Coconut Frosted & Murder

by Susan Gillard

  “So, you’d be celebrating notcelebrating spring break?” Amy asked.

  “That’s right,” said Mary.

  “Good luck with that,” Amy scoffed.

  “We’ll be looking into this alibi,” Ryan said.

  “Please do,” said Mary. “And then you’ll see that I couldn’t have had anything to do with this awful matter.”

  “We’ll check and see,” said Ryan. “This is a very serious matter. A man is dead because of the fire.”

  “Do what you have to do,” Mary said. “But there’s no reason that the mayor has to know about any of this, does he? I just got upset and wrote a little letter. He doesn’t need to know that, right?”

  “Our main concern right now is the fire and the murder,” Ryan said.

  “Thank you.”

  "But, Mrs. Sanchez," said Heather. "Don't send any more threats. To anyone."

  “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson.”

  Heather eyed her. Was she being honest with them? Had she really learned her lesson? Did she really have nothing to do with the fire?

  MAKING MOVES

  Did I mention that you’re the best friend ever?”

  “I think you did the first time we moved this giant thing,” Heather said.

  The two friends finished taking Amy's sculpture out of the car and were catching their breath.

  “Donut break?” Amy suggested.

  Heather relented. She couldn't say no to one of her donuts, and a Coconut Frosted one would really hit the spot after all their heavy lifting. Kendall had called and asked them to deliver the statue that day. They chewed on the donuts and looked around at the sculpture garden outside of the art studio.

  “I think your sculpture is going to look really great out here,” Heather said.

  “I think so, too,” Amy said. “And the other artists who work here and the people who take classes will all get to see it. I’m just a little disappointed because I was looking forward to being in a gallery again. Not just for the champagne and the party, but for the feeling of knowing that my art was there.”

  “It will happen again,” Heather said. “You’re very talented.”

  “You’re my best friend. You have to say that.”

  “You’re my best friend, too. Does that mean that I can’t take your compliments about my donuts seriously?”

  "I would never lie about donuts!"

  “Did somebody say donuts?” Kendall asked, joining them.

  Heather smiled and handed her a Coconut Frosted snack.

  “I’m not always a fan of coconut flavor because it can taste artificial,” Kendall said. “But this is amazing.”

  “They always are,” said Amy. “And I’m not just saying that because she’s my bestie.”

  Kendall finished her donut quickly and then said, “After your donut break, I’ll show you where I think the perfect spot for your sculpture would be.”

  “Thanks,” Amy said. “I appreciate your showcasing it.”

  "It's a great piece, and I'm happy to."

  “I was feeling bummed because I wasn’t able to be a part of the gallery exhibit. I know there are much bigger fish to fry because of the reasons there wasn’t a showing, but I was a little sad. I know you weren’t sure about the exhibit in general. You thought my being a part of it was brave.”

  “It’s just that L’artiste Andrews causes controversy wherever he goes,” said Kendall. “I thought there might be protesters here like there were at his last exhibit and I thought that might be intimidating for your first gallery showing here.”

  Heather listened to the conversation with mounting interest. She had always liked Kendall, but it was mostly because of how supportive she had been of Amy’s artistic endeavors. Was it possible that Kendall had taken action against the gallery to protect Amy’s reputation as an artist? In order to stop her from being associated with L’artiste Andrews’s work, had she started the fire?

  Heather shook her head. She was starting to see suspects everywhere. She needed to think clearly about this before she accused a friend of committing arson and murder. They had seen Kendall at the studio before they left to go to the gallery. Kendall said she had come from lunch and was holding a sandwich bag. If Kendall had really just come from lunch, then she couldn’t have set the fire.

  “I should have realized that because you chase after killers all the time, you wouldn’t be intimidated by some protesters,” said Kendall. “Your art is great, and I never meant to make you doubt that.”

  “Thanks,” Amy said. “And I guess I should be glad that we didn’t bring my sculpture over earlier. Then it would have been destroyed in the fire too.”

  “That must be such a terrible feeling for an artist. To have the pieces you worked so hard on be destroyed in flames. I feel bad for L’artiste Andrews,” Kendall said. “But, I think he’s at the point in his career where he would have insurance on all his art. Monetarily, he should be all right.”

  “What was that about insurance?” Heather asked.

  “Just that I’m sure L’artiste Andrews had insurance on his art,” said Kendall. “I know you can’t put a price on something one of a kind, and we must all feel like our art is priceless, but at least he should get some money for his work even if they were burned.”

  “If his art was causing controversy, it’s possible that their monetary value might change,” Heather said, thinking aloud. “Could it be possible that he would make more money from an insurance payout than he would by showing and selling the pieces?”

  “It’s possible,” Kendall said, frowning. “But would an artist really do that to their own work?”

  "I think it's about time we talk to L’artiste Andrews and find out,” Heather said.

  “But first, you are going to help me move the statue, right?”

  "Yes. Of course," Heather said. Though in all honesty, in her excitementshe had forgotten about the statue. "And just to clear my peace of mind, I think we should stop at a sandwich shop on our way to see the artist."

  “You’re still hungry after all those donuts?” Amy asked.

  “Something like that,” Heather said.

  L’ARTISTE ANDREWS

  Heather sighed as she tried to eat some of the sandwich that she’d insisted they buy. She didn't want to admit to Amy that she had considered Kendall a suspect, especially when the employees at the sandwich shop backed up her alibi. She had told them that Kendall had recommended the place, and they gladly told her about the last time Kendall was in the shop. Kendall couldn't have made it to the gallery to set the timer and then grab a sandwich at the time they said.

  “What’s wrong?” Amy asked. She was keeping her eyes on the road as she drove them to meet L’artiste Andrews, but still managed to see that something was bothering her friend.

  “I’m just thinking about alibis,” Heather admitted. “Whenever we have a good suspect, it seems like they have a solid alibi.”

  “Except Jim Malkin,” said Amy.

  “That’s true. We don’t know what he was up to that morning. But the other suspects have alibis. Mrs. Norwauld was with her lawyer, and Ryan said that Teresa Hart backed up Mary Sanchez’s alibi. It looks like she only wrote the threatening letter and didn’t carry out the threat. Ryan is looking into whether anyone saw the assistant Tina on her run, but one person did confirm seeing her on the other side of the island that afternoon.”

  “Maybe L’artiste Andrews won’t have a solid alibi,” said Amy. “Maybe he’s our killer.”

  “It could be,” Heather said. “If he made money from insuring his art, then he might have set a fire to destroy it and cash in.”

  “But it also made him a murderer,” Amy said, angrily.

  They continued driving until they reached L’artiste Andrews’s studio. It was located on a neighboring island, but it took quite a while to reach him. It was over an hour before they pulled up in front of his private studio. It was an all-white building with the only splash of color being a sign p
roclaiming his name above the door.

  They walked up to the door, but it opened before they could enter. A man in a suit and a man who had to be L’artiste Andrews came out of the building. The second man was dressed all in white but was wearing rose-colored glasses. Half of his head was shaved, revealing a tattoo of the infinity sign.

  “Thank you, Mr. Goya. You’re the best lawyer I could ever ask for.”

  “Mr. Goya?” Heather asked. “Are you Jason Goya?”

  “That’s right,” the man said, straightening his tie. “Do I know you?”

  “We’re assisting the Key West police on the arson and murder case at the Norwauld Gallery. Your name came up during one of our interviews. Nadine Norwauld said that she was with you the afternoon that the fire occurred.”

  “Yes. That’s right,” Jason Goya said. “We were updating her will. She wanted to include her sister’s children in it.”

  “You must be Amy and Heather,” L’artiste Andrews said, pulling them in close for a hug. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Jason Goya said. “I’ll keep you up to date on any developments.”

  “Thank you,” L’artiste Andrews said, before showing the women inside. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  Heather felt strange because she wasn’t sure what in the room was a chair and what was a piece of modern art. She decided to stand.

  “How long have you known Jason Goya?” Heather asked to cover his discomfort over the seating.

  “About a year. He’s helped me with some legal issues over my art in the past, and he’s assisting me with the insurance money on the art now.”

  “Was there a good amount of insurance on the art pieces?” asked Heather.

  “I should say so,” he replied. “They were masterpieces and worth a great deal.”

  “So, you’ll be coming into money now that they were destroyed?” she prompted.

  “My dear woman, I will be getting a check to cover some of the value of my destroyed work, but nothing can truly replace them.” He turned to Amy. “You’re an artist, right?”

  “Yes. I was going to have my first Key West showing at the gallery the night your exhibit premiered, too.”

  “An even greater tragedy then,” he said, throwing his arms back. “Surely you can understand that money cannot replace great art.”

  "I think you're right," Amy said. "As long as someone's plan wasn't to destroy them for insurance money all along. Or if he wasn't afraid that his newest work might derail their career."

  “Neither is the case for me. A few close-minded people were upset about the nudity in my work, but overall, it was being well-received. This series of paintings might have been my best work yet. I am devastated that they are gone.”

  “But you are moving on and trying to seek the insurance money on them?” asked Heather. “That’s why Jason Goya was here?”

  "Yes. I'd rather have the paintings, but money is better than nothing. It's going to be quite a process to get the money though. I'm rather certain it's also dependent upon how your case progresses. The insurance company wants to make sure that nothing is intentional or that sort of thing. I don't know how so many people could consider me as a suspect in destroying my work. My art is like my children to me."

  “Who do you think might have done this?” Heather asked.

  “I assume it had to have been one of those people who didn’t understand what I was doing with my art. They couldn’t bear to be enlightened. Some people look at my paintings, but they don’t really see them. I hoped them being at that gallery would allow more people to see the work. Unfortunately, the only person to see them must have been the person who destroyed them.”

  “Did you receive any threats?” asked Heather.

  "I don't know. I stopped reading any mail where I didn't recognize the sender, and I have an unlisted, private phone number. Neither the threats nor the praise was helping me with my work. They were both distractions."

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing the praise myself,” said Amy.

  “Mr. Andrews,” Heather began.

  “Please. Call me L’artiste.”

  “Where were you on Saturday afternoon?”

  “I was preparing for my gallery exhibit opening. I spoke to a local reporter around eleven, and then I was selecting my outfit and calling friends to make sure they would attend the event. That is until I heard about the fire. Then I stayed home and began to weep."

  “Do you have that reporter’s name?”

  “I think I have her card somewhere,” he said. He looked at an exotic furniture piece that only loosely resembled a desk, but found the card and handed it to Heather.

  She asked a few more questions, and Amy spoke to him about art. Then they began the long drive home. Heather called the reporter on her cell phone, and L’artiste Andrews’s alibi was confirmed. With this distance to drive, there was no way he could have gotten from the studio after the interview to the gallery to set the fire in time.

  It had been a wasted trip.

  COSTUME TALK

  Heather returned to Donut Delights and found solace in the kitchen. It was nearing closing time, so Heather knew that the donuts she baked would probably end up being taken home by her employees, but she didn’t care. She needed to focus on the sweet recipes and forget about the case for a moment. Things weren’t adding up in her investigation correctly, but it felt nice to remember that just the right amount of flour and sugar could create a mouth-watering donut.

  “I think I will need some of those donuts for the counter display,” Janae said. “Fire Frank and Detective Peters are trying to outbuy one another. I think they’re trying to impress me by showing how they provide snacks for the Fire Department and Police Force, but they’re just coming off as rather competitive.”

  “Relax for a moment and have a donut yourself before you go out there,” Heather suggested. “I’m sure Luz can handle the other customers at this slow time of day by herself.”

  “Thanks,” Janae said, leaning on the counter and taking a relaxing breath.

  “Do you have any plans tonight?”

  "No. I'm leading a bike tour tomorrow night, but I'm free tonight," Janae said, selecting a donut. "Part of me would like to go on a date with one of the two nice young men trying to impress me. But the other part of me is just so exhausted from dealing with the two of them trying to show one another up. I think I'll just go home, watch something funny on TV, and get some sleep."

  “Add in a few donuts and it sounds like a perfect night,” said Heather.

  Digby entered the room, looking disgruntled.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Heather. “Is it Fire Frank and Detective Peters?”

  “No,” Digby moaned. “I checked my phone after I took out the garbage. I got a message from the costumer from my show. They need a particular costume for me and what they have at the theater isn't my size. They're going to have to order it from a specialty costume shop on the island."

  “Isn’t that nice though?” Janae asked. “They’re going to special order something for you.”

  “I guess when you put it like that, it’s something nice,” Digby said, starting to warm to the idea. “I was focusing on how they didn’t already have my size. I’m a nice, normal size.”

  An idea occurred to Heather, and she interrupted Digby's thoughts about his costume size. "Digby, are there many costume shops on the island?"

  “Around Halloween time more pop up,” he said. “But year-round, there’s really only one. Buttons and Bangles Costume Shop.”

  “So, if you wanted a special costume, then you’d have to go there?”

  "Or order it online," Digby said, shrugging. "But if you want to try things on along the way, local is the way to go."

  “Is this important?” asked Janae. “Did we just give you a clue about the case?”

  “I’m not sure exactly if it relates,” said Heather. “But I think this might be where someone could g
et a shark suit!”

  BUTTONS AND BANGLES COSTUME SHOP was filled with interesting and vintage clothes on racks. Part of the store also looked like it was used for sewing. There were many pictures on the walls so customers could indicate what they were looking for in their design.

  “Buying or renting?” a singsong voice called out. “Or simply looking?”

  “We’d like to ask the owner some questions,” Heather said.

  “Though part of me wants to look around some more,” Amy said. “These costumes are great. I’d love to add some of them to my wardrobe. I don’t know how often I need to dress up like a royal queen, but I’d look amazing in that dress.”

  A woman with wispy hair pulled back behind a jester’s hat emerged from behind a rack of poodle skirts.

  “I can help. I’m the owner, Imelda Rask.”

  “I’m Heather Shepherd, and this is Amy Givens. We’re private investigators working with the Key West Police.”

  “Oh dear,” Imelda said. “Did someone use one of my costumes to commit a crime? I hoped they were being used for lovely parties or exciting theater productions.”

  “I don’t think they were used for a crime,” Heather assured her. “But we are looking into a suspect’s past crime to see if it relates to the current one we’re investigating.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Do you keep records of your sales?”

  Imelda bit her lip. "If people buy one of my costumes, I only have a record if they use a credit card. For rentals, I have more information about customers because I want to see items returned in the same condition that they were taken out in. Of course, I do have wonderful records for special orders placed."

  “Could we be lucky enough that it was a special order?” Amy asked.

  “We’re looking for a shark costume that might have been ordered here from a Jim Malkin.”

  “Yes,” Imelda said, smiling. “I can find that. It was a special order.”