A tune sprung to mind: a new song she’d heard on the radio the other day, Me Too by Meghan Trainor. She didn’t hum it.
“Uh huh?” The old man said. “All right, I guess I can answer some questions for you.”
Heather blinked. That’d been easy. Was this what Ryan felt like when he interviewed suspects?
“Great. I don’t want to upset you, Mr. Buckle. So if you become uncomfortable, please let me know.”
“I won’t get uncomfortable, lady, I’ll be okay,” he grunted and walked to a wooden table against the far wall. He came back with a bottle of fluid.
Heather’s eyes widened. Amy stiffened against the shelves.
Antifreeze.
The old man opened the bottle and swished it around. “Shucks, I’ll have to get more of this. Don’t know where it got to.”
Heather cleared her throat. “Mr. Buckle, why doesn’t your son’s death upset you.”
“I hadn’t seen him in oh, say, ten years or so. Ever since he took up playing those kids games. He told me he could make a living off them, but I dunno, it doesn’t seem like any way to live,” the man replied.
“So, you disowned him?” Heather asked.
“No, I just didn’t approve. And the more I disapproved, the less he came to see me and the more he played those darn games. Sitting down all day like that, it’s not healthy,” Charlie said, then put the bottle down at his feet.
“I see. And do you know if your son had a will, Mr. Buckle?” Heather asked. She tapped through to a notepad app on her phone and typed on the tiny touchscreen keyboard: Charlie Buckle.
It came out Laklie Pockle.
Heather closed the app and put her phone back in her pocket. She’d just have to memorize the information.
“A will? No idea. Like I said, we didn’t talk, and no lawyers have contacted me, so it doesn’t seem like it. You might wanna try talking to that girlfriend of his. Works training dogs. Can’t remember her name, shoot. Something manly.”
“Frankie?” Heather asked.
“That’s the one,” he said and clapped his hands. “Look, I don’t know anything about this. I was home working on Chipper over here the day Junior died. I guess that means I don’t have an alibi.”
Heather nodded. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Buckle. I’ll be in touch.”
“You come back anytime, now.” He said, but his eyes told a different story.
Chapter 7
Heather hummed a tune and walked down the road, swinging her keys on the index finger of her right hand. Today was a big day. Plenty of Caramel Glazed Donuts to make for the online order, and time had ticked by.
Next week was closer. The last week before the opening of the new Donut Delights store. Ugh, she couldn’t get the thought out of her mind.
“No pressure.” That was the theme this week. A lot of pressure. She could handle it. She’d handled worse, hadn’t she?
Heather didn’t let the doubt creep through her thoughts. She turned the corner and strode down the road, head held high.
She checked her filigree watch and sighed. “Just past 7 am. The gang are probably baking up a storm.” She’d given up on guilt about late entrances into her own store. She’d hired assistants for a reason, after all, and they were the best bakers and workers she could’ve asked for.
“No, she’s not opening for a very long time,” a woman said. No, that was Eva’s voice.
Heather hurried down the road and turned into Donut Delights’ street.
Eva stood in front of the store, her arms folded across her chest. She hunched over under the glare of another, taller woman.
“Oh, and why is that? She’s hiding in there, is she?” The woman said, and her nasal whine cut right through Heather’s patience. “I heard that she’s afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Heather asked, and strode to the front of her store.
Sharon Janis blinked at her, then pushed her clunky bangles up her arms. “Oh, hello, Heather,” she said, and smiled. Pink lipstick smeared across her two front teeth.
“I’m interested to hear what I’m afraid of, Mrs. Janis,” Heather replied.
The image of Lionel Janis in his Polo shirt lodged itself in Heather’s brain. Any woman who’d raised a deplorable little dude like him, had to be a pain in the neck too.
“Nothing, nothing,” Sharon said.
“It’s not nothing.” Eva drew herself up straight, and her plum-colored hair do wobbled in the crisp morning air. “Tell Heather what you meant, this instant.”
“Oh relax, don’t get your pantyhose in a twist,” Sharon replied. She arranged her short-cropped curls, then twisted her wrists. Her bangles clanked together. “Geoff Lawless is on the up, Heather, darling. His donuts have taken a turn for the better.”
Heather found that difficult to believe. Unless he’d managed to steal her recipe book again.
“Heather makes the best donuts in Hillside,” Eva replied. “Don’t you forget that.”
“I don’t know about that. You see, while Heather’s been off investigating,” Sharon said, and drew out the last word, “Geoff has been focusing on improving his treats. I must say, I enjoyed his Chocolate Chip Donuts the other day.”
Heather clenched her teeth hard, then released them. She had to keep her cool. The Janis family knew just how to irritate her and she wouldn’t let them get to her, now. Not when she was this close to setting up the new Donut Delights.
“Donut Delights will reopen in two weeks. We’ve been so busy filling online donut orders during the construction that I haven’t had a chance to check out Lawless’ store. Good for him, though,” Heather said, with a sweet smile.
Sharon’s victory slipped from her fingertips. “I, oh, uh –”
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Heather said, and placed her hand on Eva’s shoulder. She made to turn toward the front door of her bakery.
“I heard you’re investigating full time now,” Sharon said, in a blurt that would’ve rivaled Dave’s yaps. “I heard, that you’re looking into Junior Buckle’s murder.”
Heather froze and stared at Hillside’s finest gossip – and that wasn’t a compliment. “Yeah, I’m looking into it in a professional capacity. Do you have something to tell me, Mrs. Janis?”
“Ooh, look at you all formal,” Sharon said, and placed her bright red fingernails to her lips. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don’t.”
“I’ll see you around, Mrs. Janis,” Heather replied.
“No, wait!” Sharon yelped. “Okay, so you want the goss? You want the big news?”
“The goss?” Heather grimaced.
“Yeah, short for gossip. You know, the juice, the stuff. The stuff that good investigations are made of,” Sharon said, and drew out the word ‘investigations’ for the second time. She hissed like a snake on the ‘s’.
“Right,” Heather replied.
“I hear,” Sharon said, and shuffled closer. Eva took a step back and pursed her lips. “I hear, that Francesca Charles has been hanging out with a mystery stranger.”
“Oh?” Heather asked.
“Oh yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, a mystery stranger. You see, she’s been having an affair. That’s according to the grape vine at least.”
Those had to be some sour grapes.
“And,” Sharon continued, flicking her wrists again. “This guy is a total mystery. Moved into a new house or something. I don’t know if he’s renting or what, but Francesca’s after his money.”
“So, she had an affair with a stranger and is after his money. That’s the, uh, juice?” Heather couldn’t bring herself to say ‘goss’.
“That’s right. Mhmm, just you check out that lead and see. You check it out and see,” Sharon replied, and swayed her right arm to the side. “I could help you out, you know. Be your eyes and ears.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Janis, I appreciate the information and the offer.” Lies, all lies. “But, I have a lot of work to attend to. The Caramel Glazed Donuts won’t make themselves. You hav
e a good day.”
Heather ignored the woman’s inane follow-up yammers, and directed Eva to the front of Donut Delights instead.
But the hint, the clue, the ‘juice’ as Janis had put it, already swirled through Heather’s mind and excited her investigative gene.
Antifreeze, an affair, an estranged father and a gamer.
Chapter 8
Heather stood in front of Junior Buckle’s garage and tapped her bottom lip with her thumb. The afternoon sun hovered low on the horizon, and Donut Delights had closed for the day.
One hundred donuts had gone out, and they had bigger orders to fill and donuts to fry the next day.
This was probably the only shot she’d get to check out the Antifreeze situation at Junior’s home.
Heather walked to the garage door, bent and tried the handle. The door rolled up instantly. She jumped back and gasped, then pressed her hand to her chest over her hammering heart.
“Didn’t expect that.”
Obviously, Junior hadn’t been too worried about his belongings. That begged the question whether there was an external door which led into the house. What if he’d left that unlocked too, and the killer had snuck in and dosed his malt shake behind his back?
Heather reached in and searched for a light switch. Her fingertips brushed dusty brick and finally, cold metal. She clicked, and light flooded the garage from a single, yellow bulb overhead.
“What the –?”
A massive hunk of black metal sat in the center of the garage, right on the concrete. The scent of oil mingled with the cut grass of the lawn outside. Heat chased Heather into the cool interior.
“Are those tires?” Heather bent and squinted at the bands of rubber. Yeah, it was some kind of car. Hulking, flat, and black. Kind of like a Formula 1 car, but way uglier.
“You like it?”
Heather jumped and spun on the spot. Shoot, she’d done that too often, of late.
Francesca Charles stood behind her, arms at her sides and her hands twitching. “He loved the thing. I never understood it.”
“What is it?” Heather asked.
“The bat mobile. Or that was what he called it. He worked on it every other weekend when he wasn’t playing World of Warcraft,” Frankie said. She didn’t move closer but stared at Heather. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
“I’m conducting an investigation,” Heather replied. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
“I happen to live here, thank you very much.” Frankie formed fists, then crossed them behind her back. Her summery dress hung loosely on her frame. “I used to. I’m moving my stuff out.”
The police lines were gone, which meant that Ryan had finished up his investigation in the house itself. But did Frankie have permission to be at Junior’s old home?
Heather would have to check. She touched her pocket and rubbed her cell phone through the fabric of her jeans.
“I was just leaving, though.” Frankie said. “The front door’s locked. I left my dog’s bed in there. Lucy doesn’t like sleeping on my bed in the hotel room.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t authorize you to enter the building without checking with Hillside PD, first.” Not that she had the authority to, uh, authorize anyone.
“Right. That’s fine,” Frankie said. “I was just leaving, like I said.” And she spun on her heel and clicked off down the short drive. She stopped in front of a flashy green Mazda 2, then opened up and got inside.
Heather walked out of the garage and pulled the door down. Her insides twisted into a ball. What did the girlfriend want here? It couldn’t just be her dog bed, could it?
The car started up behind her, and Heather turned her head to one side.
Green flashed by, and the Mazda cruised down the road. It stopped at the intersection, then took a left.
Heather darted for her car and brought out her keys. She unlocked, hopped in and started the engine in what had to be three second flat.
“Follow that car,” she said, to no one in particular, then slammed her door shut.
Heather zoomed down the road, took a left, and slowed down immediately.
The green Mazda 2 had stopped at the end of the road. In fact, it’d parked right outside another house. A tall, pale construction hidden behind a lush garden and a low-slung fence.
“What on earth? This doesn’t look like your hotel room, Francesca,” Heather whispered. She parked the car on the side of the road, then slipped out. The ball of anxiety in her belly hadn’t loosened, but she didn’t hum.
She stalked down the sidewalk, and the sun warmed her back. A door slammed in the distance. Kids laughed. Birds chirped in the trees. None of it mattered.
Whose house was this?
“It could be a relative,” Heather whispered, but her sleuth instinct itched a ‘no’ at her.
Heather reached the front of the house and hunched over. She narrowed her eyes and readjusted her position. Leaves and bushes blocked most of her view, except for the front stairs and a portion of the door.
Francesca Charles stood just within view, her phone in one hand and the other raised to knock on the varnished wood. “Hello? Where are you? I’m on the porch. Okay, cool.”
Heather crossed her fingers and her toes. Was she about to get a glimpse of the mystery man in Hillside? The potential lover?
The front door opened, and Heather leaned in, she still couldn’t make out who was inside. She leaned further forward, further, and –
The edge of the fence tipped up to meet her. Heather yelped and flailed both arms to regain her balance. Too late.
She tumbled to the concrete in a heap.
“What was that?” A man asked, from the house.
“I’ll check,” Frankie said. “Gimme a second.”
“Shoot,” Heather whispered. Blood rushed in her ears, and sweat beaded on the back of her neck. “Hurry, shoot.” She scrambled to her feet and jogged three step.
The fence dragged her back – it’d hooked the back pocket of her jeans!
Footsteps approached, high heels clicked on the path toward the gate.
Heather wrenched it free, then sprinted down the road. She dove into another, open yard, tripped and sat down on the grass, hard. “She didn’t see me,” Heather whispered. “Nope, nope, didn’t see me.”
Heather stumbled to her feet and crept to the edge of the sidewalk, a classic Pink Panther pose, then stopped and peered down the street.
Frankie stood, palm raised to shield her eyes, her back to Heather. She hadn’t seen her, after all.
Heather sunk back and squeezed her eyes shut. “Fun day,” she whispered. And it would be an equally exciting evening.
She had to know who lived in that house.
Chapter 9
Heather dusted off her palms on her apron and grinned at the rows of sticky Caramel Glazed Donuts on the trays. The kitchen glistened beneath the overhead lights, and her assistants chattered as they worked.
“Perfection,” she said.
“Are you admiring your work again?” Amy asked and gestured with a glaze covered spoon. “Because, I don’t blame you. These are delicious.”
“Not my work. Your work. Everyone’s work,” Heather replied.
Maricela leaned over a large silver bowl and attached a whisk to the mixer above it. Angelica adjusted the temperature on the oven.
Ken and Jung had taken the evening off, for a change – they’d put in enough overtime hours over the last few days.
“I must be the luckiest baker alive,” Heather said.
“Uh huh? Then why do you look like Dave ate your donut?” Amy asked. She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Is it to do with the case?”
“You could say that.” Heather folded her arms across her chest. “I spotted Frankie meeting a strange man at some house down the road from Junior’s place. I need to know who he was and why she was there.”
“Have you told Ryan?” Amy asked.
“He said he’d meet me here as soon
as he was free. It’s just, ugh, I’m not sure what to think about this. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but –”
“But what if Frankie teamed up with a stranger to kill her boyfriend?” Amy nodded. “That makes sense to me. She was packing her boxes, after all.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t have a motivation to kill him.”
“What about her alleged affair?” Amy asked. “Eva buzzed about it the whole of this morning.”
Heather wriggled her lips, then bent and brought out a few Donuts Delights boxes. She folded one and snapped the ends into place, then put it on the counter.
“I want to say that’s motivation, but I can’t. Why not just leave Junior? Frankie didn’t have anything holding her back. She had no reason to murder him so that she could leave him. Besides, she packed her boxes before his death.”
“They could’ve gotten into an argument,” Amy replied.
“Yeah, but that would make it a crime of passion. And poison is not the weapon of choice for something like that.”
The kitchen doors swung inward, and Ryan Shepherd strode into the room. He wore a frown and that police uniform which made him look oh so handsome.
“It’s happened,” Amy said. “They’ve finally come to arrest you for making donuts that taste so good they should be illegal.”
“And hello to you too, Amy,” Ryan replied. He swept off his hat and tucked it under his arm, then leaned in and kissed Heather on the cheek. “Gorgeous. You sounded upset on the phone. Everything okay?”
Maricela switched on the mixer and the noise whirred through the kitchen.
“Let’s talk out front,” Heather said, loudly.
They walked through to the front of the store, and Heather took a seat at one of her wrought iron tables.
Ryan followed her example, though he checked the time on his watch, too.
“In a rush?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get back to the station to deal with some paperwork. What’s happening?”
“I followed Francesca Charles, today,” Heather said, then braced herself for the reprimand.
Caramel Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 19 Page 3
