"Hi Amy," Paulo said.
"You got any guns in here, Paulo?" Amy walked up and down the aisle, studying the products on display. She touched a white flower pot with a plastic flower sticking out of the top and it tinkled.
"No, ma'am, nothin' like that. You can check out Ballistics’ store for all your gun needs."
"Yeah," she said. "Just checking. Thought we might need one on our way home."
"Oh stop it," Heather replied. Clarke would have to be very brave or stupid to take an actually shot at her. It wouldn't be much of a mystery for Ryan to solve should she be shot outside her store after witnesses had seen them together.
Heather pressed her finger to the picture, the half-moon of her nail directed at the ring. "Have you see this? Anyone come in with it?"
"Yes," Paulo said, immediately. "I remember because the guy wanted more cash than I had on hand in the store. I offered to do a bank transfer but he refused. He wanted greenback. So he ended taking it for a lot less than he should have."
"What did the guy look like?" Heather asked, and her heart skipped a beat. This was it. It had to be the answer she'd sought out. "Was he familiar to you?"
"Familiar? No. He was chewing gum, though. Blonde hair."
Heather's excitement faded. Mikey. That sounded a lot like Mikey. She took the rolled up copy of the Hillside Reporter out of her front pocket anyway. She unfurled it, paged through as Paulo looked on, then flattened the pages on top of Catherine's picture. "Was it him? This guy?" She tapped Lyle Clarke's picture.
Paulo went pale. He shook his head, bottom lip quivering. "Nope. Wasn't that guy. That guy's never been in here before. Never. Never seen that guy."
"That's a lot of never," Amy said. "Never say never."
"It's okay, Paulo, you can talk to me about this. You don't need to be scared. It's Hillside."
But Pawn Shop Paulo shook his head and his arms and his legs too. Every part of him trembled. "Never seen him," he repeated.
Heather sighed and rolled up the newspaper. She tucked it and the photo back into the front of her apron. "Thanks for your time," she said. Apparently, Clarke had gotten to Paulo first. He was one step ahead of them.
Heather offered Paulo a smile, then walked over to Ames who stood next to a child-sized porcelain doll. "How creepy is this?" Amy touched its hair, then shuddered and snatched her hand back.
"There are creepier things. Men getting away with murder for instance."
The front door of the Pawn Shop slammed. Footsteps hurtled up to the front desk, then around to their side of the aisle. A guy with a mole on his cheek halted in front of them, gasping for breath. "There you are," he said.
Mole on his cheek. Where had she seen this guy before?
"May I help you?" Heather asked.
"You're Mrs. Shepherd, right?" He gulped down another mouthful of air. "I thought I missed you at your store."
"Do you need a donut?"
"No," he said and laughed at that. A quick, hysterical laugh. "Look, I've - I saw something a few nights ago and I - I guess I should've come forward sooner but I was scared."
"What's your name?" Heather asked.
"James," he said. "James Gordon. But, uh, yeah, so I saw something outside the Fancy Floaty Florist. You're the lady who investigates cases, right? The one in the paper. Hillside's Number One Private Eye."
"Don't you dare say Gal Pal," Amy muttered.
"Yes. I'm investigating the murder of Catherine Willard. What did you see?" Heather asked. That mole. Good heavens, where had she seen this guy before?
"I saw this guy, his name is Mikey. He lives next door to me on Spur Avenue. Number 31. I'm in 29. Anyway, I saw him leave his house pretty late at night. I was just getting back from work," he said. He picked the mole, then dropped his arm to his side. "Anyway, so I was just getting back and yeah, he walked off. Just the way he was walking made me sit up and pay attention."
"How was he walking?'
"Just like, sort of crouched over like he was trying to be sneaky but he didn't want anyone to know he was being sneaky? Something like that. So I figured he was up to something. I never liked the guy. He always gave me a bad vibe."
"You followed him," Heather prompted.
"I followed him and I saw him break into the florists'. I heard a scream and I ran. I - I was a coward." James hung his head. "I'm sorry I didn't come forward sooner than this. I was afraid that Mikey would know it was me."
"What changed your mind?' Heather asked. Why now? Why would he come forward now with information about the murderer after this many days?
"He sent me a note. Told me to shut up or he'd kill me. And this morning I saw him packing bags into the trunk of his car," James said. He removed a crumpled piece of paper from his jeans' pocket and unfolded it. "Here's the note."
"Where did you say he lived?" Heather asked, and scanned the handwritten threat.
I'll off you if you say a word, mole face.
Amy covered her laugh with a cough.
"Number 31 Spur Avenue. You can't miss it."
Chapter 17
Amy, Heather, and Ryan filed around the corner and into Spur Avenue. They’d parked the cruiser around the corner so as to avoid spooking Mikey should he be outside, packing his bags. Never mind Ryan’s police uniform.
“There,” Heather said and nodded to the rusty mailbox in front of number 31.
Two men stood on the sidewalk in front of it. Mikey with his back to them, and the other with a mole on his cheek. James. Well, that made sense. They were neighbors. Perhaps, James had taken it upon himself to keep Mikey from riding off before the cops arrived.
“Here we go,” Ryan said. “Hang back until it’s safe.”
James caught sight of them, nodded once to Mikey, then turned and hurried off picking his mole.
Picking. His. Mole.
Heather gasped. “I’ve just remembered where I know him from,” she whispered.
“Okay, but is now really the time?” Amy asked.
“James works for Clarke. He was there that day we interviewed him. He was standing right by the entrance to the passage fiddling with that mole and leering.”
“Oh.” Amy’s mouth formed the letter to match the word. “Oh, no. But what does that mean?”
They didn’t have a shot to find out. James was already inside his house, and the door to Number 29 slammed to confirm it.
“Mr. Malone?”
“His surname is Malone?” Amy shook his head. “Boy, that’s unfortunate.”
Mikey jumped around and stared at Ryan, arms already raised in a gesture of supplication. “Detective,” he said. “Listen man, I’ve got to tell you something before it’s too late.”
Heather leaned to the side and looked past him, searching the driveway which led up to the closed garage. No car in sight. Her pulse raced. This couldn’t be the right guy, could it?
Had it been this obvious all along?
“I did it,” Mikey said.
“Pardon?”
“I killed that old lady. I strangled her in her store. I just wanted the money, man, and she was in there. Listen, I had some guys to pay off back in Jersey. I needed the cash.” Mikey rattled it all off without taking a breath.
“You’re admitting to murdering Catherine Willard?”
“Was that her name?” Mikey asked, and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about it, I truly am. I was desperate and she was in the way. She wasn’t supposed to be there that late at night. Who waters the flowers at that time?”
Heather didn’t buy a word of it. Not a single word. “You wore gloves,” she said.
Mikey looked past Ryan. His eyes widened as if he’d only just noticed the two ladies standing there. “Yeah. Didn’t want them to get my fingerprints or anything.”
“Too bad you spat up your gum,” Amy replied.
“Yeah.”
Heather hadn’t seen a more amicable murderer since she’d caught a woman for murder in self-defense. But this was differe
nt. This was a lie.
“Ryan,” she said.
But he’d already unhooked his cuffs from his belt loop. “You’ve confessed to the murder of Catherine Willard.”
Mikey glanced back at Number 29. A curtain fluttered in one of the front windows. He turned back to the officer, again. “Yes. I did it. I murdered her.”
Heather didn’t need to hear the rest. She looped her arm through Amy’s and practically dragged her away back down the sidewalk toward the waiting cruiser. Ryan would have to drive Mikey down to the station and have him arraigned.
They had a long walk back to Donut Delights. Which gave Heather plenty of time to ponder her dissatisfaction at the resolution of this case.
“What’s wrong? Amy asked.
“Nothing.” Except everything was wrong. Clarke as involved in this, she’d stake her donut-making reputation on it, and he’d managed to evade law enforcement again and get what he wanted.
Heather had met her match.
Chapter 18
Laughter traveled through the living room and into Eva’s kitchen, where Heather had set up camp beside Lilly. They’d insisted the ‘hosts’ of the housewarming party take a load off and Eva and Leila had been more than happy to do just that for once.
“Hon, will you take these out to the ladies?” Heather handed her Lils a plate of appetizers – mini pizzas, hot dogs and crab cakes – which they’d prepared at home with Ryan’s help.
He was the cook and Heather was the baker. Lilly, Dave, and Cupcake had assigned themselves to the troublemaker category.
“Sure,” Lilly said, and took the plate. “Everyone’s having a great time. Right?”
“Right,” Heather replied. “Are you?”
Lilly shrugged and headed for the door, just as Ryan entered. He smooshed past Lils and halted beside his wife, grinning from ear to ear. “Another successful week,” he said.
“If you say so,” Heather replied. “Hey, you don’t think that Lilly’s been a little distant lately, do you?”
“Maybe a little,” Ryan said. “But that’s probably because she’s almost entering the dreaded teen years. We’re in for slammed doors and tantrums soon.”
Heather huffed a sigh. “I guess. I guess. I just don’t want her to shut us out.”
“Would you quit worrying? You’ve been doing it all week.” Ryan slipped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Will the trucks arrive on time? Will we catch the killer? Will Poot stick around in Hillside and make our lives miserable?”
“Oh gosh, I hadn’t even considered the last one,” Heather said and focused on peeling potatoes for the main course. Amy had brought a roast chicken.
“I hate to you use slang that doesn’t suit my mouth,” Ryan said, “But you’ve got to take a chill pill, yo.”
Heather pinched his cheeks between her fingers and pecked him on the lips. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I feel I shouldn’t.” Ryan’s gaze ranged over the side of her face. “Something else is bothering you. I can tell.”
Heather put down a freshly peeled potato, then turned on the water. She washed the spud and didn’t answer.
Ryan leaned his chin on her shoulder. “Tell me.”
“I don’t think we put the right guy behind bars,” she said.
“The DNA was a match. The gum, the skin we found under Catherine’s fingernails –”
“Oh heavens. When you put it like that.”
“She fought him,” Ryan said, and his tone toughened up. “That’s the way I’d like to go. Fighting.”
An uneasy silence fell between them offset by another bout of hysterical laughter from the living room. Dave barked along with it. Cupcake kept her silence – she had a sonorous meow when she chose to employ it.
“I still don’t think we arrested the right guy.”
“But if the DNA is a match –”
“Clarke had something to do with it.”
“Heather.”
“You can call me crazy if you want. You can tell me the guy is a saint and how he’s provided countless jobs for Hillside’s unemployed,” Heather said and picked up the potato peeler again. “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s up to something. And that he was in on this.”
“There’s no proof of that.”
“So James, who just happens to work for Mr. Bigshot, also just happened to witness Mikey entering the building on the night of the murder?” Heather asked. “No. It’s too much of a coincidence. I’m sorry.”
Ryan kissed her shoulder, then straightened. “Do you need help with anything?”
“Nice topic change.”
“Honey, there’s no proof Clarke did anything and trust me when I say I’ve got my eye on him. I’ve read the same articles you have. I’ve been in contact with a couple cops in New York,” Ryan said. “I’ve got the situation under control, all right?”
Heather exhaled and picked up the next potato in the row.
“All right?”
Heather nodded at last and gazed out the kitchen window at the purple light blanketing the homes of the street. An innocent Hillside street. All she wanted was for it to stay that way.
“Mom, mom,” Lilly said, and danced up and down on the spot in the kitchen doorway. “Dave just ate half the pizzas. He ate them right up.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Heather dropped the spud and the peeler. She wrenched her apron off. She ran for the living room. But it was already too late. Dave the glutton had polished off the plate and lay belly up in the center of the living room, legs wiggling in the air.
“Oh for heaven’s sake.”
Leila and Eva were in stitches on the sofa. Amy wasn’t much better off in the armchair, Cupcake sandwiched between her chest and arms, tears streaming down her face.
“Dave, I can’t take you anywhere,” Heather said, and the first tickles of mirth started up in her chest.
The room was alive with laughter. Heather couldn’t stay worried with her friends and family giggling themselves sick. All she could do was enjoy this moment.
And that was exactly what she did.
THE END
A letter from the Author
To each and every one of my Amazing readers: I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think by leaving a review!
I’ll be releasing another installment in two weeks so to stay in the loop (and to get free books and other fancy stuff) Join my Book club.
Stay Curious,
Susan Gillard
Cherry Dream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 43 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Page 6
