Strawberry Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 1

by Susan Gillard

  “She sounds perfect. Tell her to give me a call. Give her my cell number.”

  “Thank you so much,” Maricela said, standing. “I’ll text her and tell her right away. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said as the first notes of “Here Comes the Sun” floated out from inside the desk.

  She opened the drawer, snagged her cell phone from her purse, and slid her thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Heather? This is Carolyn Fordyce,” came the voice on the other end, sounding slightly stronger than the day before.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fordyce,” she said.

  “I just wanted to let you know that Christa’s funeral will be at St. Gregory’s at 2:00 on Friday,” she said. “I thought you might want to know.”

  “Yes, I certainly do,” she said. “Thank you. I appreciate your thinking of me at such a difficult time.”

  “Yes, it’s terribly difficult when your family is destroyed,” Mrs. Fordyce said.

  “I know it must be. And I’m so sorry about Christa.”

  “I was talking about Billy.”

  It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. “You mean—” Heather started to say, and couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence.

  “Billy was doing so much better. He was making progress. Getting his life back together. Or at least, he was, until Christa told William—my husband William, I mean—that Billy was using again. But he wasn’t. I’m his mother. I would have known.”

  “Is that why your husband changed his will?” Heather asked.

  “He always was too hard on Billy. And it was true, Billy had been to rehab three times. But this time, he was clean! But William sent him to rehab anyway. Just on Christa’s word.” Mrs. Fordyce sniffled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be airing our dirty laundry like this. And Christa was my child, too. But nobody knew what she could be like. Not even William. He just didn’t see. Billy and I were the only ones—”

  Silence fell, and then Heather heard Mrs. Fordyce say, as if from farther away, “Heather. Christa’s former boss. She wanted to know when the funeral was.”

  Wait, what? Heather thought.

  In a moment, Mrs. Fordyce’s voice came back on the line. “Thank you so much for calling. We’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up.

  Heather sat staring at the phone. Why had Mrs. Fordyce lied?

  Clearly, all was not well in the Fordyce household. Mrs. Fordyce obviously blamed Christa for “ruining Billy’s life.” Had she been angry? Angry enough to punish Christa? Maybe permanently?

  “Heather?” Michelle poked her head into the office. “Do you still want me to make those Ice Cream Sundae donuts today?”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll be out to help you,” she said. “I need to call Detective Shepherd.”

  “What about?”

  “Christa was murdered by ingesting cyanide,” Heather said.

  “What?” Michelle asked. “How do you know?”

  “Shepherd told me last night. They thought maybe it was in the donut that she was eating right before she died. So they tested the remaining half of the donut, but it was clean. No signs of cyanide found.”

  “So how did Christa….”

  “They don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t have any idea, either. I need to talk to him about some other things.”

  “Don’t get too deep into this, Heather,” Michelle said. “You should really let the police handle it. What if the killer finds out you’re investigating and decides to come after you, too?”

  “I know, I know,” she said. “It’s technically a possibility. But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

  “I sure hope not,” Michelle said. “So there’s no way I can talk you into leaving this alone?”

  “Sorry,” Heather said. “You know me. I rush in where angels fear to tread. Is Maricela here? I didn’t see her.”

  “She was in the front when you came in,” Michelle said.

  “Okay. Good. Well, let me make this call, and then I’ll help you get the donuts started.”

  When Michelle left, Heather sat staring at her phone for a moment longer, lost in thought. Then she scrolled through her phone log until she found Shepherd’s number and called him.

  “Shepherd,” came his voice. At least, she thought that’s what he said. It was kind of hard to hear with rock music playing at top volume in the background. Almost instantly, the music went silent.

  “Uh…Detective Shepherd?” she said.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Heather Janke. “I was just wondering if you had talked to Joey Gorham yet.”

  “On my way to see him right now.”

  “Oh. Well, I also had something I thought you might want to know.” She relayed her conversation with Carolyn Fordyce without hearing a word in response. Either he was a really good listener, or he thought she had lost her mind.

  “Curioser and curioser,” he said. Is he really quoting Lewis Carroll? “Ms. Janke—Heather—you seem to have a knack for getting people to tell you things.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said.

  “In any case, you bring up an interesting point—that Mrs. Fordyce may not be the grieving mother she appears to be. Or at least not over her daughter’s death.” He paused. “Look, I just got to where I’m supposed to meet Gorham. Let me call you back after I talk to him.”

  She hung up, dropped her phone back into her purse, and shut the drawer again. Then, rethinking it, she retrieved her phone and stuck it in her back pocket. She grabbed an elastic band from her top desk drawer, gathered her long hair into a ponytail, then stuffed it up under a plastic hair net. “Okay, Michelle,” she said, finding her employee gathering ingredients at one of the long, stainless steel preparation counters. “Ready to learn how to make Ice Cream Sundae donuts?”

  “They sound scrumptious,” Michelle said.

  “The donut part is about halfway between a cake donut base and a glazed donut base,” Heather said. “Very light and fluffy. And filled with a medium-weight vanilla cream, heavy on the vanilla.”

  “Mmmmmm, yummo.”

  “Not only that, but the donut part tastes like a sugar cone.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes heavenward. “I predict that this will be one of our biggest sellers ever.”

  “I hope so,” Heather said, smiling. “It’s really great. Wait till you find out about the icing and the toppings.”

  “I’m gaining weight just thinking about eating one,” Michelle said.

  “They are delicious. They were one of my grandmother’s favorites.”

  “Your grandmother must have been a truly amazing chef.”

  “Oh, she was. I miss her. I wish she were here to see this.” Heather gestured to the shop. “I think she’d be proud.”

  “I’m sure she would be,” Michelle said.

  “Well.” Heather clapped her hands together once, briskly. “Are you ready to get started?”

  ***

  When her phone rang in her back pocket, Heather’s hands were covered in icing, sprinkles, and bits of crumbled sugar cone. “Michelle, grab that, would you?” she said, turning her back to her assistant.

  Michelle slid the phone out of Heather’s pocket, accepted the call, and held it to Heather’s ear. “Hello?” Heather said.

  “Heather, this is Ryan Shepherd. I promised to call you back when I was finished talking to Joey Gorham.”

  “Yes, Detective Shepherd,” she said. “Hang on just a minute.”

  She pulled away from the phone a little bit and said in a low voice, “Let me wash my hands, and then I’ll take it.”

  Michelle stood holding the phone until she could take it herself. “Okay, I’m back,” she said. She hurried into her office and shut the door.

  “He lied,” Shepherd said.

  “What? Who lied?”

  “Joey Gorham. He wasn’t ever going to be Christa’s assistant.”

  “Then what—why wa
s he in her shop?”

  “He claims that he just wanted to meet with her. Talk to her. That when he got there, she was dead.”

  “If he lied about being her assistant, how do we know he’s telling the truth now?”

  “We don’t,” Shepherd said. “Believe me, we’re looking at him pretty closely. But he’s not going anywhere for awhile, so we have plenty of time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I arrested him,” he said. “When I got there, he was just finishing a deal. He didn’t think I saw him.”

  “So you talked to him, and then you told him he was under arrest?”

  “Of course. I’m not new to this game.”

  No, she supposed he wasn’t. “I wonder if he was lying about dating Christa,” she said.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I asked him that. He had a picture of her in his wallet. They were at a party, and they looked pretty cozy.”

  “But if he wanted to talk to her, and if they were still dating, he wouldn’t have had to go to her shop,” she said.

  “Exactly. When I pointed that out to him, he admitted they weren’t dating anymore. Hadn’t been for several months, apparently.”

  “What if he wanted to keep dating her, and she broke up with him? He might have gotten really angry.”

  “Exactly,” Shepherd said. “And since he’s pretty familiar with drugs and powders, he could have easily obtained some cyanide.”

  “I wonder if he did,” she said.

  “That,” he said, “is the $64,000 question.”

  ***

  “Michelle, do you have a house alarm?” Heather asked. “Maricela?”

  Maricela shook her head, but Michelle answered, “I do.”

  “What company do you use?”

  “AHS. American Home Security.”

  “Good prices?”

  Michelle shrugged. “I think so.”

  “I’m going to give them a call,” Heather said.

  “Did something happen?” Michelle asked.

  “Got home last night and found Billy Fordyce sitting at my kitchen table,” she said.

  “How’d he get in?”

  “Wouldn’t tell me. Said you just ‘learn things.’”

  “Go sign up with AHS,” Michelle said. “You want to know you’re safe.”

  Heather Googled AHS and clicked on the link to take her to their official website. In the upper right corner was a toll-free number and the suggestion to “call now for a free estimate.” She dialed the number. It rang four times before a recorded voice began asking Heather to pick her way through various menu options. Somehow, she navigated the system, punched “1” for “residence,” and was advised that her call was very important and would be answered by the next available representative. She sighed and leaned back in her chair to wait.

  Thirty minutes later, she had an appointment for a technician to come and install the alarm system she had signed up for. Rubbing the kinks out of her neck and shoulder, she decided to call it a day. “I’m leaving,” she called to Michelle and Maricela as she headed for the back door.

  “Have a good one,” Michelle said before turning her attention back to the customer she was serving.

  Just as Heather was about to back out of her parking space, her cell phone rang. She glanced at it, saw Amy’s number, and picked up. “I have been on the phone all day,” she said.

  “So come talk to me in person. I want your opinion on something anyway.”

  “You’re at home?”

  “Where else? I don’t have a life during the daylight hours. That’s you, remember?”

  “Whatever,” Heather said, laughing. “See you in a few.”

  Amy’s house was ten minutes from Donut Delights. Heather parked in the driveway, knocked on Amy’s back door, and let herself in. “You know, you really ought to start locking your doors,” she called out. “Anybody off the street could just come wandering in.”

  “Too trusting, I guess,” Amy called. “Come on back. I’m painting.”

  Heather walked down the hallway to the rear bedroom Amy used for her studio. She dropped her purse on the raggedy but oh-so-comfortable couch and flopped down next to it, her feet hanging over the arm of the couch. “Really,” she said. “Could be anybody. That’s why I’m getting an alarm.”

  “You’re what?” Amy turned away from her canvas to look at Heather.

  “I’m getting an alarm.”

  “Why?” Amy asked. “Oh, I bet I know.” She pointed her paint brush at Heather. “So no more Billy’s come in and plunk themselves down at your kitchen table and scare you half to death.”

  “Exactly,” Heather said.

  Amy shrugged. “I suppose I don’t blame you,” she said. “Here. Come look at this.”

  With a groan, Heather lurched up off the couch and went to stand looking over Amy’s shoulder at the landscape she was painting. Two trees composed of short slashes of color stood at the edge of a lake painted in the same style. Yet despite the choppiness of each individual stroke, somehow, it all blended into a gorgeous whole. “Wow,” Heather said. “That’s really nice.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said. “So here’s what I need your opinion on: People, or no people?”

  “Two boys,” Heather said. “Taking a nap under the trees.”

  “Hmm,” Amy said, squinting at her painting. “That might work.”

  Heather flopped back down on the couch, sitting upright this time. Amy turned to face her. “So ask me what I found out today,” Heather said.

  “What did you find out today?”

  “Just two itty-bitty things. One, that Mrs. Fordyce didn’t love Christa very much and blamed her for Billy’s getting cut out of the will.”

  “What?” Amy said, her mouth agape.

  “Yeah. She’s grieving over Billy’s life being ruined, not over Christa’s death. And she says it’s Christa’s fault his life was ruined. Apparently Mr. Fordyce had threatened to cut Billy out of the will if he went to rehab one more time. Mrs. Fordyce says Billy was doing great. Making lots of progress. Until one day, Christa accuses him of using drugs, and dear old Dad just takes her at her word, plops Billy in rehab, and cuts him out of the will.”

  “She thinks Christa was lying?”

  “Mrs. Fordyce said if Billy had been using, she would have known about it, because she’s his mother.”

  “Um…yeah, sure,” Amy said. “But the point is, she thinks Christa was lying and deliberately set up the favorite child—at least Mrs. Fordyce’s favorite—to get cut out of the will.”

  “Yep. And she’s bitterly angry.”

  “Sounds like she’s a suspect,” Amy said.

  “But that’s not all. Remember how Joey Gorham was the one who discovered Christa’s body? The one who claimed to be her assistant, and claimed to have dated her?”

  “Yeeeeees,” Amy said.

  “Apparently, he did, in fact, date her. At least a couple of times. But he was never going to be her assistant.”

  This time, when Amy’s mouth fell open, she remained silent.

  “He says he just wanted to talk to her. And when he showed up, she happened to be dead.”

  “What did he want to talk to her about?”

  “Nobody knows. He wouldn’t tell Detective Shepherd.”

  “Ah, the hunky Detective Shepherd,” Amy said. “I’d tell him anything he wanted to know.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Heather said. “But here’s the thing I still don’t get: Why did she date him in the first place?”

  “To make Mommy Dearest mad?”

  “Maybe so,” Heather said.

  “But then maybe it made Joey mad when she broke up with him,” Amy said.

  “That very well could be.” She sighed. “And then there’s Billy, who was apparently angry with her, too.”

  “Wow,” Amy said. “That’s three people in her life who were probably angry enough to kill her. Yikes.”

  “Yeah. Yikes,” she said. “I’m jus
t glad that Don seemed plenty happy to get rid of me. He wasn’t angry at all.”

  “He was a jerk,” Amy said.

  Heather sighed. “I just wish I knew who actually did it,” she said. “They were all three angry enough with her to kill her, but which one actually did?”

  ***

  The wraparound front porch was one of the things Heather loved best about her little house, if not the thing. A languid breeze blew through the tops of the trees as she sat slouched in a white wicker chair, her feet up on a matching ottoman. A glass of lemonade sat on the wicker table next to her.