colored rock hidden beneath a sage shrub.

  He bent and rustled the leaves, sending a wave of sage scent in Heather’s direction. She inhaled and flashed back to cool evenings on her grandmother’s porch, lemonade in hand, then shook the memory away with a small smile.

  “It’s a rock,” Heather said.

  “Yeah, but it’s got a bright red splotch of paint on it,” Ryan said.

  “Are you sure it’s paint?”

  “Well, it’s not blood.”

  Heather bent to get a better look at the mysterious rock. It was pretty big, and mostly red, as Ryan had said.

  “It looks like some kind of marking?” Heather asked.

  “Marking,” Ryan muttered. “No way. This reminds me of the Treasure Map.”

  “Uh?”

  “It was one of Thaddeus Turlington’s earliest movies. I watched it obsessively as a kid.”

  “You watched black and white movies?” Heather asked.

  “Yeah. And in it, the protagonist hid his treasure underneath a rock, just like this one,” Ryan said.

  “Black and white movies. You.”

  Ryan patted her on the knee. “Focus, Shepherd. I think we’ve just found something.”

  Heather dropped to her haunches beside her husband and brushed her fingers over the top of the rock. “You think there’s a treasure underneath?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Ryan replied. He grasped either side of the rock and shifted it aside.

  Both of them gasped.

  A small wooden box sat nestled in the earth, its lid shut by a rusted metal latch.

  Ryan and Heather exchanged a glance, filled with excitement. Heather had been transported back to her childhood again, and the wonder of discovering something unexpected.

  “Open it,” she whispered.

  Ryan unhooked the latch, then pressed his fingers to either side of the lid. He lifted it, slowly.

  The box fell open and revealed…

  “Candy bars?” Heather reached in and extracted three wrapped chocolates.

  “Yeah, Thaddeus wasn't allowed them. Remember?”

  “Diabetes,” Heather said. “No wonder he wanted the window to remain unfixed. He had a secret stash out here.”

  “There’s something else.” Ryan reached in and brought out a pack of fireworks. The miniature kind that popped when you tossed them on the floor.

  “Bang Snaps,” Ryan said. “Why on earth would he have these and – what? A syringe of fake blood.” He lifted it and swished the red corn syrup back and forth. “Looks like somebody was a prankster.”

  Heather sighed and pressed her palms to the knees of her jeans. She forced herself upright and paced back from the window. “I guess that explains why he’d want to keep it broken.” But it didn’t explain much else.

  Fog rolled through Heather’s mind. Answers evaded her, and the questions which led to them weren’t any clearer.

  “There’s nothing else here,” Ryan said, from his spot beside the treasure box. “But we’ll have to take this into evidence.”

  Heather stared at the rusted frame and the glimpse of Thaddeus’ bed beyond it. Nobody had touched the room, yet.

  A picture of the movie star fluttered in the breeze and flashed his smiling face at her.

  “Let’s go,” Heather said and broke eye contact with Thad’s likeness. “I’ve got a lunch date with Amy and the gang. I’m sure she’s already eaten half the donuts in the store by now.”

  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dissatisfaction from her core.

  Missing puzzle pieces drifted through her mind.

  Chapter 10

  Heather took a bite of her donut and squeezed her eyes shut. Boy, she needed that sweetness. The grape jelly swooshed around in her mouth and she relished the tang and the depth of flavor.

  There was nothing quite like homemade grape jelly, and her assistants had done a fantastic job at replicating her grandmother’s flawless recipe.

  “So, what, he used to sneak out or something?” Amy asked, around a mouthful of her own treat.

  “That’s what it looks like. He kept a treasure trove of sweets and prank stuff under a rock outside his window.” Heather opened her eyes. She still couldn’t picture Thaddeus Turlington clambering out of his window in the dead of the night.

  “At least, he had a spirit for adventure,” Amy said.

  Eva and Lilly stood at the glass counter at the back of the store, each with a donut on a plate, and broad smiles on their faces.

  “What are they up to?” Heather asked. “They’re always gossiping in a corner these days. I don’t trust it.”

  “It’s all a plot,” Amy said, and tapped the side of her nose. “To make our lives better. Can we really complain?”

  “No, but I can’t quash my curiosity.”

  “Well, you know what they say about –”

  The glass front door of Donut Delights crashed open and the bell tinkled overhead, frantic to keep up with the sudden motion. A man stood, framed in the entrance, his palm pressed flat against the Donut Delights logo on the glass.

  “There you are,” he said, in a sonorous boom of noise. He fixed his gaze on Heather and produced a brilliant smile. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  Every head in the store turned.

  Amy’s eyebrows did a dance of consternation.

  Heather cleared her throat. “Uh, sorry, do I know you?”

  The man wore a fedora, perched atop his wavy brown hair, and long brown trench coat to match. He grasped a yellow legal pad in one hand a thick pencil, topped with a feather in the other.

  A single word floated through Heather’s brain and struggled to the tip of her tongue. Ludicrous.

  She managed to keep silent.

  “Of course you don’t,”
the man replied. He strode to the wrought iron table and plonked down in Eva Schneider’s favorite chair.

  “Someone’s sitting there,” Amy said, and narrowed her eyes.

  “You must have some tiny friends,” the man said. “Or invisible ones.”

  “It’s customary to introduce yourself to strangers,” Heather said. Thought, she got the feeling this guy didn’t care much for customs.

  He swept his fedora off his head and plopped it beside Amy’s plate. “Ah, of course, of course. I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

  “That’s someone else’s seat,” Amy said, and picked up her donut. “I’m afraid the rude ship has already sailed. And you’re the captain.”

  “Ha! Such witticisms,” the man said. “I, my dears, am Roger Lorde. The newest and greatest reporter at the Hillside Reporter.”

  Heather stifled a groan. Amy let hers out, loud and proud.

  They’d both had just about enough encounters with reporters to last them a lifetime. Two lifetimes, to be frank.

  “And what do you want from us Mr. Lorde?” Heather asked. She pushed her plate aside and glanced toward the counter.

  Lilly and Eva stared at the newcomer, but didn’t approach.

  “I want to interview you, Mrs. Shepherd, what else?” Lorde asked, and scribbled her name across the top of his legal pad. “You’re a very important person in Hillside. Sorry, the wildlife of Hillside.”

  “The wildlife of Hillside,” Amy mouthed, and her forehead wrinkled up.

  “Interview me about what?” Heather asked.

  “The Turlington case, of course. A little birdie told me that you spoke with none other than Janie Turlington herself. Is she a suspect?”

  Roger Lorde’s brazen approach didn’t sit well with her.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing case,” Heather replied, and placed her palms together atop the glass table.

  “Please, what’s a little information between friends?” Roger asked, and scribbled another note on his pad.

  “We’re not friends,” Heather replied, because she’d just about lost her patience with this pushy character.

  Amy nodded along as backup.

  “But we could become friends if you helped me with my story. I’m an influential man, Mrs. Shepherd. I can help you gain from a professional partnership,” he said.

  Heather’s insides twisted. The last thing she needed was another ‘frenemy’ in Hillside, and Roger Lorde had put himself on the fast track to that title.

  “Mr. Lorde, I’m not giving you any information about the case.”

  “So, you have no comment to make about the fact that Kevin Turlington inherited everything?” He asked. “That the Turlingtons are waging an all-out legal war over this?”

  The information wasn’t new to Heather, but the stark manner of his portrayal brought those facts to the front of her mind, again.

  Kevin Turlington had stood to benefit the most from his father’s death, and yet, she hadn’t managed to interview him yet. She marked it off as next on her priority list, particularly since he might’ve been the last person to see Thaddeus alive. Apart from the killer, of course.

  Assuming they weren’t one and the same person.

  “Mrs. Shepherd?” Roger Lorde poked her forearm with the eraser on the end of the too-thick pencil.

  She jolted upright and snatched her arm back. “I have no further comments. Please leave my store. You’re making the atmosphere unpleasant for my customers.”

  Roger narrowed his eyes at her. A sharp, brown stare of disapproval. He rose from the seat. “Very well,” he said. “I know when I’m not welcome.”

  “Do you really?” Amy muttered the question.

  Roger Lorde swept toward the door and out into the street.

  Heather’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she drew it out – gosh, what if Lorde had managed to get his greedy hands on her cell number?

  Ryan’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Uh oh,” Heather said. “Here comes trouble.”

  Chapter 11

  Heather sat down in front of her husband’s desk in the Hillside Police Station. “How come we never meet here?” She asked, and glanced around the room.

  A water cooler sat in the corner, along with a coffee pot and a filing cabinet against the opposite wall. A framed picture of Lilly, Heather, and Ryan hung against the gray wall.

  “This is nice,” Heather said.

  “Because I’m trapped in here almost all day long, going over case files and chasing up telephonic leads,” Ryan replied. “I need my donut break.”

  “Good thing I brought a couple.” Heather lifted the Donut Delights box and placed it on top of Ryan’s desk.

  Ryan grasped the lid, immediately, and flipped it open. He reached in and brought out one of the weekly donuts. “Thank goodness. I don’t think I’d have made another hour without one of your creations.”

  “Still, this is better than the cubicle,” Heather said and leaned back in her seat.

  There wasn’t a hint of leather in Ryan’s office, only gray fabric, and the wooden desk. Neutral colors which wouldn’t distract him from work, but probably bored him into a coma on slow days.

  Her husband munched on the donut, then sighed. “Right, so, thanks for coming down here, Mrs. Shepherd.”

  “Always a pleasure, Mr. Shepherd. You sounded serious on the phone. What happened?”

  Ryan licked his fingers, then reached down and rapped his knuckles on top of a brown folder on his desk.

  Unlike the case files Heather received, this one was a thin slip of a thing. “What is it?”

  “DNA results from the hair follicle. And of the victim. And of another sample, we found near the body – some kind of fluid. The techies told me it was saliva,” Ryan said. “Possibly the result of someone screaming at the old man.”

  “Goodness,” Heather said. She grasped the folder and dragged it past the Donut Delights box. She flipped it open and examined the page.

  “As you’ll see, the saliva belonged to none other but our fabulous lawyer, Herman Schulz,” Ryan said.

  “Wow,” Heather replied. “That’s not good for him. He specifically said he hadn’t seen the man in ages. That he always had his clients come to him, rather than the other way around.”

  “Right. I’m thinking we should have a little chat with Mr. Schulz, sometime soon,” Ryan said. “But check out what else they found.”

  “DNA from Thaddeus, of course. I bet we could sell that on eBay.” Heather glanced up at her husband. She chuckled at his slack-jawed expression. “Oh relax, you know I’m kidding.”

  “And the hair was from Vera Bain,” Ryan said. “Which doesn’t tell us much since Vera probably spent every day in that room. There’s bound to be traces of her DNA all over the place.”

  Heather worked her fingers along the edge of the page and stared at the lines of text.

  Vera and Schulz.

  “Huh,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just frustrating.” Heather shook her head and met her husband’s gaze. “This might mean nothing, or it might mean everything. Think about it. The killer might not have left any trace evidence behind. This could be a wild goose chase.”

  “A wild donut chase,” Ryan said and chomped down on his second one. “Regardless, we’ve got one solid lead, and that’s Herman Schulz.”

  “We can talk to him about it, but who knows what he’ll say. The man is evasive, at best,” Heather said. And Herman had flinched at the mention of a warrant.

  What did he have to hide?

  Heather’s phone alarm trilled. “Shoot,” she said and wriggled the cell out of her pocket. “I promised Lilly I’d take her and the animals for a walk. She’s up to something for New Years, Ryan. She’s been avoiding me.”

  “Me too. I would be suspicious, but I know it’ll be a pleasant surprise, whatever it is,” Ryan replied. He grasped the digital clock on the corner of his desk and lifted it. “I guess
I’d better get back to this paperwork.” He gestured to the brimming in tray.

  Heather rose and circled to her husband's side of the desk. She planted a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you at home. We can chat more about Herman Schulz then.”

  “Deal,” Ryan said and looped his arms around her waist. He gave her a tight squeeze, then released her. “Have fun.”

  “We will,” Heather said.

  She needed this time to think about the suspects and the evidence. Perhaps, the walk would help her mull it over and come to some kind of concrete conclusion.

  Chapter 12

  Lilly trotted along beside Heather, the end of Cupcake’s magenta kitty leash in her right hand, and Dave’s new, green one in her left. She focused on the entrance of the park in the distance.

  “You’re awfully quiet, of late,” Heather said, and placed her palm on the back of Lilly’s neck.

  A secretive smile stole onto her daughter’s lips. “I know,” she said. “You’ll understand why on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Oh really,” Heather said. “Well, I hope this surprise happens before the stroke of ten in the evening because you’ve got to be in bed.”

  Lilly stopped dead. Her face went pale as freshly made fondant. “What? You’re kidding.”

  “Of course, I’m kidding. It’s New Years! You can stay up as late as you want,” Heather replied, and burst out laughing. She couldn’t resist a little teasing every so often.

  Perhaps, she’d picked up the habit from Amy.

  “Mom,” Lilly whined.

  They paced down the sidewalk and past a buzzing café. Men and women sat outside feasting on toasted sandwiches or Spanish omelets, sipping on hot chocolate, impervious to the chill which swept down the street.

  Waiters rushed between tables, eyes wide in a permanent state of activity.

  “Oh, could we get something to eat, mom? I’m starving,” Lilly said, and pulled up short.

  “Let me check whether animals are allowed,” Heather said. She waved down the greeter in front of the iron fence, hip-height fence.

  He rushed forward, bearing a smile and two menus. “Good afternoon, ma’am, how many I help you?”