Cherry Dream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 43 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery)

by Gillard, Susan

  Ames dropped to her haunches in front of the counter, that frown deepening.

  "It just doesn't make sense. The potential robber breaks into a florist's to conduct a heist. Hillside isn't that small. He could've chosen a place with more cash. One of those convenience stores that have cropped up in Main Street for instance."

  "Those have cameras," Ryan said and pinned his pen between two fingers and thumb. He gestured with it to the four corners of the roof. "This place doesn't."

  "All right, I'll bite. Let's say that this hapless robber person decides the florist is the one stop shop for all his crime needs. He breaks in to rob the place, sees that Catherine is in the store late and, what, has the forethought to put on latex gloves and then strangle her to death?" Heather asked. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but full frontal asphyxiation seems personal to me."

  "I ran through the same thought process," Ryan said.

  "And?"

  "I came to two possible conclusions. One, the robber planned to commit the burglary already gloved up for fear the police would trace his prints after he'd stolen the cash."

  "And two?"

  "He came in prepared to murder Catherine Willard. And he tried to make it look like a burglary after the fact," Ryan said.

  Heather gave a pert nod. The second sounded more plausible to her, but she'd been wrong in the path. Regardless of what she thought, they'd have to follow the proper police protocols and use the burglary as a lead.

  "Hey, guys?" Amy said and crooked a finger. "Take a look at this."

  "What is it?" Heather pushed off from the table and the buckets wobbled behind her. She dropped to her haunches beside her bestie.

  Ames' pointed to a wad of pink gum which sat against the base of the counter. "Catherine wasn't much of a gum chewer, was she?"

  "Looks like forensics missed something on their first sweep," Heather said. "Or, uh, did you let Hoskins in here by chance?" Hoskins had to be the most ineffective sweet-guzzling detective in the world. Heather got the feeling he wouldn't last much longer, what with Hillside's expansion and the need for the best and the brightest.

  "Very funny," Ryan said. "I'll put a call into the guys. Nobody touch that." He marched out into the street and left the women among the stems and petals.

  "Did I just find a clue?" Amy asked. "Like our first real clue?"

  "Judging by the position of the gum, I'd say so. Look, it's not tramped down or pressed flat. Maybe Catherine fought back." Heather mused on, tapping her chin.

  "Always in cop mode." Amy sighed.

  "Yes, Ames, you found your first real clue. Congratulations."

  Amy rose from her crouch and looked around the empty and soon to be lifeless interior. "Funny," she said, "I don't feel like celebrating."

  Chapter 4

  They'd parked the truck down the side road nearest Donut Delights because they didn't have enough space in the alley for a refrigerated affair like this one. No doubt, the lady in the antique store across the road would kick up a fuss if they parked it out front.

  Heather clasped the clipboard to her chest and studied the two men in the cab. The company We Haul 4 U had come highly recommended. She'd checked out every review on the planet. She'd even trawled through TripAdvisor just in case other bakeries had used them for long distance deliveries and had something to say.

  "You're going to snap that in half," Amy said and extricated the clipboard from Heather's clammy hands. "It will be fine, all right? North Dakota isn't that far away."

  Heather snorted. "Why don't you drive, then?"

  "Cute." Amy checked the order sheet - the same one Heather had obsessed over for the last twenty minutes - then thrust the clipboard back at her. "Well, that's it. All four hundred Kiwi Lime Surprise Donuts locked, loaded, and ready to go."

  Heather rushed up to the driver's side of the truck and rapped her knuckles on his door. "You're sure I'll be notified when the order arrives?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. "We take the signature from the recipient electronically. You'll be forwarded a notification email upon receipt.' The driver readjusted his cap and his partner handed him a slip of paper. He took it and passed it on to Heather. "This here's a tracking number. You can use it to track the progress of the parcel online. And if you have any questions don't hesitate to call."

  Heather fastened the sheet of paper to her clipboard. "Good. Okay, thank you. Because these are donuts, you know. They're perishables. I don't want them to arrive in bad condition." Gosh, and the Kiwi Limes did have cream cheese in one of the glazes. Oh heavens.

  "Heather stop panicking." Amy nudged her. She gave the driver and his compatriot a thumbs up. "Thanks, guys. Drive safe."

  They backed away from the truck and four hundred of Heather's babies rattled off down the road. "Ames -"

  "Is this what I'm like when we go near a graveyard? Because I totally forgive you for getting irritated with me, now," Amy said.

  "Sorry. Ugh, sorry. It's just the first time, you know. And if anything goes -"

  "Heather!" Jung thundered up the sidewalk toward them, waving. "Heather." He stopped in front of them and dropped his hands to his knees, breathing hard. "Shoot. Sec. Can't - breathe."

  "What is it? Did the truck crash?"

  Amy elbowed her and pointed to the We Haul 4 U truck idling at the distant stop street. The corners of her mouth twitched.

  "Jung, are you okay?" Heather hid her embarrassment by focusing on her sweaty assistant instead. "You look like you've run a mile."

  "Out of shape," he hissed. "All the - donuts."

  "True that." Amy nodded.

  Jung finally caught his breath and straightened, brushing off his Donut Delights apron as he did. "There are two people in the store who want to talk to you. And I only ran out here because I'm pretty sure they're going to start trashing the place soon."

  "What?" Her thoughts flashed to Kate Laverne, her nemesis extraordinaire. "Who are they?"

  Jung led the way back to the store, brushing his black hair back - he'd grown it out a little. "They didn't give me their names. But they've got thick accents and they keep talking about a murder and money."

  Heather double-timed it back around the corner and into her store. The man who stood in front of the counter would've been at home in one of those gator catching cable shows Ryan loved. And the girl beside him couldn't have been any older than sixteen but she wore about a ton of makeup and a skirt that was far too short.

  That might've been Heather's motherly instinct kicking in.

  "I thought headbands were for heads," Amy whispered.

  Or not.

  Heather hurried up to the pair and plastered up a smile. "Hi, may I help you?"

  "You the owner of this 'stablishment?" The man asked, and sucked his teeth.

  "Heather Shepherd," she said and put out a hand.

  The man shook it, once, twice, three times, and didn't let go. "Poot Willard," he said. "Poot's a nickname case you were wonderin'." His accent was just as thick as Jung said. A southern twang.

  "So you're related to Catherine?" Heather asked.

  "Ayuh," he said.

  "Yes, ma'am." The younger girl wrested Heather's hand from Poot's grip and shook it next. "And I'm Patsy Willard. You can call me Pat if you're so inclined."

  "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Heather asked. And it was a pleasure. Not only had two suspects presented themselves in her store, but they intrigued her. She'd never been to Louisiana and she'd always wanted to go. Something about New Orleans, the sense of magic and mystery, beckoned to her.

  "Just a quick visit, Mrs. Shepherd," Poot said and rubbed his palm down the side of his camo shirt. "We heard you're the one investigatin' the death of my great auntie. Wanted to make sure you did right by her and by us."

  "I'm not sure I follow."

  Poot lowered his voice and leaned in, bringing a strange oily scent with him. It wasn't unpleasant - it reminded her of motor oil or grease. "Y'all do things differently around here, for sure
. We came all the way down from New Orleans to talk with Catty's lawyer and he tells us we cain't have the money until the murder's been solved."

  Patsy nodded, doleful at the prospect of all that lost cash. "So, if you could sort that out right quick, that'd be just fine. Just fine."

  Both of them patted her on a shoulder then pushed past her and strolled toward the door. Well, Patsy clip-clopped in high heels and Poot clunked along, favoring one leg.

  Ames stepped up beside Heather. "What on earth was that about?"

  "I'm not sure where to start," Heather said. "But I think I know a man who does."

  Chapter 5

  "Ladies, ladies, please do take your seats," Herman Schulz said, in that thick German accent. The little man squeaked to the edge of his leather chair, dwarfed by its size only because of his own. "It's been so very long since we have last spoken, yes?"

  "Yes," Heather said and sat down in the bonded leather chair in front of his desk. Amy had already taken up her position beside the windows and preemptively opened them.

  The lawyer lit up a particularly fragrant cigarette right on cue. "Menthols," he said, and waved the thin white cylinder through the air. "My doctor tells me these will be better for my health."

  Heather retained her comment and shot Amy a look. Ames clapped her trap shut - she'd been on the verge of delivering a sarcastic diatribe. Heather would've bet anything it'd been about the viability of Herman's doctor's medical degree.

  "What can I help you ladies with, today? You're going into business together?" Herman asked. "You know I've thought about branching out into that area. The contracts and breach thereof. Business, love, death, these are the things that tie us together. The human experience, if you will."

  "I agree with the sentiment to some extent," Heather said.

  Amy made a strange noise in the back of her throat.

  "Not you, madame?" Herman asked, and quirked a bushy eyebrow at her. "No, of course not."

  "Hey, what's that's supposed to mean?" Amy leaned half-in and half out of the window, sucking down relatively unpolluted air in place of the thin curling smoke which drifted from the coal of Herman's cigarette.

  "Merely that you live in a world of sarcasm and donuts, dear woman. Perhaps, you don't have time for love, business or death."

  "I've got time for one of those things," Amy said and narrowed her eyes at him.

  "Children, calm yourselves." Heather clapped her hands once. "Mr. Schulz, we've come to talk death in particular. The death of Catherine Willard."

  "Ah, yes, yes, of course. I thought you would come. You see, I thought you would come because others have come before you," Herman said, and tapped ash into a silver ashtray.

  Amy hoovered air from outside in a nod to Broadway.

  "Who came?" Heather asked, though she already had the answer.

  "Two of Miss Willard's relative. Her last relatives as far as I know. Peter Willard who called himself by some other name."

  "Poot," Heather said.

  "That's it, yes, yes. Poot." Herman pushed his lips out. "Poot." He sang it musically. "Poot!"

  Amy burst out laughing. "Poot."

  Heather barely managed to keep it together. "Was his daughter with him? Patsy?"

  "Yes, yes, that girl with the second face. Too much makeup," Herman said, then brushed his cheeks with one hand. "But I suppose I could use some myself, yes? Patsy and Poot."

  Amy sniggered.

  "What did they want?" Heather asked.

  The mirth fell from Mr. Schulz' expression as fast as the ash from the end of his menthol cigarette. "They wanted her money."

  "Her money," Heather said.

  "Just how much money are we talking, here?" Amy asked, and leaned back in for a second. She coughed and popped back out again.

  "Catherine Willard saved excessively. In fact, she had enough to buy the property instead of taking a loan from the bank," Herman said. "I advised she do so, but Miss Willard insisted she go about it the same way her own mother had set up her florist in New Orleans."

  "That's - " Heather searched for the right term and couldn't find it.

  "Yes, indeed. It's irregular. Very irregular. But I respected her wishes. I believed, perhaps, that she wished for her fortune to be given to a worthy benefactor. Perhaps these relatives were worthy of such a large amount. Perhaps they needed it." Herman's tone indicated his opposition to Catherine's belief.

  "And the Willards came to see you about her money," Heather said.

  "Yes," Herman replied. "Yes. But Catherine left very specific instruction about her inheritance. She came to me two weeks ago and told me that should anything happen to her, anything untoward, the estate was to be kept in her name until the truth was brought to light."

  "Two weeks ago?"

  "That's correct, yes. I believe it was shortly after she procured the loan and purchased the property for her flower shop," Herman said.

  Heather rocked forward in her seat. So, someone had spooked Catherine enough that she'd added an addendum to the will. A way to keep her family here while Heather investigated the murder.

  "Wow," Amy said, from her perch.

  "Yes, wow indeed. Wow indeed." Herman stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, then fumbled a second one out of his pack. "These two bumpkins came into my office and demanded I pay up. Me! The lawyer. That I must pay them the tender due."

  Heather sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Heavens."

  "Naturally, I requested they remove themselves from the premises."

  "And did they?' Heather asked.

  "Of course not. The young girl took a pack of my cigarettes and smoked one. And that Poot - “A chuckle broke through the anger. “That Poot tried to break into my filing cabinet. He asked about a signet ring. A family heirloom. I was forced to call the security men and even they had trouble removing them."

  "Sounds like somebody's strapped for cash," Amy said.

  Heather grabbed her handbag from next to her chair and stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Schulz. Thank you for your time and the information."

  "But of course. Anything for you ladies," he said, around the filter of his next cigarette. He lit up, then swished it in Amy’s direction. "Even that one's insistence on pushing the boundaries of the, uh, how do you say this? Socially acceptable behavior. Even that is better than Poot."

  "Poot," Amy hooted.

  Heather tramped over to the window, hauled her bestie back into the office and gave her a stern look.

  "All right, all right," Amy said. "Thanks, Hermy." She offered the lawyer a salute. "See you around."

  "Sooner rather than later, I hope," Herman said and rolled the cigarette between his fingers. "Mrs. Shepherd, would you leave your number with my secretary? I feel I may have the need to contact you. I would not like to read through a telephonic book should I have an emergency."

  "Of course," Heather replied. She couldn't fathom what an emergency like that might be and she didn't have the guts to ask.

  Chapter 6

  Heather tugged the worn throw pillow into her lap and fiddled with the frayed edge, running her fingers over the satin material again and again.

  Ryan stood in front of their DVD player, flicking through the cases he'd brought back from the video store. "I don't know," he said. "Do you feel like an action? A comedy? Horror?"

  "I'll pass on the horror," she said. They'd decided to keep date night intimate - a simple movie night at home with takeout. Lilly had gone over to Eva's to spend the night and taken Dave and Cupcake with her. "Maybe a comedy?"

  "Comedy it is," Ryan said, and cycled back through the DVD stack. "But before we get into the comedic stylings of Ron Burgundy and his gang of inappropriate newsmen, I've got news." He placed the DVDs on top of the player.

  "Case news?"

  "That's right. I'll send the updates to the dossier over to you tomorrow," Ryan said. "But it's been on my mind and I figured you wouldn't mind discussing it."

  "I live for these date night myster
y conversations," Heather said.

  Ryan laughed and joined her on the sofa. "It's about Lyle Clarke."

  "Okay, I'm listening. What about him?" Heather folded her legs underneath herself. This ought to be good. Or bad. Clarke hadn't been in Hillside for that long, a month if any of those newspaper articles were accurate, which meant he hadn't had that much time to start up his 'shenanigans.'

  Then again, he was a professional.

  "Look at you," Ryan said. "You look like Dave on donut day."

  Heather flapped her hands at him. "What about him?"

  "He's already bought the Fancy Floaty Florist. Sheesh, that is not a manly name," Ryan said and rolled his shoulders. "He's bought the land. Little birdie tells me that he'll bulldoze it as soon as he can."

  "What? Are you kidding? Catherine's will -"

  "Apparently, Mr. Clarke has some very persuasive friends in high places. Catherine didn't finish off repaying her loan. Naturally, the bank seized the property -"

  "After two days?"

  "That's what I'm saying," Ryan said. "The bank seized it on Clarke's behest. And he paid them the full amount of the loan. Probably more. They made a profit on that particular deal."

  "That can't be legal."

  Ryan shrugged. "There's nothing we can do about it. And there's more. If you thought that was bad, this next parts going to make the top come off your head like a cartoon tea kettle."

  "That's descriptive."

  "I'm just saying," Ryan replied, then cleared his throat. He took her hand and squeezed as if he were about to deliver the worst news possible. "We went through Catherine's emails."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Turns out Clarke was in contact with Catherine before she passed. A few weeks before she passed, in fact." Ryan brushed his finger over the backs of her knuckles.

  "Let me guess, he tried to buy her out?"

  "That's right. He offered her an insane amount of money for her store. Heaven knows why, but she said no," Ryan replied. "He through another offer out doubled the cash, and she said no again. The exchange was very polite but eventually, Clarke gave up."

  "Or maybe he didn't," Heather said. "Maybe he was the one who killed her. I mean, it makes sense. He's used to throwing money at problems and this time it didn't work." She hopped to her feet and paced back and forth in front of the coffee table. "A man like Clarke, he's not going to take that lightly, oh no."