Red, White and Blueberry Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 7

by Susan Gillard

  Dave growled softly. Heather and Amy shushed him, then held their breaths in case the attacker had heard.

  But the man, whoever he was, was in the process of a full blown villain rant.

  “I’ve waited months, years for this moment. Building up my strength, creating a plan which couldn’t fail. You see, Soupy, my ledger is full, but I’ve got a lot of red ink in my book.”

  “Huh?” Soupy was as puzzled as Amy, whose brows had formed two inverted ticks.

  “I need to balance the books, Petraski. What don’t you get? If I don’t, I’ll lose more than I earn. Do you understand?” The man asked, and ceased his pacing.

  “I understand you’re crazy. And I know who you are, I know.”

  “All the more reason to get rid of you, my good man.”

  Soupy wouldn’t be deterred. “You’re that fellow who –”

  Dave’s growls turned into a sharp yap, and tense silence fell in Soupy’s room. Heather had heard enough anyway. She knew exactly who it was in there with Soupy.

  Ledgers? Red ink?

  The tinkle of glass breaking. Dave lost all self-control and digressed into a yammering dog creature. He scratched at Soupy’s door, demanding access.

  Heather was happy to oblige. She opened up and rushed in, with Amy hot on her heels.

  Soupy looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He clutched the sheets to his chest, blinking in rapid succession. The window was broken, glass had sprayed outwards, but some of it had fallen on Soupy’s prized bookshelf.

  There was no need to ask which way the attacker had gone.

  “Are you all right, Soupy?” Heather asked.

  The old man nodded slowly, and swallowed. “I’ll live,” he replied, “but I don’t know for how much longer if you don’t catch that guy.”

  “Who was it?” Amy asked.

  Soupy and Heather shared a glance, then answered in unison. “Gary Larkin.”

  Chapter 16

  Heather had left Dave outta this one. The last time she’d taken him for a walk around town hadn’t exactly ended in happiness and sunshine. And Amy, well, she had a date night going on.

  That was fine.

  Heather didn’t want anyone else to be involved in this. She was about to cross the line, in a very big way. Her desperation to find the attacker and bring him to justice had boiled down to this moment.

  Heather’s phone buzzed in her pocket, on silent again. She took it out and checked the caller ID. Ryan. She didn’t answer, but waited for the phone to settle down again.

  A message flashed on the screen and she tapped to read it.

  Hope you’re okay. Very quiet. Missin you. Just wanted to let you know that you were right. The blood on the bat didn’t match Eva.

  Heather didn’t reply.

  The message just injected her with more determination to follow through.

  She hurried down the street and crept towards Gary Larkin’s house. It was a squat one story, brick-faced building with two windows on either side of its grey front door. Creepy as could be.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.” Heather paused and touched a hand to the phone in her pocket. She could call Ryan and tell him what she knew, but no, that would take too long.

  Ryan would need to get a warrant to arrest and question Gary, let alone one to search his house. This was the only way she could get him here, and find what she needed to stop Larkin before he took out his ‘ledger anger’ on Soupy.

  Trust him to use books and accounting to talk about his murderous intent.

  Heather crouched down and crept around the back of his house.

  Gary’s car wasn’t in the drive, but that didn’t guarantee he wasn’t home. Her heart pattered out a rhythm of fear.

  “You can do this,” she whispered, and squared her shoulders.

  She hurried to the back door and tried it, but it was locked up tight, and Heather Janke was no locksmith.

  She stepped back with a frown. There had to be a way into the building.

  “Oh duh,” she said. It didn’t matter if anyone saw she’d broken and entered. After they found out why, she’d be off the hook. Wouldn’t she?

  Heather shrugged and bent to grab a rock nearby, which sat within the border of a dilapidated flower bed, stems wilting from the excessive heat. She lifted it, then froze. A key sparkled up at her from the dark brown soil.

  “Bingo.” Heather dropped the rock and picked up the key instead, then inserted it into the back door and opened up.

  She stepped into the murky kitchen, and rammed her fist against her nose to block the smell. It smelled fishy in here, but worse than that. She didn’t click on the kitchen light. Still, the darkness didn’t hide the overflowing trash can beside the fridge, or the half-eaten meal still on the table.

  Clearly, Larkin wasn’t much of a cleaner.

  Heather made her way out of the kitchen to begin the search. She entered the living room, tripped over a worn ottoman, and slapped into the beige carpet on all fours.

  Ouch.

  She grimaced and sat back on her feet, her knees pointing towards the center of the room.

  “This was a great idea,” she said, and rolled her eyes. At least he didn’t have an alarm to kill the mood.

  Heather pushed herself up from the floor, and shuffled around in the living room, lifting books, peering between the leaves of a half-dead potted plant, and flicking the thin, filmy curtains back to check the coast was still clear outside.

  She bustled out of the living room and walked smack dab into the wall.

  Ouch again.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Best investigation ever. Seriously, she had to make this her full time job.

  Heather stepped back and eyed the wall, then narrowed her eyes. That wasn’t a wall, that was a door. It didn’t have a handle though. The spot where the knob should’ve been had been blocked up.

  Heather placed her hands against it and pushed.

  Nope, not budging.

  She pushed harder.

  The door creaked and wobbled.

  “Let’s try this one more time,” Heather said. She took two giant steps back, then reassessed her life. She’d broken into a stranger’s home – possible killer and boring accountant to boot – and was about to take a running jump at a rather solid door.

  Heather rubbed her hands together. “YOLO,” she said, then shrugged.

  She hurtled towards the door, and hit it broadside.

  Crash!

  The door burst at the hinges and crashed inwards.

  She lost her balance and went right down with it, in a cloud of dust and wood splinters.

  Triple ouch.

  That was more than enough athletics for one day. If she didn’t find the evidence she needed now, she’d call it a day and limp back to Donut Delights to lick her wounds.

  Heather looked up, through the clearing dust motes, and gasped.

  “Jackpot,” she whispered.

  The entirety of the wall opposite was covered in photographs of Soupy and Heather, Heather and Ken, Heather and Ryan eating dinner at Dos Chicos, even one of Amy and Heather, eating popcorn and donuts.

  A cold chill ran down Heathers’ spine, and her skin tried to crawl right off her body.

  There was a common denominator in all these photos.

  She pushed herself up, not bothering to dust off her jeans and loose shirt. She stumbled over the wreck of the door and stomped to the photo shrine. There was a shelf beside it, which held a mini-statue. A gold award with a plaque which spoke of Gary’s service to the Chamber of Commerce. The top end was blunt and spattered with… dried blood.

  The image in the center was of Heather and Eva, sitting at Eva’s regular table, enjoying coffee and a chat. A huge red cross marred the image.

  “It’s me,” she whispered. “He’s after me. It wasn’t about Eva after all.”

  The front door to the house creaked open.

  Chapter 17

  Heather’s heart skipped
about twenty beats in a row. Never in her life had the sound of door opening struck as much fear into her mind as it did now.

  Larkin was home.

  The image of Jack Nicholson in The Shining popped into her head, unbidden. What a great moment to think about that particular movie.

  She needed a plan, and she needed out, before Larkin saw the mess that was his secret, Heather-hating shrine room door.

  Heather whipped out her cell, unlocked the phone and tapped through to camera. She took twenty photos in the span of a second, thanks to her trembling thumb. Then she retreated to the entrance of the room.

  Gary’s heavy footsteps rang out in the living room. They headed through to the kitchen and stopped.

  “What the –?” He said.

  Oh shoot, she’d forgotten to take the key out of the back door and close it.

  Heather darted out into the hall, and made for the front door. She slammed into it, scrabbled at the doorknob.

  Gary’s footsteps stomped towards her.

  She turned the knob, then dashed out of the house, down the concrete front steps and dove into the hedge bordering the property.

  Heather schooled herself to calm, trying not to tremble. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and if Gary walked out and spotted one of the hedge’s shivering, he’d know something was up.

  She spied through the leaves.

  He was on the front porch, all right, with his hand above his brow searching left and right. He eyed the bush and she froze, her pulse racing again, but that gaze moved on, scanning the street.

  Gary hovered on the porch for a couple minutes more, then marched back into his house and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Heather fumbled with her phone, swiped the screen and clicked through to images. She had a lot of blurry ones, but a few were pretty incriminating. She sent them to Ryan immediately, with the caption: attack weapon and images found in Gary Larkin’s house. I’m here, come quick.

  Heather sweated it out in the bushes – and man, did she hate sweating, it was the least ladylike thing to do, she day dreamed of being back in her kitchen at Donut Delights with her quirky assistants rather than here.

  A message made her phone buzz.

  Stay hidden. Cops on the way.

  Relief shuddered through Heather’s body. That was that. Gary Larkin would be arrested and Eva’s attacker would meet justice. But why had Gary hated her that much in the first place?

  It had to be because of Sheila’s death.

  He blamed her for it, and for his fall from grace. That made sense. Especially given that the attempted murder weapon was a Chamber of Commerce award. Talk about unpoetic ‘justice’.

  A couple minutes past, and a terrific roar of anger rang out from the interior of Gary’s house. Oh boy, he’d found the broken Heather-hating shrine. He had to know that she’d seen it.

  “What if he tries to run?” Heather whispered.

  Seconds later, Gary burst out of his front door again and onto the porch, car keys in hand. He stormed down the front stairs and towards the beat up Volvo parked in the drive.

  It was now or never, if Heather didn’t stop him no one would and he’d get off scot-free.

  She tumbled out of the bush with a yell. “Gary!”

  He stopped mid-stride, posture rigid. He turned on the spot, slowly, ever so slowly, and faced her. “It was you. You wrecked my house.”

  “Hardly worse than beating an old lady over the head with a fake trophy,” she replied, calling upon the confidence she had inside to face him.

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Gary barked. “You’re the one who ruined me, who ruined all of this!”

  “I would apologize, Gary, I really would, but Sheila died because she did the wrong thing.” Heather sighed and held her phone behind her back, gripping it so hard that the plastic made a crack of protest. “I’m only sad that you decided to follow in her footsteps.”

  “It wasn’t Sheila’s fault, it was yours! You took her from me!” Gary yelled, face turning bright red beneath the orange mop of hair on his head.

  “I didn’t take anything from you. But you tried to take my friend from me.”

  He stepped towards her, snorting air in and out of his nostrils.

  “Don’t take a step closer, Gary. I’ve already called the cops. They’re on the way to talk to you now, and if you hurt me, they’ll know exactly why and who it was. Understand?” Heather spoke in a clean tones, completely calm, and sirens rang out in the distance to corroborate her claim.

  Gary spun towards the noise, then back to her. “I –”

  “It’s no use, Gary. It’s over now. You need to explain this all to the police, and hopefully, if you confess and you change your outlook, you can redeem yourself.”

  Birds chirped in the trees, a strange offset to their situation.

  Gary didn’t move a muscle. He was frozen to the spot, gulping air and opening and closing his mouth continuously. “I didn’t – I don’t –” And then his face crumpled into sorrow.

  She had a hard time feeling bad for him.

  The police cars pulled up, and officers jumped out, guns at the ready. Gary Larkin sobbed noisily.

  “Put your hands above your head!” Ryan yelled, aiming his gun expertly.

  Gary did as he was told.

  Heather sucked in a gasp that filled her from mouth to toes. That had been a close one.

  Ah well, all in a day’s work. And what a day of work it had been. She couldn’t wait to get home and down an entire box of donuts as a reward.

  Chapter 18

  “And that was it?” Amy asked.

  “That was it,” Heather replied. “He didn’t attack me or anything. I think on some level, Gary had already given up. It’s the reason he didn’t manage to kill Eva, or why he didn’t do away with Soupy when he had the chance.”

  “But why?” Amy stood beside the counter in Donut Delights, snacking on a Memorial Day Donut.

  “Because he had his grand plan, but he wasn’t like Sheila. He couldn’t go through with it to the extent she had.” Heather brushed her hands off on her apron. “He still made the wrong choice though.”

  “I bet Ryan wasn’t too pleased that you put yourself in danger… again.”

  Heather shook her head mutely. No, Detective Ryan Shepherd definitely hadn’t been pleased, but he hadn’t been angry either. Just happy that she was safe.

  It was a quiet afternoon in the bakery, and almost time to close up for the day. The few patrons left at the tables snacked on their donuts with less chatter than usual. News of Larkin’s transgressions had already spread, and a couple of the customers had openly asked Heather about her involvement.

  “The wedding is going ahead as planned?” Amy asked, in her usual Amy probe manner. Oh she could be pushy when she wanted to be, but Heather loved that about her bestie.

  She truly cared.

  “Yes indeed. Except now with the case out of the way, I’ve got a lot of planning to do.” Heather smiled, and her gaze travelled to the empty table at the front of the shop, where dearest Eva should’ve been seated.

  Dave had taken it upon himself to fill that empty gap. He’d curled up in the last sliver of sun on Eva’s empty chair, this time with all four paws tucked beneath him.

  Ken strolled up to the counter and stopped in front of the register. “Hiya, boss.”

  “Ken, what are you doing here? I told you to go home early. It’s Friday for heaven’s sakes,” Heather said.

  “I had a question for you. I hope you won’t think it’s too forward.”

  “Oh?” Heather and Amy exchanged looks. “Sure, what’s up?”

  Ken gestured to the camera hanging from a strap around in his neck. “I wondered if you’d let me take some photographs of your donuts. I think it would be a great idea to set up a website for Donut Delights, and since I’ve been doing a photography course lately…”

  Heather clapped her hands, delight building in her chest. “Yes, that would
be fantastic. And what an awesome idea.”

  “Really cool,” Amy agreed.

  The front door to the bakery opened and Ryan entered, flapping the front of his shirt from the heat. He paused to scratch Dave between the ears, then strode to the front counter, wearing a broad smile.

  “Hey, honey,” Heather said.

  He walked around the counter, gave her a hug, then spun her on the spot and stared into her eyes. “I have some good news and some bad news.”

  “Oh? Give me the bad news first.”

  “You can’t go out with Amy this evening,” Ryan said, “that is, if she’ll relinquish you for just one night.”

  “And why’s that?” Heather asked.

  Amy arched an eyebrow and clicked her tongue. “Always trying to steal my Heather away.”

  “Because I wanted to take you out to celebrate,” Ryan said, then winked.

  “Celebrate what exactly?”

  “That’s the good news,” he replied, then tapped the side of his nose. “You’re going to love this.”

  “Stop, I can’t stand the suspense a moment longer,” Heather replied. “Tell us.”

  “I think it would be better for me to show you, rather than to tell you. Wanna close the shop early?” Ryan asked, glancing as the last of the straggling customers traipsed out of the door. “It’s a Friday, trust me, you’ll love this.”

  “All right, but only if Amy can come too. And Dave.”

  “Of course,” Ryan said. “Meet me out by the car in five.”

  The women made short work of tidying and locking up, then piled out of Donut Delights and into the back of Ryan’s cruiser.

  “I feel like a petty criminal,” Amy remarked, and clung to the grill which separated the front of the car from the back.

  Dave barked in agreement.

  “Keep talkin and I’ll take you in for disturbing the peace,” Ryan replied, in a tough guy cop voice.

  They all chuckled.

  Twenty-five minutes later, they were inside Eva Schneider’s hospital room, greeted by the shining face of the woman.

  “Eva!” Heather rushed towards the bed, and Dave yipped and turned in circles at the sound of her joy.