“Yep,” the cashier said. “Stella. Says so right here.” She pointed to her nametag, which Heather hadn’t noticed before.
“Stella, have we met?” Heather asked.
“Not exactly,” Stella said. “But I know who you are. You own that donut shop.”
“Yes. Donut Delights.” Heather’s mind whirled as she tried desperately to think of a way to keep Stella talking.
“I heard you had a terrible experience the other night,” Heather said gently.
Stella grabbed the bag of dog food and scanned it. “$13.49,” she said, not looking at Heather.
“Stella, look,” Heather said, deciding to just lay it all out there on the table. “We all know Marcus wasn’t telling the truth about what happened in the park that night. The police have proof.”
Stella flinched as Heather tried not to cringe at her little white lie. “They know Marcus shot Gustavo, and he shouldn’t have,” Heather continued. “What they haven’t figured out yet is why.”
Stella said nothing. She bit her lip as if trying to hold back the words she wanted to say, then burst out finally, “$13.49. Will that be cash or credit?”
“Credit,” Heather said, slowly taking her wallet out of her purse. “Stella—I know he hit you. Why are you lying for him?”
“Just pay for your dog food and go,” Stella said, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. “I can’t talk to you. I can’t talk to anybody.”
“But you have to talk to somebody,” Heather said. “You can’t let him go on beating you. Let me help you.”
“Nobody can help me,” Stella said. She wiped the tears from her face as Heather swiped her card through the payment machine.
“Do you have a piece of scratch paper?” Heather asked.
Stella pushed a piece of paper and a pen toward her without speaking. Heather wrote her name and phone number down on the scrap and handed it to Stella. “That’s my name and phone number,” she said. “You can call me any time. Any time, Stella. Day or night.”
Stella glanced at the paper and shoved it into her pocket. She tore Heather’s receipt off the register and thrust it at her. “Have a nice day,” she said, turning away.
Heather watched her disappear through a door behind the counter marked “Employees Only.” She stood there a moment longer, but Stella didn’t reappear.
Disappointed, wondering if she’d somehow screwed up the only possibility for finding out the truth behind what really happened and clearing Gustavo’s name, Heather left and got into her car. She drove home, went in through the back door into the kitchen, and lifted the bag of dog food out of the plastic convenience store bag.
A small slip of paper fluttered out with it. What in the world?
Heather stooped to retrieve the piece of paper from the floor. As she did, she realized it had writing on it. Handwriting.
10:15, Heather read. Be here.
Chapter 7
As Heather sat at her kitchen table, drinking her coffee black and trying to stay awake, she could only hope that Stella wouldn’t change her mind about talking to her.
If she did talk, what would she say? Would she tell the truth? Would she provide evidence against Marcus Johnson? Would she press charges against him for hitting her, and at least get him off the streets for awhile until they could figure out what to do next?
Heather took another sip of coffee. For some reason, she suspected that she was going to be up very late tonight. She didn’t know how she’d make it to work the next morning, but she guessed she’d do it somehow. And once she hired one more temporary person to work for her, she could go back to sleeping until her usual hour of 7:30.
Please, God, she thought. Let me find someone soon.
It was then that she heard the sirens. The first one grew in volume as the vehicle it belonged to sped along the cross street a block behind her house, then faded. But another siren was already sounding. Then another.
What in the world was going on?
Heather realized then that the sirens all seemed to have cut off abruptly. Not faded into silence as they sped away down the street, as she would have expected, but been suddenly silenced. Where was the emergency? Was it close by? What kind of emergency was it?
She glanced at the clock on the microwave. 9:17. Less than an hour before she was supposed to meet Stella. Maybe she could ask Stella if she’d heard the sirens too, or if she knew what was going on. Although she supposed she and Stella would have more important things to talk about.
She stood up, went to the sink, and dumped out the dregs of her coffee. It had grown cool, and there wasn’t much that was worse than cool coffee. Coffee should be served hot, fresh, and steaming.
Dave had eaten his fill of dog food when she brought the bag home, and he now lay sleeping in his little doggie bed in the corner of the living room. She’d placed one there in addition to the one in her bedroom so that Dave could have his choice of places to sleep. Usually, he slept in his bed in the living room during the day, and in his bed in her room at night.
Now I know where the phrase ‘lucky dog’ comes from, Heather mused.
But why shouldn’t she spoil him a little? He was such a cute, sweet little thing. He’d been a good companion for six years now—and would continue to be, she hoped, for many more.
Deciding not to stop to pet him so that she wouldn’t wake him up, Heather walked down the hall toward her bedroom. Maybe she’d grab a light jacket. It got chilly at night sometimes at this time of year.
But before she reached her room, her cell phone began to ring. She dashed back out to the kitchen and snatched it up. Seeing Ryan’s number, she slid her thumb across the screen. “Hello?”
“Stay inside, and keep your doors locked,” Ryan said without preamble.
“Why? I’m supposed to meet Stella at 10:15 at the Quik-Mart, remember?”
“Not anymore,” Ryan said. “There was an armed robbery there a few minutes ago.”
“What?” Heather gasped. “Is Stella okay?”
“She’s dead,” Ryan said.
“No!” Heather protested.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m on my way out there. Text me when you go to bed. If you’re still awake when I’m done, I’ll stop by.”
So that was why she’d heard all those sirens.
Heather laid her cell phone on the kitchen table and sank back into her chair. The words no, no, no, no, no kept running through her brain. They’d been this close to cracking the whole thing. This close to finding out the truth. And now they might never know what had really happened in the park that night when Gustavo was killed.
Now, now only Gustavo, but also Stella lay dead, too. Ryan had said ‘armed robbery.’ But what were the odds that Gustavo would get shot in the park, then two days later, a witness who had been about to tell the truth got killed in an armed robbery?
It was too unlikely to be a coincidence. The two murders had to be related.
But how? And why? No one except Ryan had known that she was going to talk to Stella tonight. So that couldn’t have been the motive to kill her. Or had Marcus somehow known, and decided to silence her?
Heather dropped her head into her hands. This whole thing was getting worse and worse.
There was no way she’d be able to get much sleep tonight. Not after this latest development.
She called Jung’s cell phone, hoping he’d turned it off when he went to bed. It rang six times before his recorded voice answered and invited her to leave a message at the sound of the beep. Beep.
“Jung, it’s me,” she said. “I’m not going to be able to make it in at 3 tomorrow. I’m sorry. If you want to go in, just make up some batches of whatever’s easiest. If not, let’s just leave the shop closed. I’ll explain in the morning. Bye.”
She hung up and sat staring at her phone. 9:20, the display read.
She left all the lights on, walked down the hall to her bedroom, laid her cell phone on the nightstand, and slipped under the covers. She d
oubted she’d be able to sleep until she heard from Ryan, but then again, maybe she could get in a nap before he called.
Closing her eyes, she snuggled her head into her pillow and tried to get comfortable. But every nerve ending in her body felt like it was wide awake. After what seemed like an eternity of lying there, she opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. 9:44.
Heather flopped onto her back and sighed. She stared up at the ceiling. Who had called in the robbery? If it was even a robbery, that is. What exactly had happened? Had the killer burst into the store and demanded money? Had Stella resisted? What had gone so horribly wrong that the robber felt he had no choice but to shoot her?
She sighed again. It was going to be a long night.
***
By the time she arrived at work at 9:00 the next morning, Heather had managed to get about five hours of sleep.
Ryan had, indeed, driven past her house after he finished at the crime scene, and had seen her lights on. He stopped briefly to give her what details he could, then left to take care of paperwork and other details related to the new investigation.
Heather had finally gotten to sleep at 3 a.m., right about the time she was supposed to be arriving at work. When Jung had called her at 2:15 a.m., she had still been awake. Jung assured her that he would open the shop and that she should get what sleep she could and come in when and if she was ready. Heather had a vague memory that she may or may not have promised him a raise.
Well, if she had, good for her. The man was worth his weight in gold.
“Okay, where do you need me?” she asked him.
Jung stood at the prep counter, his hands fairly flying as he topped a batch of Ice Cream Sundae donuts with their various ingredients. “Can you check and see what we need more of?” he asked.
“You bet,” she said. She went up front, where Ken was just handing a customer her receipt.
“Thank you for visiting Donut Delights,” Ken said. “We hope to see you again soon.”
“Oh, you will,” the woman said, smiling at him. “I love your donuts.”
When she had headed for the door, Heather asked, “What do we need more of? What’s been selling today?”
“Everything’s been selling,” Ken said. “The donuts have been flying out of the case like they have wings.”
“Good,” she said. “That’s what I like to hear.”
After she relayed the information to Jung, she grabbed a coffeepot and headed out into the dining area to refill people’s cups. At her usual table near the window sat Eva, her favorite customer. That was nothing unusual. Eva came in nearly every day. What surprised Heather was that Maricela and Angelica sat with Eva, and that the three of them were leaning in close as if they were discussing something important.
Well, they probably were, Heather thought as she approached their table. “Would you like—” she began, but her words stumbled to a halt as she realized that all three women had tears in their eyes. “Um, I can come back,” she said.
“No, sit down,” Eva said. “The time may come when you need to hear this, too.”
Heather sat down in the only remaining chair, a frown creasing her forehead and drawing her brows together. She waited for Eva to speak.
“I was telling your friends about life in Germany during World War II,” Eva said. “They have had a great sadness, and I have had mine.”
For once in her life, Heather couldn’t think of a thing to say. True, Eva was her favorite customer, but she didn’t know much about the tiny, white-haired woman except that she was German by birth, and that her husband of 52 years had died some years ago.
“You mean when your husband died?” Heather asked.
“No. He was my great happiness, even though he died far too soon. I’m talking about the sadness of seeing German friends literally starving. The sadness of seeing Jewish friends hauled away by the Gestapo, and then never heard from again. The sadness of knowing that as a little girl, I could do nothing to stop the atrocities that were being committed around me. Those kinds of things are the great sadness’s in life. Those, and when a loved one is murdered, and then blamed for it.”
Eva met each woman’s gaze. They listened with rapt attention. “You see, I know what that’s like, too. My father was killed by an SS officer’s bullet. The officer claimed that my father had attacked him. But we knew that the real reason was because my father was hiding Jews.”
Heather stared, her mouth open.
“My father had been taken to the police station that day for questioning,” Eva said. “I thought that was the last time I would ever see him. Mother prepared us for that. But then, for some reason, he came home. There he was, standing in the doorway. Mother cried and wrapped her arms around him and wouldn’t let him go. I did the same. All that night, and all the next day, I stayed as close to him as I could. That next afternoon, when he went out to purchase bread for our lunch, I insisted on going with him.”
Eva paused, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I saw the SS officer take out his gun,” she said. “I heard him say, ‘So, we meet again, Jew-lover.’ I heard the shot. I saw Father fall. And I knelt above his body while the officer laughed and said, ‘That’ll teach your family that good German citizens do not harbor Jews.’ And I lived through the days following, and through the rest of my life, knowing that my father was blamed for his own death.”
Eva stared deep into first Maricela’s eyes, then Angelica’s. “Some people believed the truth, and some people believed the lie. But I came to realize that their opinions didn’t matter. I knew the truth. I knew what had really happened.” Eva thumped her chest with the flat of her palm. “And as long as I knew the truth, the truth was alive. Even though my father was dead, the truth would never die. And now you know the truth about my father, so the truth lives on with you.”
Again she paused, and took a sip of her coffee. “And the truth will live on about your cousin, among the people who really matter.”
“Thank you,” Angelica whispered. “Now I hold up my head at Gustavo’s funeral. It no matter what people say. I know the truth.”
Chapter 8
“He has an alibi,” Ryan said as soon as she answered the phone.
“Who? Marcus Johnson?”
“And his alibi checks out. We have twenty witnesses in a bar who all saw him there from 8:30 to 10:00.”
“Do you think they’re telling the truth?”
“Heck no,” Ryan said. “But it’ll be awful hard to prove they’re not. And that’s what matters in a court of law, for getting a conviction. Proof. It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what I can prove.”
She heard the frustration in his voice and didn’t blame him. “Maybe something will turn up,” she said. “Wait a minute. Which bar?”
“Three Sheets,” Ryan said.
“That’s only a couple minutes from the Quik-Mart.”
“I know. But we spent hours last night and this morning tracking down and interviewing all the people in the bar that we could. We didn’t have very many names, and some of them were hard to track down. Basically, we only talked to four people.”
“I thought you said you had 20 witnesses.”
“There were 20 people in the bar at the time. It was a slow night. Some of the four people we talked to have given us names of some of the others who were there, and we’re working on talking to them. But I’m sure they’re all gonna say the same thing. Marcus was there drinking.”
“And you couldn’t tell anything from the convenience store security camera?”
“Nope. We went over it again. Several times, in fact. But the only thing it shows is a man in dark clothing and a dark ski mask. It might or might not be Marcus Johnson. Could be. But no way to prove it.”
“There’s gotta be some way to prove it,” Heather said. “He has to have made some mistake. Or left some clue.”
“We’re still looking,” Ryan said, and in her mind’s eye, she could see his jaw clenched, his eyes hard and deter
mined. “We’ll get him. Somehow, we’ll get him.”
“I know you will,” she said. “I have confidence in you.”
For a moment, there was silence. “Thanks,” Ryan said finally. “I needed to hear that. You’re amazing. Have I ever told you that?”
“You have, but there’s no such thing as telling me too often.”
“Then let me tell you again. You’re amazing. And can we—never mind.”
“What?” she asked.
“Never mind. I want to say it to you in person,” Ryan said.
“So come say it.”
“I can’t right now. Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to drive over to your place and spend some time with you. But I can’t. This case is making me crazy, and I need to check out every possibility I can think of, no matter how unlikely.”
Chocolate Frosted Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 5 Page 5
