Chocolate Pomegranate Glaze Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 18

by Susan Gillard

  Eva wrinkled her already wrinkly forehead. “Then what is?”

  Heather lifted a finger and then jabbed it in the direction of the street. “That. That shouldn’t be happening.”

  Eva swiveled in her chair to get a better view. Amy barged out of the kitchen and strode up to Heather. “Did you notice?”

  “We’re lookin at them, right now,” Heather replied.

  A line of women stretched across the sidewalk. A few of them teetered on the edge, a step from the black macadam of the road.

  “Where’s that line coming from?” Eva asked.

  Heather sighed, then chewed the corner of her lip. “Cheeky’s Nails.”

  “But I thought the poor dear was murdered,” Eva replied. She picked up her donut, then took a dainty bite. Apparently, she’d become accustomed to the murders too.

  That was the hazard of Heather’s friendship.

  “She is,” Amy said, then grimaced. “Ugh, Heather, we’re out of organic pomegranate juice. Ken is just freaking out because he wants a spare donut batch for photos for the website.”

  Ken popped his head out of the kitchen. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just saying, if we want to sell more of these, we’re going to need to make a spare batch and if we don’t have the juice for the glaze then –”

  “All right, all right,” Heather replied, then waved at the two of them. “Eva, I’m going to have to leave you to your donut and coffee. I need to run to the store for this.”

  “Not a problem, dear. I’ll be here until that horrible banging and slamming starts up again,” Eva replied, then took another bite of her donut. The chocolate base crunched.

  Heather had been determined to produce the crispiest chocolate base for her donuts this time around. No creamy filling, just crunchy, rich chocolate doughnut with the tang of the pomegranate glaze – twice dipped, of course.

  “I could come with you,” Amy said.

  “No, you stay here and make sure Ken doesn’t have a breakdown over film or something,” Heather replied.

  Ken snorted. “Hello, it’s a digital camera. Welcome to the 21st Century.”

  “Hey you,” Amy said, and narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t happen to see what happened to the last of the cinnamon crunch waffle topping, did you?”

  Ken put his palms in the air. “I deny all allegations.”

  Heather walked to the door and chuckled. She could count on her friends – she couldn’t classify them as assistants – to lift her mood each day. Heather snatched her purse off a table near the door, then headed for the exit.

  The bell tinkled, the door slammed behind her, and she was out in the sunshine, gaze fixed on the row of women milling around. A shriek sounded from their midst.

  “What on earth?” Heather whispered. Good thing the organic fruit and veg market was just around the corner – and in the same direction as Cheeky’s Nails.

  “Get away,” a woman keened.

  Heather hurried toward the crowd, her low-slung heels clicking on the sidewalk. She’d forgotten to untie her apron, and the straps dug into her back, chafing her skin against the cotton of her blouse.

  She dabbed at the sweat on her forehead.

  “I said get away from here, you vultures. Get away!”

  Heather pushed through the crowds and to the front of Cheeky’s salon. She halted and readjusted her bag, then glanced around the space.

  A woman kneeled in front of the store and clung to the door. Her eyes were wide, frantic even, and searched the crowds. She picked out a face, stared, then moved on to the next one.

  “What’s happening?” Heather asked.

  A young lady shifted beside her. “It’s supposed to be the opening today. That’s what it said in the paper. It was postponed yesterday, so today is the opening.”

  “What?” That wasn’t possible. “It’s not going to open. Cheeky’s dead.”

  Ryan had finished his investigation in the salon the day before, the police line had come down, but that didn’t mean –

  “Leave,” the woman in front of the door stammered, then reached up and grabbed two handfuls of hair. “Leave, right now!”

  Heather strode to the middle-aged woman, then crouched beside her. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

  The woman turned her sallow-eyed expression on Heather. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Heather Shepherd. I own the donut store down the road. Who are you?”

  Tears spilled from the corners of the woman’s eyes. She grasped Heather’s forearm and stared up into her face. “Julia James. My daughter is dead. Someone killed my daughter.”

  Heather nodded. “I know. I know this must be terrible for you, Mrs. James, but you need to come with me. You’re upsetting yourself by staying here.”

  Julia gulped and licked her parched lips.

  “Come on,” Heather said. “Let me take you to Donut Delights. You can have something to eat and drink for the shock.” She helped the woman to her feet, then patted her on the arm. “Everything is going to be all right. This way now.”

  The crowds parted, and the women walked between the warm bodies and cold hearts.

  Julia’s gaze flitted back and forth. “Nothing will be all right. She’s gone.”

  Heather patted the woman on the arm. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m going to find out who did this to her.”

  Chapter 4

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ryan asked, then chased a stray blob of salsa with his nacho chip.

  “I wish,” Heather replied. “Worst say ever. I finally get the organic pomegranate juice, after dropping the hysterical woman off at the store, then get back find the construction has started back up and Julia has miraculously disappeared.”

  Ryan grunted and chomped on his chip. He tapped his knuckles on the red tablecloth and bobbed his head in time to the Gypsy Kings. The low music swirled through the interior of their favorite Mexican restaurant, Dos Chicos.

  “Maybe disappeared is the wrong word to use here,” Heather said. She sipped her water and the lemon touched her top lip. She grimaced and put the glass on the table. “She left. Eva took her home. But I didn’t get a chance to interview her. She’s my first real lead and –”

  “Your first real? I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Ryan replied, then winked at her.

  “Only a few more days and you won’t have to pretend anymore,” Heather said. “If I pass my test, that is.”

  Ryan ate another chip and chewed, then tapped the side of his nose. A blob of guacamole smeared from his finger and onto the skin. “You’ll pass, my love. No question. You have enough field expertise, after all. Besides, it’s a good thing you didn’t interview Mrs. James. She was too emotional.”

  Heather picked up her knife and fork, then cut into her beef strip enchilada. She didn’t want to think about the test at the moment. She needed to study, but the more she dwelled on it, the worse the bubbling nerves in the pit of her stomach, well… bubbled.

  Music tinkled, and the clink of knives and forks, the chatter of the other diners, lulled Heather into serenity again. She focused on the zippy flavor of the salsa.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about the case, yet,” Ryan said, and gestured with a nacho chip. Cheese dripped over the side. “I’ve got some interesting information.”

  “I’ve been a little distracted.”

  “Finding a body will do that to you,” Ryan replied, and inhaled the chip. Apparently, bodies and murders didn’t affect his appetite at all.

  “So, what can you tell me?” Heather asked. She switched her sleuthin’ gene to ‘on’ and placed her fork and knife on either side of her plate.

  “We found a torn nail on the scene. Bright purple.”

  “Wow, I’m glad I stopped eating,” Heather said, and pulled a face.

  “No, no, not like that. This was one of those acrylic nails. Like the stick on kind? I don’t know what they’re called. It had a bit of blood on it as if it had been t
orn off, but it didn’t belong to the vic.”

  “Oh,” Heather said, then readjusted her cutlery. “That is interesting. Did you get a DNA sample?”

  “Negative. The DNA was compromised because of the nail glue. No viable results from the lab and they worked over time to get it to us,” Ryan said.

  Heather chewed her bottom lip. “So, the murderer was female.”

  “Or a man with a fabulous manicure,” her husband said, and twiddled his fingers at her. “Kidding, the nail was way too small to belong to a man.”

  Heather bobbed her head up and down. “All right. That narrows it down a little. Though, can we really confirm that the nail actually dropped off at the time of the murder?”

  “Yeah, that’s the tricky part. We did find traces of ballistics powder on the nail, but to be fair, it was all over the vic, too. And I mean, all over. On her hands too.”

  Heather scratched her forehead and frowned. “But that would mean –”

  “Yeah, either that she had a gun too – which we didn’t find – or that she’d held the same gun the killer had at some point. The spray of bullets was specific though. One warning shot to the roof, and then the killing blow. Two slugs.”

  Heather jerked back in her seat, then took another sip of her water. It didn’t provide any clarity.

  “You see the puzzle?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah. The victim had gunpowder on her hands. She’d have had to fire the weapon for that.”

  “Right, but we only found two bullet holes, both aimed at the vic rather than away from her,” Ryan said.

  “Puzzler,” Heather whispered. “So, the main suspect would be –”

  “A gun-toting woman.”

  “With fantastic nails,” Heather replied.

  “Less fantastic now that she’s lost one.” Ryan dipped another chip in salsa and gobbled it down. “But here’s the kicker. The gun was a Smith and Wesson Model 29 Classic.”

  “I’d have to ask Amy about that.”

  Ryan laughed. “She would know, wouldn’t she? Let me save you the trouble. That gun is hefty. It’d take a practiced shooter to fire it.”

  “So, just ask Bally Bob about it,” Heather replied. She blushed and patted her cheeks to cover it. Amy’s ridiculous nickname for her friend was to blame, of course.

  “Bally Bob? You mean Ballistic at the gun store?” Ryan asked. “Yeah, already did. He hasn’t had anyone purchase it from him. And no one on the range firing either.”

  Heather sat back and folded her arms. “Then I’m stumped. I’ll need more evidence.”

  “You and me both, hon.” Ryan grinned and tapped the patch of guacamole on the side of his nose again. “Don’t you worry, babe. I’m on the case.”

  “You and me both, hon,” Heather replied.

  Their laughter lifted to the ceiling and scoured the worry from Heather’s heart.

  Chapter 5

  Heather knocked on the front door of the low-slung brick home, then adjusted her grip on the Donut Delights box. Half a dozen homemade choc pomegranates for the grieving mother.

  She’d called in with the order and wept on the phone.

  “This feels weird,” Amy said. “She’s ordering donuts, right after her daughter’s death? That seems a little weird to me.”

  “Ames, life doesn’t stop moving. People need comfort in some form. Maybe donuts are what does it for Julia.” Heather shrugged. “Anyway, it’s the perfect opportunity to –”

  The front door of the house creaked inward, and Heather and Amy snapped their attention back to it. Heather plastered up her customer smile – it was genuine, she did love her customers, but today was different.

  Julia James peered out at them, her eyes ringed by dark circles. “Hi, oh, I didn’t expect you to come yourself,” she said, then squinted out at the bright sky. She gathered her robe around herself. “Don’t you have a delivery person?”

  “Yeah, me,” Amy said and stuck up her hand.

  “But I wanted to check in on you.” Heather smiled and presented the box. “I was worried after the other day.”

  Julia smashed tears off her cheeks and gave the women a watery grin. “Thank you, that’s so sweet of you.” She reached out and took the box.

  Both Amy and Heather glared at her nails. Nope, not a hint of a lost one. Just a clean, French manicure.

  Julia cleared her throat. “Would you two like to come inside and have a cup of tea? I’ve quit coffee since the – since her –”

  Heather averted her eyes from Julian’s nails and focused on the woman’s weepy expression instead. “Yeah, thank you. That would be wonderful.”

  Julia shuffled back inside, and the donuts bumped against the card of the box.

  “Well, that was awkward,” Amy whispered. “She totally caught us glaring at her nails.”

  Heather snorted, then swallowed it. She followed Mrs. James into the interior of her home. The strong scent of eucalyptus oil choked her nostrils, and she waved a hand in front of her face.

  Her eyes watered, and she coughed.

  “Is it too much for you?” Julia asked and stopped just inside her living room. She pointed to a pale, green ceramic oil burner on the table. “I usually use lavender oil to de-stress, but I ran out.”

  Amy hacked a cough into her fist. “No,” she said, in a strangled voice. “It’s not too strong. It’s just the right amount of nose-hair searing agony I enjoy.”

  Julia placed the donut box on the coffee table, then leaned in and blew out the candle at the base of the oil burner. “I’ll make the tea. You two make yourselves comfortable.” Then she turned and shuffled out of the room. Her slippers slapped on the carpet.

  Heather puffed out her cheeks. “She seems –”

  “Hello,” Amy said and stared at the lamp in the corner.

  “What are you doing?” Heather asked. She glanced at the lamp, then squinted. “Have you finally lost your mind, Ames?”

  The lamp shifted and stepped out of the corner. Heather’s stomach jolted as if she’d just jumped off a cliff. “Whoa!”

  “Sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She was probably about Cheeky’s age – or rather, the age Cheeky had been – in her twenties, and she wore a ridiculous black hat, which covered the top half of her face.

  Sure, that part kinda looked like a lampshade, but not so much the jeans and black shirt.

  “I think I need to get my eyes checked,” Heather mumbled.

  “Who are you?” Amy asked, then flashed Heather a grin.

  “Samantha,” the woman said – her soft voice barely audible over the crashing in the kitchen and the hum of the kettle.

  “You’re Cheeky’s cousin, aren’t you?” Heather asked. She stepped up to the sofa, then lowered herself to the cushion. “Are you going to join us for tea?”

  The woman clasped her hands to her stomach. “No.”

  Heather narrowed her eyes at Samantha’s nails. Stubby, not manicured, nothing missing. Shoot, maybe the whole ‘search for a nail’ thing wasn’t the best lead.

  “We brought donuts,” Heather said.

  But Samantha turned and hurried off without a word. Her long dark hair swished against her shirt, and then she was gone.

  “Well,” Amy said, “that was like trying to coax a timid bunny out of its hole.”

  “If bunnies bite their nails to the quick, maybe. Did you see that?” Heather asked. She crossed her legs and stared around the room. A portrait of Julia as a young woman hung on the wall. And another next to that, and another.

  Pictures upon pictures of the woman in different fashionable clothes and poses. Had she been a model?

  Julia hurried into the room, a tray bobbing in her hands. She placed it on the coffee table, beside the oil burner, then gave them a weak smile. “Please, help yourselves. To the donuts as well.”

  Amy hurried forward, then popped the lid off the box and helped herself to a choc pomegranate glazed. She took a bite and retreated to
her standing position near the entrance. “Feel like walking around a bit,” she said, between chews.

  “Mrs. James,” Heather said, and didn’t lean in to take the tea. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Unless, she counted thirsty for the truth. “I need to ask you a few questions about your daughter. I understand this is a tough time for you, but I’m working to find out what happened to her, and your cooperation would be greatly appreciated.”

  Julia picked up a napkin from the corner of the table. She dabbed at her eyes. “Are you with the police?”

  “They wish.” Amy snorted, then coughed and swallowed hard. She patted her chest, and donut crumbs tumbled to the carpet. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m not with the police. I investigate in my personal capacity because I feel it’s the right thing to do. Cheeky seemed like a wonderful woman, and I was excited to get to know her better,” Heather said, then dipped her head.

  “She was the best,” Julia said, then dabbed at her nose instead. “And yeah, I’ll answer your questions.” She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know if you saw anything suspicious in the week leading up to the, uh, incident,” Heather replied.

  Julia scrunched up the napkin in her palms and shook her head. “No. My daughter and I spent some time together, but not a lot. Honestly, I think she was jealous of my past achievements, and that caused a rift between us.”

  Amy burst into another coughing fit. No doubt she’d choked down a sarcastic retort.

  “Tell me about your achievements, Mrs. James.” Heather unfolded her legs and crossed her ankles instead.

  “I was a model. World renowned actually. Maybe not one of your trashy lingerie or swimsuit models, ugh, but a real fashion diva,” Julia said, and gestured to the pictures on the wall. “Clarissa hated it. She hated everything about it, which was why I was so surprised when she decided to go ahead and open a nail salon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, a nail salon.” Julia twiddled her manicured fingernails. “That’s in my area of expertise.”

  Amy coughed again. “Because you change nails as often as you change your outfits?” Oh, the woman just couldn’t resist a jibe, could she?