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

by Susan Gillard

  “The world must know the truth or –”

  “Mr. Lorde, you wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked you in the face. And frankly, I hope it does. Good day to you, sir.” She ripped the phone from her ear and pressed the red button on the screen.

  “Goodness. You’re fired up,” Eva said.

  Heather exhaled and counted to ten to calm herself. “I’ve got to run, Eva. Tell Amy and Lils to meet me back at the house in two hours. We’ll visit Leila after that. Are you going to tag along?”

  “Definitely,” Eva said. “I’d love to meet this Leila, your grandmother so loved. She sounds like a sensible woman.”

  Heather bent and embraced Eva. “You’re a star.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to see a star about a snap,” Heather replied, then turned on her heel and rushed out of the store.

  Chapter 15

  Heather opened the front door of the Hillside by the Wayside Motel and stepped onto the wooden parquet floor.

  The receptionist stood behind his desk, frozen in the act of shoveling chips into his mouth. His usually ruddy complexion had paled to pink, and he stared at the entrance to the hall.

  Voices drifted in the air, along with a tangible aura of anger.

  “You did it!” A man yelled.

  “Don’t try to turn this around on me,” a woman howled back.

  “What’s going on?” Heather whispered, and her boots clacked on the wooden flooring.

  “They’re fighting,” the receptionist said. “The Terrible Twins are fighting.”

  Heather blinked at the name. She’d come to speak to Kevin about the picture, but this, well, this was unexpected.

  The yells swept down the hall, and her sleuthin’ gene scratched at her to follow them. She marched toward the entrance, and the receptionist didn’t stop her.

  Heather strode down the hall, past retro wall sconces and closed silver doors, toward the racket which issued from an open room at the end. She halted in front of the doorway and peered inside.

  Kevin stood beside a chromed out desk, his fingers pressed to its surface and his other hand on his hip. “I can’t believe you would accuse me of this. After all, we’ve been through together. We’re supposed to watch out for each other. Like real siblings.”

  “As opposed to fake siblings?” Janie tapped her heel on the orange carpeting. She folded her arms across the chest of her black cocktail dress, then flicked her blond hair over her shoulder.

  “Just admit that you did it for the will,” Kevin said and shook his head. “Admit that you wanted dad to die because he wouldn’t give you what you wanted.”

  Janie let out a squeal of frustration and stamped her foot.

  The argument was something to behold. The anger of two Hollywood titans.

  “Amy would die to see this,” Heather whispered.

  The Turlingtons’ heads swiveled in her direction. She was caught, a deer in the headlights of two SUVs.

  “You,” Janie said, and narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Who’s this?” Kevin asked.

  “Mr. Turlington,” Heather said, and ducked into the room. She walked passed the series of circle mirrors plastered to the wall, opposite the entrance to the bathroom. “I’m Heather Shepherd. I work as a consultant to the Hillside Police Department, and I’m investigating the murder of your father.”

  “Ha! Then you’ve come to the right place,” Kevin said and pointed at his sister. “She did it. There’s your murderer, right there.”

  “No, you did it. I know you did it to get the will,” Janie said and turned to Heather this time. “You believe me, don’t you? You saw the will yourself. It paid out to him, to this lazy, this good for nothing –”

  “Good for nothing! I wasn’t good for nothing when I scored us our part in our very first blockbuster movie together,” Kevin. “You’re ungrateful. And – and spoiled!”

  What on earth had brought on this argument?

  “Please, calm down. The screaming doesn’t help the situation,” Heather said. It also didn’t help the stiff headache which brewed between her eyes.

  “I know she did it,” Kevin said. “That window, that’s how she got in.”

  Heather’s stomach jolted. How did Kevin know about the window?

  Janie glared at her brother. “What window, little brother?”

  “You can’t call me little brother,” he said. “We were born two minutes apart.”

  “I’ll call you whatever I want,” Janie snapped. “And what window are you talking about? Father’s window? How do you know the murderer used the window, huh?”

  Janie Turlington might’ve been cruel, but she was sharp as a tack. She’d found a thread, and she tugged hard.

  “The Manor told me. One of the staff called and mentioned the window needed fixing but dad was furious about it,” Kevin said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

  “How would I know?” She snapped and stomped both feet this time. One, two, a bull preparing to charge a matador. “Nobody tells me anything because I’m just the boring older one. I’m the woman who –”

  “Who what?” Kevin asked. “Killed father?”

  This had cycled back around again, and Heather hadn’t found out anything new, other than the fact that Janie might not have known about the broken window.

  “Argh!” Janie screeched, reached up and grasped two handfuls of her hair. “You’re impossible. I can’t talk to you anymore.”

  “Oh yeah, too bad we’ve got a movie coming up in spring.”

  “No,” Janie Turlington replied, and her voice dropped super low. “I won’t do any movies with you anymore. Murderer.”

  “Same to you,” Kevin roared.

  Janie stomped from the room. Her heels clacked onto the wooden floor, and she stormed to the chrome door across the hall. She swiped a keycard once, and the door clicked open, then she disappeared inside.

  “I – Mr. Turlington,” Heather said.

  “Enough,” he replied. “Please, enough.” He sank to the carpet beside the desk and grasped his head in his hands. “I’ve already lost my father this week. I can’t take any more questions. Just – just leave me alone.”

  Heather backed out of his motel room and shut the door behind herself. She shuddered and rubbed her arms.

  Of all the arguments she’d seen this one had been the worst.

  Chapter 16

  The calm after the storm of the Turlington’s fight rocked Heather into an almost sleep-state. Leila’s peaceful vibe radiated through her space in Hillside Manor, and the woman herself sat on the edge of her bed, clasping a handful of cards to her chest.

  “No cheating, now,” she said and winked at Lilly.

  “I would never,” Lilly said, and rifled through her own selection of cards. “But you’ve got to watch out for Amy.”

  “Hey! That’s not fair,” Ames said.

  “It’s true, though,” Eva replied, and tapped her nose with a gnarled index finger. She’d chosen a spot furthest from Heather’s bestie.

  Ames had a notorious game-cheating streak. Board games, cards, and even phone games. If she could cheat, she would. It was strange since she’d never do anything untoward in real life.

  “It might be true, but it’s still not fair,” her bestie replied.

  Leila’s gaze skipped from her cards to Heather’s face. “Are you all right, dear? You seem distracted.”

  “I just witnessed something spectacular,” Heather said and gazed out of Leila’s bedroom window at one of those naked trees which poked from the green grass.

  “Oh? What was it?”

  “An argument between Kevin and Janie Turlington,” Heather said.

  Amy gasped and dropped her hand. Lilly snuck a peek.

  “And you didn’t invite me?” Amy asked.

  “It wasn’t an event, Ames. It was an argument. They both accused each other of the murder of their father.” Heather rubbed the center of her forehead, b
ut the headache still hadn’t dissipated.

  “Still, you should’ve at least videotaped it. I bet that guy at the Hillside Reporter would keel over if he found out he missed that,” Amy replied. She meant it as a joke, but the truth to her words stung.

  Roger Lorde had likely incited the argument by publishing the article that very morning.

  “So,” Leila said. “That’s what’s bothering you. You haven’t solved your case yet.”

  “I really wanted to finish this before New Year’s Eve. Just like I wanted to finish the last case before Christmas,” Heather said. “I guess, I just haven’t found the links between the evidence, yet.”

  Lilly perked up. “I’m allowed to listen to that, right?”

  “No,” Amy and Heather said, in unison.

  Eva slipped off her seat and beckoned to the young girl. “Come on, Lils. Let’s go for a walk. We can pick up some iced tea from the vending machine at reception.”

  “Why do they have a vending machine in a retirement home?” Lilly hopped off her seat and placed her cards facedown to keep her place.

  “We need our little pleasures here, dear,” Leila said, with a warm smile. She’d taken to Lilly, immediately. But who wouldn’t? Lils was a ray of sunshine in all their lives.

  Eva and Lilly trailed out of the room, caught in a heated discussion about the viability of vending machines in retirement homes. Their voices faded down the passage, and Heather fastened her gaze to that tree outside, once again.

  “What evidence are you missing?” Leila asked. “What links, I mean?”

  “We’ve got the DNA samples from Herman Schulz and Vera Bain in the room with our vic,” Heather said, switching to her cop lingo out of habit. “A broken window and suffocation as the method of murder.”

  “And that will which Janie Turlington tried to change before her father’s death,” Amy said.

  “Yeah, and Herman was furious with Thaddeus on the day of his death and wrote him a threatening letter.” A bird settled in the tree outside, and the branch wiggled.

  “Funny you should mention Vera Bain, again,” Leila said, and lifted a donut from the fresh box they’d brought her. She took a bite, and lavender dust sprinkled across her lap.

  “Funny? Why?” Heather asked.

  “She’s back at work,” Leila said. “I saw her cleaning out Thaddeus’ room this morning. Her entire hand is bandaged up.”

  “Why?” Heather asked, and frowned so hard her headache throbbed a complaint.

  “Oh, she acted strange when I asked her. Something about getting a tetanus shot. She said she cut herself on something rusty and it got infected, so she had to go to the doctor.”

  “Rusty,” Heather said, and her thoughts flashed back to Vera’s wan face in the door. “A knife.”

  “What’s that, dear?” Leila asked.

  The bird on the tree branch flapped its wings and took flight. A single feather drifted to the ground outside.

  “No!” Heather spun on the spot and stared at her best friend.

  Amy jumped and raised her hands in fake surrender. “Oh my gosh, what did I do this time?”

  “Ames, Ames!”

  “What, I’m here. Are you here? You’re acting weird.”

  “Amy, what did Vera said she cut herself on?”

  “One of those plastic and metal vegetable slicers,” Amy said.

  “Those things are a boon.” Leila chewed on her donut.

  “A plastic and metal. Plastic. It wasn’t rusted surely. How could it have been rusted? And how would she have cut herself in such a strange place?” Heather mimicked sliding a potato across a slicer. “No!”

  “Are you as confused as I am?” Amy asked Leila, in a stage whisper.

  “I’m eighty-eight, dear. I’m always confused.”

  Heather burst out of her seat. “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

  She rushed down the hall, her boots clicking on the linoleum, and turned right, then left, then right again. She skidded to a halt in front of Thaddeus Turlington’s room.

  “She cleaned up?” Heather whispered to herself. Vera Bain wasn’t allowed to clean up the room.

  They hadn’t finished processing the scene.

  Heather strode past the neatly made bed and the autographs above it. She halted in front of the curtains. She drew one back, and then the other, bent in front of the rusted sill and stared at its edge.

  Dried blood clung to the rust, hidden only by the similarity in color.

  Heather whipped her cellphone out of her pocket and grazed her hand against the fabric from the speed. She dialed her husband’s number.

  “Detective Shepherd,” he answered.

  “Ryan, it’s me. You need to get down to Hillside Manor, now. I know who did it. I know who killed Thaddeus Turlington.”

  “Well, good for you,” a woman’s voice rang out, behind her, cool as a winter’s morning.

  The door to Thaddeus’ room swung shut with a click.

  Chapter 17

  Heather didn’t hang up the call, but dropped the phone to her side, anyway. Ryan would’ve hung up by now. He’d heard what she’d said, and the interruption. He’d be in his cruiser and on his way in two minutes flat.

  Hillside PD wasn’t too far from here.

  Heather turned on the spot and face the murderer. “I hope you’re not going to try resisting arrest. The police are already on their way.”

  Vera Bain’s blond hair hung in damp ringlet around her face. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She grasped a feather duster in her right hand. “I’m not going to resist anything,” she said. “I hoped I’d get away with it, but you know what? I don’t care anymore. I’m just glad he’s gone.” She pointed at Thaddeus’ picture with the feathery end of her duster.

  “Why?” Heather asked. There really wasn’t a better way to phrase the question.

  Vera exhaled and walked to Turlington’s bed. She sat down on it, then pointed at a chair across the room. “Take a seat.”

  For once, Heather did as she was told. She grasped the top rail of the armchair and dragged it toward the end of the bed.

  Vera Bain didn’t incite fear in her, the way many of the other killers had. And she’d come face to face with her fair share.

  “You must think I’m crazy,” she said. “Or dangerous.”

  “All I want to know is why ” Heather said. That simple question drove most of Heather’s actions throughout any given case.

  Knowledge. To understand.

  “When I first started working here, I was thrilled to find out that one of my charges was the famous movie star Thaddeus Turlington,” Vera said. “I mean, my mother was such a huge fan of his work that I grew up watching black and white movies, along with the color musicals later on.”

  “Musicals. Thaddeus?”

  “I know, right?” Vera chuckled and twirled the end of the feather duster. “So, when I arrived the first day, I was a littler overwhelmed. He was a movie star, no matter how old, and I was just a young aide sent to care for him.” Vera’s eyes glowed at the memory, but slowly, darkness took over and blotted out the light. “He was the opposite of what I expected him to be.”

  “How so?” Heather grasped her cell phone between her palms.

  “He was mean. He laughed at me when I said I loved his movies. He mocked me for any small mistake I made, and as time went on, his teasing got worse,” Vera said. “It wasn’t playful joking anymore. He’d plant fireworks under my chair and laugh when I screamed from the noise.”

  That made sense. No wonder the man had kept them in his treasure box.

  “He did a lot of mean things, but I think the worst was planting the empty candy wrappers in his room. Tons of them. More than he could’ve eaten in a week, all in one night. Of course, he wasn’t allowed candy, so I had to clean it and report it.”

  “What did the management staff say?” Heather asked.

  “They wanted to fire me. He has diabetes. That much candy could’ve killed
him overnight,” Vera said. “But he insisted they keep me at Hillside Manor. I think it was because he wanted to have more fun with me.”

  “How long did this go on for?” Heather asked.

  “Years,” Vera said, and her chin wobbled. “Years of being told I’m stupid and fat, that I’m useless.”

  “Did you ever report his behavior?”

  “I tried,” Vera said, and leaned in. “But the management, they don’t believe what we tell them. They will always side with the residents. Which, I suppose, makes sense.”

  Heather’s gut twisted. Empathy washed over her and dissolved again.

  “I snapped,” Vera said. “After I got sick, I got a call from the Manor, requesting that I come back to work, immediately. Somehow, Thaddeus had managed to escape the place at night and had woken half the Manor with his noise.”

  “And you couldn’t take anymore,” Heather said.

  “I couldn’t take anymore,” Vera agreed. “So, I crept into his bedroom, and I did it. I’ll admit it to the cops and you, and to whoever else. I did this. It was the wrong thing to do, but I don’t know why I don’t feel any remorse. I feel…”

  Emotions flickered through Vera’s eyes.

  “You feel?”

  The woman looked up and met Heather’s gaze. “Numb. I feel numb.”

  The room door swung inward, and Ryan strode inside, cuffs at the ready. He halted and stared at the pair of them, murderer and investigator, seated feet apart, calm.

  Vera dropped the feather duster on Thaddeus Turlington’s bed. She rose and turned to face the pictures on the wall. “I guess, you get the last laugh, after all, Thad.”

  Chapter 18

  Heather and Ryan interlinked their arms and waited in front of the door to Eva’s home. Amy shivered beside them in her blue, puffy coat, hands grasping both Cupcake and Dave’s leashes – though she’s complained endlessly about walking the cat, again.

  “What’s going on?” Amy asked. “I’m turning into an icicle.”

  “It’s not that cold,” Heather said, but snuggled closer to her husband, regardless.

  The front door of Eva’s home creaked inward, and Lilly appeared, dressed in a miniature pink suit, an apron tied around her waist and neck. “Welcome,” she said, “to your New Year’s Eve dinner.”