Lemon Chiffon Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 8

by Susan Gillard

  “Remind me why we don’t just call the police and have her arrested right away?” Amy asked, peering up and down the corridor to check the coast was clear. Cheesy Augustin was tucked away in his office, but they didn’t trust that he wouldn’t pop up out of nowhere.

  He seemed to have a nose for illegalities in the Saint James.

  “Because we have no real link between Lori and the bottle.”

  “But she dropped it outside the hotel, remember?” Amy tapped her temple.

  Heather frowned at her. “And did you actually see her drop it?”

  “No, but –”

  “Then there’s no proof that she actually did drop it, given the fact that it’s highly unlikely she squirted cyanide on her face, now that we know it’s not a bottle of fake tears.” Heather had tucked the cyanide bottle into her pocket, and this time she’d managed to procure a pair of latex gloves from a drug store in the center of France.

  She snapped them on and flexed her fingers. “I’m not going to break any chains of evidence, this time.”

  “But we are breaking and entering.” Amy pointed out.

  Heather ignored her, and they crept down the hall, towards Lori’s door. They stopped in front of it, and Heather tried the handle. No luck. It was locked tight, and they didn’t have the key this time.

  “I bet I could ram it open,” Heather said, lowering her voice.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not even a little bit. You didn’t hear about what happened with Gary Larkin’s door? I turned it into fire wood.” Heather chuckled. “I’m good at two things, donuts and breaking down doors.”

  “I suppose there are worse talents than that,” Amy replied.

  “Stand back.”

  Amy backed away and Heather took two measured steps from the door. She braced herself and ran at it, then slammed into it with her arm.

  This door was remarkably sturdy in comparison to Gary Larkin’s. It still caved inwards.

  “One more try,” Heather said, and backed up again. She ran at it and hit it broad side.

  The door cracked inwards and bounced against the wall behind it.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure Lepeu heard that.”

  “Yeah, we don’t have much time,” Heather said, and they hurried into the hotel room.

  The same opulent decorations adorned this bedroom. Rich red sheets, white goose-feather stuffed pillows, and the lanterns on the wooden desk in the corner.

  “I’ve got the bathroom,” Amy said, snapping on a pair of gloves.

  Heather walked to the desk and wrenched the top drawer open, nothing but a few papers. She narrowed her eyes and checked the next drawer. A journal was tucked into the darkest corner, leather-bound and heavy with secrets.

  Heather took it out and flipped it open to a recent date.

  June 10, 2016 read:

  She’s taking everything that I love and I’ll make her pay for it. She’ll regret it.

  Heather flipped further back in the book, the pages brushing against her gloved fingertips, and her jaw dropped.

  Bear never sees me. Only her. He won’t love me, no matter how hard I try to get his attention. He only has eyes for Jane. I’ve told Jane that I’ll expose her relationship to her husband if she doesn’t break it off with him.

  “No,” Heather whispered. She placed the spine of the book on the top of the desk and flicked forward again, to the morning of Jane’s death, June 12, 2016.

  He still loves her. She did what I told her, but he still loves her. I’ll just have to take her right out of the way. Right out of his mind.

  The entries stopped after that. Heather almost put her hand to her mouth, but managed to stop herself before it happened.

  Amy stepped out of the bathroom, and lifted another bottle between her thumb and index finger. “Guess what I found. What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I know why she did it, and it’s not what we thought.” Heather said, then beckoned to her bestie. “You have got to see this.”

  “See what?” Augustin Pepe Lepeu strode into the hotel room, his lips puckered to express his permanent state of being: disdain.

  “We’ve found Jane’s killer, Monsieur Lepeu,” Heather said, gesturing to the diary, and then to the cyanide bottle. “Would you call the police and ask them to come down and look at the evidence? I’m afraid they’ll have an arrest to make.”

  Augustin eyed the broken door and grunted. “I should call them and have you both arrested for damaging my hotel.”

  “Did you not just hear what she said? Lori is the killer. She needs to be arrested, right away.” Amy marched up to the cheesy fellow and looked him dead in the eye. “Or are you prepared to allow a murderer to prance around in your beloved Saint James?”

  Augustin considered her, his beady eyes searching her face. “Bien, I will call the police, but I suggest you two leave this room at once. Miss Lisalot shall return shortly. She informed me she had only gone to get another pack of those disgusting cigarettes.”

  The maître d’hôtel shuddered delicately, dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, then strode from the room.

  “I thought he’d have us arrested for sure,” Heather said, then sighed. “You really won’t believe this, Ames.” She flicked through the pages of the diary. “We thought she wanted to get rid of Jane because she wanted her job, boy, were we wrong. It looks like she was in love with Bear Trapp, all along.”

  “Uh, Heather.”

  “Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but you should read some of this stuff.” Heather stopped on a page near the center and traced her finger across the pen marks on the page.

  “Heather,” Amy said, and something in her tone trembled.

  “What is it?” She turned to her bestie and froze.

  Lori Lisalot stood in the doorway.

  Chapter 17

  “Don’t even think about it,” Heather said, immediately. She snatched the journal off the desk and flapped it around. “We’ve got all the evidence we need to see you put away for a very long time, Lori.”

  Amy slowly backed away from the killer and towards Heather. She bumped hips with her best friend then stood dead still, excuse the horrible pun.

  “And I’ve got the murder weapon,” Amy said, holding up the cyanide again. To her credit, she didn’t waggle it. Probably wasn’t a good idea to shake the bottle of poison around too much.

  Lori was glued to the spot, staring at them in total disbelief. “How did you get in here?” She asked, then glanced at the broken door. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead, just below her hairline. “You don’t understand.”

  “We understand very well,” Heather replied, without a hint of sympathy. “We know why you did it and how you did it, Lori.”

  “I couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t look at me. No one would look at me!” Lori thundered.

  The murderess stormed into the room and both women flinched and took a step back.

  But Lori didn’t pay any attention to them. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes off her bedside table, flipped it open, and then took out a cigarette. She inserted it between her lips, brought out her lighter and clicked the flint frantically.

  The lighter didn’t take.

  “These are non-smoking rooms,” Heather said, lamely.

  Lori snatched the smoke from between her lips and gestured with it. “You sound like Jane.”

  “How so?” Heather asked. Amy trembled beside her, and she touched her friend lightly on the wrist. Amy definitely wasn’t accustomed to confronting murderers.

  How had it come to this? This was the second time she’d come face to face with a crazy person in last few weeks.

  “I went to Jane the night before your engagement party to speak to her about Bear. She told me she’d told him she didn’t want anything else and I was relieved. He’d be free to be mine, at last. He’d finally see that I was the one he was meant to be with,” Lori said, finally flicking the lighter to life.

  The fla
me hovered in front of her face. She lit the cigarette and inhaled.

  “I had a smoke in celebration. Just because, and Jane got angry with me for daring to smoke in her presence. Ha!” Lori puffed out a cloud of smoke. “She’s quiet now, isn’t she?”

  “I guess you could say that.” Heather glanced at the open doorway behind Lori.

  Lori followed her gaze, then looked back at her. “Oh no, no, no. You’re not going anywhere. You and your little friend and going to take a nice deep drink from that bottle.”

  “Nope,” Amy said, “not doing that.”

  “Neither of us are, so you can let go of that crazy notion, right away.” Heather tucked the journal against her chest and held it there.

  Had Augustin called the police? What if he’d decided they were up to no good and decided to forget about the whole thing, instead? No, if anything, Augustin would call the cops on them the minute he got the chance.

  Either way, they had to be on route to the hotel.

  All she had to do was keep Lori in the room for long enough.

  “You will do as I say,” Lori said. She took another drag and exhaled. “You will.”

  “For what reason? You definitely can’t make us. I hate to burst your bubble, Lori, but it’s over.” Heather kept her voice calm. She didn’t want to antagonize Lori into running, because the minute she heard sirens or footsteps, she’d dart off into the unknown.

  “I –”

  “I was serious when I said I was glad you came to my wedding,” Heather said, and put up a smile. “I know we never got to know each other in high school, and maybe that was a bad thing. I can’t help but think I could’ve helped you.”

  “Helped me?”

  Oops, that’d been the wrong thing to say.

  “Yes, I – uh, um,” Heather replied.

  “Say something clever,” Amy whispered, and nudged her.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying. It’s not exactly easy.” Heather hissed in return.

  Lori watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean you would’ve helped me?” She ruffled her hair and pulled out a few of the strands.

  “I thought you were good at this,” Amy murmured.

  “I’d be better if you stopped interrupting my thought process!”

  Lori slammed her fist against the wall, then winced and brought it back to her chest. “Ouch, that hurt.”

  “Sorry about that,” Heather replied.

  “Why would you have helped me?”

  Heather tilted her head to one side, listening hard. Relief unlocked in her chest and she exhaled slowly, counting to three in her mind.

  “Because you’re crazy. You killed a person in cold blood, because you didn’t get enough attention. I assume you had a rough childhood and I would’ve liked to help you out and show you that you can’t base your self-esteem off another person’s perception of you.”

  Lori took a step back. The cigarette dropped from her mouth. “How dare you! I’m not – I wouldn’t – I have never,” she stammered.

  Finally, Piti Brodoteau rushed into the bedroom. He took in the scene in one fell swoop, then grasped Lori by the shoulder, spun her around and clipped her in handcuffs.

  The rest of the arrest passed in a blur. Augustin came in and lamented about the cigarette burning a hole in the carpet. Ryan found them both, since he’d gone to find Kent at the airport that morning and bring him back to the hotel, and folded Heather into a hug.

  Lori was dragged from the room, yelling out foul words.

  And then it was over.

  Finally, Jane Duvall’s killer had been brought to justice.

  Chapter 18

  Heather sat beside her husband and held his hand. The tables and chairs which had been arranged in the gardens of the Saint James, were filled with their guests, all happy and smiling at last.

  “I can’t believe it,” Heather whispered, “we’re finally married.”

  “Finally,” he replied, and pecked her on the cheek.

  After everything they’d been through in the past weeks, after waiting months longer than they should have, the day had finally arrived.

  They’d said their vows in front of their friends. Dave had carried the rings in a pouch sown into his doggy tuxedo. And now, the day was over and they were married and at their wedding reception.

  Augustin Pepe Lepeu hovered by the door which led into the hotel, nostrils flaring as if he smelled a rat.

  “Perhaps it’s his cheesy cologne,” Amy said, on her left side. She glared at Augustin, shaking her head. “He really doesn’t know when to give up, does he?

  “Oh well, he won’t have to, soon enough. Only a few days and we’ll be out of here.”

  “I can’t believe this is finally over,” Amy said, then dabbed at her eyes. “I’m going to mess up my mascara because of you.” She laughed and half-sobbed. “You’re married.”

  Ryan grabbed Heather and kissed her cheek again, smiling as wide as his mouth would allow.

  Kent appeared at the end of the gardens. He hurried between the tables and took his seat beside Amy, huffing and puffing. “Guess what I found out?”

  “What?” Heather and Amy asked, in unison.

  “They’ve got more than enough evidence to convict Lori and put her away for a really, really long time. It’s over.” Kent sat back in his chair.

  “That’s awesome,” Amy said.

  Heather agreed, but she’d known it was over the minute they’d found the cyanide. It’d only been a matter of time.

  A chorus of cheers and laughter rang out.

  Heather grinned and sat forward in her chair.

  The ‘cake’ had arrived. A few of the chefs rolled it out atop a steel table, covered in a floor-length white tablecloth. On the platter sat a tier upon tier of Lemon Chiffon crueller donuts, decorated with poison free icing and the flowers made from fondant.

  The fondant flowers had been the final touch from the chefs at the Saint James Hotel. There wasn’t a chance Heather would’ve been able to manufacture anything as elegant as that.

  Heather and Ryan rose from their seats and walked to the ‘cake’, arm in arm.

  “Are you ready to eat icing, Detective?” Heather asked, and grinned because she knew he’d probably try to get icing on her nose while feeding her.

  “You bet,” Ryan replied.

  They stopped in front of the donut tower and faced each other.

  “What are you waiting for?” Amy called, from her seat at the head table.

  Heather snatched a donut off the stack and shoved it towards Ryan’s mouth. Half of the icing smeared his lips, and the rest went down the hatch. He chewed noisily and the crowd broke out another round of applause.

  Ryan laughed and jabbed a donut at her. She got icing on her nose, as predicted, but the crueller crunch was more than enough of a consolation.

  The icing was light, lemony and creamy.

  “Oh, I have to make these in Donut Delights,” Heather side, swiping the frosting off her nose and eating that too, because why not? This was her special day.

  Dave barked at her ankles, dancing around the white flared chiffon layers of her strapless wedding dress.

  “All right, all right,” Heather said, “but just this once. You need to go on a diet, Dave.” Heather broke off a piece of donut and gave it to her doggy dearest.

  He gobbled it up with legitimate piggy snorting noises.

  “He’s incorrigible,” Heather said, then laughed because nothing could make this day better than it already was.

  Her wedding day.

  Ryan swept her into an embrace and planted a kiss on her lips. “Today is the first day of the rest of our lives.”

  “As long as the rest of our lives takes place in Hillside, I’m happy. I’ve had enough of Paris to last me that very same lifetime.” She glanced up at the Saint James, a truly gorgeous hotel and setting, and a pang of nostalgia twisted in her tummy. “Although, I suppose I will miss this place. You know, this is the first
mystery you and I have worked on together.”

  “I know, it was wonderful. Are you sure you won’t consider a career in law enforcement?” Ryan asked, squeezing her tight and staring deep into her eyes. Waiters walked by, picking donuts off the tiers and delivering them to the guests on plain white, porcelain plates.

  “I’m absolutely positive. Donuts are what I do. I don’t think I’d be able to handle just investigating full time. Too time consuming.” Heather grabbed another donut and munched on it. “Besides,” she said, gesturing with the treat, “What would you do without my donuts?”

  “A cop without a donut? I might just lose my mind,” Ryan replied.

  “Finally, somebody makes the joke other than me.”

  They laughed together this time, because today was a day of chuckles, nudges and winks, then they walked back to the table and took their seats.

  Amy and Kent were on the dance floor, slow dancing to a delicate French song.

  Many of the other guests had joined them.

  Heather and Ryan sat back, chewing on donuts and telling each other jokes, the same jokes they’d tell each other for years to come.

  “I’m so ready to pack up and get back to Donut Delights,” Heather said, straightening in her chair. “I’m sure Dave is too.”

  “Really? You’re ready to rush back home already?” Ryan frowned, and licked a bit of frosting off his bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  Ryan removed two pieces of paper from his jacket pocket and placed them flat on the table.

  “Because we’re about ready to set off on our honeymoon,” he said, and winked at her.

  She grabbed the plane tickets and examined them, then let out a girlish squeal of delight. Dave barked in response.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. We’re going to Cape Town, South Africa.”

  THE END

  A letter from the Author

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