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

by Susan Gillard

  Julia’s expression darkened. She pursed her lips and dropped her scrunched up napkin to the floor. “Pardon me?” Apparently, the grieving mother had a temper.

  “Amy’s asking how you keep your nails looking that fabulous, all the time,” Heather said.

  Julia’s anger evaporated, and she twiddled her manicure. “That’s the thing. I do my own nails. I taught Clarissa everything she knows – uh, knew.” The woman’s lower lip trembled. “I didn’t expect her to pick up and try to start a salon.”

  “She probably wanted to share the gift you’d given her,” Heather replied. She didn’t believe a word of that, but it had to be said. Julia James wanted her ego stoked. And if that was the way to get the answers and solve the case, then Heather would have to stoop to her level.

  “Perhaps. I wasn’t comfortable with it. And I became even more uncomfortable when people started talking about the salon as if it was the best. Gosh, Clarissa could barely handle her relationship with that other idiot, and she thought she could run a salon?”

  Not a particularly motherly thing to say.

  “Which idiot?” Amy asked.

  “That mean man. Lionel or whatever his name was. They knew each other since High School, but it didn’t work out,” Julia said, and her eyes lit up. “You should speak to him if you want to get to the bottom of this. He hated Cheeky after what she did to him.”

  “Wait, what did she do to him?” Heather asked.

  Amy strode forward and circled the sofa. She sat down beside her bestie and leaned in.

  Julia glanced from Amy to Heather. “She embarrassed him. Badly. He got down on one knee at the mall and –”

  “Hillside doesn’t have a mall,” Heather replied.

  “You’re kidding, right? Hillside Mall. Okay, it’s like a gathering of stores in one building, but it still counts as a mall.” Amy shook her head. “You need to get out of the donut store and into the sun, chica.”

  Heather nudged Amy but clamped her mouth shut.

  Julia edged forward, tears drying rapidly. “It was the talk of a town. I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it. He proposed in the middle of the mall, and Cheeky slapped him and told him to get lost, then ran off. She just left him there.”

  Heather grimaced. “That’s harsh.”

  “Yeah, so I wouldn’t put it past him. I never liked him much, anyway,” Julia said, then sniffed and folded her arms. “Tea?”

  “I’ll have to take a raincheck,” Heather replied, then rose from the sofa. Doubt and intrigue tumbled through her thoughts. “I have a test to study for.” If she could focus on it.

  “Yeah, and I’ve got donuts to deliver,” Amy added.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. James.”

  The middle-aged woman grunted and reached for a donut.

  Chapter 6

  Lilly lay down on the sofa and kicked her feet up. She held a tablet over her head, and tapped on the screen; earphones plugged into her ears and a grin on her face.

  The afternoon sun warmed the living room, and the silence enveloped Heather. A warm glove of comfort to help her settle into her studies. Except, she couldn’t settle.

  Heather shifted the book on her lap, then turned back two pages. She grabbed the pen and notepad from the sofa cushion beside her and scribbled a note on the top line.

  Dave yawned from his spot near Lilly’s feet.

  “No,” Lilly said, then burst out laughing, gaze glued to the screen of the tablet. “Oh no! Don’t do that.” Hysterical giggles bubbled from her lips, and she scrambled onto her knees on the sofa.

  “Lils,” Heather said, in a low groan – how was she supposed to focus?

  Lilly didn’t hear her. The girl laughed again, then squished around to face Heather and plucked the earphone from her ear. “Au-Heather, you’ve got to see this. It’s so funny I might just die.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Heather replied. She blew out a breath, then placed her books and pen aside. She rose and walked to the sofa opposite, patted Dave on the head once, then lowered herself to the cushions. “What is it?”

  “It’s these prank videos. You know, where they dress up as ghosts or hide in trash cans and scare people – oh wait, another one’s loading,” Lilly said, and her eyes glimmered that special Lilly brand excitement.

  “I hope Bill and Colleen put a child lock on this thing,” Heather replied. “Because YouTube isn’t exactly –”

  A new video popped up on the screen, and Lionel Janis’ face filled the frame.

  “No, this is lame,” Lilly said and shook her head. Her finger hovered on the ‘x’ in the corner of the pop-up. “I’ll find a better one.”

  “Hold it,” Heather whispered, and grabbed Lilly’s arm. “Lils, let me see that for a second.”

  The girl pulled the earphone jack out of the tablet, and the sound from the video blabbed out of the speakers on the back. Heather lifted the device from Lilly’s hands and placed it on her lap.

  “Who’s that?” Lilly asked. “Is it a suspect in your new case?”

  “None of your business, young lady,” Heather replied, in her best rendition of a ‘mom’ voice.

  “C’mooooon. You have to give me some details. I mean, I promise I won’t try to investigate it myself this time or –”

  “Or break curfew,” Heather replied. She tapped her finger on the pause button.

  Lilly hung her head. “It was just the one time.”

  “And the last time.” Heather pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. “Look, I don’t want to get a bad rep with your foster parents. Bill and Colleen already think I’m a bad influence on you.”

  “Puh-lease,” Lilly replied, and rolled her eyes. “The Foster Folks were the ones who invited that mean Elizabeth lady to stay over for the archery competition in the first place. And she was a horrible influence.”

  Heather glanced at the screen, then back up at Lilly’s imploring expression. “She’s gone now, right?”

  “Yeah, she left a couple of days ago. So, can I watch the video with you? Can I? Huh?” Lilly squished closer and narrowed her eyes at the tablet. “I might spot something you don’t.”

  Heather considered it for a second – Lilly was sharp as a tack, after all – but then shook her head. “Nope, I’m sorry, honey. You can’t watch this. Why don’t you take Dave into the kitchen? There are some Choc Pomegranate Glazes on the counter.”

  Lilly sighed, then shuffled off the edge of the sofa. Dave had already perked up at the mention of the word ‘donut’. She clicked her fingers at him, then dragged her feet from the room.

  Dave didn’t waste a second. He leaped from the cushions, landed in a scrabble of stubby claws, and motored out of the room, driven by unadulterated donut desire.

  Heather turned her attention back to the screen. She wriggled her lips, then tapped the play button.

  Lionel Janis’s lips writhed on the screen – a grin worthy of a horror movie – and he positioned the camera. “This,” he said, in a stage whisper, “Is the first of many pranks on my dear girlfriend, Clarissa. Everyone calls her Cheeky. Let’s find out if she can handle the heat in the kitchen.”

  “Terrible metaphor,” Heather muttered. How did the name Cheeky even correlate with heat in the kitchen?

  Lionel shuffled out of sight on the screen and treated Heather to a new view. A classy, white sofa and a Persian rug in a living room. Light streamed through the windows – too much glare to make out the scenery outside.

  Footsteps echoed in the video, followed by a distant slam of a door. “Honey? Are you home?” Cheeky’s voice sent chills up and down Heather’s spin.

  A message from beyond the grave.

  What if Lionel had done it, after all?

  “I’m in here, babe,” Lionel said and reappeared near the entrance to the living room. He grinned and glanced at the camera, then gave a tiny thumbs up.

  Cheeky strode into the room, and he dropped his arms to his sides. “What have you been up to all day?” She asked.
“I hope you did the washing up.”

  “Uh, I forgot,” he replied, then sucked in a deep breath. “But before you get angry about that, I just, we need to talk about something.”

  “What is it?” Clarissa placed her handbag on the sofa and turned back to her boyfriend – her then-boyfriend, to be exact. “Is everything okay? Is it about college? Did they call with the –”

  “No,” Lionel replied, swiftly, and slashed his hand through the air. “This is about us.”

  And then Lionel dropped to one knee in front of Cheeky.

  “What? Lionel, are you serious?” Clarissa’s tone squeaked through the speakers on the tablet.

  Heather held it dead still.

  “Cheeky, I love you, but I have to know one thing,” he said and lifted a small box from his pocket. Velvet lined, black, just as classy as the rest of the setting.

  “What is it?” Cheeky asked, eyelids aflutter and her palm pressed to the left side of her chest.

  “Will you,” Lionel said, then flipped open the lid of the box, “please stop leaving fake nails around the house?”

  The camera was too far from the box, but Heather could just make out the white outline of a fake nail ensconced in velvet cushion.

  Clarissa’s cheeks flushed red. She stared at Lionel, her chest rising and falling. Deep, angry breaths.

  “Oh boy,” Heather whispered. “This won’t end well.”

  “It’s over,” Clarissa said, and then she knocked the box from Lionel’s fingertips. “Take your books, your lame video games and your attitude and get out of my house.”

  Lionel’s grin faltered. “Cheeky, c’mon, it’s just a prank. See? There’s the camera.” He pointed at the ‘hidden’ camera.

  Cheeky’s gaze didn’t falter. “I said, get out. Now. I never want to see you again.” And then she turned on her heel and marched from the living room. Lionel’s jaw dropped. He balled his hands into fists. He shuffled to his feet, then brushed off his jeans.

  “I guess that’s it,” he said.

  And maybe it was.

  Chapter 7

  Dave wobbled down the sidewalk, his girth swishing from side to side. Heather had let him have more than his allotted share of weekly donuts, and that meant more doggy fat and whining during their walks.

  Dave looked back at her and groaned, as if on cue.

  “Relax, Dave, just be happy I’m not making you walk twice as much this week,” Heather replied.

  He whined but placed his nose to the sidewalk again. Sniff, sniff, all the interesting flavors of Hillside’s passersby.

  “He can’t help himself. Do you blame him?” Amy asked, and took the leash from Heather’s hand. “Your donuts are delicious. It’s taken me weeks of solid effort at the gym to keep off the pounds. I’d be the size of a truck by now if it weren't for that.”

  “It’s not my fault you’re addicted to the crispy dough and sweet glaze.”

  “Actually, that’s exactly whose fault it is, Heather Shepherd,” Ames replied, and wriggled her eyebrows. “On a lighter note – are we going to his house or Sough Bosque?”

  “Interviewing a murder suspect is the lighter note in this conversation?” Heather asked.

  “That’s how addictive your donuts are,” Amy replied. “Seriously, though. We’re taking a different route. Dave’s exhausted, and I know it’s only a Tuesday but –”

  “And the complaints abound,” Heather replied, then chuckled. “We’re going directly to Mr. Janis’ apartment.”

  “He has a sabbatical apartment? I would’ve figured he’d live with his momma,” Amy said, then adjusted her grip on Dave’s leash. “Aren’t college kids s’posed to live off their parents while they make a nuisance of themselves in their hometowns?”

  “His mother’s paying for the place. That’s straight from Sharon Janis’ mouth,” Heather said.

  “A not so tactful evasion of the term ‘horse’s mouth.' So, he’s living on his mother’s dime, and he likes pulling pranks on unsuspecting folks,” Amy replied. “Childish, possibly narcissistic. The profile of a killer?”

  Heather turned the corner and strode down the street. Trees peered between houses, from front yards, and beside the lampposts. This was the quieter area of town – Old Church Row.

  “We can’t be sure about that. How do you know he’s a narc?” Heather asked.

  “Because only a narcissist would think it’s okay to play a proposal prank on his hard-working, entrepreneurial girlfriend.” Amy paused and eyed out the gate opposite them. Her jaw dropped. “Is that –?”

  “Old Church Graveyard,” Heather replied.

  Texas Redbud trees waggled their vibrant foliage, above the wrought iron fence. Tombstones peered out from between the rungs. Grass poked at their corners. Not a bird chirped in the muggy afternoon.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Amy whispered. “Look, I love you, Heather, I do, but I’ve got my limitations.”

  “You weren’t freaked out by the hundreds of rats, but a bunch of tombstones freak you out?” Heather asked, and popped her hip.

  “It’s not the tombstones that worry me,” Amy whispered. “It’s what’s under them.”

  Heather burst out laughing – a sharp snort of mirth. “Would you relax? You sound like a Halloween movie gone wrong. We’re not going anywhere near the graveyard, anyway. Lionel’s apartment is just around the corner.”

  Amy stared at the fences, trees and what lay beyond. Dave sat down on her foot, and she flinched. “Fine, but don’t even think of taking me near that thing. There’s just something about it. Just the, ugh, the history going on there, you know?”

  “C’mon you big baby, let’s go interview our man,” Heather replied.

  She set off walking, and Amy followed immediately. Dave yelped a complaint at the speed of their pace, but Heather didn’t slow down.

  She’d phoned ahead to Mudd at South Bosque, and he’d told her the ‘young whippersnapper’s’ shift started an hour from now. That was as long as they had to corner him alone and get some real evidence out of him.

  He’d never asked Cheeky to marry him, for real. Somehow, Julia James had confused the prank with the truth.

  Heather stopped on the corner, then pointed to the grouping of apartment buildings across the street. She hummed Baby One More Time by Britney Spears.

  “Staaaap,” Amy said, and poked her in the ribs.

  Heather’s grin spread, then disappeared. Her eyes widened. She grabbed the front of Amy’s cotton shirt and dragged her into the meager shadows of the building. “Look,” she whispered.

  “Who’s that?” Amy asked.

  “The lamp,” Heather replied.

  “Huh?” Amy frowned, but the wrinkles disappeared a second later. “Oh, the cousin. What’s her name?”

  “Samantha James.”

  Cheeky’s cousin hurried down the front stairs of Lionel’s apartment building, her thumbnail in her mouth. She bit on it, then switched to her index finger. She checked the road, left and right, then crossed.

  “Oh, she’s coming this way,” Amy said and turned on the spot. She crashed into Heather and Dave yapped a bark.

  “This way,” Heather whispered. She tugged on Amy’s arm and skipped over a fence which led into the front yard of a two-story home. Amy followed a second later, Dave firmly lodged in her arms.

  They slammed themselves up against the side of the building and peeked around the brick wall.

  Samantha James shuffled down the sidewalk, gaze darting from side-to-side. She switched between nails fast, gnawing at an incredible speed, then stopped and checked the road was clear again.

  She crossed to the graveyard.

  “No, no,” Amy whispered. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  Heather sighed, then raised her hand and shielded her gaze. “Yeah, she’s going in.”

  The iron gates squeaked on their hinges, and Samantha James, the unassuming cousin, shuffled into the graveyard proper. She walked between the tombstones, touching her
fingers to the cool tops.

  Then stopped beneath a tree and rested her back against it. She stared out at the morbid view.

  “What are the odds?” Amy whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Heather replied. “But it looks like we might have to pay a visit to the Old Church Graveyard, after all.”

  “Dreams really do come true.” Amy gulped.

  Chapter 8

  Lionel Janis stood framed in the doorway, one hand frozen on the doorknob. His mouth wavered between open and closed. “What do you want?” He asked, then jerked his polo shirt straight.

  “I’ll tell you what I want,” Amy sang, then coughed into her fist. “What I really, really want.”

  “Why are you singing?” Lionel asked.

  “It’s the Spice Girls,” she replied. “90s classic?”

  Lionel shook his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Seriously? What are they teaching kids in college nowadays?” Amy asked.

  “Probably not anything Spice Girls related,” Heather replied, then turned back to Lionel.

  The young man grasped the doorjamb and dug his stubby fingernails into the wood. The image of him on his knees with a velvet box in his grasp popped into Heather’s mind.

  “I said, what do you want, Grandma?” Lionel asked.

  “Oh no, he didn’t,” Amy whispered.

  Heather inhaled through her nose, held it for four counts, then exhaled through her mouth. “Lionel, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Really? Because the last time you tried to interview me or whatever it was, I almost got fired.” Lionel wrenched his hand from the doorjamb, and the other one from the brass knob then folded his arms.

  “That wasn’t our fault,” Amy replied. “You pranked Mudd.”

  Lionel rolled his eyes, then tapped his sneaker on the wooden boards. “I don’t have time for this. I spoke to the cops. I gave my evidence. I loved Cheeky, and she’s gone. What more is there to it? Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  He grabbed the door and swung it.

  Heather stepped her foot across the threshold, and the wood slammed into her toe. She resisted the urge to groan. Dave barked from the safety of Amy’s arms – he didn’t take kindly to his owner in harm’s way.