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

by Susan Gillard

  Heather glanced down at the welcome mat. “Good question. Maybe Ryan came by and took it into evidence or – I don’t know. I’ll have to ask him.” She stepped over the threshold hold and into Julie’s home.

  It was silent as a grave. Ugh, what a terrible analogy for the situation.

  The entrance hall led directly into a square living room. The floral curtains hung closed, but couldn’t contain Hillside’s morning sun. Light crept between the cracks and around the edges of the drapes and seeped across the wall.

  Heather hurried up to them. She dragged them back, and the pale blue sofa leaped into sharp relief. “That’s better,” Heather said.

  Ames walked across the room, light steps to match the occasion. “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything that could give us some personal information about Julie and her social life. Think journal or address book,” Heather replied. She strode to the door on her left and turned the knob.

  Julie Brookes’ bedroom appeared, bathed in pink light from the press of the sun against the backs of her curtains. Julie’s plain, white bedspread was spotless, but a thin layer of dust had gathered on her white oak dressing table.

  “I’ll check out here,” Amy said, behind her.

  Heather moved into the bedroom and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She touched her fingers to her hair, then rolled her eyes – now wasn’t the time to worry about her appearance.

  “Maybe in the drawers,” she whispered, and moved to the dressing table. Sharon Janis’ secret diary had been in the drawers of her dressing table. Heather opened the two pale drawers one at a time. The air was thick in here. Cold, but thick. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck.

  A few odds and ends slid into view – a tube of mascara and a magazine. Nothing of interest.

  “Huh,” Heather said and scratched her temple.

  “Out here,” Amy called. “I found something inside the desk.”

  Heather turned and hurried from the bedroom and out into the sunny living room.

  Amy held up a book beside the desk. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s got more of that meat in it.”

  “What do you mean?” Heather asked.

  “Take a look for yourself,” Amy replied, and handed it over.

  Heather grasped it and flipped open the cover. A picture of meat, cut into the shape of a heart, peered back at her, with one difference. It’s been stabbed with a knife.

  “What on earth?” Heather blinked and flicked her gaze to the writing beneath the image.

  “Larry made his usual meat delivery today, but with one difference,” Heather read. “I found a dagger stuck into the center of the meat. When I confronted him about it, he didn’t seem to know what I meant.”

  “Why would she take a picture of that?” Amy asked.

  “Maybe she was suspicious,” Heather replied, and turned the page. “Maybe she wanted to document it and report it to the cops as harassment. Look, another one.”

  A second image on the next page, dated a week after the first. This had the same dagger in the image.

  “Another delivery from Larry stabbed through with a knife. I’ve called the cops to report it, but they think I’m crazy. I’m keeping pictures just in case. I leave the meat where it is and when I get home, it’s gone, every time. This has to be Larry. Maybe he thinks he’s being funny?” Heather read the words, scrawled in bold print.

  “Oh gosh, it looks like she was right to be concerned,” Amy said. “What if the killer did this?”

  “Maybe,” Heather said, “but we can’t make that deduction just yet. It could’ve been some kind of sick joke.”

  Heather flicked through the pages of the book, and image after image popped out. At least fifteen of them. Fifteen weeks’ worth of ruined meat deliveries. “This is too weird,” Heather muttered.

  “I concur.”

  Heather shut the book and held it against her chest. “I need to think about this. C’mon Ames, let’s get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

  The wind picked up outside and howled around the corners of the house. The front door creaked, and the bestie’s shared a glance.

  “After you,” Amy said.

  Chapter 10

  Nothing cheered up Heather like the chatter and joy in Donut Delights. Apart from Lilly’s antics, or Dave and Cupcake’s lovers spats. Heather sat down on the stool behind the glass counter and gazed at the Peanut Butter Fudge donuts beneath the lights.

  Each one glistened, demanding attention from every eye in the room.

  Customers sat at the wrought iron tables and devoured them. Orders came through on the computer system and printed in the office.

  Another busy day in the lead up to Christmas.

  “Jingle Bells,” Angelica sang, next to her. “Jingle all the way.”

  “You’re in a merry mood,” Heather said and smiled at her assistant.

  “It’s Christmas, boss. Best time of the year,” Ange replied, and poked the silver buttons on the coffee machine. She placed two mugs beneath a dual spout and started up the milk frothing attachment.

  Christmas was supposed to be the best time of the year. Somehow, that translated to confusing cases and meat hearts stabbed through by ivory-hilt daggers.

  Heather had examined the pictures and excerpts every time the line in front of the cash register thinned out.

  “What you want for Christmas, boss?” Angelica asked, and cut off the buzz of the frothing attachment. She prepared too cappuccinos with expert precision.

  “Oh, nothing. Just a lot of joy and peace. It’s not about receiving. It’s about giving, Ange. What do you want?”

  “Just fun family party,” Angelica replied. She picked up her cappuccinos and swept off toward the table which had ordered them.

  Heather smiled and lowered her gaze. It fell to Julie’s journal of meat and the happiness slid from her face. What did it all mean?

  Who would stab the meat?

  “Ugh, words I never thought I’d think.”

  “Eloquent,” Amy said, and plonked down on the stool beside hers. Flour dusted her apron, but Ames didn’t bother wiping it off. “Are you still worried about that book?”

  “Aren’t you? It’s beyond creepy,” Heather said.

  “It’s not even Halloween creepy,” Amy replied.

  “What are you two talking about?” Eva Schneider halted in front of the counter and placed her empty plate on top of it. “I hope it’s about the marshmallow evening.”

  “Not quite, Eva,” Heather said. She swept up the journal and handed it to the elderly woman.

  She’d trust Eva with her life and that meant she could trust her with a little case information, especially if she was stuck.

  Eva flipped a page and her eyes widened. “What on earth is this, dear? It’s bizarre.”

  Heather caught a glimpse of the heart shaped cut of meat and the end of the dagger. A decorative swirling hilt in ivory white.

  “It’s something we found in the victim’s home. Apparently, the butcher leaves her delivery on her welcome mat, and every time, this happened,” Heather said.

  “Except for the last time,” Amy put in, and scratched her chin. “I wonder what that means.”

  Eva flicked through the pages, then shut the book and brushed off the cover. “Why on earth would the butcher leave her meat on the porch? That doesn’t seem sanitary at all. Why not just give it to her?” Eva asked, and flipped another page. She grimaced at the picture.

  “I don’t know, but apparently, that’s what he always does. We caught him placing the most recent package. He didn’t know Julie had passed,” Heather said.

  “Everyone in Hillside has their quirks,” Eva said, “but this is beyond that. It seems like a message.”

  “A message?” Amy asked.

  “I thought about that too,” Heather put in. “Whoever left the knife, it’s got to be for the symbolism. A knife through the heart. Betrayal?”

 
; “A lover’s spat, perhaos,” Eva said. She pressed three fingers to her lips. “If you want to find out, you should take a look at the knife.”

  “What do you mean?” Heather asked, and took the book back from Eva. She placed it on the counter beneath the register, out of sight.

  “Well, the knife looked distinctive to me, dear,” Eva said. “It has an ivory hilt. You should speak to an expert on the matter and find out who bought a knife like that in recent history.”

  Heather blinked at her favorite customer and good friend. “Eva, you never cease to amaze me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. It’s so simple.”

  “I do my best,” Eva replied, and winked. “Could I potentially receive a reward for that?” She whipped out her purse and clicked it open. “Another of your delicious donuts, perhaps?”

  Heather chuckled and grasped the end of the tongs. She lifted another Peanut Butter Fudge Donut and placed it on Eva’s place. “On the house.”

  “Thank you,” Eva said.

  Heather glanced down at the book beneath the counter. “No, Eva, thank you. I know exactly where I’m going next.”

  “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Amy asked.

  “I think so,” Heather replied, and the corners of her lips twitched.

  “Bally Bob!” Amy said. “Man, I love that guy. He’s such an entertainer.”

  Heather laughed and the mirth tinkled around the store and lifted the mood higher. At least, she had a lead to go with, even if it was faint.

  Chapter 11

  Bob, their local ballistics specialist, leaned the heels of his palms on the top of his counter in the gun store. He tilted his head to one side, and read from a magazine. “See this here?” He fingered an image of a gun.

  “Yeah?” Amy asked, and bent over the other side of the counter to check it out. In her elements as always. The shooting range could’ve been Amy’s home away from home.

  “That’s an M24 Sniper Rifle,” he said. “Feared the world over. Look at the beauty of it.”

  Amy made appropriate cooing noises. Heather tried not to fall asleep. Weaponry wasn’t her thing, which didn’t bode well for this investigation.

  Heather cleared her throat and both of them looked up. “Sorry to interrupt, uh, whatever this is,” she said.

  Amy stuck out her tongue. “Don’t mind her, Bally. She just doesn’t understand guns.”

  “No, I don’t. Or knives, for that matter. Which is why we’re here. Would you mind answering a few questions, Bob?” Heather asked, and stepped up to the counter. She brought the journal down and placed it on the countertop.

  The scent of gun oil drifted up her nostrils and she wriggled her nose. She’d never get used to it or the boxes of shells on display. The rifles which hung on the wall judged her in silence.

  “Sure you can,” he said.

  Amy removed the magazine and hunched over it, gaze glued to the sniper rifle.

  “What do you need to know?” Bob asked.

  Heather opened the journal, turned it around and slid it toward Bob. She tapped the image of the heart-shaped meat with its dagger. “Can you tell me what type of knife that is?”

  Ballistic Bob’s eyes widened. “I gotta tell ya,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life, but this, man, this takes the cake. Is that meat?”

  “Yeah, beef,” Heather said.

  Amy snorted. “Since when did you become an expert?” She asked, without looking up from her magazine. She licked her thumb, flipped the page and continued reading.

  “She’s right,” Bally Bob said, and squinted at the package. “Looks like rump to me. Don’t know why someone would cut it like that, though. Waste of good meat.”

  “The dagger?” Heather asked, and pointed it out again.

  “Honestly, it’s difficult to tell without seeing the length of the blade,” Bally Bob said, and picked the book up to get a better view. “Looks to me like an Arkansas Toothpick. Aint seen one with an ivory handle before, though. Usually have them in wood.”

  Heather’s heart sank. “So, you didn’t sell this dagger,” she said.

  “Nope. I most certainly didn’t. I got your regular switch blades and army knives. Aint stocked those types of daggers in ages,” Bally Bob replied.

  Heather sighed and took the book back from him. She closed it, but marked her place with her thumb. “Why would someone have a dagger like that?” She asked, but more to herself than to the ballistics expert.

  “Family heirloom maybe,” he said. “These knives were pretty popular in Alabama, Georgia and so on. Back in the old days, people dueled with them. They passed laws to prevent that, after a while, though.”

  Heather put the book down on the counter. “That’s –”

  The bell chimed overhead and Bally Bob peered around Heather at the front gate. “Ah, hey there Carla,” he said. “It’s good to see you again. Gimme a sec.” He pressed a button beneath the counter and the front gate buzzed.

  The woman entered, then slammed the gate shut behind her. She strolled to the front of the store. “Morning, Bob,” she said. “I’ve come to pick up my –” Carla cut off and stared at them.

  “You two know each other?” Bally asked, and disappeared from sight beneath the counter. “Heather Shepherd, this is Carla Giotto. She’s one of my regulars.”

  “We’ve met,” Heather said.

  Carla’s cheeks remained pale. She swallowed, audibly.

  Bob popped back into sight, his hands wrapped around a brown paper parcel. “Here you go, Carla,” he said. “Let me know if you have any trouble with it.”

  Carla Giotto accepted the package and tucked it under her arm. It wasn’t big enough to be a gun. But was it big enough to be a knife.

  “Thanks,” Carla said, and swallowed again.

  “You coming down with something?” Ballistic Bob asked. “You look kinda pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Carla replied. “I’m just – tired. I’ll see you around Bob.” She hurried back to the front gate and rattled it open, then disappeared into the chilly weather outside.

  “Weird,” Bob said. “She’s usually friendlier than that. Anyway, do you have any other questions?”

  Amy and Heather exchanged a glance. Ames closed the magazine and moved it across the countertop.

  “Have you sold any knives lately? Any kind, whatsoever?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I’ve got a whole list of orders I can give you, if you need it. Give me a sec.” He strode toward the door behind him and disappeared inside.

  “What was that about?” Amy whispered, immediately. “Did you see her face? She totally freaked out.”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll find out. She’s definitely hiding something,” Heather replied.

  “Maybe it’s a knife.”

  Ballistic Bob bustled through the door, a thick sheaf of papers in one hand. “Here you go,” he said. “That’s from the last three months. I made copies, so you’re welcome to keep those.”

  “Thanks, Bob,” Heather said. “You’re a huge help.”

  “Whatever I can do,” he replied, and shrugged his shoulders beneath his khaki coat. “Say, Amy, are you going to stick around and shoot?”

  “Nah, not today. We’re supposed to be at work,” she said, and nudged Heather’s arm.

  That was code for, “we’re supposed to be eating donuts and drinking coffee.”

  “Aight, you two have a great day now,” Bob said, and touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute. “Stay safe out there.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Heather said.

  There weren’t any guarantees with a steak-stabbing murderer on the loose. If the murderer had actually done the stabbing in the first place.

  Chapter 12

  “Here’s what doesn’t make sense to me,” Amy said, and took a sip of her cappuccino. “Why would the killer have stabbed the meat with a decorative dagger, but used the jagged edge of a jagged candy cage for the actual murder?”


  Heather mulled the question over in her mind. Her gaze swept the donut store.

  Afternoon had settled outside and blanketed the residents of Hillside in lethargy. A few of them huddled at tables inside, munching treats or slurping milkshakes and coffee. Eva sat in her favorite spot as usual with Lilly in the seat across from her.

  Heather’s daughter sucked on the end of her pen, then scribbled in her book. Homework as usual.

  “Maybe the killer lost their knife,” Heather said and flipped through the pages of Ballistic Bob’s orders. “Maybe that’s why they didn’t stab the heart-shaped meat this last time around.”

  “No matter how many times you say heart-shaped meat, I just can’t get used to it,” Amy replied, and slurped more of her coffee. A thin layer of foam clung to her upper lip.

  Heather ran her finger down the page and read the names. She recognized a few here and there, but none that were of relevance to the case. Her finger halted, and she gasped.

  “What is it?” Amy asked.

  “Carla Giotto,” Heather said, and tapped the page. “Carla Giotto bought a knife from Ballistic Bob a week ago.”

  “That must’ve been what was in the package,” Amy said, and put down her cup. A bit of coffee spilled over the rim and onto the glass counter. “Oh my gosh, she’s the killer.”

  “Wait,” Heather said. “We can’t make that assumption just yet.” Although, the evidence had stacked against Carla in the past few days. “I need more evidence to corroborate this. If only Julie had had surveillance cameras in front of her house.”

  “Ha, as if. No one in Hillside cares about stuff like that,” Amy said.

  “Apart from us,” Heather replied. The installation of their new alarm system had finally been completed, and the house’s security was tighter than a movie star’s. They actually had surveillance cameras.

  “Nobody’s going to be breaking in at your place any time soon,” Amy said. She grimaced and grabbed her mug again. “I’ve got tinnitus, I swear.”

  Amy had managed to set off the alarm after its installation and she still complained about the shrill sound.