“Well, what do you know?” Amy said as the screen came to life. “She didn’t even have it password-protected. I didn’t even get to hack in.”
“Good. I can take it from here, then,” Heather said.
They stood up and switched chairs. Heather clicked on the “search” box in the bottom left corner and typed in “Joey Gorham.” No results appeared, just a line of text asking her if she wanted to search the web.
She also typed in every variation of Billy’s name she could think of, but again, there were no results on Christa’s computer.
“She probably keeps personal documents at home,” Amy offered.
“I’ll try her email,” Heather said. She clicked on the internet browser icon, and Christa’s home page appeared. “I think she uses Yahoo.”
Entering Yahoo.com brought her directly to Christa’s account. “Didn’t she believe in passwords?” Amy asked.
This time, searching for Billy’s name brought a lengthy list of results. They seemed to be between Christa and a sender identified as Dunham, Locke, and Hart. “The family lawyers,” Heather said to Amy, her eyes still focused on the screen.
Amy leaned in closer as Heather opened the first email. “’It is our privilege to have had the opportunity to assist you and your family,’ blah, blah, blah,” Heather read out loud. “Assist her with what?”
She scrolled down into the message history and stopped at an email dated two weeks ago. “’As per our discussion of this afternoon, your father has asked that I forward you a copy of the relevant section of his will,’” she read. “His will? What the….”
“Open the attachment,” Amy pleaded, jabbing with her finger at the screen.
Heather clicked on it, confirmed that yes, she wanted to open it in Microsoft Word, and waited a few seconds for it to load. “’I do hereby give, devise, and bequeath the entire contents of my estate to my wife, Carolyn Virginia Fordyce. Should she predecease me, I give, devise, and bequeath my entire estate to my daughter, Christa Virginia Fordyce,’” she read. “So he filed a new will naming Christa as his only heir? He must have disinherited Billy.”
Amy whistled. “Wow. That’s a pretty good motive for murder, right there.”
“Yeah, if Billy knew. Maybe that was what he meant by Christa screwing him over. But how would she have gotten him cut out of the will? Why did he think it was her fault?”
“Keep looking,” Amy suggested, gesturing to the computer screen.
“This first email about the will is dated two months ago,” Heather said slowly. “That’s right about the time Billy went to rehab.”
“So he got cut out of the will because he went to rehab?”
“That has to be it,” Heather said. “Christa mentioned once that if he didn’t stay out of rehab, her parents were going to disinherit him. Looks like they made good on their promise.”
“So Billy found out, and he blamed Christa,” Amy said.
“Looks like it. Now we just have to figure out where Joey Gorham comes in. I mean, we know he’s Billy’s drug connection, but why is he here? And why now?”
“And why did Christa date him?” Amy said, wrinkling her nose. “You think I’m not picky?”
The sound of one car door slamming, then another, caused both of them to fall silent. In a few seconds, loud pounding sounded at the back door, and a male voice called, “Hillside PD. Open up.”
“Uh-oh,” Amy whispered.
“We have every right to be here,” Heather said. She stood up, marched to the back door and opened it. “Can I help you?” she asked the two uniformed officers, one male and one female, who were standing outside.
“We’ve been keeping an eye on this place since last night,” the male officer said. “No one’s supposed to be in here.”
“I have every right to be here,” she said, as Amy came up behind her.
“Who are you?” the officer asked.
“My name is Heather Janke,” she said. “This is Amy Givens. We’re here because I have a key from the family.”
The officer frowned. “Mind if we come in and check things out?” the female officer asked.
“Why?” Heather asked.
The female officer’s eyes grew hard. “Because this was the scene of an unexpected death last night,” she said. “How about we make sure there aren’t any more bodies lying around?”
Heather decided it wouldn’t be prudent to argue, so she stepped aside and allowed both officers into the shop. She turned on the lights for them as they gave it the once-over, then glanced into the office.
“What are you doing on the computer?” the female officer asked.
“Family business,” Heather said. Close enough. “Do you want to see my key?” She got it out of her purse and held it out to the two officers.
“I’m going to make a phone call,” the male officer said, and he stepped back outside.
“Do you want to sit down?” Heather asked the female officer.
“No, thank you,” she said. The three women stood in awkward silence until the officer added, “I’ve been sitting in a patrol car too long.”
The door opened, and the male officer came back inside. “Shepherd’s on the way,” he said to the other officer, then looked directly at Heather. “He says he knows you.”
“We’ve met,” she said.
“He wants you to stay here until he gets here. Says he’s almost here.”
“Officer, I have things to do tonight,” she said. “Are you saying I’m not free to go?”
The two officers looked at each other. “No, Ms. Janke, I—“ He stopped as the door opened again and Detective Shepherd entered the kitchen.
“Good evening,” he said affably to Heather. “A few minutes ago, I was notified that one of our patrol units—these two officers—had noticed a light on and were going to investigate. Why am I not surprised to find that this involves you?”
“Because I care about solving this crime, maybe?” Heather said.
“You think a crime has been committed?” Shepherd asked. “You don’t think this was just an accidental death?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “No, I don’t,” she said. “And neither do you.”
Shepherd held her gaze for a long moment. “All right,” he said finally. “Let’s sit down.”
***
Shepherd let the two uniformed officers go back to their patrol. He, Heather, and Amy sat down at one of the rectangular formica tables in the front of the shop. The women took two seats on the same side of the table and let Shepherd sit across from them.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, “The autopsy results and the blood work came back,” he said. “Ms. Fordyce died of cyanide poisoning.”
Heather’s mouth dropped open. “What—I—I thought the autopsy results weren’t going to be back until later,” she finished lamely.
“They’re usually not,” Shepherd said. “But an autopsy for cyanide poisoning has to be done in a much shorter time frame.”
“You must have suspected cyanide, then,” she said.
Shepherd nodded. “The victim was slightly pinkish,” he said. “I asked for a fast autopsy.”
“So did the cyanide come from that donut she ate?”
“No,” Shepherd said. “That’s the thing. The only thing she had in her stomach was a donut, apparently the same kind as the donut found next to her body. But that donut didn’t have cyanide in it.”
“So ingesting cyanide killed her, and the only thing she had ingested recently was a strawberry cream donut, but the donut didn’t have cyanide in it?” Amy broke in.
“That’s the long and the short of it,” Shepherd said.
“Could Christa have eaten the donut after she had ingested the cyanide? Or ingested the cyanide after she ate the donut?”
“Not likely,” he said. “The amount of cyanide found in her blood and in her stomach contents would have killed her within minutes.”
“How many minutes?” Heather asked.
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“Maybe five.”
“So she didn’t ingest the cyanide with the donut, but she didn’t eat anything else, either. Did she take it in its pure form?”
“That much cyanide? Not without knowing it.”
Heather frowned. Something wasn’t adding up.
“So in your sleuthing, did you uncover any potential suspects?” he asked.
She noted that the corner of his mouth was crooked upward again and wondered if he was toying with her. But surely, he wouldn’t be sitting here talking with them if he was.
“There are a couple of people I’m suspicious of,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to make any accusations. It’s just—well, they had motive and opportunity.”
“Who?”
“Billy Fordyce, for one,” she said. “Christa’s brother.”
“Why do you suspect him?”
“Because he got cut out of the will a couple weeks ago. All the Fordyces’ money is going—was going—to be left to Christa. Even half of that estate is an awful lot of money.”
Shepherd raised an eyebrow and appeared to consider her words. “Didn’t you know that?” she asked.
“No, I didn’t,” Shepherd said. “Mr. and Mrs. Fordyce left that part out when I talked to them.”
“They’ve always been protective of him,” she said. “I’m kind of surprised they made good on their threat to cut him out if he went to rehab again.”
“Do you have reason to think Billy knew he was out?”
“Every reason,” she said. “For one thing, I can’t imagine the Fordyces’ not telling him. But for another thing, when I ran into him earlier this morning, Billy made a comment about Christa screwing him over.” She hesitated, then said, “I think he blamed her for his getting cut out of the will.”
“Maybe so,” Shepherd said.
“Have you talked any more to Joey Gorham?” she asked.
“Not since last night,” he said. “But it turns out that Joey was Billy’s supplier. For his cocaine.”
“I know,” she said. “I know they were even arrested together once.”
Again, Shepherd’s eyebrow rose. “Seems like you know plenty,” he said. “Anything else you know that I should know?”
“Just that I can’t imagine why Christa would date him,” she said. “I know anybody can date anybody, but I just can’t see the two of them together.”
“I’m going to be talking to him again in the morning,” he said. He opened his mouth as if to say more, hesitated, then closed it. Pushing back from the table, he stood up. “I’ll escort you ladies to your car.”
Heather and Amy stood up, too. “Are we leaving?” Amy asked.
“Any reason you need to stay?” he asked.
“I guess not,” Heather said. “Just let me shut Christa’s computer down.”
When she had done that, and both women had picked up their purses, Shepherd ushered them out the back door. Heather used the key Billy had given her to lock up. “Thank you for your help,” she said.
“Ms. Janke—”
“You can call me Heather,” she blurted.
“Heather, then,” he said. “Just be careful. Someone already killed one person; you don’t want him or her to go for two.” He jogged down the porch steps to his car.
Heather and Amy got into Amy’s car. Amy started it and turned on the headlights. Shepherd’s car swerved out from behind theirs, and he gave a brief wave as he drove past.
Heather looked at Amy and found her friend staring at her. “What?” she asked.
“He’s hot,” Amy said.
Heather rolled her eyes. “Him, too?”
“He may be even hotter than Todd. Didn’t you notice those blue, blue eyes? And that jaw line? And those hunky shoulders? And—and pretty much everything about him?”
Heather shook her head, smiling at her friend’s penchant for noticing good-looking men. And Shepherd was good-looking, she realized.
He certainly was.
Chapter 7
When the alarm went off the next morning, Heather groaned and fumbled, eyes still closed, for the button that would silence it. What with talking to Detective Shepherd, then going home and getting into bed, only to toss and turn because her thoughts wouldn’t stop whirling in her head, she hadn’t gotten to sleep until somewhere around 1 a.m.
She’d briefly considered sleeping in, but there was work to be done. She had to get to Donut Delights and supervise Michelle making a batch of Ice Cream Sundae donuts. Plus, she wanted to call Detective Shepherd again.
A thump on the bed, and then a cold nose pushed up against her cheek, reminded her that even before leaving the house, there were things to be taken care of—starting with letting Dave out.
She padded to the door in her bare feet, opened it, and watched Dave scamper into the yard. Closing the door, she yawned and headed for the coffee maker. A good, strong cup of coffee would get her going. Or at least help her keep her eyes open.
She sat down at the kitchen table to wait for the coffee to brew. Just as it finished, Dave scratched at the back door. She let him in, poured the coffee into a mug that read “Las Vegas,” and added a splash of milk and a packet of Splenda.
Leaving the cup on the counter to cool, she poured kibbles into Dave’s bowl, then headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. At least this wasn’t hair-washing day. Her long, curly red hair was already dry enough that if she washed it every day, she would start getting split ends. Quick shower, throw on some clothes, and she’d be good to go.
She laid a pair of tailored slacks and a short-sleeved, fitted blouse on the bed to wait for her. Ten minutes later, she was dressed and properly accessorized, and she headed for the kitchen to drink her coffee.
“Big day ahead,” she told Dave as she leaned up against the counter, sipping the strong brew. Dave watched her intently, his large, brown eyes fixed on her face, his head tilted to one side. “You know what?” she added. “You’re always such a good listener.”
***
Donut Delights was bustling with customers as Heather breezed through the back door. “Need help?” she called to Michelle, who was waiting on an elderly man at the counter.
Michelle tossed her a smile and waved her off. Heather headed into the dining room with the coffee pot. There was Eva in her usual spot. They smiled at each other, and Heather refilled a few customers’ coffee cups as she made her way to Eva’s table.
“And how are you this morning?” Eva asked.
“Tired,” Heather said. “But good. I see you’re having a Banana Cream Pie donut today.”
“It’s delicious,” Eva said. “I like it how the cream is sweet, but not too sweet. Sometimes, the cream inside cream donuts is nothing but sugar. If that’s what someone likes—” Eva shrugged. “Who am I to tell them they can’t have that? But I don’t like too much sugar. I want to taste the ingredients that are in the cream, not just the sugar alone.”
“I know what you mean,” Heather said, smiling. “And I don’t blame you. I hate to run, but I have to make a phone call.”
“You run along,” Eva said, waving Heather off. “I’ll just sit here and enjoy my morning cup of joe.”
“See you tomorrow,” Heather said.
“Yes, you will,” Eva agreed.
Heather stashed her purse in the bottom drawer of the desk in her office and sat down in the chair. It was 9:00. She wouldn’t be surprised if Shepherd had been up working on the case for hours. She reached for her landline, but before she could pick up the receiver, Maricela’s voice stopped her.
“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
Heather swiveled in her chair and waved Maricela into the office. “Sure. What’s up?”
Maricela’s sweet face looked tense, but she smiled. “I just—I was just wondering if you’ve thought about replacing Christa yet,” she said.
“Sit down,” Heather said, gesturing to the chair next to her desk. “I know I should have replaced her already, but I just haven’t g
otten it done. We do need another employee, though, don’t we?”
“It gets pretty busy sometimes,” Maricela said, nodding. “I don’t mind working hard, but there are times when I can’t keep up. And I don’t want to let your customers down.”
A small smile lifted the corners of Heather’s mouth. “Do you have a new employee in mind?”
“My cousin Angelica needs a job,” Maricela said. “She’s never made donuts before. But she’s a good worker and a fast learner. She’d be great. You wouldn’t regret it.”
Strawberry Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 1 Page 4
