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

by Susan Gillard

  Heather stared at Carla Giotto’s name and pressed her thumb over it. “What are you up to?” She whispered. She’d have to give Ryan a call about this.

  The front door to Donut Delights crashed inward.

  Everyone jumped. A woman at the table nearest the counter shrieked.

  “What on earth?” Heather rose from her seat.

  Kate Laverne stood just inside the store, her palm flat against the donut logo on the glass plate door. “Heather Shepherd,” she growled.

  “Here we go again,” Amy said, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She downed the last of her cappuccino and stood up to give Heather moral support.

  “Kate, please come inside and close the door,” Heather said. “You’re upsetting my customers.”

  The woman who’d shrieked fanned her face, then returned to her donut. She took a bite, shut her eyes and sighed relief.

  Kate Laverne stepped inside and let the door swing shut of its own accord. She marched up to the counter, fuming from the ears, complexion a bright, shade of red. “You witch,” she said.

  “Whoa.” Amy raised her palms and pushed them outward. “That’s not necessary. If you can’t hold a civilized conversation you should leave.”

  “Pipe down, side-kick,” Kate snapped, and a little spit flew from her lips.

  Heather counted to ten in her mind. She inhaled and exhaled, meditated on the importance of a pleasant atmosphere in her store.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Kate asked. “Cat got your tongue. Or should I say Kate?”

  “Wow, and I thought I had lame jokes,” Amy muttered.

  Kate speared her with another glare and opened her mouth to let out another barb.

  “Is there a problem, Laverne?” Heather asked.

  Kate focused on her instead. “My cupcake store is empty,” she said.

  “Uh – okay? And how is this my responsibility?” Heather lifted her cup of coffee and drank deeply. Anything to energize her for the disagreement to follow.

  “You put the cops onto me,” Kate said. “Everyone in my store saw your two-bit detective husband come in and interview me.”

  “Insults aside, I don’t see how this is relevant,” Heather replied. She put the cup down and didn’t tremble. She had to contain her anger at Kate. All Laverne ever wanted was a reaction, and she’d refuse it at every turn.

  Kate Laverne wouldn’t get that satisfaction out of her.

  “Everyone in Hillside thinks I murdered Julie Brookes,” Kate shrieked.

  Lilly put down her pen and frowned at Kate’s back. She leaned in and muttered something to Eva, who nodded, then patted her on the forearm.

  “Kate, this is not my problem. My husband followed through on a lead and did what was necessary to solve the case,” Heather said.

  “But –”

  “This is not about you, Kate,” Heather said and cut her off with a swift slash of her hand. “Not everything is about you or your business. This is about a woman who died in our town. Don’t you care about that?”

  Kate’s jaw dropped. Every customer in the room watched the altercation, cups and donuts halfway to their mouths.

  “The entertainment around here has skyrocketed of late,” Amy murmured.

  “Don’t you care that there’s a murderer on the loose in Hillside? My husband’s job is to make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Heather said. “And all you care about is your cupcake store?”

  Heather had been a suspect before. She could relate to Kate’s predicament, but she’d certainly never screamed at Ryan about it.

  “I – you –” Kate stammered, for once at a loss for words.

  “You need to control your anger long enough to see the big picture, Miss Laverne,” Heather said. “Now, I suggest you remove yourself from my store. You’re disturbing my customers, and if you continue to do so, I’ll have to call the police.”

  “I imagine that’ll look great to everyone in Hillside,” Amy said. “You in the back of a cop car. Business will boom.” Her bestie couldn’t resist a final, biting jab.

  Kate worked her jaw and grasped it in her right hand. She didn’t say a word, but her shoulders drooped. A signal of defeat?

  Heather’s oldest enemy spun on her stiletto heel and marched from the store, the legs of her pantsuit flapping to keep up.

  Chapter 13

  “People are going to think we’re crazy,” Amy said and clutched Dave’s leash in her fist.

  His doggy claws scrabbled along the sidewalk, and he wagged his tail. The sun had started its slow descent toward the horizon, and the temperature dipped with it.

  “Oh come on, Amy,” Lilly said, and grasped the end of another, smaller, pink leash. “Who cares what people think?” Cupcake meowed her opinion. “It’s not fair we just take Dave for a walk every day. You’ve seen how sad Cupcake looks when we get home.”

  The white fur ball trotted along in perfect time. She was small, but boy was she full of energy.

  The night before she’d managed to break into Heather and Ryan’s room and attacked Ryan’s toes in the early hours of the morning. The screams had woken the neighbors, who’d assumed the worst given that Ryan was a detective and Heather was a case magnet.

  “It’s just weird to walk a cat,” Amy said, and exhaled, sharply.

  Cupcake flicked her tail in response.

  “Oh, you’ve upset her now,” Lilly said. She bent and scratched Cupcake between the ears, then picked up the pace again. “We don’t have to walk for ages. Just around the next corner and then we can go back. Cupcake gets tired quickly.”

  “A cat on a leash,” Amy muttered. “Ridiculous.”

  Lilly rolled her eyes but kept her chin up. When Lilly set her mind to something, she always went through with it.

  It was part of the reason they’d watched Jurassic Park about seventeen times in the last month, alone.

  Heather couldn’t help but smile at her determined daughter and the fluffy white kitten on the end of the pink leash.

  They turned the corner and strode on.

  “What’s going on there?” Lilly asked.

  A crowd of people gathered in front of one of the stores in the distance. A panicked shout rang out, and the crowd rippled outward. People stepped back in a hurry.

  Larry Houston erupted from a gap between the men and women, terror etched into the lines of his face.

  “Oh boy,” Heather said. “I didn’t realize we’d come this way.”

  That was Houston’s Meats at the end of the road. But why would a crowd gather there, and what in heaven’s name had freaked out Larry?

  The butcher darted down the road, toward them.

  “I’m going to talk to him,” Heather said. “Amy, Lils, you take the kids back to the house. I’ll catch up with you soon.”

  “Mom, he looks dangerous,” Lilly replied.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said and tapped the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ve got my plastic, shocking buddy on board. Off you go.” She flapped her hands at her bestie and her sweetheart daughter.

  Amy grumbled something about butchers this time, then placed her palm on Lilly’s shoulder and steered her back the way they’d come. “At least no one will see the cat on the leash.”

  “Bah,” Lilly said.

  Heather hurried toward the panicked butcher.

  He caught sight of her and his eyes widened. “You!” Larry yelled. “You! Shepherd. You’ve got to help me. Please, it’s an emergency.”

  Heather halted in front of him. “Larry, slow down. What’s going on?”

  The butcher smeared sweaty palms down the front of his white, stained apron. “Someone just through a knife through my window,” he said and shuddered a gasp. “An ivory knife.”

  Heather’s guts turned to an icy slush of alarm. “An ivory knife.”

  “Yeah, it’s got a white hilt. It was attached to a note,” he said.

  “Show me,” Heather replied.

  Larry led her back down the road toward the s
tore. The crowd parted to allow him entry, and Heather walked past weary gazes and snatches of whispered conversation. Hillside didn’t take well to shock.

  Perhaps that was the reason the residents gossiped so often. It was their way of dealing with pain, grief, and bad news.

  “Better than watching CNN,” Heather muttered.

  “What did you say?” Larry asked, and halted in front of his glass front door. Shards of glass decorated the frame of the window beside it.

  “Nothing,” Heather replied. “Please show me.”

  The lights inside the butchery were still on, and the same assistant stood behind the counter, pale as his apron and trembling from head to toe.

  Larry paced across the chipped linoleum and stopped just short of a jagged half-moon of shattered glass. An ivory-hilt dagger lay in the middle and with a note bound to its blade with elastic.

  A police car whooped a siren outside, and lights flashed, reflected in what was left of the glass front of the store.

  Relief swept through Heather’s core. At least she didn’t have to call Ryan. He’d already arrived. News spread faster than wildfire in Hillside.

  Detective Shepherd clapped his hands and walked through the crowd. “All right, the show’s over,” he said. “Nothing to see here. Everybody go home.”

  Hoskins labored out of the police cruiser, grasping his yellow police line like a life raft.

  “This is an official police investigation,” Ryan said, loudly.

  The crowds dispersed. Men and women wandered off in different directions, gossiping in low voices. A few glanced back over their shoulders at Houston’s Meats. This would be headline news by the morning.

  Another special for the Hillside Reporter.

  “What happened?” Ryan asked, and stepped through the front door of the butchery, at last.

  “Someone threw a knife through his window,” Heather said. “The knife.” She kept her expression deadpan, but Ryan would catch on.

  He’d seen the pictures, too.

  “I haven’t touched it yet,” Larry said. “There’s a note on it. I didn’t want to know what it said. I –”

  “Did you see who threw the knife, Larry?” Heather asked.

  “No,” he replied. “No, I didn’t see.”

  She grasped his forearm and drew him aside, away from Ryan and Hoskins with his police tape.

  “Larry, I need you, to be honest with me. I think there’s something strange going on here and it’s got something to do with Julie’s death.”

  He gulped air, and his jowls wobbled.

  “Why did you cut each of Julie’s meat deliveries into the shape of a heart?” Heather asked.

  Larry Houston’s complexion did a multi-color transformation, from shocked white to pink humiliation in the span of a few milliseconds.

  “I – uh,” he said, and more jowl-wobbling ensued.

  “It’s okay,” Heather said. “You can tell me.”

  “I was in love with her.” Larry bowed his head and scratched the curls of brown hair. “I didn’t know how to tell her, so I left her little hints.”

  “I see,” Heather said and glanced back at the knife.

  Ryan sat on his haunches beside it, latex gloves on and the note in both hands. He looked up at her and mouthed a word. “Heart.” He lifted the page and flashed the contents at her.

  A picture of Larry’s meat package stared back at her.

  Certainty settled in Heather’s mind. The list of knife orders, the dangerous note and the obsession with Julie Brookes. It was all too much coincidence.

  She set her jaw and focused on the street outside.

  Tomorrow, she’d speak to Carla Giotto.

  Chapter 14

  Heather pressed the third button on the tarnished, silver box beside the plate glass front door of the apartment building. Carla Giotto stayed in apartment number 10.

  “Where did you get her address?” Amy asked, and folded her arms across her puffed out coat. “You don’t have a town gossip to rely on anymore. Ugh, sorry that was in poor taste.”

  Sharon Janis’ death still hadn’t settled into Heather’s mind. She half-expect to see the woman at the corner table in Donut Delights when she came in each morning. Sharon had used that spot for month, and peddled her gossip to whoever deemed to listen.

  “I got the address from Ballistic Bob. She bought a knife from him, remember.”

  “Maybe that’s why she threw the old one,” Amy said. “She didn’t need it anymore.”

  “Not the best motivation,” Heather replied. “I don’t understand why the killer would incriminate herself like that.” She tightened her scarf around her neck, and snuggled her ears into it. She pressed the button again and the intercom clicked on.

  “Yeah? Who is it?” Carla asked, the sound of her voice didn’t trigger any alarm bells. That, in itself, worried Heather. Surely, she would’ve recognized it from her eavesdropping at the Gingerbread Workshop.

  “Heather Shepherd,” Heather said, and glanced back at the empty street. A Honda sat opposite the road, dark grey by the half-light, and she pursed her lips. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. I’m working in conjunction with the Hillside Police Department.”

  Silence. The distant honk of a car horn and the slam of a door in the building next to theirs.

  “Did she hang up?” Amy asked.

  “I’m here,” Carla said. “I’ll buzz you in.”

  The door buzzed and Heather pushed on the silver bar handle. It clicked open and she strode into the short, brown and yellow entryway, framed by mail cubbies to the right.

  “Number 10,” Heather said. “First floor.” They traipsed up the short flight of stairs, hit the landing, then turned right and strode down the hall.

  Carla Giotto stood beside her open door, arms folded and her long, curls hanging past her shoulders. “Hello,” she said, and bobbed her head once. “Come inside.” She stepped back into her apartment and held the door for them.

  They entered and Heather blinked at the change in light.

  Carla’s windows stood open and a swift breeze swept through the living room. The pages of an open book fluttered on the wooden coffee table.

  “Please, take a seat,” Carla said, and shut the door behind them. She slammed the bolt into place. “Sorry, I take precautions after what happened to Julie. I didn’t think of Hillside as a dangerous place until that happened.”

  Heather walked along the beige carpet and sat down on Carla’s tan, linen-upholstered sofa. Amy leaned her back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest.

  “You seem a lot more relaxed than the last time we spoke,” Heather said.

  Carla walked around the coffee table and her footsteps thumped on the carpet. She sat down in an armchair beside the black TV screen. “I’ve had some time to adjust.”

  “Adjust?’ Amy’s brow wrinkled.

  “Yeah, to Julie’s death,” Carla said. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to the center of her forehead, then sat back and exhaled. “Julie Brookes meant a lot to me. More than anyone knew.”

  “Why?” Heather asked. She dug her tablet out of her bag, swiped her fingers across the screen to unlock, and proceeded to open her note app.

  She tapped Carla’s name onto the screen.

  “Because I admired her greatly. She was my role model.” Carla Giotto narrowed her eyes. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “How would we know?” Amy asked.

  “I went back to the Gingerbread Workshop to collect my pay. I saw some of my clippings and a photo of Julie was missing,” Carla said. She raised her hands and presented their pale undersides to Heather. “I know how this looks, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Care to explain?” Heather asked. Her finger hovered above the tablet’s screen.

  “I idolized Julie,” she said. “She was my favorite person in the world, probably because she was like me in the beginning. She was poor and didn’t have much, but she worked hard
until she became a business owner.”

  Heather typed the information down. She paused and reached for her tote bag.

  “It might sound strange to you, but those pictures and clippings were my inspiration. When you came to the Gingerbread Workshop, I panicked,” Carla said. “I thought you’d think I’d done it, so I tried to clear out my locker in a rush. I made a mess of things.”

  Heather brought out the order list Ballistic Bob had given her. “Why did you order a knife?” She asked, and handed the page to Carla. She’d highlighted the order number and description for ease. “A week before Julie’s murder.”

  The page trembled in Carla’s grasp. “Oh, I didn’t know you knew about this.”

  Amy’s gaze flicked to Heather’s tote bag again. A silent question. Did she have the Taser in there?

  Heather nodded at her bestie and Ames relaxed back against the wall.

  “I – look, I’m going to tell you something I don’t think you know,” she said. “A few weeks ago, Julie approached me with a problem.” Carla broke off and pinched her forehead again. “I shouldn’t tell you this. It was her private business.”

  “It’s my business to figure out who did this to her,” Heather said, and a little too sharply.

  Carla’s spine stiffened. “Julie told me that someone had been tampering with her meat. Okay, this is going to sound crazy but –”

  “We already know,” Amy said, and made a stabbing motion through the air. “The meat. The heart shape. The ivory dagger.”

  “Wow, okay,” Carla said, and coughed into her fist. “Well, Julie was worried about it. She told me that she was afraid of what would happen. I begged her to arm herself, but she said she wouldn’t.”

  “So you decided to arm yourself instead,” Heather replied, and struggled to keep the skepticism from her tone. “With a knife.”

  “Why not a gun?” Amy asked.

  “Because I’m afraid of them,” Carla said. She lifted her arm and peeled her sleeve back. A tiny scar sat in the center of her forearm. “This happened when I was ten years old. Bad neighborhood. My uncle tried to shoot an intruder and the bullet ricocheted.”

  “I’m sorry,” Heather said.

  She typed ‘fear of guns’ underneath her last line of text.