Passion Fruit Punch Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 34

by Susan Gillard

  “It’s fine,” Heather said and plucked the photo from Hilda’s grasp. “We’ll leave. But don’t go anywhere Miss Groats. I have a feeling the police will want to talk to you, soon enough.”

  Chapter 15

  Heather and Ames chased the sunset through the Hillside streets. The smells of cooking drifted from the homes on either side of them, and Dave whined intermittently.

  “Almost home, Davey boy,” Heather said. Cupcake had fallen asleep in her arms.

  Truthfully, she hadn’t expected their walk to run this long. She’d wanted to chat to Gertrude and hurry on home to her husband and darling daughter, but the case had had other plans.

  “Never a dull moment,” Amy said. “It’s been a while since I’ve said that. I just thought I’d reiterate. There’s never a dull moment when you’re around, Heather.” Dave whined to add his opinion to the statement.

  “Ganging up on me as usual,” Heather said.

  They strolled down the road which led past Freddy Mars’ home. Heather hadn’t chosen the path to check out another lead, but rather because it was the quickest one to the house.

  “You staying for dinner?” Heather asked.

  Ames shrugged. “I would, but I – uh, I have a date. It’s Friday. Jamie said he wants to try dancing at Dos Chicos.”

  “That’s awesome,” Heather replied. “I wouldn’t have the confidence to dance in front of all those people.”

  “Don’t jinx me. I’m already worried I’ll make a total fool out of myself.” Amy crossed her fingers to ward off the evil of foolishness and tugged on the end of Dave’s leash.

  He barked at her.

  “Oh relax. I was –”

  Dave barked again. A warning bark, not one of discomfort.

  Voices mingled with the cooking smells. Shouts which sent thrills of alarm up Heather’s spine. An argument.

  Right outside Freddy Mars’ house.

  “What now?” Amy groaned and pressed her fist to her heart. “I can’t take another minute of this.”

  “You hang back here,” Heather said. “Hold Cupcake.”

  “Nope,” Amy replied. “I’m not falling for that one again.”

  Heather rolled her eyes and kept the kitten clasped to her chest. She strode toward the two figures, shrouded in the purple dusk which had dusted the streets. Lamps clicked on nearby, and the nearest one cast a circle of light on the sidewalk outside Freddy’s house.

  Col Owen stood in front of it, his fists on his hips, staring down the grumpy neighbor in his cast, Julian Dunkle.

  “You’re crazy, you old coot!” Col said.

  “Don’t you call me crazy. I’m not the one who’s sneaking around the homes of the deceased,” Dunkle growled the reply.

  Heather stopped short of the two men and hovered outside the vignette of light.

  “I’m not sneaking anywhere. I was fetching my mail!” Col said, and brandished a fistful of envelopes.

  “Your mail?” Dunkle asked, and tottered forward a step. “Your mail? We both know that comes from Freddy’s mailbox.”

  “You are losing it,” Col said and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Col?” Mona called from the porch of the Owen house. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine, darlin’,” he said.

  “Ah ha! There’s your accomplice. The two of you killed him together.” Dunkle gestured with his cast. “I know you did it. I can’t believe I’m living next to two murderers. I’m calling the cops on you.”

  “This is insanity,” Col said. “How do I know you didn’t kill him? When did you break your arm?”

  “I – fell,” Dunkle said. His gaze darted past Col’s shoulder and latched onto Heather, shrouded by the dim light.

  She hugged Cupcake a little tighter. “Enough,” she said.

  Both men faced her, Col with relief and Dunkle with a hint of something else. Was it suspicion which clouded him and brought on the frown?

  “You’re disturbing the peace out here. This is not the place to discuss these kinds of things. Neither of you is at liberty to interfere with an ongoing investigation, either,” Heather said. “I suggest you go back to your own homes, quietly.”

  “Or what?” Dunkle asked.

  Col took a step back, toward Mona and the wooden front porch of his home.

  “Or I’ll call my husband, Detective Shepherd, and he can interview you both, himself. Preferably at the station.” Heather ran the back of her index finger down Cupcake’s spine. The cat purred, softly.

  Julian Dunkle huffed and puffed himself blue in the face. “Liars. You’re all murdering liars,” he said, and spittle flew from his lips. “Especially you, Shepherd.”

  That was uncalled for.

  Dunkle spun on his greasy heel and charged off toward his home, wheezing all the way.

  “Nice guy,” Heather muttered.

  “You have no idea,” Col said. “I’m glad you came along when you did. That guy knows exactly how to get my blood pressure up. He’s always accusing me of things.”

  “Such as?” Heather asked.

  “Stealing his mail. Or rifling through his trash cans,” Col said, and a hint of a smile teased his lips. “Gosh, just about everything you can imagine. He even came by the Tea Shop to accuse me of watching him in his own home. I explained I’d been in the shop all day, but he didn’t buy a word of it.”

  “Sounds like a serious case of paranoia,” Heather said.

  “Yeah. I overreacted, I know, but it’s difficult living next to someone who’s unstable,” Col said and shrugged.

  “Col? Dinner’s ready.” Mona hovered in the doorframe which led into Col’s home. Lights shone from the windows and cast dark crosshairs on the porch.

  “Coming, gorgeous,” he said. “Good evening, Mrs. Shepherd.”

  “And to you, Col.” But this had been far from it. Every event that day had dragged Heather in one direction, and then in an entirely different one.

  What did it all mean?

  Chapter 16

  Heather’s mind wouldn’t rest.

  She tapped her heels on the boards beneath her desk. She drummed her fingers on either side of her laptop.

  “Not right,” she said.

  The altercation between Col and Dunkle the night before had spurred on a new train of thought in her mind. She’d been unable to think of anything but the two of them since it’d happened.

  Dunkle accused Col of many things, some of them outrageous. Heather couldn’t bring herself to believe Col had spied on the man.

  Which left one option. Dunkle had lied. But why? What did he serve to gain out of accusing Col of a number of unlikely crimes?

  And what had Col said about Dunkle’s broken arm? He’d asked when the man had broken it.

  Heather dragged her tote bag into her lap. She swiveled in her chair, toward the window in her office at Donut Delights, and drew the cell phone out. She’d seen one other person talking to Julian Dunkle in the past week.

  She dialed the number for Hillside Regional, then pressed the phone to her ear.

  Two rings and then… “Hillside Regional, how may I help you?”

  Oh great, Jessica the receptionist.

  “Hi, I’d like to speak with Doctor Reynolds. It’s an emergency.”

  “I’m afraid the Doctor –”

  Not this time! “This is Heather Shepherd with the Hillside Police Department. Put me through to Doctor Reynolds at once.”

  Jessica sniffed. The receiver creaked. “Just one moment please.” A merry tune whistled through the cell, and Heather held it away from her head.

  “Heaven’s sake,” she said. At least, the unfriendly woman had put her through this time. Perhaps, Doctor Reynolds had spoken to her after their last visit to the hospital.

  The music cut out, and Heather put the phone to her ear again. “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Doctor Reynolds speaking,” he said.

  “Hi, doc, sorry to bother you at the hospital,” she replied.
“This is Heather Shepherd. I’ve got a few questions about one of your patients.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Shepherd. How may I help?” The click of his pen ticked through the phone.

  “Is Mr. Julian Dunkle one of your patients?” Heather asked.

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry, that’s the last person I expected you to ask me about,” Doctor Reynolds said and chuckled. His warm laughter heartened Heather. “I assumed this was about your case.”

  “It is,” Heather replied.

  “The Freddy Mars case?”

  “Yes,” Heather said and swiveled back to her desk. She grabbed a pen from her holder and clicked it open. The cap fell to the floor. She scribbled aimlessly on her desk pad – her default drawing: a donut.

  “All right. What would you like to know?” Doctor Reynolds asked. “Since this relates to the case, I should be able to disclose most of the information you need. Is Mr. Dunkle a suspect?”

  “He may well be,” Heather replied. “Doctor Reynolds, when did Julian Dunkle come to you for the treatment of his broken arm?”

  “He doesn’t have a broken arm,” the doc replied. “He’s got a broken hand. Hairline fractures. He says he fell from his porch.” A hint of cynicism entered the doctor’s tone.

  “And you don’t believe that’s true.”

  “No, I don’t. I didn’t question him, though. I didn’t want to pry into his life. He’s sensitive enough as it is, already. Mr. Dunkle doesn’t trust easily,” Doctor Reynolds replied.

  “Why is that?”

  The doctor fell silent, and Heather took the chance to color in the glaze on her doodle donut.

  “Mr. Dunkle is schizophrenic,” Reynolds said, at last.

  “Oh?” Heather stopped drawing. That explained the paranoia.

  “Yes, he’s a paranoid schizophrenic. There are a lot of misconception about the disorder. He was on antipsychotics to deal with the effects.”

  “And he stayed on the drugs?” Heather asked. She wasn’t a professional on the topic, but one of Amy’s aunts had had the disorder, and she’d frequently dropped off her medication.

  “I’m not sure. I can check that for you, though. I know he complained that the meds made him feel hazy. He didn’t like that,” Reynolds said.

  “How did Dunkle’s schizophrenia present? Delusions of grandeur?”

  “Quite the opposite. Dunkle thought everyone was out to get him. He was referred to the local psychiatric ward because he accosted the mailman for depositing mail into his mailbox.”

  “But he never grew violent?” Heather asked.

  “Not according to my records.” Reynolds sat down in his chair on the other end of the line. The leather squeaked. “Mrs. Shepherd, may I phone you back in a few minutes? I want to call the pharmacist and check whether he’s been to pick up his prescription.”

  “Sure,” Heather said. “Talk soon.” She clicked off the line and held onto the phone.

  The puzzle pieces of the case wiggled toward each other and squeezed into place. Dunkle was paranoid. He’d spied on Gertrude and Freddy. He’d complained about loud noises. He’d accused Col of spying on him, and he’d been obsessed with his mailbox.

  And there was the broken hand.

  Dunkle had lied about how it’d happened, and even his doctor thought so.

  Heather’s phone rang and she swiped her thumb across the screen. She placed it against her ear. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Shepherd,” Reynolds said, out of breath. “I’ve just spoken with the pharmacy. Apparently, Mr. Dunkle didn’t pick up last week’s prescription, or the three before that.”

  “Wait, is that enough time for the antipsychotic effect of his meds to wear off?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, they have a half-life of one to two days. If they’re not administered constantly, the therapeutic effects wear off quickly.” Reynolds swallowed. “Mrs. Shepherd, you don’t think Dunkle might have –”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m going to need you to contact the psychiatric ward. I’ll call the police,” Heather said. The pieces all fit.

  This might be a huge mistake on her part, but Dunkle had to go back on his meds, even if he hadn’t murdered Freddy Mars.

  “You can count on me, Mrs. Shepherd,” Reynolds said.

  “Tell them to head over to Dunkle’s home and wait for the police to arrive. I’ll meet them there. Thanks, Doctor,” Heather said. She hung up without waiting for his reply.

  She had to trust he’d do the right thing. Heather scrolled through her contacts and found her husband’s number.

  Heather had passed the phase where she went into a dangerous situation without backup. And, unfortunately, this might just be one of those dangerous situations.

  Chapter 17

  Ryan exited the car first, his hand on the gun in its holster at his side.

  Heather huffed out a sigh and got out a second later.

  Two men in scrubs approached them from a van across the road. They nodded to Ryan and then to Heather.

  “You my back up for this?” Ryan asked.

  “Basically,” said the short guy on the right.

  Heather massaged her right shoulder with her hand. She’d dreaded this all the way over. Usually, she became caught up in discovering the motivation for murder, and putting the accused behind bars, but not this time.

  Freddy Mars had been the victim, but wasn’t Dunkle rightfully one too?

  Though, it had been his choice to go off his meds.

  “I think you’d better stay out here for now,” Heather said. “We can’t be certain how he’ll react when he sees you.”

  Both the nurses nodded. They’d done this before. “Just holler if you need us. We have sedatives, should Dunkle get out of hand.”

  Heather winced. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need them.

  Ryan and Heather walked up the short path to the front stairs. Ryan tapped her on the shoulder once. “Are you sure about this, hon?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m perfectly safe with you,” she replied.

  “It’s not the safety part I’m worried about. I know this is going to upset you, even if you don’t want it to.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Heather said and raised her hand to knock.

  The front door swung inward before she could contact the wood.

  “What do you want, you –” Dunkle cut off the minute he caught sight of Ryan.

  “Mr. Dunkle, I’m Detective Shepherd,” he said. “We’d like to talk with you, for a few moments.”

  “He was murdering people, and he was going to murder me next!” Dunkle said, and folded his free arm against the one in its sling. “I swear. I saw him creeping around my house.”

  “Are you talking about Freddy Mars?” Heather asked, softly.

  Dunkle squeezed his eyes closed and nodded.

  “And you were afraid of him?”

  “Yes, I was afraid.” Dunkle gulped and bobbed his chin up and down. His shoulder length hair swayed.

  “What happened that night?” Heather asked. She didn’t have to specify which night. Dunkle would understand what she meant.

  “I heard shouting. Lots of shouting. First, there was the shouting early at night and then later. I knew he would come for me soon. I heard him knock over my trash can,” Dunkle said. “I had to stop him before he got me too.”

  “You went to his house,” Ryan said.

  “Yes. His front door was unlocked because he’d been sneaking around outside my house, trying to murder me. I went in, and he screamed at me. He told me he was going to kill me and then he turned his back on me.”

  “You hit him?”

  “I punched him, and it broke my hand. But he fell. He didn’t die. He didn’t. I ran away.” Dunkle bowed his head. “I ran away, and he was fine the next day. Someone else killed him.”

  Heather sighed. Why hadn’t Freddy reported the incident? Perhaps, he’d known about his neighbor’s delusions and give him a break. A break that ended in poor Freddy’s death.

  “Mr. Dunkle,
I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me, now,” Ryan said.

  “No. Why should I? You want to kill me too.” Dunkle moved to close the door, but Ryan pushed his foot in the way and blocked it.

  Ugh, this was the part Heather couldn’t handle. She turned and hurried back down the stairs.

  The two nurses started forward and rushed past her, toward the commotion on the porch.

  All of this could’ve been prevented if Mr. Dunkle had taken his meds. Heather walked back to the cruiser, opened the passenger side door, then slipped inside. She couldn’t shake the melancholy which consumed her.

  If only Dunkle had stayed on his meds. If only Freddy had kept his door locked. None of this would’ve happened.

  “The past is the past,” Heather said, under her breath. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms to dismiss a headache which gathered behind them.

  Minutes passed. Heather kept her eyes shut and rested in the car.

  Finally, the door opened, and Ryan’s cologne preceded him into the interior. “He’s in the van,” Ryan said. “I’m not putting him in the jail, tonight. He needs to go back on his meds.”

  “But he’ll be arraigned for the murder.”

  “A judge will identify whether he was insane at the time of the attack, or not. They’ll take it from here,” Ryan said.

  Heather opened her eyes and met her husband’s gaze. “And that’s that?”

  “That’s that. Another case solved.” He didn’t sound all too happy about it either. “Come on, hon. Let’s go back home. I’m sure your assistants can handle closing up the store for today. I’ll fix us a cup of hot chocolate to combat the blues, and we can fetch Lils from Eva’s.”

  Some of the stress lifted from Heather’s shoulders. She’d done her best. The truth had come out, even if it was which affected more than just the case.

  “That sounds great,” Heather said.

  Ryan started the car, and they cruised down the road, away from Freddy Mar’s empty home.

  Chapter 18

  “My name is Nicolas,” the boy said, and stuck out his grubby little palm. Dave hopped around his knees in the garden of the Hillside Children’s Shelter.