Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 by Guardian Publishing Group - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
Kids and adults stood beside their baking stations in the hall, smiles all around, while the gentle tinkle of Christmas music diffused between them. The windows showed clouds on the horizon, but the rays of the sun hadn’t been beaten, yet.
Heather placed her palms flat on the table and admired their creation.
“We should put M&M’s on the roof,” Lilly said and pointed at the flat planes of the gingerbread house. “We can use the frosting to make it stick.”
“Kind of like roof tiles?” Amy asked, and took a bite of a sugary candy cane.
“You’re supposed to decorate with that, Ames, not eat it,” Heather said.
“Just checking it’s good,” she replied, and waved the half-eaten stick through the air. “Wouldn’t want to use sub-standard candy on our construction, you know.” She crunched another bite.
“Whatever you say, sweet tooth,” Heather replied, and chuckled.
Lilly grabbed a bowl of pre-prepared frosting, a thin glaze for decoration, and dabbed it on the side of the house with a paintbrush. “It’s going to be the best house at the entire workshop.”
Heather smiled at her daughter and squeezed her shoulder, gently. “All that matters if we have fun making it.”
“And we get to eat it afterward,” Amy put in.
The gingerbread workshop was a stroke of genius on the part of another local Hillside baker and businesswoman, Julie Brookes. Heather had insisted they come, and so far, it’d been a grand success.
“Is there a prize for first place?” Amy asked.
“No, it’s not a competition,” Heather said. “It’s just for fun.”
“Well,” Amy grumbled, “Who’s idea was that?”
Heather scanned the room, filled with happy Hillside residents and their chatter. Gingerbread houses, some suspiciously small or far too tall, teetered on silver platters. “Hers,” Heather said, and pointed to the woman of the hour.
Julie Brookes paced between the tables and stopped to help here and there. Her auburn hair shone in its messy bun, and flour dust coated the apron she’d tied around her neck.
“She looks nice,” Lilly said and pasted a blue M&M to the roof. “Mom, I need more blues. Could you please get me more blues?”
Heather glanced at the half-full bowl of red, green and yellow M&Ms. “Sure, hon. I’ll ask Julie if she has more supplies for us.”
“Awesome,” Lilly said.
Amy slurped up, and M&M and Lils turned cold eyes on her. “Did you eat all my blues?”
“What? No way,” she replied and risked a grin. Her teeth were, of course, stained bright blue.
Heather pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, then set out across the hall. She was a giant in a land of gingerbread homes, and she couldn’t help but stop at a table to admire a few of them.
She glanced up and pursed her lips. Julie had disappeared. No, no, there she was.
The host of the occasion strode toward a door at the far end of the hall.
“Julie!” Heather called out and raised her palm. The woman didn’t hear her.
Julie Brookes swept toward the end of the hall. She halted, opened the door, then disappeared inside and shut it behind her.
Heather rushed between the rows of treats and happy constructers. Her heels tapped on the polished, hardwood floor, and she dusted off her blue jeans. She halted in front of the paneled pine door and raised her fist to knock.
A muffled shout rang out within, and she froze.
Noises, loud enough for her to hear but inaudible to those at the tables behind her echoed from within.
“What are you doing here?” A woman asked, her voice clear and calm. “You scared me.”
“You know why I’ve come, Julie Brookes. I warned you not to do this,” another woman replied. Her voice was deeper than Julie’s but still feminine.
Heather glanced back at Lilly and Ames in the distance, but they were bent over the gingerbread house, oblivious.
Her sleuthin’ gene tingled. Intrigue chased through her mind. She’d never been much of an eavesdropper, but this sounded serious.
She leaned closer to the door.
“Just leave me alone –”
“You deserve this,” the intruder replied. “You deserve everything that’s coming to you.”
The hairs on Heather’s neck stood up in a fearful salute. This was wrong. She had to call her husband or, no, she’d interrupt it.
Heather grasped the handle and turned it. The door rammed against the frame but didn’t open. Locked.
“Julie?!” Heather called out.
“What are you doing?” Julie yelled inside. “Get away from me.”
Silence and then a hollow thump.
“Julie!” Heather turned the knob again and rattled the door. “Julie, can you hear me?” Dread curled through her tummy.
Heather steeled herself, backed up a pace, then rammed the side of her body into the door. It creaked against the frame but didn’t budge. “Julie if you’re in there, please say something.”
People nearby halted and looked over at her. Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Heather stepped back from the door and whipped out her phone. She swiped the screen to unlock, then scrolled through her contacts list and tapped on Ryan’s name.
The phone rang three times.
“Detective Shepherd,” her husband answered.
Heather didn’t let go of the door knob. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
“What is it?”
“Julie Brookes entered her office, I think it’s her office, and I heard an argument in there. Ryan, you need to get down here,” she said. Rising panic had garbled her words.
This shouldn’t have bothered her, this much.
“Wait, honey, slow down.
Where are you?”
“I’m at the gingerbread workshop,” she said. “Remember?”
“Yeah, I know. And what happened?”
“I heard an argument. Julie isn’t opening the door,” she said and swallowed. “Ryan, please, get down here. You need to clear the hall and get inside. I have a really bad feeling about this.”
And her ‘bad feeling’ hadn’t been wrong, to date.
“I’m on my way,” he husband said.
Finally, Heather let go of the brass knob and turned back to the hall. Lilly and Amy chomped on candy at their station, oblivious of the emergency.
Chapter 2
Lilly and Ames had taken their gingerbread house back to Eva’s to dissect and devour their hard work in, most likely, a single sitting.
Heather leaned against the wall outside the hall and rubbed her upper arms, fingers swiping over the wool of her loose-knit sweater. This hadn’t been how she’d envisioned the end of a lazy Sunday afternoon, but so be it.
“The office has been cleared,” Ryan said, and halted beside her. His boots flattened the yellowing grass, and a bare tree stood at the entrance to the dirt parking area silent, watching.
Doors slammed, and Heather jerked upright and peered at the coroner’s van nearby.
Heather exhaled, slowly. “All right,” she said. “So, it’s officially a murder case?”
“Yeah,” Ryan replied. “Julie Brookes is gone. I’m sorry, love.”
“It’s all right,” she said, though it wasn’t. “I barely knew her.” But somehow, this alarmed her more than any case they’d taken on in recent history.
Perhaps, it was because Julie Brookes had been a baker.
“What do you have for me?” Heather asked.
“Not much yet,” Ryan replied. “Apart from a headache. And Hoskins.” He gestured to the chubby police officer in the distance.
Hoskins padded across the entrance, unrolling a yellow line of tape to block off interlopers and curious folk.
“Murder weapon?” Heather asked.
“You’re not going to like it. It’s the perfect mix of festive and horrifying,” Ryan said. “She was stabbed with a sharpened candy cane.”
“What?” Heather’s brow furrowed. “That’s impossible. Candy wouldn’t be strong enough to –”
“No, no, this was one of those decorations. You know those big, plastic Candy Canes. Well, it looks like someone snapped it out of its holder and used the jagged edge to – you get the idea,” Ryan said, and waved his hand.
“Unfortunately,” she replied.
Ryan walked toward the entrance of the hall, and Heather followed him. She hadn’t brought her new tablet to the gingerbread workshop. She’d simply have to remember the facts and type them out later.
“What do we know about Julie Brookes?” Heather asked.
They strode between the tables, ghosted past half-finished houses and emptied bowls which had contained candies or confectioner’s sugar. Their heels tapped on the polished boards.
The office door stood ajar, and Heather’s heart skipped a beat. For heaven’s sake, since when did she get nervous about a case?
Perhaps, last week’s run-in with Billy Fordyce had set her on edge.
Ryan stood aside, and Heather entered the office ahead of him.
Julie’s office window looked out on the view of the field adjacent to the building. Clouds drifted across the sky, marring the sun’s spotted attempt at warming the grass.
The office itself had a warm atmosphere, apart from the damp patch in the center of the mauve carpet in front of the desk.
“I’m assuming that’s where –” Heather cleared her throat and didn’t finish the sentence.
“Yeah,” Ryan replied. “That’s where it happened. They’ve already sampled the area. Clean up will come in after we’re done. Sorry, I couldn’t get that done before we investigated.”
“No,” Heather said. “I can handle it. Besides, this is the best time to investigate. The evidence is fresh. It’s here.”
“Gloves,” Ryan said and extended a pair.
Heather took them and snapped them on, then walked to the desk. A laptop sat on top of a desk calendar, closed and silent. A massive candy cane stood on one side of the door, firm in its white plastic holder. The other holder was empty, and marked by a jagged edge.
“We’ll take the laptop and examine it,” Ryan said.
“And the murder weapon?”
“Already taken for fingerprinting and DNA sampling,” Ryan replied. “There’s an off chance the murderer might’ve cut themselves on the sharpened end.”
“Herself,” Heather corrected, and opened one of the desk drawer. Wood scraped against wood, and the scent of ingrained dust and old perfume drifted up to her nostrils.
“Herself? How can you be so sure?”
“There were only two people in this office, as far as I could hear,” Heather said. “Granted, the argument was muffled by the noise in the hall, but yeah, it was definitely a female voice.”
Ryan whipped out his notepad and scribbled down the information. “Female suspect.”
Heather opened another drawer and brought out a stack of papers. She rifled through them and came up with bills. “She paid all of them,” Heather said, and lifted a stapled page. “Look at this. She kept copies of her bills and the receipt of payment.”
“Organized,” Ryan said.
“A woman after my own heart,” Heather replied. She placed the bills back in the drawer and her latex-covered fingers scraped the wooden bottom. She slid the drawer shut, carefully.
Ryan walked to the window. “Looks like the killer escaped through here.” He leaned out and stared at the ground below. “No footprints for once. No markings either. Light on their feet?”
“Or just a lack of mud and rain,” Heather remarked. She slid the third drawer open and blinked. “What’s this?”
Ryan slipped back into the office, and his boots thumped onto the wooden floor. “What?”
Heather lifted a paper from the drawer and held it aloft. “It’s a notice,” she said and squinted at the words to read them. “We’ve yet to meet because of your busy schedule. I don’t have time to waste on this, anymore. Agree to the meeting or you’ll regret it. K. Laverne.”
Ryan’s eyebrows hopped up on his forehead. “K. Laverne?”
“Kate,” Heather said. “Oh boy, this is going to be a tough case if she’d involved.” She scanned the words again, and the letterhead which held Kate’s name in bold lettering. “Why would she care about Julie?”
“Maybe she wants her business,” Ryan said. “Or she doesn’t like competition.”
Both valid pointed. Kate Laverne had a serious problem with anyone who ‘stepped on her toes.’
Heather sighed and thrust her arm out toward her husband. “Take it,” she said. “Add it to the file. I know where to go for my first lead.”
Ryan took the notice from her and pulled a face. “Good luck.”
Chapter 3
Laverne’s Velvet Cupcakes had the kind of posh air Heather never wanted to emulate. It didn’t scream ‘class’, but ‘new money’ instead.
She shifted on the red velvet seat at the center table in the store. Amy crossed her legs and folded her arms beside her, totally shut off for once. She didn’t like Kate Laverne’s presence, let alone her cupcakes.
“Can I get you anything?” A waitress stopped beside the table. Her red velvet apron had to be a nightmare in the kitchen, assuming she ever did anything in there.
“Cyanide,” Amy said, and twisted her lips to one side.
The waitress’ eyes widened. “I – what?”
“She means an appointment with Kate Laverne,” Heather said.
The waitress blinked this time. “Did you call ahead? Miss Laverne is exceptionally busy. She doesn’t usually come out of her office at this time of the day.”
Miss Laverne? Heather couldn’t remember a time her assistants had called her by her last na
me. It was always a sarcastic ‘boss’ or just plain, old Heather.
“Miss Laverne is going to speak to us, whether she likes it or not,” Amy said, and balled her hands into fists.
“Easy, Ames,” Heather said and patted her on the arm. She glanced at the rows of cupcakes, topped in frosting, beneath the glass counter at the front. “Please bring us two of your daily specials. And tell Miss Laverne that Heather Shepherd has a few questions for her.”
“Heather Shepherd,” the waitress said, and her cheeks paled to icy white.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” she replied. “Please tell Miss Laverne we’re waiting.”
“And we’re not leaving until she comes out.” Amy brandished a finger, then rammed its point down into the walnut table top.
The waitress hurried off to do their bidding, her long ponytail swung from side-to-side.
“I think you scared her,” Heather said and sighed.
“I don’t like being here, Heather. Kate’s never going to help us anyway.” Amy glanced around the interior of the store. “And this place is so pretentious.”
Heather’s bestie wasn’t wrong there. The velvet coated cushions, the walnut tables, and the miniature chandelier in the center of the store completed that effect. Perhaps, they were biased.
Kate had practically written her name into their bad books herself.
Heather placed her tote bag on the table. “Don’t worry about the interview, Ames. I’ll handle it,” she said, and whipped out her tablet.
“And I’ll endure it,” Amy said, and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Barely. I’d just much rather be in our bakery, right now.”
“That half-baked excuse for a store?” Kate Laverne stopped in front of their table and grasped the top rail of the chair across from theirs. “I thought you’d love it here, Amy Givens. Isn’t eating your favorite thing to do?” Kate’s gaze tracked down Amy’s frame. “It sure looks like it.”
No one would call Amy fat. She had the kind of metabolism which burned donuts almost as fast as she consumed them.
“I would be insulted but that’s rich coming from you,” Amy countered.
Kate was thin as a stick, too. Empty threats abounded.
Peanut Butter Fudge Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 30 Page 1
