“Who do you think got Shane?”
“No idea.” Turner walked the case to the car, wrenched the back door open, then tossed it inside. “But I’m not hanging around to find out.”
“Is it true that you fought with Mr. Price frequently?”
“If by frequently, you mean every day, then yeah. I fought with him every chance I got.” Turner dusted off his palms. “Wanna know why?”
“We sure do,” Amy said.
“Because he was a hard man and he didn’t pay us enough. Even after the tourists started pouring in, he maintained that he hadn’t made enough money to pay us more than what we’d started on,” Turner said. “What kinda person does that? Meanwhile, his wife is all done up like a Thanksgiving turkey and sitting on a pile of gold out in suburbia.”
Heather blinked.
“And I’ll tell you another thing about Shane Price. He wasn’t an angel,” Turner said and waggled his finger. “He wasn’t an angel by no means. The man was having an affair.”
“With who?” Heather asked.
“The other woman who worked with me. Jeannie. I had my suspicions about her from the start. She worked there before I did. Since the day that place opened, I’ll bet. And why? Cos Shane wanted a side piece, that’s why.”
Side piece was an objectionable term. “How do you know they were an item?” Heather asked.
“I saw them together. Hugging.”
“When?”
“Not a week before Shane got stabbed in the back like the rat he was,” Turner said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a town to leave in the dust.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Turner,” Heather said. “You found Shane’s body. You can’t leave until the investigation is complete.”
“You’re kidding,” Turner said and knuckled his forehead. “Please tell me you’re kidding, lady.”
“I’m afraid not. If you leave, I’ll be forced to notify the police,” Heather said. Dave barked to get the point across.
Turner grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. I’ll just repack everything back into my crummy house. That should be a fun way to waste the day.”
“It’s better than sitting in an interrogation room,” Amy replied.
That shut him right up. He marched back into his house and slammed the door.
“Interesting,” Heather said and tapped her chin. “Very interesting.”
“You think he was truthful about Jean and Shane?” Amy asked, and stepped closer to her bestie.
“I think it’s a lead, though hugging doesn’t prove anything.” And Turner’s attitude stank to the heavens and back. He might’ve messed with them simply because he could.
This case was far from over and it was high time they paid a visit to the next person on their suspect list.
“Let’s find out,” Heather said.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 7
“Please, take a seat,” Jean said, and gathered up a stack of kiddie’s books and a fire truck off the sofa. “Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to get to the housework.”
“That’s all right,” Heather said. “Don’t clean on our behalf.”
They sat on the sofa and Dave curled up on Amy’s feet. Cupcake rested in her lap, purring up a storm.
“It’s just been a bit hectic around here. Billy’s getting way more homework than usual and I get home late.” Jean dumped the toy and books on the couch opposite, then backed into an armchair. She tucked her blond hair behind her ear.
Blond. Just as Hannah had said she would be.
“I like your hair,” Heather said. “Is that your natural color?”
“Oh, no way. I’m a brunet,” Jean replied, and chuckled. “I wish, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about coloring my hair but I’m not sure I could pull off that shade of blond.”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “You want to go blond? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Heather resisted the urge to cuff her best friend. She’d give the game away if she wasn’t careful.
“Would you ladies like anything?” Jean asked. She had a splotch of ketchup on her shirt pocket and what looked like chocolate milk on the knee of her jeans. “I’m sorry, I’ve just gotten Billy off to school. I’ll make something.” She made to get up.
Heather waved her hand. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Lafonte,” she said. “We spend all day in a donut store. We’ve had our fill of refreshments for the day.”
“Speak for yourself,” Amy muttered.
Jean settled back and closed her eyes. “Just give me a minute,” she said and exhaled.
The living room looked as if a storm had swept through it and decimated everything. Sofa cushions lay strewn across the floor. There was another of those chocolate milk stains on the carpet – though this one had set in – and a family picture of Billy and Jean hung askew on the wall. Happy faces eternally at a slant.
“I think she’s falling asleep,” Amy said. “Miss Lafonte?”
“Sorry,” Jean said, and her eyes popped open again. “You’re quite right. I almost did fall asleep. I’ve been working double shifts at the Depot and what with Billy waking up at 6 am every morning.” She yawned.
“We just need to ask a few questions and then we’ll be out of your hair,” Heather said.
“Sure. Anything I can do to help.”
“As you know, we’re working with the police on Shane Price’s murder case.” Heather accepted her tablet from Amy, then clicked on the screen.
“Right.”
“Were you close with Shane?” Heather asked.
Jean rubbed her lips together, then let them pop free. “Not particularly. We were as close as employer and employee can be. He was a surly guy, let me put it that way.”
“And how long did you work for Mr. Price?”
“Since the Tourism Depot opened, years ago. He gave me the job and I’m really grateful for that, but no, we weren’t terribly close.” Jean sighed. “He wouldn’t let Billy hang out at work after school. I know he wasn’t obligated to, but it would’ve been nice if my kid could’ve been there, even if it was just on slow days.”
“I understand,” Heather said. “And Mrs. Price? Did you get along with her?”
“No.” Jean’s answer whipped out of her mouth.
Dave gave a little ‘ruff’ and settled again.
“Why not?”
“You should ask her that,” Jean said. “She’s hated me since she met me. She even accused me of dying my hair to match hers.”
“Why?”
“She thought I was in love with her husband. I had no interest in him, of course. I’ve got way too much on my plate to try initiate extramarital affairs with men who are just plan –” Jean cut off and shook her head. “He was a mean man, but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t talk ill of the dead.”
“What did he do to upset you?” Heather asked.
“He didn’t pay well. I didn’t get a single raise of bonus in all the time I worked there,” Jean said.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“I handed in my resignation a week ago,” Jean replied. “I just wanted to be in a job where I felt appreciated. I don’t have a lot of skills, but it would’ve been nice, you know?”
Amy and Heather fell silent. Heather focused on her tablet screen and typed out notes at a furious speed.
“Do you have any other questions?” Jean asked. She was super polite and Heather couldn’t help but like her. She had a plucky can-do attitude.
Heather forced her opinion aside and focused on the case. “Where were you on Sunday night?” Heather asked.
“I don’t have an alibi if that’s what you’re asking. I spent the entire afternoon with my grandmother, Carly. Billy likes to see her on weekends, though she can be a bit much at times. You know how overbearing elders can be,” Jean said and shrugged. “But family is family.”
“And you came home afterward?”
“Yeah, at about 7 pm,” she said. “After that, I put Billy to bed, had a glass of wine and stayed up late watching TV. Monday was supposed to be my last day at the Tourism Depot. I was pretty excited about it.”
“And you’re not anymore?” Amy asked, and stroked Cupcake’s fur.
“Let’s just say that Shane’s death has put a damper on things. I’d hate to think there’s a killer on the loose.” Jean shuddered and glanced in the direction of the front door.
Amy looked back too.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Lafonte,” Heather said. She clicked off the screen of her tablet and slipped it back into her handbag. Already, her mind ticked over the possibilities.
And Jean, good intentions that she may have had, was still a suspect.
Chapter 8
Ryan handed her a glass of wine, then took his seat at their dinner table. A single candle flickered at its center, casting shadows on his face. The room smelled of lasagna and romance and everything she loved about being in her own home in Hillside on date night.
Their first date night in two weeks and alone, no less. Lilly had rushed off to write stories over at Eva, with Dave and Cupcake in tow. She’d already published two in the school paper.
Heather sighed and took a sip of wine. “It’s a nice evening,” she said. “It’s finally getting warmer.”
Ryan took her hand, lifted it and brushed his lips across her skin. “You look beautiful,” he said.
“Honey, I’m wearing work clothes,” she said. “I’m hardly a picture.”
“Don’t be so modest. You’re always a picture,” he replied.
Heather clinked her glass against his and they took a sip a piece. At least, the kitchen window had been fixed in the interim. The last time she’d been in here, there’d been glass on the floor.
“What’s on your mind?” Ryan asked.
“Cases, as usual,” she replied.
Her husband heaved himself from the chair and hurried over to the oven. He slipped on a mitt, then retrieved the lasagna from the rack and placed it on the counter. “It needs a couple minutes to settle,” he said. “Shall we?”
“I think we shall.”
Ryan leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “So? What did you get? Any news from either of our suspects?”
“One tried to skip town but stopped when I told him not to, and the other was nice.”
“Nice? I’ve never heard you say that about a suspect before.”
“I know,” Heather said. “But it’s the truth. Jean Lafonte is nice. Her grandmother must’ve gotten the full serving of mean in the family because Jean was helpful. She’s a single mother and she denied any accusation that she might’ve been involved in an extra-marital affair with Shane.”
“There was an accusation?”
“Directly from Turner’s lips,” Heather said. “I’m not sure I can trust information from either of them at this point. The water is muddy, to say the least.”
“This affair thing,” Ryan said and gestured with his wine glass. “Has anyone else mentioned it?”
“Mrs. Price did, in fact. She accused Jean of dying her hair to look more like her. She was convinced that Jean was obsessed with her husband and that both Turner and Lafonte were in cahoots.”
“Huh,” Ryan said. “Interesting. In cahoots. That’s quite an accusation to make.”
“I thought so too. But where there’s smoke there’s a fire, right? And Turner said he saw Jean and Shane hugging.”
“But Lafonte denied all of this.”
Heather shifted her glass along the table cloth. “She did. Not in as many words but the implication was clear. She didn’t like Shane because she struggled financially and he never gave her a raise.”
“All right, so we’ve got two people pointing a finger at Jean about an affair,” Ryan said. “Either, there was an affair or the two people pointing the finger at her want us to believe that.”
“So that she’ll appear guilty and they’ll appear innocent.” Heather mulled that one over. Was it possible that Turner and Mrs. Price might have worked together to get rid of Shane?
Then why had Turner seemed so keen to leave town?
“Ugh, it’s all conjecture,” Heather said. “That’s what frustrates me the most about all of this. Conjecture. We don’t have any solid evidence.”
“Other than the fact that he was murdered in his office with a shard of glass,” Ryan said.
“Fantastic. We can relax.”
Ryan chuckled and ripped the foil off the top of the lasagna. “I didn’t say that. But it’s something, at least. Remember the case without the body?”
“How could I forget? Two missing dogs and a missing superintendent,” Heather said. “Still, at least some trace evidence would’ve helped.”
Ryan set about dishing up and Heather drifted off, thoughts on more of those possibilities. The idea that Jean had had an affair with a married man depressed her. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d do that, but Heather couldn’t judge.
She didn’t know any adulterers on a personal level.
“Don’t let the case get to you,” Ryan said, and set down a plate of steaming lasagna in front of her. “It’s a tough one but it’s not beyond us. Besides, you’ve got Amy helping you out now, too.”
“I know. I guess I don’t like the thought of this being an affair. Or motivated by one at least. I mean, I just don’t see Jean taking up with a happily married man.”
“Who said they were happily married?” Ryan asked. “Not that it’s an excuse, but people do strange things when love runs out.”
Heather cut into her lasagna.
“Careful, it’s still hot,” Ryan said. “I think we should head back to the Tourism Depot tomorrow. Check out the crime scene again. I feel like we’ve got more information now, and we can look for something that links one of our suspects to the scene.”
“That should be easy since they both worked there,” Heather pointed out. “Which means it wouldn’t be a link at all.”
“True, true,” Ryan said and clinked his knife and fork to either side of the plate. “But we’ve got to start somewhere. Or continue somewhere.”
“Yeah.” Heather gulped down a bite of lasagna and grinned. All the doubt and fear about the case and her ability to solve it melted away. “Amazing as usual,” she said.
“Good,” Ryan replied. “I’m glad my lasagna hasn’t bored you yet.”
“Never. I’d eat this every night if I could.”
Heather relaxed a little. At least they had a plan in place. They’d check out the crime scene, search for more clues, and after that… they’d figure it out. They had to.
Chapter 9
“There’s not much left to look at,” Heather said and folded her arms.
The desk had already been emptied out by the police - paperwork to be pored over at length in search of a connection to someone. Anyone. The mystery of who’d killed Shane Price wouldn’t solve itself. Apparently, even Hoskins had set aside his candy bars and soda cans to rifle through the evidence.
Heather walked toward the opening which led into the next section of the office – the restroom, with its sofa and kitchenette.
“I know,” Ryan said. “But I thought we could come in with a fresh perspective today. You know, consider things we haven’t before.”
Ames hovered beside the empty window frame and eyed the limp plastic which gave them a distorted view of the alleyway outside. “This was the point of entry, right?”
“We’re not sure,” Heather said. “It appears that the crime scene was tampered with and some of the glass was moved from inside to outside and vice versa. That’s what the dossier says.”
“I’ll send yours over today.” Ryan nodded to Amy. “As for the point of entry, it could’ve been the window or it could’ve been the office door.”
“Okay,” Amy said, and pressed her index fingers together. She placed them against her lips. “Okay, so let’
s say the point of entry was the window. The killer would have to be mighty fast to break in grab the piece of glass and stab Shane in the back.”
“Yeah,” Heather said, and peered through the doorway at the sofa. Could that be the spot where Jean and Shane had been caught hugging? Or had Turner lied about that?
“And if the killer entered through the door, that would mean they’d have to break the window. Then grab the shard of glass and stab the guy in the back,” Amy said. “You know what gets me?”
“What?”
“There’s no DNA sample for our killer. You’d think that grabbing a piece of jagged glass would cut them,” Amy replied.
“Might’ve been wearing gloves.” Ryan bent beside the window sill, then dropped to his haunches and examined the base board. It wasn’t dark in the room, but he clicked on his flashlight.
“Then there should have been something left behind on the murder weapon. A fiber from the glove or something, right?” Amy asked. She looked between Ryan and Heather. “Right?”
“That’s a good deduction, Ames,” Heather said.
“Only problem is forensics pulled nothing from the glass because the killer cleaned up in here. They were thorough on the murder weapon. The other parts of the scene, not so much.”
“Why do you think that is?” Amy asked, and joined Heather at the door to the next room.
“Interrupted during the cleanup?”
“Maybe,” Heather said, but doubt niggled at the back of her mind. Her sleuthin’ sense didn’t agree on that one. Surely, the killer would’ve come back to finish cleaning up.
The autopsy had marked Shane’s time of death as approximately 10 pm on Sunday and Turner had only discovered the body at 8 am on Monday morning. That left a whole ten hours for the killer to clean up properly.
The effort seemed clumsy. They’d gotten lucky – no trace evidence. But they still hadn’t done a good job. Why not finish it?
Why?
Heather walked through to the sofa in the relaxation section of the office and halted beside it. She dug in her pocket, brought out a pair of latex gloves, then snapped them on.
“No history of trouble in the business? Financially?” Amy yelled back at Ryan.
Peaches and Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 41 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Page 3
