“Here we go again,” Amy muttered. The pitter patter of raindrops on their umbrella did nothing to conceal it.
They rushed toward the tent, then slipped beneath the lip and into its depths.
“Over here,” Bob said and called from behind a counter. He stood beside a series of metal cages, half-covered by a thick tarp.
“If that’s what I think it is, I’m fine over here,” Amy said and folded up her umbrella.
Heather walked toward the cages. Her stomach turned.
Pink noses and beady eyes stared up at her. They nibbled and scratched in the sawdust on the bottom of the cage. “How many are there?”
“About twenty,” Bob replied.
Amy retched and pressed her fist to her lips. “Sorry. It’s just gross. It’s just so gross.”
“Flashbacks?” Heather asked.
Amy nodded and didn’t remove her fist from her mouth.
“I think you’d better wait outside, Ames,” Heather said.
Amy backpedaled and scooted out of the tent.
“Kinda squeamish, ain't she?” Bob grinned and scratched the side of his nose.
“You would be too if you’d seen what we saw a while back.” Heather narrowed her eyes at Bob’s worn uniform. “Then again, you’ve probably seen worse.”
“Uh-huh,” the exterminator said and bent to examine one of the cages. “Poor suckers haven’t been fed in days.”
“In cages,” Heather whispered. That mean someone had planted the rats here. Could it have been Tina, on the quest for a grand scoop? Or worse… Kate Laverne? No, Kate wouldn’t risk the competition like this.
“I’ve gotta take these fellas outta here,” Bob said, and something akin to tenderness entered his tone.
“What are you going to do with them?” Heather asked.
“Not kill them, if that’s what you’re thinking. These guys didn’t choose this. Nah, I know a guy who breeds fancy rats?”
“Fancy rats?” Heather asked.
“Uh-huh. These are the domesticated kind,” Bob said. “See the brown and white? Yeah, they’re clean. They’re not your run-of-the-mill sewer feeder. They don’t pose any risk of disease. Not any more than the average cat or dog anyway.”
“Oh gosh, my daughter better not find out about them, or she’ll add one to our family,” Heather said and crossed her fingers.
She leaned closer to the cages. They were kinda cute in a squirmy, beady-eyed way.
“You sure? You can take one if you want. They’re free to good homes,” Bob said.
“No, thank you,” Heather said.
The cruelty of the situation twisted her stomach, though. Who on earth would stick domesticated rats in cages?
“Are we done yet?” Amy called from outside.
“Hold your horses,” Heather said. “I mean, your rats.”
“Don’t toy with me, woman,” Amy growled.
Bob and Heather burst out laughing.
Chapter 7
Ryan set down the homemade pizza in the center of the table. “For you, Madame,” he said and wiggled his wrist in a fancy bow. “I did a basic cheese, olive, tomato kinda thing. I hope that’s okay.”
“Are you kidding?” Heather asked. “I couldn’t make this if I tried. It sounds amazing.”
Ryan flourished the pizza cutter, then set to work on his creation. “I thought it’d be nice to stay in for our date night for a change. We’re always having Mexican and soaking in the outside world.”
“I like that idea,” Heather replied. “This is cozy.”
Ryan slid a couple of slices onto her plate, and she picked one up, immediately. “Careful,” he said, “It’s hot!”
She blew on it, then took a bite. Heather couldn’t help but moan. Delicious. Perfectly crisp base, cheesy as could be, and the tang of the tomatoes. “Wow, hon. You should become a chef.”
“I think I’ll stick with my day job,” Ryan said. “I’m not like you, darling. I can’t run two operations at once.”
“I’m hardly running two operations,” Heather replied. “At least not successfully.”
Ryan scooched his chair back, then sat down and tucked it in again. “What do you mean, love? You’re an amazing businessperson.”
“I’m talking about the case,” Heather said and exhaled. “Do you have a dossier for me, yet?”
“I was going to compile one tomorrow morning,” Ryan said and took a bite of his pizza. “We just got the results back on those fingerprints.”
Heather put down her pizza slice and measured his words. “What can you tell me?” She asked. Hopefully, something that explained the rats. Or pinpointed a single suspect as the killer.
Wouldn’t that be nice? A case solved mid-week, for a change. And the rest of it could be dedicated to her bakery and the upcoming competition. The announcement had come through the papers yesterday: the bake-off would take place on Sunday.
“We’ve got a few sets of prints. One set we couldn’t identify. And two others which you might find interesting,” Ryan said. “We obviously got the vic’s prints on the laptop keyboard and mousepad.”
“Right,” Heather said. That was a given.
“And we got Mike Martin’s prints on the laptop,” Ryan said. “On the cover to be exact.”
Heather licked her lips. The pair had obviously worked closely together to produce the news. “Wait a second, he has a record for something?” Heather asked.
“No, but he practically offered himself up for fingerprinting. We spoke to him after you did and you really freaked him out or something, babe because he came to the station and practically offered himself up.”
“Weird,” Heather whispered. “And the other set of fingerprints?”
“That’s the real kicker,” Ryan said. “The second set of fingerprints belonged to Lottie Jameson. I believe you interviewed her?”
“I did,” Heather said and scooched forward. “She has a record?”
“Yeah, she does. Shoplifting. A Winona Ryder style affair.” Ryan raised a cheesy finger. “But that’s not even the worst part.”
“Oh boy. What else?” Heather asked.
“Guess where we found her prints?” Ryan asked. “Never mind, I’ll just tell you. On the laptop’s plug.”
“You’re kidding,” Heather said. “But that means –”
“That means that she was the one who pulled the plug out of its socket and freed up the cord,” Ryan said. “But we don’t have enough evidence to say that she was the one who actually strangled our vic.”
“True,” Heather said. “But that’s quite a lot of evidence stacked against Lottie. That’s her earring we found on the floor. The pearl one.”
“And she argued with Tina before the murder,” Ryan said. “I’m going to bring her in for questioning tomorrow, but it’s not enough evidence to have her arraigned for murder.”
Not that Ryan would find out much more from Lottie. No, Heather got the distinct impression that Lottie had something to hide and a lot of reason to keep it hidden
“I bet she’ll ask for her lawyer before she talks to you.”
“Probably,” Ryan replied. “In fact, that’s what they all do. We’ll get the truth out of her in the end.”
Heather puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. “If only there’d been some form of surveillance at the hotel,” Heather replied, and shook her head. Finally, she lifted her slice of pizza and took a bite. She chewed and mulled the flavors and her thoughts over in her mind.
Lottie had had an argument with Tina on the day of the murder. Was there any reason she’d rip the plug out of the wall, other than to strangle Tina?
Ryan shrugged and gobbled down more of his delicious pizza.
“So, our main suspects are Mike and Lottie,” Heather said. “But wait, you mentioned a pair of unidentified prints.”
“That’s right,” Ryan replied. “We’ve got another set in the hotel room, on the bathroom’s doorknob, but we’re not sure who they belong to. I’m interested in
George. You mentioned rats?”
“Yeah, there were rats at the field,” Heather said. “It was the weirdest thing. Someone kept them there in cages, and Eva overheard a conversation about rats with this George guy.” She finished her slice, then grasped her napkin and dabbed at her lips. “I think it’s high time that I pay Mr. Rockwell a visit.”
“I agree,” Ryan replied. “I think the mysterious Mr. Rockwell needs your special brand of questioning, my love. Hopefully, it sends him running to us, as well.”
Heather laughed, but it died in her throat. Rats and laptop cords. Where was the connection?
Chapter 8
George Rockwell’s offices sat in the swankiest part of Hillside, next to the types of offices where lawyers colluded at the water cooler and shared snooty stories about their Ivy League College Kids.
“Wow,” Amy breathed. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dave.” She waggled the dog’s leash.
“But we are still in Hillside, and I’m pretty sure they won’t let him up there,” Heather replied.
“We don’t mind hanging around out here. I’m sure there’s a good old fashioned fire hydrant dying for a little Dave attention,” Amy said and wrinkled her nose. “This is the rat guy, after all.”
“The rat guy?”
“Yeah, well, you said he was the one who fought with Tina about rats,” Amy replied, then bent and picked up Dave. She stroked his furry head. “Dave and I have had enough rats to laugh us a lifetime.”
A man slammed his car door and strode up to them on the sidewalk. “Who are you?” He asked, and jangled his keys.
The silver Porsche’s lights flashed.
“Boy, folks in this part of town sure know how to start a conversation,” Amy said and folded her arms. “Who are you, sir?”
“George Rockwell,” he replied. He didn’t stick out his hand to shake. Maybe he thought it’d wrinkle his fancy, black suit.
Amy and Heather shared a glance.
“I heard you speaking about Tina Laurent,” he said but didn’t offer up anything else. He folded his arms, then let them drop again.
“Mr. Rockwell, I’m Heather Shepherd.” She stuck out her hand, and he took it, gingerly.
A wet fish handshake. Yuck.
“And she’s here investigating the murder of Tina Laurent in conjunction with the Hillside Police Department,” Amy said, by rote.
Heather fought the urge to poke her bestie in the elbow. The woman’s humor knew no bounds.
“I assume that’s why you’ve come to my offices,” George said.
“That’s correct. We hoped to speak with you today. I have some questions about your relationship with Tina. Among other things.” Heather brought out her notepad and pen, then uncapped it. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
George checked his fancy watch, then sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do. Would you care to come upstairs?” He eyed Dave. “You can bring the pooch.”
“Wonderful,” Heather said. That simple gesture had improved her opinion of Mr. Fancy Suit tenfold.
“Right this way,” he said, and marched toward the glass front doors of the building.
Heather and Amy hurried to catch up to him. Dave sniffed the air for adventure, or for donuts, then settled back against Amy’s chest.
George led them to an elevator, then down several long halls, and past rooms filled with executives and water coolers, just as Heather had suspected.
They took two right turns, then entered a small office in the corner of the third floor.
“Please, take a seat,” George said, and tossed his keys into his In Tray.
The rich, walnut desk spanned half the room, but wall length windows increased the size of it.
Amy and Dave stood and marveled at the view of the best town in the whole of the United States. If not the world. Trees waved far below and cars zoomed by in the streets.
Hillside had grown in size and importance in the past five years or so. People had rushed back to populate it, but somehow, it’d retained its small town vibe.
“I think I can see the top of the bakery from here,” Amy said and raised her hand to shade her eyes.
George cleared his throat. “Ladies?”
“Oh right,” Heather said and took a seat in a cushy leather chair. “Right. Mr. Rockwell, how well did you know Tina?”
The man sighed and brushed the gray hairs at his temples. “I got these from Tina. So, I guess you could say I knew her too well.”
“She was troublesome?” Heather asked.
He snorted and sat down in his high-backed chair. “That’s putting it mildly,” he replied. “The woman had a knack for attracting trouble. And for bringing out the worst in people.”
“Did you argue a lot?”
“Tina Laurent disagreed with me on every directive, every idea and every suggestion I ever made. Somehow, she was possessed of the idea that she had more say than I did,” he replied, and his lips twitched upward. “She was ambitious, though, a go-getter. I liked that about her. And that fire made for good news.”
“I see,” Heather replied. “I – I’m sorry, it’s just, you thought a baking competition would make great news?”
“Hey, we’re just starting out here, and I wanted to focus on Hillside in particular,” George replied. “I grew up here. It’ll always have a soft spot in my heart.”
“All right,” Heather said. She could buy that.
Amy and Dave hadn’t moved from their spot by the window. The view had captivated them both.
“Talk to me about rats,” Heather said. “I have it on good authority that you argued with Tina about an expose on rats at the Bake-Off.”
“Yeah, she kept going on about that. I couldn’t understand where she got the notion from in the first place.” George shook his head. “I figured it was another one of her crazy ideas to up the ‘energy’ of the piece as she called it. I told her no.”
“Here’s the thing,” Heather said, “we found cages of domesticated rats in one of the tents. It looked as if someone had been keeping them there in anticipation fo something.”
“Whoa,” George replied. He rapped his knuckles on the desk, then pointed. “I wouldn’t put it past Tina to set something like that up. She had a knack for melodrama. And she did push me about vermin.” He frowned at the view of Hillside. “I never thought she’d go that far, though.”
Heather made a few notes. “Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder, Mr. Rockwell?”
“Yeah. After our little disagreement, I headed back here to cool off. I say cool off, but really it was to continue working. I’m used to Tina’s mood swings, by now,” George said and smiled again. “You can check with security for footage of my entrance to the office building.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you,” Heather replied.
“Sure, whatever I can do to help.” George bobbed his head once. “If that will be all?”
“Yeah, that’s it for now. Thanks for your time, Mr. Rockwell.” Heather rose from her seat, then cleared her throat.
Amy didn’t move a muscle. Dave didn’t bark or whine.
“Ames,” Heather hissed.
Finally, her bestie jolted out of her awe-inspired reverie and hurried toward the office door. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so beautiful.”
“Beautiful and flawed,” Heather replied.
Chapter 9
“There it is,” Amy said. “I walk past it on my way to work, every morning.”
“Hey, I pick you up most mornings,” Heather replied, and fold her arms across her chest. They strained against her thick, woolen sweater.
“You know what I mean.”
Laverne’s Velvet Cupcakes stood out from the stores around it. The cursive sign glared its title in deep red, and the windows below danced with images of cupcakes.
A group of women exited, holding cupcakes. They peeled the wrappers off and chatted away, oblivious to Heather’s gaze.
“It looks like she’s going to do well,” Heather
said. “I can’t begrudge her success. If she works for it, she deserves it.”
“You definitely can begrudge her whatever you want,” Amy replied. She pressed her lips together and wriggled her nose. “The woman is abhorrent. She keeps popping up at the weirdest moments.”
“I think she gets that from Geoff.” Heather chuckled and dropped her arms to her sides again.
“I’m serious, Heather. She’s bad news. She’s only doing this because she wants to bring you down, or whatever it was she said. I don’t like it.”
“There’s nothing we can do but work hard and keep our noses up,” Heather replied. She turned and made to march off back to her own precious store, Donut Delights.
“Wait,” Ames said and grabbed her woolly-sweatered arm. “Wait a second. Isn’t that Lottie?”
Heather turned back. “Yeah, that’s her.”
A man walked alongside Miss Jameson. His neat suit stood out from the usual attire of the Hillside population: warm sweaters and comfy jeans.
“And that’s George Rockwell.” Interesting. Why would the supposed best friend of the victim and her boss meet? Heather checked her watch. “Let’s check it out.”
“Oh no, not this again,” Amy whined. “The last time I had to hide behind a menu while you stalked Kate Laverne. Now you want to go into her bakery and spy on suspects?”
“I’m going, Ames. You can tag along, or you can head back to the store. Whichever you feel more comfortable with.” Heather hurried across the road and toward Kate’s store.
Amy caught up and huffed a sigh. “I can’t let you do this alone. You always wind up in trouble when I’m not around.”
Heather pushed the door inward and stepped into the warm interior of Kate’s cupcake store.
The scent of vanilla beans assaulted her, and her stomach growled. It sure smelled good in here. How on earth had the woman managed to get the place up and running in such a short period of time?
Cushy seats in red velvet surrounded dark wood tables. A few booths lined the far wall, beneath images of Kate in the kitchen, a massive smile plastered across her face.
Double Chocolate Pistachio Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 27 Page 3
