"My shoving days are behind me," Heather said.
"Good." He heaved a sigh and accepted one of the cappuccinos from Ames. "We got the results back from that gum you found, Amy."
"Oh yeah?"
"No match in the database," he said. "No match. So either we're looking at a first time offender or somebody who's real good at not getting caught."
"That's frustrating," Heather said. "But I think I've got something that might cheer you up. Patsy Willard's diary." She handed it over.
Ryan took it with a sniff. "Do I want to know how you got this? Will it stand in court should we need it?"
"Oh yeah. Ames and I were on one of our morning walks down by the South Bosque River when we found it."
"Uh huh." Ryan's face showed he didn't believe a word of it. "And this is going to tell me what."
"That Patsy despised her great aunt and that her father did too. Oh, and I bet there's evidence in there that pins them in Hillside prior to Catherine's murder. In fact, we could call Hank at the RV Park to confirm the date of their booking and arrival."
"Good thinking," Amy said and gave Heather her coffee.
They slurped the good stuff in silence, Ryan flicking through the pages of the journal. "Oh, and the DNA was male," he said. "Can't believe I almost forgot that. Our killer is definitely a guy."
Lyle Clarke floated up from Heather's subconscious, his mocking-shark grin enveloping her sight. "We'll get him," she said. 'You can bet on that."
Chapter 10
Heather let Dave's leash hang in a loose crescent, her focus on the blonde man hovering by the wrought iron fence of the park. He balanced the flats of his palms against the palisade spears and stared at the Fancy Floaty Florist, closed but empty of flowers, now.
"What are you staring at?" Amy asked. Cupcake squirmed out of her arms and dropped to the park bench beside Lils.
"Uh?'
"Heather, hello? It's picnic time." A bird flew overhead, croaking drily. "She's gone."
"Leave her alone, dear," Eva said. "She's probably in the midst of a stroke of genius. Pass the turkey sandwiches, please."
The rustle of wax paper interrupted Heather's train of thought at last. She switched to Lilly and Eva on the bench, then let go of Dave's leash. "I'll be right back," she said. "I need to speak to that guy."
"Want me to come with you?" Amy asked. The animals sniffed around the legs of the bench, drawn by the scent of turkey and donut glaze. Late afternoon sunlight, liquid yellow, warmed the back of Heather's neck.
"Actually, yes." She blew Lils a kiss, but her daughter didn't return it. Heather made to walk off, then paused. "Everything okay, hon?"
"Sure," Lilly said, and shrugged, "Why wouldn't it be?" She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm fine, mom." She turned to Eva. "So when is Leila moving in? Are you excited?"
"Yes, dear, but I think your mother wasn't quite finished speaking to you."
Heather blinked. "No, uh, no that's fine. You two enjoy yourselves." She walked away from the bench, juggling her shock at what'd just happened and the intrigued about the man by the fence.
"That was weird. Since when has Lilly been rude?" Amy asked.
"I don't know. She's seemed a little distant this week. Something's bothering her but she won't tell me what it is," Heather said.
Ames patted her on the back. "Don't worry about it. She's a good kid and you're a good mom, too. It will work itself out."
Heather glanced back at the bench where Lilly laughed at Cupcake's turkey-begging antics. "I hope so. I really hope so. I don't want Lilly to feel like I don't spend enough time with her."
"What? No way. We have movie nights every week and you guys eat dinner at the table together. And you help her with her homework and take her on outings. No way," Amy said. "That's not it."
"Well something's up," Heather said. They neared the fence and the mystery man and Heather cut off the line of thought. She compartmentalized, placed her Lilly worries in one box and closed it, then opened the case box. Questions poured out.
"Good afternoon," Heather said. "Nice sunset we're having."
"Holy cripes!" The man yelped and pushed off from the fence. He pivoted, palms still out and glistening with sweat. "Holy moly, lady. You scared the pants off of me."
"Luckily not," Amy said, and grinned. "You a regular here?"
"No," he said and chewed noisily. A wad of gum mashed between his teeth, squish, squish, squish. "No. I'm a city boy, you know. Just enjoying some nature. Not used to being out near trees and birds and stuff like that."
"Really?" Heather folded her arms. "I could've sworn I saw you here a few days ago." She jerked her head toward the florists'. "I was in there and you were right here."
The guy brushed off his palms and an expensive watch slid into view. A watch that cost more than Heather's Chevrolet. She'd seen Brad Pitt sporting one of those in an ad on TV. Tag Heuer? Breitling?
"Don't remember it," the guy said. "No idea. I just like to stand here sometimes. Nice and quiet. Usually."
"What's your name? I'm Heather."
"Mikey." He did the shifty-eyed glance she associated with guilt.
"It's always nice to welcome newcomers to Hillside. We've got a bit of a boom going on," Heather said and forced her customer smile into place. "So welcome. Welcome to Hillside."
"Yeah. You should stop by Donut Delights sometime," Amy said.
"Thanks." The tension in Mikey's shoulders released a little. Perhaps, they'd played the part of small town goodies well enough to placate him. "Yeah, this is a nice place. Quiet."
"We'd like to keep it that way," Heather said. Oomph, maybe that'd come off a tad 'mafia.' "Where do you work?"
Mikey jolted and his gaze went laser-sharp. "Me? Uh, between jobs at the moment, yeah. I was working for a guy back in New Jersey but that didn't pan out. So now I'm here. I'm currently looking for new employment," he said, in a practiced tone.
Like it was a story he had to tell. A cover story?
"Listen, it was a real pleasure talking with you ladies but I've gotta get home. It's getting late," Mikey said. "Don't want to keep my cats waiting. That's a joke. I don't got any cats." He tipped an invisible cap to them then sauntered past, a cloud of Jean Paul Gautier cologne drifting him forward.
Heather and Ames watched him in silence, their arms linked. "He was chewing gum," Amy said. "That man was chewing gum and I'd bet my last donut it was the same type of gum we found at the scene."
"Next time, you hold him down and I'll pluck it out from betwixt his lips."
"Did you just say betwixt?"
"I was trying to convey how ridiculous my suggestion was," Heather said. "Yeah, he was chewing gum. But unless he spits that gum at us, we can't use it as evidence. Mikey. Mikey, Mikey. From New Jersey. Interesting."
Lilly waved from the bench, smiling at last. "Mom, you packed hot chocolate!"
"For you, darling."
"Awesome! Thanks!"
Heather grinned. "Out of the dog box," she muttered.
"The way to any pre-teen's heart is through hot chocolate. And Instagram. I hear that's a big thing, now. Instagramming pictures of hot chocolate maybe? You should get her a smartphone," Amy said.
Heather walked Amy back to the bench and tuned out the babble. That case box hadn't shut yet and she filed Mikey away for future dissection. Suspicions bounced off the walls of her compartment.
Chapter 11
Another morning dawned bright in Donut Delights and the first slivers of Hillside's cheery spring sunlight crept across the threshold and touched the glass tops of the tables and the golden boards beneath them.
This was Heather's favorite time of day in the store. The whole room lit up without fail and glowed. Even the black legs of the chairs shone. It made her think of peace and hope, and her grandmother positioned across from Eva, scoffing down donuts she'd helped create.
It was only a pity she'd never gotten the
chance. Heather took a rag to the counter and polished. Emily stood beside her, tapping on the computer screen above their old-timey bronze register. "Are you all right, boss?" She asked. "You seem down this morning."
"Nothing a coffee and a donut can't fix," Heather said. Her phone blipped in her pocket and she shuffled it out. "Ah ha! That makes me feel better. I just got an email from the We Haul 4 U folks. The delivery arrived safely in North Dakota."
"That's great! Now, we just have to wait for their review of the donuts," Emily replied.
"Boy, that doesn't make me nervous at all."
Her assistant stepped away from the computer and patted her on the shoulder. "It will be a great review and you know it, boss. Those Kiwi Limes are amazing."
"You always know what to say," Heather replied.
Emily hurried off to the kitchen to make another batch of Cherry Dreams, no doubt, and Amy pushed the doors open and held them for her. She slipped out and wove between the tables, then came to a halt in front of the counter. "Who ate your donut?"
"Lyle Clarke," Heather said. She couldn't get him out of her brain. Every time she considered the case she came back to him. He had the motive and he had the means, they just didn't have the evidence to prove he'd done it.
"You're kidding," Amy said. "I thought for sure you'd be obsessing about Mikey and the chewing gum."
"I am and I'm not." Heather placed her cell back in her apron pocket and plonked down on one of the stools. "Mikey seems like the candidate. He was casing the place out, the gum and did you catch that watch on his arm?"
"Yeah, that piece wouldn't come cheap."
"But I don't see the motive. If he's rich why's he after money. And if he's just come into money, he surely didn't get enough from Catherine's register to buy a watch like that," Heather said.
"Your point is?'
"Someone paid him and I think I know who."
Amy groaned and knuckled her forehead. "Heather, without any proof the two are connected, without a physical paper trail we've got nothing. And Lyle Clarke is iron clad. He has a solid alibi. I mean, you saw the dossier. He was in full view of people in his office. All of them working late."
"I know. But that doesn't -"
"Don't set your sights on one guy because you're angry at Kate," Amy said.
"What? No. That's not what this is," Heather said.
"Uh huh." Amy clearly didn't buy that.
But maybe she had a point. Clarke's too-good-for-Hillside attitude bugged her. The fact that he could buy his way out of trouble ate at her even more. He was the type who could get away with murder because he gamed the system.
"Just don't let this guy cloud your vision, okay? You're really good at investigating but I've seen you pull at a thread that doesn't go anywhere before."
"Pfft, you've seen me pull at hundreds of those threads," Heather said. "I guess you're right. We can't ignore Poot and his motivation. His presence in Hillside prior to Catherine's murder."
"That's the spirit. Blame it on Poot." Amy's lips twitched.
"Stop it, you." Heather's phone blipped a second time and she whipped it out of her pouch. "I got a text."
"It's 6 am. Who texts at this ungodly hour?"
Heather swiped to unlock and tapped through to the message.
Come see me immediately. It is urgent. Herman Schulz, attorney.
Amy circled the counter and read the message over Heather's shoulder. "He just had to put the attorney part in there, didn't he?"
Heather locked the screen and stowed the phone. "I get the feeling this is important. You coming?"
"Sure. Let me ask Ken to cover the front," Amy said and rushed off to the kitchen. The morning rush for coffee and doughy treats would start soon enough. They'd have to miss it. Herman Schulz wasn't a man who liked to be kept waiting and Heather wouldn't have made him wait even if he was.
Her sleuthin' sense tingled. "Hurry, Ames."
Chapter 12
Shouts were the last thing Heather expected upon arrival outside Herman Schulz' sensible office door with its golden plaque.
"You're gonna tell me where it is. I'm gonna make you." Poot's accent was unmistakable, even through a layer of thick wood.
"Unhand me!" Herman squeaked.
"Call Ryan," Heather said to Ames. She unclipped her handbag, then rifled through it and found the cold, hast plastic Taser - the weapon she reserved for extreme cases. Funnily enough, a lot of those cases had presented themselves over the past few months.
"On it." Amy sidled down the hall, phone already out.
"You creepy little -”
Heather opened the door and moved into the office, Taser at the ready. She stopped just inside the office, jaw dropped.
Poot Willard had Herman Schulz up against the wall, the muscles in his forearms as thick as a calf's leg. The lawyer's feet dangled and kicked two feet off the ground, his pasty face covered in sweat.
"Mrs. Shepherd. Mrs. Shepherd!" Herman yelped.
Poot caught sight of her, rotated his head a teensy bit to get her in view, then dropped Herman.
The lawyer landed on his feet, knees bent and arms out - much like a mini-ninja or a cat in human form. Same difference, really.
"What on earth are you doing, Mr. Willard?'
Poot growled and glared at Heather, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "He's hiding it from us. The money. He owes us that money, Mrs. Shepherd, ma'am, and he cain't hide it for much longer."
"He doesn't owe you anything," Heather said. "Except assault charges."
"He got the money in here. Or he got the ring. I know it."
"What ring?" Heather asked, and tightened her grip on the Taser.
"MY ring. My family ring. The Willard ring. That's an heirloom and I won't let him take it from us," Poot said.
"No, no, no." Herman's voice reached all new highs. "I have not this ring. I have no use for this ring and I have no money here either. This is an office, not a bank."
The mixture of the two accents - the Cajun and German - made Heather's head spin. She had to switch concentration on one dialect to the other and back again.
"Liar!" Poot swiped at Herman over the desk.
The lawyer scooted back and hit the opposite wall, breathing hard. Panic wasn't a good look on the poor man. He whipped a handkerchief out of his top jacket pocket and dabbed at his sweaty upper lip.
"That's enough," Heather said. "Poot, you stay still. You don't do anything that might be deemed reckless, understand? I'm armed and I'm not afraid to use this Taser."
Poot eyed the compact plastic rectangle in Heather's hand. He didn't say a word, but he didn't charge at Herman either. That could only be a good sign.
"Now, Poot, I want you to explain why this ring and the money is so important to you."
"Because I need it!" He punched one palm with a fist the size of a cooked ham. Okay, maybe not that big but his knuckles were formidable. For a second, Heather doubted a Taser would stop the man and a chill ran down her spine. She was no match for a raging bull. "Barbie's about to have another baby and we cain't afford healthcare."
"Barbie," Heather said and flashed back to her childhood. The smell of doll hair and the strange rubbery snap of knee joints bending. "Who's Barbie?"
"The wife. She didn't come with us to Hillside. We came, you see, aw man. Mrs. Shepherd, this is all messed up. It's all some big mistake," he said.
"I hear you, Poot," Heather said, but didn't lower the Taser in case he decided to lunge for the sweaty lawyer again. "Loud and clear. But I'm going to need you to explain that mistake part to me one more time, okay?"
"The mistake. I didn't hurt Catherine. I know what this looks like, ma'am, but I didn't hurt her and I wouldn't hurt a soul." His gaze flicked to Herman, who'd snorted at the latter half of the sentence. "Catherine was good to our family."
"And you needed financial help," Heather said.
"That's right. She always helped us before." Poot wrung those massive hands this time. "She told me we'd
get her ring next time we visited. And then Barbie fell pregnant and I figured it was 'bout time we visited."
"And then what happened?" Heather asked. She had to keep him talking but she was intrigued too. "Did she say no?"
"She said she weren't in a position to give me anything after just opening a new flower shop." Poot's brow crinkled like a candy wrapper. "She wouldn't give it to us."
"And what do you do then?" Heather asked, half-expecting a confession from the man.
"Nothin'. Nothin' I could do, Mrs. Shepherd. Nothin' but go back to my darn trailer and wait for her to be ready. Meanwhile, my Barbie is bout ready to pop and I there's no money to help bring that baby into this world."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Willard. I'm sorry about your financial problems but you should've thought of thought before you attacked Mr. Schulz."
"Aw shoot. I'm sorry. I just got so mad. I just got so frustrated. I wanted to bring back somethin' for my baby."
Herman trembled in the corner, the color leaking back into his face like an ink blot in water. "Mrs. Shepherd, I want to call the police, yes? Can you call them for me? I do not feel safe."
Ryan rapped his knuckles on the door as if summoned by the lawyer's words. He stepped into the room, took stock of the situation, Taser included, then unclipped his holster. "Mr. Willard, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me."
Heather didn't blame Poot for his reaction, but he it still wasn't right. She moved out of the way as Ryan read the big man his rights and marched him through the office door and down the hall.
Amy poked her head into the office. "Phew. Smells like smoke in here."
"Ogh." Herman rolled his eyes.
"What do you say, Heather? We following Ryan to the police station or what? Maybe Poot has a little something extra to add in the interrogation room."
"The day's young. Why not?" But Heather sincerely doubted they'd get more from Mr. Willard. He was all talked out.
Cherry Dream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 43 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Page 4
