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

by Susan Gillard

  A part of her didn’t want to face him.

  “Are you sure about this?” Amy asked. “We could go back to the bakery and feast on donuts instead. Put in enough calories to up our dress sizes.”

  “No. He’s the only one who could have the answers. This is the only way to –”

  The door creaked open and stopped. Silence, then scraping, a clank.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello,” Lionel said, and his nose appeared in the crack between the door and the frame. “It’s night time. What are you doing here?”

  “Lionel, I know we didn’t get off to a great start,” Heather said.

  Amy tilted her head to one side and frowned at the tip of Lionel’s nose. “You okay, there, buddy? Only, we can’t see more than the tip of your greasy nose, and it’s kinda starting to freak me out, here.”

  “Greasy!”

  Heather rolled her eyes and nudged Amy for the twentieth time that week. “She means like John Travolta, from Grease.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Amy breathed.

  “Really? Come on, the iconic Travolta nose?” Heather scratched her temple, then flapped her free hand. “Never mind.”

  “He’s gone,” Amy said, loudly.

  The tip of Lionel’s nose had disappeared from the gap. “In here,” he called out. “You can come inside.”

  “Ominous.” Amy folded her arms. “I’m not sure I want to, now.”

  Heather squared her shoulders, then marched to the door. No use putting this off. Whatever mood had taken temperamental Lionel, it couldn’t be a pleasant one.

  Heather opened the door and –

  Cold water splashed onto her head. A bucket dropped on top of her, bounced off her shoulder then hit the floor.

  She spluttered, her hair pressed flat against her forehead, and blinked water. “What the –?”

  “Got you!” Lionel yelled. He laughed and doubled over to grip his stomach. “Priceless. You fell for the old bucket of water on the door trick.”

  “Are you insane?” Amy asked, and stepped up beside Heather. “You could’ve hurt her. Heck, you could’ve killed her!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Lionel replied.

  Heather took her tote off her shoulder and held it out at arm’s length. Amy accepted the bag, then opened it and rifled through her belongings.

  “You had better hope that my phone is fine, Lionel Janis,” Heather said, in her stern ‘mom’ voice. “Because if it’s not, I will be calling your mother for a reimbursement.”

  “What, I, uh –” Lionel opened and closed his mouth.

  She’d let this guy get in her head? Unbelievable.

  “It’s fine,” Amy said and held up the smartphone. “But your purse isn’t looking great.”

  Heather rolled up her sodden sleeves and glared at him. “Lionel,” she said.

  “All right, I’m sorry. It was just a harmless prank, okay?”

  “Your pranks are never harmless,” Heather replied. “I know about the proposal, Lionel. I know it was a fake out.”

  “So? Everyone knows that” he said, and shrugged his shoulders. “I even put it on YouTube. Nobody cares.”

  “Julia James cares.” Heather dragged her hair out of her eyes, then looked around for a towel. None in evidence. “She told me that you’re the main suspect because you had a reason to be angry at Cheeky. Thanks to your proposal stunt.”

  “What?!” Lionel thundered. He paced toward her but backed off at her fierce gaze.

  “That’s right. You’re a suspect. And you’d better start talking, or it’s only going to get worse for you. I’m the only one who can get you out of this. Not that I should.” Heather lifted her arms, then grabbed the top half of her sleeve and squeezed. Water dribbled to the wooden boards.

  “I didn’t kill Cheeky. I’m just a regular guy. Sure, I mess up from time to time but not like that. I mean, I loved her. Even if I did act like a bit of an idiot sometimes, I truly loved her. Cheeky was special. She was –”

  “Save it for the judge,” Amy said.

  “Ooh, nice timing,” Heather whispered.

  Amy tipped an invisible cap.

  “I didn’t do it.” Lionel clasped his hands in front of his stomach. “I didn’t.”

  “What can you tell me?” Heather asked. “Tell me something, anything that will lead me to the truth, Lionel. I want to help you, I do.”

  “Samantha’s been asking about Cheeky’s salon lately. She’s talked a lot about nails. She comes to see me a lot. She’s just moved in downstairs,” he said, and it came out in a stream of nerves and energy.

  “Samantha moved out of Julia’s place?” Heather asked.

  Amy snorted. “She probably got tired of the Milan stories.”

  “Yeah, she got in some big fight with Julia, and she moved out right afterward. I don’t know anything else. I swear,” Lionel said, and raised his palms above his head.

  “Dude, chill.” Amy slung Heather’s bag over her shoulder, then grimaced at the wetness against her blouse. “We’re not the cops.”

  “Then what are you? What is this?”

  Heather glanced at Amy, then shrugged. She looked back at the college kid. “It’s the beginning of the end for Cheeky’s murderer.”

  Lionel’s cheeks turned deathly white.

  Chapter 15

  Heather traipsed down the stairs in Lionel’s apartment building. Water dripped to the beige carpeting, and she shivered.

  “You don’t want to get cleaned up first?” Amy asked.

  “And miss all the fun?” Heather chuckled, but it turned into another shudder. “No, I really do, but we’re in the building, and Samantha is right downstairs. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”

  “Right. I just thought you’d want to go home to study for the test.” Amy matched Heather’s steps, then glanced back up at the landing. Lionel’s door slammed shut, and the bolts slammed into place, the scrape of metal on metal echoed down the hall.

  “It’s tomorrow,” Heather muttered. “I can’t believe the end of this is so close. One more night and then I have to write and then –”

  “Don’t panic.” Amy massaged the center of Heather’s back. “It will be fine.”

  “I’m – not – panicking.”

  “Then why are you hyperventilating?”

  Point taken. She had to get a grip on the situation before she lost her hold on the case and her sanity. Heather paused and slammed her back against the wall beside the door to 7B.

  “Do your yoga breathing,” Amy said.

  Heather inhaled slowly, held it for four counts, then exhaled again. “I can never remember how long I have to hold the breath for.”

  “For however long feels right.” Amy pointed at the brass number and letter. “This is her apartment.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you ready?” Amy asked, and raised her fist to knock. “This could get interesting.”

  “Give me a second,” Heather replied. She shivered and dripped water on the carpet. After seven o’clock at night, the day before her test and she was out of her house, stalking a murderer.

  Sometimes, life took a turn she could predict. Those were the times that scared her the most. They were also the times she learned the most.

  “I’m ready,” she said, then pushed off from the wall.

  Amy knocked out a tune on the wooden door. “Hello? Samantha?”

  Silence and then the soft patter of footsteps. The lock clicked, and the door swung inward. Samantha James looked out at them, her eyes wide and her hair tangled in curlers on top of her head.

  “Hello, Samantha I – whoa.” Heather stepped back and lifted her arm to cover her mouth. The scent of acetone wafted out of the apartment.

  Amy choked and stumbled back. “What on earth is that?”

  “Sorry,” Samantha mumbled. “I’m trying to work out a new formula for my nail polish remover. It got a little complicated.” Her red-rimmed eyes blinked, and she sw
ayed on the spot. “Can I help you?”

  “We were in the neighborhood,” Heather said, then stifled a cough. “And wow, could you close the door?”

  “Can’t breathe,” Amy said and grabbed at her throat. She fake-choked. “Tell Kent, I – I left a casserole in the freezer.”

  Samantha didn’t laugh. Her hazy expression didn’t change an iota. She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. “Can I help you?” She repeated, and smiled at them.

  “You’re making your own nail polish remover?” Heather asked.

  “Yes,” Samantha replied. “I wanted to follow, uh, in Cheeky’s footsteps.” Her lower lip trembled, and she pressed her fingers to it. “After what happened, I wanted to do her justice.”

  Heather chewed the corner of her lip. This wouldn’t be easy. “Samantha, did you and your cousin get on? Did you ever fight?”

  Samantha swallowed hard. “I – sometimes we would fight,” she said, in a mouse’s voice. “But she didn’t ever mean the bad things she said. I think she was just angry a lot of the time.”

  “Angry?”

  “Yes. She was angry. Her mom made her angry.” Samantha’s whispers grew lower and lower by the second.

  “Her mom,” Heather said.

  “Yes. They fought a lot.” Samantha’s expression altered a tiny bit. A slight grimace at the corners of her lips. “I moved out because Julia has lost it. She’s always angry and talking about –”

  “Milan?” Amy asked.

  Samantha bobbed her chin up and down, then backed up until she struck the door. “I have to go. I have to get back to my work.”

  “Your work?” Heather asked. “Are you planning on making a business out of this?”

  “I don’t know,” the young woman said, then she turned and opened the door. The fumes steamed out of her apartment and embraced the woman. Samantha dove into the gloom and slapped the door shut behind herself.

  Amy coughed and worked her jaw. “Aint that a slap in the face?”

  “I’d rather have a slap in the face than a nostril full of that stuff. Smells like you could peel the paint off a car, let alone a set of nails.” Heather scrubbed at her nose, then shuddered again. “That’s it. I’m done for the night. At least, with the investigating portion of the activities.”

  “Yeah, it’s time for you to get home and get dry. Forget about the case, for now, Heather. You’ll get it done,” Amy said, then pointed to the stairs. “Shall we?”

  Heather led the path down the stairs, chased by the pervasive scent of acetone. Strange, that Samantha would take up the same profession as Cheeky, right after her death. Very strange.

  Chapter 16

  Heather placed her elbows on the dresser in her bedroom and stared at her books. She’d gone over the last paragraph five times, just to be sure, but anxious butterflies flapped around in her belly, regardless.

  “You’ve got this,” she whispered, then checked the time on her digital clock. It was past 10 pm.

  “Honey?” Ryan strode into their bedroom, and his fluffy robe swished around his ankles. “Are you going to bed anytime soon?”

  “I’m not sure,” Heather replied. “There’s a little bit more to revise, and I don’t want to miss anything because –”

  Ryan walked to her side and placed his finger beneath her chin. He tipped her head back and stared into her eyes. “You’ve been studying all week, during the day and the night. You’re going to pass, my love. Take it easy. There’s no use losing sleep. If you don’t have enough energy, you won’t be able to focus tomorrow.”

  Heather dragged her teeth across her bottom lip, then nodded, at last. “You’re right. As always, Mr. Shepherd. I just wanted to be sure I was ready. I’ve got other stuff on my mind, too.”

  Ryan offered her his hand, and she accepted it.

  Heather rose from her seat beside the dressing table, and they walked to the bed together. Ryan sat down on the edge, and Heather stood in front of him.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he said.

  She walked back and forth, burning a track in their rug. Dave perked up on his doggy bed in the corner and watched her, ears flopping from the motion.

  “The case. There are so many options. Did you know Samantha wants to start her own salon? Or something similar, at least. Did you know that?” Heather asked.

  “No,” Ryan replied. “I didn’t.”

  “And Lionel threw a bucket of cold water on me, this evening.”

  “What?” Ryan narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “How did that happen?”

  “I went to ask him a few questions, and he pranked me. Had one of those buckets of water pranks all set up and I walked right into it. Idiotic on my part.” Heather pursed her lips together, then released them and exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m all over the place right now.”

  “Come sit down,” Ryan replied. “I think I might have something that will make you feel better.”

  Heather trudged to the bed and sat down beside him.

  Ryan leaped up and hurried out of the bedroom. “I’ll be right back. Wait right there.”

  “Okay,” Heather said and glanced at Dave in the corner. “What do you think, Dave ol’ buddy, ol’ pal? Has my husband finally lost it? Or have I?”

  Dave whined and cocked his head to one side and gave her a look. The kind that said, “What do you mean finally lost it? That would mean you’d had it to start with.”

  “Mean,” Heather hissed, then winked at her doggy dearest.

  Ryan bustled back into the room, his arms behind his back. A grin stretched his lips wide. “I know this might not be the perfect timing, given the situation, but I have something for you. I hope it will make you happy.”

  “What is it?” Heather asked, and those anxious butterflies whooped around inside. They wore crash helmets and sailed into the lining of her stomach. “I can’t bear the anticipation.”

  Ryan’s grin widened if that was possible, and he presented his gift.

  A leather bound book embossed in gold print.

  “Is that –?” Heather couldn’t finish the question.

  “It’s your grandmother’s recipe book. I finally managed to get it back!” Ryan held it out at arm’s length.

  Heather took it from him, and her fingers trembled. “I honestly didn’t think I’d see this again.” She opened the book, and the scent of her grandmother’s perfume wafted from the pages. The smell that took her back to her first time in the kitchen making donuts.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, my love.”

  “Anything for you,” Ryan replied, then lowered himself to the bed beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and smiled. “Promise me you won’t let the stress of the test and the case get to you. You know who you are and what you’re capable of.”

  Heather stroked the pages of the recipe book, the strong strokes of her grandmother’s handwriting. “I do.”

  “Good. Now, about the case,” Ryan said, and placed both hands on his thighs, just above the knees. “I’ve been going over the evidence, and the one thing that gets to me is the size of the weapon.”

  “The Wesson and whatsit?”

  “Smith and Wesson,” Ryan said. “Those were .44 caliber slugs. I don’t mean to sound sexist, but that’s a man’s gun.”

  “But no one’s purchased a gun from Ballistic Bob,” Heather replied.

  “Not recently. Not in years. But the last purchase was made at least seven years ago.”

  “By who?” Heather asked.

  “Henry Janis,” Ryan replied. “Sharon’s husband and Lionel’s father.”

  “You can’t be serious. Then that means that Lionel has upgraded to the strongest suspect,” Heather said and traced circles on the recipe for Blueberry Waffle Donuts.

  “Yeah, the only problem is we can’t find the gun. We have no idea where it is.” Ryan stroked the hairs on the back of his neck. “No idea. We’ve interviewed Lionel, and he doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the m
urder. The only person who saw him that night, sorry, people, were you and Amy.”

  “At the salon,” Heather said. She closed her grandmother’s recipe book, then rose and walked to the dresser. She placed it front and center on the dark wood. She touched the cool leather binding, then turned back to her husband. “I want to say it makes sense, Ryan.”

  “But?”

  “But something tells me that there’s more to this than meets the eye. It feels off,” Heather said.

  “Off,” Ryan replied, and arched an eyebrow.

  “Trust me on this one. Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out.” At least, she would after her exam. If she passed.

  “All right, Mrs. Shepherd. I believe you. Together, you and I will take on the world.”

  “Let’s start with Hillside,” Heather replied, and Dave barked his support.

  Chapter 17

  Heather grasped Dave’s leash and stood in the shade of the building across from Lionel’s apartment. She rested her hip against the bricks and breathed in the scent of coming rain.

  Electricity in the air. She’d parked the car down the road.

  The test had finished a half an hour ago. She wouldn’t have her results for a few hours, at the least, but her part was done. She’d tried. She’d fought for the result, and now all she could do was wait and wonder.

  And those wonderings had led her directly here. What if Lionel had killed Cheeky in a fit of rage? Or what if Cheeky’s mother had done it? The jealousy had overwhelmed her, and she’d taken her daughter’s life.

  But then there was sweet Samantha. She might’ve gone through with it too, because of an old high school grudge.

  “C’mon, Dave. Let’s talk to him one more time. Maybe we’ll find out something new.” Heather checked the road, left and right, then walked across quickly.

  A storm brewed overhead. The dark clouds swirled, and the distant rumble of thunder punctuated the scrape of her flat pumps on the macadam.

  Movement behind the glass plate door to the apartment building. Heather’s sleuth sense screamed at her to duck out of sight. She followed the order and hurried into the adjacent alley, then halted.