Peanut Butter Fudge Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 30

by Susan Gillard

  Larry turned and spotted Heather and Amy. He gulped and reached up to adjust the straps of his apron. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to come back another time, or go inside and take the meat prepared for you, Ms. – Penny.”

  Penny Childe glared at him in silence. She puffed out her cheeks and turned a deeper, shade of red.

  “Ms. Childe?”

  Penny gave a tiny shriek of annoyance, then spun on her heel and marched off down the sidewalk. Her heels clicked on the concrete. She didn’t glance back at them, but Heather could almost sense the steam pouring from her ears.

  “Sorry,” Larry said and brushed off his palms. “Penny’s good at making people uncomfortable.”

  “You can say that again,” Amy replied. “What was that about, Lar?”

  “Oh, I delivered her order a few weeks ago, and she came back the next day and told me it was rotten. Which is impossible,” he said, and a frown wrinkled his brow. “I serve the freshest product in Hillside, if not Texas.”

  “I believe it,” Amy said.

  Heather kept her peace. This was Amy’s territory now, and one of the reasons she brought her bestie along during investigations. She had the inside edge when it came to her friends.

  “Yeah, well, ever since then she’s insisted on coming to the store and collecting the meat from me, directly. If I’m not here during a specific time, and she has to deal with Fred over there, she does this,” Larry said and shook his head. “I can’t figure out why.”

  Heather peered after Penny, but she’d already disappeared. She focused on Larry again. How on earth could she ask the man why he’d cut a meat delivery into a heart shape for Julie?

  “Mr. Houston,” Heather said.

  He snapped his attention to her instead. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have an alibi for Sunday afternoon, at around one in the afternoon?”

  “I – uh, are you a cop? Oh wait, you’re an investigator,” Larry said, and he took two steps backward, toward his store. “I – uh, I was here in my store.”

  “On a Sunday?” Heather asked.

  “Yeah. On a Sunday. In my store. Look, I’ve got to get back to work. Orders to fill. Deliveries to make.” He gave her two thumbs up and stumbled back another step.

  Heather didn’t walk toward him. She folded her arms instead. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Houston,” she said.

  He turned and fled into his store.

  “Why didn’t you ask him about the meat?” Amy asked.

  “Not yet,” Heather said. “He’s too scared, now. He won’t talk.”

  “Whatever you say, Clouseau.”

  They walked down the sidewalk toward Donut Delights, in the same direction Penny Childe had gone, and Heather pondered the case, each step of the way.

  Chapter 7

  The police line in front of the entrance to the Gingerbread Workshop had been removed. The barn-style doors stood wide open, and the lights shone within. Wind whipped Heather’s scarf from her neck. She grabbed it and tugged it back into place, gaze on the path ahead.

  “Well, this is depressing,” Amy said and shifted her grip on Dave’s leash. He snuffled around in the dirt in front of the entrance. “It’s so quiet. The last time we were here, we made that gingerbread house and everything was magical.”

  “Yeah, because you were hopped up on sugar,” Heather said and chuckled at her bestie. Ames was right, though. The last time had been wonderful, exactly what Julie Brookes had envisioned for her business endeavor.

  And now, it’d turned to silence and the low, whistle of wind through the naked branches of a tree at the end of the field.

  “There’s got to be someone here,” Heather said and stepped toward the entrance. “The doors are open.”

  “I’ve seen enough horror movies to know what’s going to happen next,” Amy said and shuddered in her puffy coat.

  “I’m going to have to get you another one of those for Christmas,” Heather said and plucked at her bestie’s sleeve. “When last did you wash this thing?”

  “I – uh, yesterday,” Amy said, and her cheeks turned red as a Santa’s pants.

  Heather turned her gaze back to the entrance. She rapped her knuckles on the barn door and leaned over the threshold. “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

  A crash rang out from the back of the hall. A woman appeared beside a table, the end of a wooden mop in her hand. She plucked an earphone from her ear. “Hello,” she said and swallowed. “Sorry, you scared me.”

  “Then I owe you an apology,” Heather said. “May we come in?”

  “Sure, but there’s no event today,” the cleaner replied. “There won’t be ever again.” She hung her head and shook it from side to side. Dark hair flopped free from her ponytail.

  “Do you work here?” Heather asked.

  Dave and Amy followed her into the hall, and the cleaner didn’t complain about the dog’s presence. He sniffed at the leg of a table and raised his leg, but Amy gave him her carpet-saving death stare, and he put it down again.

  “I did,” the woman said. “It’s my last day.” She brushed off her neat, pale green and white apron, put the mop in a plastic bucket, then walked over, hand extended. “I’m Carla, by the way.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Carla,” Heather said and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Heather Shepherd, and this is Amy, my assistant, and Dave my doggy pal.”

  “Your assistant?” Carla asked, and tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear.

  “Among other things,” Amy grumbled.

  “Yeah, we’re here on official business,” Heather said. “I’m investigating the death of Julie Brookes.”

  “Oh,” Carla said, and the muscles in her cheeks went rigid. “I see.”

  “Did you know Julie?” Heather asked. She scanned the woman’s face. In her months of investigating, she’d become accustomed to the subtle changes in behavior during questioning.

  A slight grimace for discomfort, and sometimes a lie. Micro-movements which she’d pick up on now and again.

  Carla gave off every signal in the liar’s book. “I did.” She looked back at the mop and bucket. “She was my boss.”

  Amy leaned against one of the tables and it creaked beneath her weight. “Should I be offended?” She asked.

  Dave sat on her foot and silenced her complaints.

  “She was a nice lady. Very nice,” Carla said. “And she paid well.”

  “Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt her?” Heather asked.

  “No,” Carla replied, immediately. “I – I’m sorry, but I have to go. I need to get back home, now. The owner of the building only paid me for a half day, and he’ll be here to lock up soon.”

  “That’s all right. You have a good day, Carla.”

  The woman rushed off to the other end of the hall, opened the changing room door and slipped inside.

  “You’re just going to let her go?” Amy asked.

  “No,” Heather said. “I’m going to find out why she’s so freaked out.” She stalked to Julie’s office and tried the brass knob. The door clicked and swung inward to admit them. “Inside, quick.”

  Amy and Dave hurried into the office. Amy glanced at the carpet and grimaced, then picked up Dave and hugged him to her chest.

  Heather slipped inside and creaked the door closed until just a sliver of space remained between it and the jamb.

  She pressed her eye to the gap and waited. “Come on, Carla,” she whispered. “What are you hiding?”

  Seconds passed. Dave yawned and shook his collar. Amy yawned in sympathy.

  At last, the changing room door opened, and Carla Giotto appeared. She’d let her dark, luxurious hair down and her apron was nowhere to be seen. The cleaner paused, looked up and down the hall, then rushed to the exit and disappeared out into the chilly afternoon.

  “We’re good,” Heather said. She opened the office door and entered the hall. Silence hung between the tables and empty workstations. The tabletops were spotles
s, empty of candies and gingerbread slabs.

  No cheer, no warmth, and no movement except for their own and the gusts of wind which fluttered the curtains at one of the windows.

  Heather strode to the change room. She opened the door, and pristine white tiles greeted her, along with a row of silver lockers. Shower booths sat along one wall, with a single toilet stall for company.

  “Weird place,” Amy said.

  “I think Julie had big plans to turn this hall into an event venue,” Heather replied. Their voices reverberated off the tiled walls.

  “There,” Amy said. “One of the lockers is open.” She pointed to a gray, metal locker. The door hung ajar, inviting.

  Heather hurried up to it and peered inside. “Oh wow,” she said, and slammed the door back, all the way.

  “What on earth?” Amy put Dave down and his claws clicked on the tiles. She stepped up beside Heather. “What is this?”

  “It’s – I don’t know,” Heather said and stared at the half-torn newspaper clippings and a single photograph in the bottom corner of the locker. Each of them had one thing in common.

  Julie Brookes.

  “It looks like someone tried to clear this out in a rush,” Heather said and picked up one of the clippings. The page flopped two ways, torn directly down the middle, over Julie’s face.

  “What was the article about?”

  Heather scanned what was left of the story. “Just a profile on Julie as the new, hottest business owner in town.”

  Ames grabbed the picture and held it aloft. She checked the back for writing, but there was none. “A random picture of Julie. But it’s not torn up. Weird.”

  “Curious,” Heather said. She collected the picture and clipping from Ames, then tucked them into her tote bag. “I think Carla has something to hide. I wonder what it is.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Ames said. “But can we continue tomorrow? I need to get my donut on.” Dave barked at the mention of donuts.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Heather said. She bent and cupped Dave’s furry jowls in her palms. “And you can have one too. But just one. We don’t want you to get chubby again.”

  He gave her an appreciative lick on the cheek in response.

  Chapter 8

  Heather plonked down on the cushy seat across from her husband and let out a beleaguered sigh. “Well,” she said. “What a day.”

  “What happened?” Ryan asked. “No, wait a sec.” He rose, grasped her hand, then brushed his lips across the knuckles. The warmth of that simple gesture gave her butterflies. “You look beautiful, as always.”

  Heather’s displeasure faded like mist on the wind. “I missed you today,” she said, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

  Married for almost a year and he still gave her that teenage, first crush feeling.

  “I missed you too,” he said and sat back down. The cushy seat gave a pneumatic wheeze in protest. “You were saying?”

  Heather grasped the soda he’d already ordered for her and dragged it across the tablecloth. She slurped from the straw, and the fizz burned the back of her throat and swirled down into her stomach.

  Salsa music hummed from the live band on the elevated stage in front of the dance floor, and a few couples kicked up their heels and danced their troubles away. Laughter rang from the table adjacent to their booth.

  “Hon?”

  Heather swallowed and shoved her drink aside. “Sorry,” she said. “Just taking a second to breathe.”

  “Rough day?”

  “It’s Christmas and the store has been crazy with orders. The case is also confusing,” Heather said. “I don’t think that’s the right word for it.”

  Ryan waved the waiter over. “I got nothing out of Kate Laverne,” he said.

  The waiter stopped beside them and whipped out his rectangular notepad. “What can I get you folks this evening?”

  “I’ll have the enchiladas,” Heather said, above the music and clapping from the dance floor. “And make them super spicy tonight, please.”

  “And I’ll take a mild, large plate of nachos.”

  “Comin’ right up,” the waiter said and clicked his pen. He rushed off toward the kitchen, past another waiter who carried a tray of drinks.

  Heather chewed her bottom lip. “Nothing?”

  “What’s that? Oh, Kate Laverne. Yeah, I got nothing out of her. She has a legitimate alibi for the time of the murder, too,” Ryan said. “There’s video evidence of her presence in her store.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “Yeah, she held a meeting with all her staff and bossed them around from the looks of it.”

  Heather bobbed her chin up and down. “That does sound like Kate.”

  “What about you? Anything of interest?” Ryan picked up his coke and drank deeply from the glass. No straws for the Detective.

  “Well, the butcher left meat on Julie’s doorstep and cut it into a heart shape.”

  Ryan gargled on Coke and barely managed to keep it in his mouth. He swallowed. “What?!”

  “Yeah. That. Meat cut into a heart shape. A valentine’s heart shape, not an anatomically correct heart shape,” Heather said, and chased an ice block around with her straw. It plinked against the glass.

  “That’s disturbing,” Ryan said.

  “What? I thought nothing disturbed Detective Shepherd. You’ve seen it all,” Heather replied, and placed her fingers to her lips in mock shock.

  “It’s Hillside, not the big city,” he replied, and winked at her.

  “We were going to check out the house, but I got sidetracked by that,” Heather said. “We’ll have to go back and take a peek tomorrow.”

  “I have the feeling heart-shaped meat would sidetrack the most hardened police officer. Even one of those big city slickers,” Ryan said. He craned his neck and looked around for the waiter.

  “And I stumbled upon a strange collection of pictures and newspaper clippings in the locker of one of Julie’s employees,” Heather said. She tapped her bottom lip with her straw. “A woman by the name of Carla. I didn’t catch her last name, yet. I’ll get it, though.” She’d have to track the woman down and speak to her again.

  The interview that afternoon had been less than satisfactory, to say the least.

  “Carla,” Ryan said, “Huh. That rings a bell. Why? I’m sure we arrested someone named Carla recently. I’ll have to follow up on that. What was weird about the clippings?”

  “They were torn as if she’d removed them in a rush and they all pertained to Julie,” Heather said. “Every single one. I can’t place what was off about this Carla woman, but yeah, she’s definitely a suspect, and a lead.”

  “Any alibi?”

  “She ran off before I could squeeze one out of her,” Heather replied. “And Amy and Dave had boundless complaints. They both wanted to get back to the store and feast on donuts. Two minutes of spelunking through a field and into the hall and they were all tired out.”

  “Typical,” Ryan said, and chuckled into his soda. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and the laughter died on his lips. He whipped it out, checked the ID, then answered. “Detective Shepherd.”

  Heather took another sip of her soda. Ryan wouldn’t take a call during one of their dinner dates unless it was important. Or suspicious.

  Her husband listened intently. “All right,” he said. “All right, Larry, I’m on my way.” He hung up and placed the cell back in his pocket.

  “Larry?” Heather asked. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Your butcher is convinced someone is outside his house, as we speak,” Ryan replied. “I’ve got to go check it out.”

  “Weird that he’d call you,” Heather said. “Where did he get your number?”

  “I have no idea,” Ryan replied. “I’ve got to run, though, love. I’ll meet you back at the house. Bring home the nachos.” He rose and dug a few dollars out of his wallet. He placed them next to his unfinished soda.

  “Be careful,” Heather said. “I
have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be home before you know it.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

  Heather couldn’t shake the concern from her mind. Why would Larry have called him, of all people?

  Chapter 9

  “So, what happened?” Amy asked and halted beside Julie Brookes’ pink mailbox. Yesterday’s clouds had cleared, but the sunlight did little to warm the morning. An icy chill tugged at their cheeks and Heather’s bare hands.

  “He came home just after I did and ate his nachos,” Heather said and clapped her palms together. She rubbed them back and forth to create friction, but it did little to warm her.

  “You know what I mean. What happened with Larry?”

  “Nothing, apparently. Ryan said he didn’t find anything, but Larry seemed completely freaked out and insisted he’d seen a figure standing outside staring up at him,” Heather replied.

  “Maybe he’s cracked because of Julie’s death,” Amy said and leaned her elbow on the top of the mailbox. “Poor dude.”

  “Or maybe, there really was someone outside his house,” Heather replied. “Come on. Let’s get investigating before I get frostbite.”

  “And you say I’m the touchy one,” Amy muttered and pushed off from her position.

  They strode up the stone path and onto the wooden stairs in front of Julie’s house. Heather whipped the key out of her pocket and held it up. “Being a consultant for the police department makes life so much easier,” Heather said.

  “Yeah, at least we don’t have to break in, anymore,” Amy replied. Her stomach growled, and she pressed her hand to it. “I didn’t get my morning donut.”

  “The sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can get back to the store and have a treat,” Heather replied. She inserted the key into the lock, then turned it.

  The door unlocked with a satisfying click. Heather pressed the brass handle down and stale, cool air flooded out of the front entrance. How many days had it been since Julie had passed?

  “Hey, wait a second,” Amy said. “What happened to the meat package?”