“Hear me out,” Heather said, and pointed to the back door. “Carla’s in there, screaming. Charlie comes in and witnesses it. He doesn’t tell chef about our orders, but spikes them so that Guidi can make them when he’s done.”
“I’m lost. Where are you going with this?” Amy asked.
“Chef Guidi made our order. He had time to make our shakes before he was murdered.” Heather tapped her bottom lip. “I highly doubt he would’ve done that with the murderer present.”
Footsteps crunched up behind them.
Amy squeaked and rushed to Heather’s side.
A man with curled dark hair and olive skin halted in front of them. He touched the scarf on his neck and the keys in his hand jingled. “Hello,” he said.
“Who are you?” Heather asked.
“Arlo,” he replied.
“All right.” Heather exchanged a glance with her bestie. “And what are you doing here, Arlo?”
“I – uh, my brother in law owned this restaurant. My sister, Carla, sent me to collect a few of his things inside. She’s been very busy after his, you know.”
“Murder,” Heather said. She moved back a pace and pointed to the police seal on the door. “As you can see, Mr. - ?”
“Orlando.”
“As you can see, Mr. Orlando, this is still an active crime scene. I’m afraid you won’t be permitted to enter.”
Arlo chewed his lip, but slipped the keys into the front pocket of his jeans. “Oh. But, wait, what are you doing here then? You’re not cops.”
“We’re working in connection with the Hillside Police Department to help solve the case,” Heather said.
“Oh.”
“In fact, would you mind answering a few questions, Mr. Orlando? If you have the time?” Heather folded her arms and tilted her head to one side. This man intrigued her.
She didn’t have anything on him in her case file. How had he slipped under the radar?
Arlo placed his hand on his scarf again. “No,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time for this. My sister needs my help with her kids, and I have my own to look after to.”
“Mr. Orlando –”
“Good day,” he said, then turned and marched off the way he’d come, his coat flapping in the breeze of his wake. The man trailed the scent of strong, woodsy cologne and walked with a slight limp.
“Is it just me or did he seem a little flinchy?” Amy asked. “Not that I’m one to talk.”
“Arlo Orlando,” Heather muttered. “Interesting.” She checked her filigree watch, then flinched. “Ugh. I’m late for my meeting with Ryan. Meet you back at Donut Delights, later?”
“Sure. Just as long as I can get out of this alley sooner rather than later,” Amy said, and trembled. “I can’t believe there was a killer here. Right where we stand.”
Heather patted her bestie on the back and they started down the alley again. She couldn’t shake the disappointment at the lack of evidence. No footprints, no overflowing trash cans to explore, nothing.
They hit the sidewalk and made for Heather’s cherry red Chevrolet, silence yawning between them.
Chapter 7
The fire crackled behind the grate in Filippo Guidi’s home office. Carla had made sure the room was warm for them, since a cold front had hit Hillside that morning. Heather couldn’t help but think the rash of storms and icy winds were the dying kicks of winter, desperate to be heard.
She shook off the unpleasant thought.
“It’s a nice room,” Ryan said, and didn’t bother snapping on a pair of latex gloves. The kids had clearly been through the office at one point or the other. Anything they found now would be physical, rather than trace.
“Sure, it’s nice. If you like thick mauve curtains,” Heather said. She hurried to the windows and opened them. Fresh air swelled through the space.
Honestly, Guidi’s home office looked more like the interior of a Gothic cathedral than a warm place to go over documents and work.
The chef must’ve had a flair for the dramatic.
Heather lifted a framed picture of his three kids off the corner of the desk. “Poor guy,” she muttered. “Poor kids.”
Ryan nodded but didn’t say a word.
They’d seen enough together. Their investigations had brought them closer as a couple, and Heather could read his reactions. The slightest frown or twist of his mouth.
Ryan didn’t like the loss of life. It didn’t deter him from doing his job, though.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”
Heather put down the picture frame, then slid open the top desk drawer instead. A few pens and pencils rolled into view, along with a daily planner. She lifted the leather-bound book and flipped it open.
She rifled through the pages – each one was empty. Guidi hadn’t penned in a single appointment.
“I heard something today.” Ryan examined the books and files in one of the shelves along the wall. “About the murder weapon.”
“You didn’t put it in the file, I noticed.” Heather put the book down and opened the next drawer. Nothing.
“Yeah, I just received the info a half hour ago,” Ryan replied. “Apparently, we don’t have a murder weapon.”
“What?” Heather walked over to the bookcase. “But you found a knife beside his body.”
“That’s right. A kitchen knife. But get this, the knife was wiped down on the blade but not the handle. And we got prints off the handle,” Ryan said.
“And the prints belonged to?”
“Filippo Guidi,” Ryan replied. “Just got them back today. The prints from the door haven’t come back yet, though. Which is frustrating, since I think that’s going to be one of our main leads in this case. It was the only entrance in and out of the kitchen.”
“So it was Filippo’s knife,” Heather said. “But why would – oh, self-defense. He probably cut the attacker, who cleaned the knife after to avoid DNA evidence.”
“This is tight,” Ryan said. “The waiter delivered those drink orders, witnessed and argument with Carla and left. Five minutes later, Guidi is found dead. Very tight.”
Heather sighed. The simplest answer would be to look for the evidence which suggested Carla had been involved, but ‘simplest’ didn’t necessarily equate to ‘ethical’ or ‘correct.’
They needed a real lead.
“Any news on our lurker? The guy who hung around the restaurant?” Heather asked.
“Nope. And the connection there is tenuous at best. So what if some guy hung around the restaurant? I’m sure there are plenty of folks who enjoy Italian food,’ Ryan said. “I know because I’m one of them.”
“He didn’t order anything, though –”
“What’s this?” Ryan slipped a thin plastic file from between two books. He flipped it open and revealed a bank statement. “These are recent.”
“It looks like Guidi liked to keep things organized,” she said, and turned her attention to the shelves too. A lever arch file labeled EMPLOYEES in bold print stared back at her.
She wiggled it free, then whipped it open. “Even if the connection is tenuous,” Heather said, “we still have to investigate it. Right?”
“Of course,” Ryan said.
They fell into silence and paged through their respective documents.
“Hey, look at this,” Heather said.
“Whoa,” Ryan put in, at the exact same moment.
“What?” They asked, in unison.
“Oh gosh, are we morphing into a single being, already?” Heather asked.
Ryan chuckled and turned the flip file toward her. “It’s one of Guidi’s statements from two months back. His bank account isn’t exactly padded with cash. And look at this deposit on the 18th of December.”
Heather squinted at the figures. “Whoa,” she said. “Two hundred thousand dollars? That sends up some flags. I would’ve thought that someone from the FBI would’ve been down here for something like that.”
“Ma
ybe that’s why he left Houston,” Ryan replied. “Gosh, that’s all we need.”
“What, the FBI tramping through our case?” Heather grimaced. “Ugh.”
Ryan nodded. “Though, this could’ve been something innocent. Maybe he sold his house and the money came out of Escrow on that date. Whatever it is, I’m going to check it out back at the station.” He flipped the file shut. “What did you find?”
Heather shuffled the lever arch around and showed him the roster she’d found. “These are the work shifts organized for the team at Bella Vita’s,” she said. “Only three names.”
“Charlie Jens,” Ryan said, and nodded. “Carla Guidi, and –”
“Arlo Orlando. The same guy I ran into outside the restaurant not twenty minutes ago.” Heather strode to the desk and put down the file.
“Huh,” Ryan said. “It’s not enough. We can interview him, sure, but it’s not like the guy has done anything wrong. He tried to help his sister and he worked for Guidi.”
Heather bit her lip. Maybe she’d been a little hasty on the hint of an accusation, there.
“Be careful,” Ryan said. He walked to her, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Just be careful, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s been some talk around the office. Some of the other detectives are avid readers of the Hillside Reporter and –”
“And they believe I’m a vigilante?” Heather snorted. “Come on, Ryan. I’m in the employ of the police department. I think the opportunity for vigilantism flew out of the window a long time ago.”
“Just take care, hon. That’s all I’m saying,” he said. “People tend to believe the things they read. They don’t do research for themselves, unfortunately.”
Heather chewed on the rough anger but kept it in check. For heaven’s sake. Now, the cops doubted her? She’d done more than enough to prove herself.
“Honey, everyone at the station thinks you’re great.”
“That’s why they’re talking about me, is it?”
“Heather,” Ryan said, in his police officer warning tone. “Keep the interviews in check, that’s all. Make sure that you stick to protocol.” He kissed her temple, then swept toward the door. “I’d better get this stuff back to the station. Now, that I know there’s information here, we can pull in a team to get it all out.”
Heather didn’t smile or wave. She stared directly ahead, seething from head to toe.
Chapter 8
Another morning had dawned on the busy streets of Hillside, lighting the shop fronts and the shoppers themselves.
It’d barely hit 9 am and already, Heather needed a break. She sat across from Eva in the sunny spot at the front of the store, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Noises washed over her – the tinkle of the bell, laughter, idle chatter and the whizz and hiss of the coffee machine in the corner. She needed to erase the tension from yesterday and focus on the case.
“Heather, dear?” Eva’s soft fingers brushed her wrist. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Heather said, in the least believable monotone imaginable. “Okay,” she said, and her eyelids snapped up. “I’m not fine. Not even a little bit.”
“Oh dear,” Eva said, and folded her newspaper – the Hillside Reporter, of course. She placed it to one side on the glass table top, then lifted her plain white coffee cup. “What’s wrong?”
“The entire town seems to think I’m incompetent because of that article,” Heather said. She scooched forward a little, and Eva joined her in the motion. “Even the detectives down at the station have started doubting my methods.”
“Don’t let what other people say get you down,” Eva said. “That article was slander.”
“But it doesn’t seem to matter,” Heather said. “That investigator spiced the article with enough kernels of truth that it makes all his other false claims seem legitimate. What if – oh gosh, no, I don’t even want to say it.” What if this ruined her?
What if the police department lost faith in her and people stopped coming to the donut store and –
“Don’t let your mind run away with you,” Eva said. “This is a speedbump, dear. It’s nothing more and nothing less. Next week, that Jenny Kyler girl will release another lipstick and everyone will be focused on that instead.”
“Do you mean Kylie Jenner? Goodness, how do you know about her?” Heather asked.
“They publish all sorts of news in this thing,” Eva said, and rapped her knuckles on the top of the newspaper. “I only read it to keep my finger on the pulse, you know. In case you need information about a case.”
Eva had a point. Twice now, there’d been information in the Reporter which’d helped her track down a lead or suspect.
Heather’s phone buzzed in the front pouch of her Donut Delights apron, and she whipped it out. “It’s Ryan,” she said. Hopefully, he had some news about those fingerprints on the door.
“Shepherd,” she answered.
“I found your stalker,” Ryan said, and huffed breaths into the phone. “Sorry, on the way down the front stairs.”
“Who is he?” Heather asked. Excitement destroyed her trepidation about the newspaper article.
“Gene Clemens. We found his fingerprints on the back door and when I pulled his mugshot, I got a match to the picture you sent me off the waiter’s phone,” Ryan said.
“Who is he?”
“Get this, he’s a white collar criminal. Houston based. He did time for minor fraud,” Ryan said. “And there’s absolutely no good reason for him to be in Hillside other than the fact that he’d recently contacted Guidi via cell.”
“Goodness,” Heather said, and shifted in her seat. “Do you have an address for me? I can head out to interview him, right now.”
“No,” Ryan said. “No, hon, you stay at the store. I’m going to handle this one.”
“But I always interview our suspects.”
“Take it easy, Heather. I’ve got this.” Ryan hung up.
The bitter taste in Heather’s mouth had nothing to do with the coffee in front of her. Had her husband lost faith in her too? Surely not. This had to be a coincidence. Unless the Captain had pushed for him to shut her out.
Heather put the phone on the tabletop and stared at it.
“What happened?” Eva asked.
“Nothing,” Heather said. “Nothing that involves me, apparently.” She lurched out of her seat and snatched up the phone. “But you know what does involve me, Eva? The memorial this afternoon for Chef Guidi. Carla sent me a formal invitation. I wasn’t going to go.”
“But you are now,” Eva said.
“Absolutely.” Heather wouldn’t be shut out of her own case. Unlike the detectives on Ryan’s team, she didn’t care about a career advancement. She didn’t care about a good reputation.
She cared about finding the truth.
Heather marched to the glass front door, then pushed out and stepped onto the sidewalk. She needed the fresh air, desperately. A clear head would follow. She glanced left and lost her breath.
Kelly Lemon leaned against the wall beside the Donut Delights window, peering inside, his notepad out.
“You,” Heather growled.
The man jumped and met her gaze. “Oh, Mrs. Shepherd. Hi. Uh, listen, no hard feeling about the –”
“Defaming article? No, of course not. When did you start working for Kate Laverne?” She asked. She shouldn’t have let this get to her, but she couldn’t keep her anger at bay. “When did you get on that wretched woman’s payroll?”
The customers in the store ate donuts and chattered on, oblivious.
“It’s not like that,” Lemon said. “Look, I like you Mrs. Shepherd. You were great to me last week. I didn’t want to –”
Heather stormed toward him and the man actually backpedaled, both hands out, a pen in one and his scribble-covered notepad in the other.
“Don’t you ever come back here again,” Heather said, and waggle
d her finger at him. “Ever! Do you hear me?”
“Y-yes,” he said, and swallowed. Investigator – now reporter – Lemon spun on the heel of his trainer and darted off, holding his fedora in place.
“Heather?” Amy called, and her footsteps rushed up behind her. “Heather, what on earth was that about? Was that Lemon?”
Heather exhaled and tried to quash the burn in her cheeks. It’d been a long time since she’d lost her temper like that. No doubt, it would backfire on her. “Yeah. And I’m fine. The memorial service is at 12. Are you coming?”
“Of course,” Amy said, tone soft. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Heather hung her head. She couldn’t bring herself to answer.
Chapter 9
“I always find these things weird,” Amy said, and bit into a mini-pizza.
“What? Miniature foods? Because I actually thought about creating a line of mini-donuts.” Heather lifted a mini-hot dog and examined it. “They’re cute.”
“No, I mean this.” Amy gestured to the crowd surrounding the trestle tables in the back garden of the Guidi house. “This whole memorial service after party thing. Everyone comes and hears about the poor man that died, and then they hang around and drink and eat and joke afterward. It’s weird.”
“I guess you could look at it that way,” Heather said. “But, if you think about it, it’s a celebration of Filippo’s life. There’s nothing weird about that.”
Amy grunted and shoveled another mini-pizza into her mouth.
It’d taken Heather the entire memorial service to calm down and refocus on what was important here. It didn’t matter that the Hillside Reporter had defamed her, or that the Hillside Police Department may have lost faith in her abilities.
A man had been murdered. A family had lost their father and husband. Now, wasn’t the time to look at her problems, but pay attention to the facts.
“There’s Carla,” Amy said, and nodded toward the woman at the far end of the garden. She stood beneath an old, naked oak and focused on the screen of her cell phone.
Heather resisted the urge to approach her. As much as she wanted to get to the bottom of this, she needed to respect the Guidi family’s need to grieve.
Raspberry Coulis Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 38 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Page 3
