“Now that the introductions are out of the way,” Heather said, and shifted her cream, leather tote bag to get a better view of Miss Laverne, the woman of the hour. “Let’s get down to business.”
Kate narrowed her eyes to slits. “What is this about?”
“The murder of Julie Brookes,” Heather replied, coolly.
Their waitress returned and placed two red velvet cupcakes in front of them, the cream cheese frosting piled high.
Amy stared at hers as if it too had called her fat.
Heather gestured for Kate to take a seat. “I believe you were acquainted with Miss Brookes.”
Kate worked her jaw and finally drew the chair back. She sat down in it, brushed off her black pantsuit and grimaced. “I don’t see why I’m of any relevance to your investigation,” she said.
“No offense,” Amy said. “Actually, that’s a lie, much offense, but you don’t seem to care that much about Julie’s death.”
Heather picked up the cupcake and bit into it. The cream cheese swirled on her tongue and mingled with the moist red cake beneath it. Kate Laverne might be abhorrent, but she could bake.
“Julie was a business acquaintance at best,” Kate said. “I was interested in discussing a mutual future, but she resisted the deal. I had a meeting with her next week.”
“What future?” Heather asked, she put down her cupcake and tapped on the screen of her tablet. She opened her Evernote app and started a new note.
“It was a business proposition and is, frankly, none of your business,” Kate replied, and checked her French manicure.
“That’s right,” Amy said. “You go ahead and don’t give us any information. That doesn’t make you look suspicious at all.”
Heather sighed. “Kate, we’re not here to make you miserable. We just need answers to bring a killer to justice. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“You won’t find any answers here,” Laverne replied, stiffly. She creaked forward in the gaudy chair and speared Heather with her gaze. “And I wouldn’t give you any answers even if I had them to give.”
“Why’s that?” Heather asked, and met Kate glare for glare.
“Because you’re not a police officer. You’re not a real investigator. You’re not anything to me, Heather Shepherd,” Kate said. She pushed the chair back and rose from her seat.
She towered over the table in her stiletto heels. “Kelly,” she said, and clicked her fingers.
Their waitress appeared. “Yes, Miss Laverne?”
“Clear the table. These women are done,” she said.
“But, Miss Laverne –”
Kate turned cold eyes on her waitress. The young woman jumped and grasped the plates in front of Heather and Amy. She lifted them and hurried off without another word.
“Don’t linger in my store, Shepherd. I’ll call the cops on you for trespassing,” Laverne said, then turned on her heel and marched toward the far door in the corner.
“Don’t you just love her?” Amy asked. “Such a breath of fresh air in a world filled with anger and hate.”
Heather didn’t reply. Kate Laverne’s attitude would never cease to amaze her. From now on, she’d expect the worst.
Chapter 4
“Frosty the snowman was alive as he could be,” Heather sang, under her breath, in time with the music which danced out of the speakers and between the wrought iron tables in her store.
Holiday cheer had truly settled on the folks of Hillside. Many of them wore Santa hats and devoured Heather’s latest creation from plates in the store.
Tinsel decorated the front of the glass counter in lazy half-moons, and Ames had twirled red and green ribbon around the spindles of the chairs.
“Heather dear,” Eva said, and halted in front of the counter. She unfolded her red scarf and gestured to her sweater. An image of Santa Claus peered from the front, red-cheeked and jolly. “What do you think?”
“I love it, Eva,” Heather said. She punched a few buttons on the coffee machine. “I think you’ve just earned yourself a free coffee.” She grabbed a white, porcelain mug and stuck it beneath one of the spouts.
“That’s not necessary, dear. I love contributing to your little store.” Eva giggled behind her hand. “I suppose it’s not that little anymore, is it.”
“No, but it could always be bigger,” Heather said. This year had brought a new outlook on life and business. And the Christmas season, well, that had brought new customers and plenty of online orders.
Not to mention a perplexing case or three.
“What are these delights?” Eva asked, and gestured to the donuts beneath the case.
“These,” Heather said, and admired the creamy, tan beauties beneath the down lights, “are my favorite donut so far. They’re called Peanut Butter Fudge Donuts.”
“Oh my,” Eva said, and she stared at the treats.
“It’s a plain vanilla batter, interspersed with crystallized fudge balls which melt when baked, so every bite oozes fudgy goodness. I topped them with my grandmother’s secret peanut butter fudge frosting. No glazes, but a proper dense fudgy frosting.”
“Delicious,” Eva said. “I’ll take two please, Heather.”
“Coming right up,” she said, and grabbed the tongs from the hook beside the register. She grabbed a white, porcelain plate from its spot on the shelf behind her, then fed two of the donuts onto it.
She placed it on top of the counter for Eva. “And your coffee,” she said, she handed the mug over, too.
“Fantastic,” Eva said, and her wrinkled, old face lit up with delight. “This is turning out to be a wonderful holiday season.”
“I think so,” Heather replied. “Which reminds me, we’re going to have a roasted chestnut and marshmallow night sometime this week. We’re just looking for the right venue.”
“Oh let’s host it at my house,” Eva said. “I’ve got a lovely little fireplace that will suit the event, just perfectly. You can bring Dave and Cupcake, too.”
“Thanks, Eva, that would be perfect. Lilly will be so excited,” Heather said, and flashed a grin.
The bell above the glass front door tinkled, and Ryan Shepherd stepped into the store. He waved at her from across the room, then adjusted his grip on the brown dossier underneath his left arm.
“Oh boy,” Heather said, “Duty calls.”
“We’ll chat later, dear. I’ll give you my rave review on the donut then.” Eva picked up her plate and her mug and tottered off to her spot beside the window.
Ryan nodded to her in passing. He strode right up to the counter, then halted in front of it. “Morning, gorgeous.”
Heather winked at him, but her expression sobered afterward. “You’ve got news, haven’t you?”
“Perceptive as always,” Ryan said. He whipped the dossier out from under his arm and handed it over to her.
She accepted it but didn’t open it just yet. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing, and that’s the point, I’m afraid,” Ryan said.
“No leads?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “We got the test results back, but the only DNA evidence we found was that of Julie’s.”
“And the fingerprints?” Heather asked, and lowered her voice.
The hum of voices in the store masked their conversation, but she didn’t want to take any risks. Freaking her customers out wasn’t high on her priority list.
“Nope. Not a one. The killer might’ve been wearing gloves, which makes sense since it’s been pretty cold lately.”
“Gloves don’t have much purchase when it comes to ripping decorations out of their holders,” Heather said, and scraped the cardboard of the dossier across her chin.
“True,” Ryan said. “I don’t know what to tell you, though. We just didn’t get anything from it.”
Heather sighed and plopped down on her stool. “What about the laptop? Any incriminating evidence on there? Emails? Messages?”
Ryan shook his head. “Negative. Nothing
that would incriminate anyone in Hillside,” he replied. “Just a whole bunch of correspondence with the bank. She’d just finished repaying her business loan.”
“Oh boy,” Heather said and knuckled her forehead.
Julie Brookes had been conscientious and focused. A good woman with her eye on the prize. And someone had taken all of that away from her.
“So, we’re pretty much down to basics in this case,” Ryan said. “We still have options, obviously. We’ll have to check out the victim’s home for any potential evidence.”
“Right. I’ll take that on this afternoon,” Heather said.
“Are you sure? I can do it myself, if necessary,” Ryan replied. “I’ve got some paperwork to push through on this, but –”
“No,” Heather said. “I’ve got it. Could you speak to Kate Laverne? She refused to speak to me, consultant or not.”
Ryan’s mouth thinned into a pale line. He wasn’t a fan of anyone who gave his wife trouble. “I’ll speak to her, all right.”
“Thanks, hon,” she said, and picked up the tongs again. She fed a donut onto a plate and handed it to him. “Gobble it down before you go back out there. You need your energy.”
Ryan didn’t argue. He did blow her a kiss, however.
Chapter 5
Amy snuggled into her puffy jacket and kept pace with Heather. She huffed out little breaths and frowned every other minute.
“What’s bothering you?” Heather asked and halted on the sidewalk.
Julie Brookes’ house was a few paces away, and her bright pink, metal mailbox beckoned them closer.
“Nothing big.” Amy shrugged her shoulders beneath the pink, puffy coat. Her blond hair bobbed on her shoulders. “Kate Laverne’s attitude, I guess. It irritated me that she can be like that to you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Heather said and bopped Ames on the shoulder. “Of all the people in the world, her attitude is the one which should concern you the least. She’s bitter.”
They continued on their path, but Amy faltered again. “Why is she like that with you? She should give it a rest already. It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake,” she said and shivered on the spot. She glanced up at the clouded sky.
Rain hovered within them, and the breaths of wind brought the scent of distant rain.
“Kate Laverne despises me and she always will. She was passive aggressive the first time we met. I’ll never forget it,” Heather said and shook her head. “She tried to make a fool out of me in front of all her New York high society friends.”
“And?”
Heather exhaled a long stream of pressure. Obsessing over the past was pointless. “It backfired on her. Let’s leave it at that. Ever since then, she’s hated me.” She refocused her gaze on Julie’s house. “But we don’t have room for grudges in our lives, Ames. The best thing you can do is let it go.”
“You sound like Eva,” Amy said and chuckled. “She’d tell me to let it go too.”
“Please don’t break into song. I don’t think –” Heather cut off and grasped Amy’s puffy arm. She jerked her chin upward, and her bestie shifted her gaze.
A man darted up the path toward the front door of Julie’s house. He carried a heavy package in both hands and wore a red-stained white apron. He knelt in front of her door, placed the package on her mat, then turned and hurried back down the path.
“I know that guy,” Amy said and squinted at him. “Yeah, that’s Larry.”
He hurried down the road in the opposite direction to them.
“Hey Larry,” Amy yelled.
The guy froze solid on the spot. His white apron flapped in the stiff breeze.
“Larry,” Amy called again.
He turned toward them, shoulders tense. He spotted Amy and every ounce of tension leaked from him. “Ames,” he said, and strode toward them. His voice was high-pitched for a man, light enough to be mistaken for a woman’s through a door and a hall full of chatter.
Could he be a suspect?
“What are you doing out here?” Larry asked.
Heather resisted the urge to whip out her tablet, immediately.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Amy said. “I would hug you, hello, but you’re - uh, you know.”
“Covered in blood?” Larry asked, and gestured to his apron. “Unfortunate part of what I do.”
“You’re the butcher,” Heather said.
“That’s right. Hillside’s finest,” Larry said, and puffed out his chest. He poked both his thumbs to it. “Houston’s Meat at your service.”
“I’m Heather Shepherd,” she said, and for once, she didn’t extend a hand. The guy worked with meat all day. “I own Donut Delights.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about you, all around town. You’re the Hillside heroine,” he said and tipped an invisible cap. “An honor to meet you, ma’am.”
What a nice guy. At least, one of her suspects had a good attitude. Hopefully, it’d make her investigation a little easier.
“What were you doing up at Julie Brookes’ place, Lar?” Amy asked. She had the gift Heather hadn’t mastered yet. She could get on with anyone, whether they were a butcher or the Queen, herself, as long as they treated others with respect.
“Just a regular meat delivery,” he said, and ruffled the back of his thick, head of hair.
Heather glanced past him at the empty street. “You didn’t bring transportation?”
“Ah, I usually walk over Miss Brookes’ orders. She’s right around the corner, after all,” he said.
“But Lar, uh – I don’t know how to ask you this,” Amy said. She fiddled with the hems of her sleeves.
“What is it?” Larry asked. “I’ve got to get back to the store. Plenty of deliveries to make today.”
“I – uh, Heather?” Amy nudged Heather forward a step.
“I’m sorry, Larry, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Julie Brookes is dead,” Heather said.
Larry froze for the second time since he’d appeared. He tensed up and became a statue of the butcher instead of the man himself. “No,” he said. His mouth moved, independently from the rest of his body. He didn’t blink.
“I’m sorry, Lar,” Amy said. “Maybe you’d better take that meat back.”
But Larry Houston had officially checked out. He stared into the space between Heather and Amy.
“Larry?” Amy waved a hand in front of his face.
The man snapped back to reality. He blinked twice at them. “I have to get back to the store,” he said.
“But –”
Larry spun on his heel and strode off down the road toward the corner. He disappeared around it without looking back.
“That was weird,” Amy said. “He’s not usually that serious.”
Heather pursed her lips and her gaze traveled to the paper-wrapped package on the front porch. She walked toward the stone path and Amy tailed her.
“What are you doing?”
“I have a hunch about something,” Heather said. She hurried along the stones, then up the three small steps and onto Julie Brookes’ porch. The house was clearly a home. A wreath hung on the front door, decorated with bright red, fake berries.
Heather bent in front of the package and tore back the paper.
A hunk of meat sat there, rump or sirloin or whatever it was called.
“Oh my gosh,” Amy said.
“Yeah,” Heather replied, and grimaced. She looked up at her bestie and folded the paper closed over the meat. “He cut the steak into the shape of a heart.”
“Can this town get any weirder?” Amy asked. “That’s super creepy.”
Heather brushed off her hands, then placed them on her knees and pushed herself into a standing position. “I think there’s more to your butcher friend than meets the eyes. Let’s take a walk over to his place and check it out.”
Chapter 6
Heather and Amy rounded the corner at a furious speed. Amy wheezed complaints between the incessant swish-swish of her coat sleeves ru
bbing against her sides.
“It’s not like he’s going anywhere,” Amy said. She’d pointed that out three times since they’d set out from Julie’s house.
They strode down the road, and the long wooden fence beside them transformed into the front of a store. Windows provided a glimpse of the shoppers within, picking out fruit and veg from wooden crates. A wholesale fruit and veg store.
Heather hurried on.
Two figures appeared on the sidewalk ahead of them, and she slowed again.
“That’s Larry,” Amy said and unzipped her coat for a breath of fresh air.
“But who’s with him?” Heather asked.
The pair stood outside Houston’s Meat, with its red-brick exterior and large windows. A counter ran the length of the wall opposite within the store, and one of the assistants stood behind it, jaw dropped, staring at the altercation outside.
“Where were you?” The woman asked, and tapped her heel on the pavement. She tossed her short, red hair and it bobbed beside her freckled cheeks.
“I was making a delivery,” Larry said and touched his chubby fingers to his forehead. “Is there a problem, Ms. Childe? Another error with your order?”
“I told you I was coming by today to fetch my meat, and you weren’t here,” the woman snapped.
She turned her head and caught sight of Heather and Amy. It didn’t take the wind out of her sails, if anything, it egged her on. “When I tell you I’m going to be somewhere, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”
Larry snorted. “What bargain, lady? It’s meat. Why do you gotta be so weird about it?”
“That buffoon inside didn’t know what I wanted. He fumbled around in your stupid order book for half an hour,” Ms. Childe said. She was young, and her attitude suited her last name.
Larry Houston spun and met the gaze of his terrified assistant within the store. The young man shook his head, frantic, his eyes wider than Dave’s at the sight of a particularly tasty – and forbidden – donut.
“Ms. Childe,” he said.
“It’s Penny!” She slapped him on the arm. “Stop calling me that. It’s so irritating. Ugh!”
Amy pressed her lips together to keep from saying something untoward. Heather prayed she’d make it through the remainder of the conversation.
Peanut Butter Fudge Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 30 Page 2
