Heather smiled at Kerry, but the widow didn’t return it. She sighed and brushed her fingertips across the top of the counter. “Henry and I planned on moving back to Hillside for years,” she said.
Heather nodded, then walked backward and leaned against the wall beside the entrance.
“He had this fantastic dream. He’d never stop talking about it,” Kerry said and hiccupped again. She dabbed at the wetness beneath either eye. “He, well, he told me that it meant everything to him. He cared about me, and he cared about the dream. That was it.”
Heather nodded, and her gaze wandered around the room, from the fridge to the glass stove top, to the wheelchair in the corner. A wheelchair? Why did Kerry Boddington have a wheelchair?
“Was Henry ill, Kerry?” Heather asked, and gestured to the chair.
“Oh, he used that sometimes. He thought it was fun to ride around in here on it,” Kerry replied.
Ding! Heather’s lie detector clicked into the red again. Amy snorted, then turned it into a cough. “Sorry,” she said, “hay fever.”
“It’s fall,” Kerry replied, and blinked at her.
“Oh yeah, well, I’ve got kind of an all year round hay fever,” Amy said.
Heather pressed her fingers to her temples and massaged, then dropped her arms to her sides. “Henry wasn’t ill at all?”
“No more so than anyone else. He, uh, he sometimes got headaches, but that was about it.” Kerry smiled, the first since she’d opened the door. “He had a child’s spirit. He loved everything about life. It’s so unfair that he was taken like this.”
Headaches. Could the drugs that’d killed Henry have been painkillers?
“When did you move to Hillside, Mrs. Boddington?” Heather asked.
“Only about three weeks ago. Henry rushed to get the museum up. He was so excited about the chance to share all his findings with the residents,” Kerry replied. “I wasn’t at the opening, but he told me it was a great success.”
“I see. So, he came home after the opening?” Heather asked.
“Yeah, but only briefly,” Kerry replied. “He came home for dinner, and then he went back to the museum. He wasn’t finished sourcing new exhibitions. Ha, I don’t think he’d ever have finished. He wanted to build the museum. He wanted it to become the star of the state.”
“A star in the lone star state?” Amy muttered.
Heather resisted the urge to kick the back of her bestie’s chair. “One last question, Mrs. Boddington,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Where were you at 4 am on the morning of your husband’s death?” Heather asked.
“I was asleep, in bed. I didn’t realize he wasn’t home yet until it was too late,” Kerry replied. Tears spilled from her lids, and she turned her back on them and stared out of the kitchen window.
“Thank you for your time,” Heather said, softly. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
“I think that would be for the best.”
Chapter 7
“Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor Williams,” Heather said and squished around in her seat.
It was noon, and Amy had returned to Donut Delights to deal with the lunchtime rush. The leads had led Heather to the most popular G.P. in town. If anyone would have information on prescription medication, he would.
The doctor rearranged his penholder, then brought out a ballpoint. “It’s not a problem, Mrs. Shepherd. How may I help you today?”
Heather cleared her throat. “Well, doc, I’m sure you know I’m not here for medicine.” She hadn’t had the flu in years. Her health was better now than it’d been as a twenty-year-old.
“I figured,” Doctor Williams replied. He clicked his ballpoint. “But why are you here?”
“I’m investigating a case. You heard about the death of Curator Boddington?”
“It passed the gossip station at the front of the building,” he replied.
“Gossip station?” Heather asked.
“The reception desk. The ladies out there are masters absorbing and relaying information.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “But what has this got to do with me?”
The doc had a deep baritone and silver hair. The extra bit of fat around his jowls wobbled with each turn of phrase. He had an open face, though. His gaze exuded humor and warmth.
“I need some information from you. I need to know if you’ve written a prescription for strong painkillers lately, and if so, for whom.” Heather crumpled up her woolen skirt.
She’d spent the last months running into constant obstacles throughout her investigations.
“A prescription for a patient?” Doctor Williams’ expression folded in on itself. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shepherd, but I’m not at liberty to disclose that kind of information about my patients.”
“I understand that,” Heather replied. “But, this is to do with the murder of curator Boddington, as I mentioned. I need more information to get to the bottom of this.”
“You’re investigating?”
“Yeah,” Heather replied.
“And you have the authority to do so?” The doctor asked, and rolled back in his seat. The wheels whooshed along the beige carpet. A picture of his dog decorated the corner of his desk in an ornate frame.
“I’m acting as a consultant to the Hillside Police Department. Any information I need is information they need.” Heather placed her palms on the desk. “Please, doctor, this is of the utmost importance.”
The doctor nodded, then rose from his seat. He walked to the filing cabinet in the corner and pulled the top drawer open. “I’ve only treated one patient who required that strength of painkiller in the past few weeks.” He drew out a brown file, then returned to his chair and sat down.
He scraped it forward to the desk, then placed the file on his desk pad.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he replied. He flipped the file open and pressed his finger to the page. “Drug by the name of oxycodone. Very strong stuff and to be used with great care.”
“Who did you prescribe it to?” Heather asked. Her insides tightened into a ball. This was a kind of moment of truth.
Doctor Williams met her gaze. He narrowed one eye, then shut both of them. Clearly, he didn’t enjoy giving out this type of information.
“Doctor Williams, I assure you, I’m not going to abuse this information. It’s incredibly important that I have all the facts available, so I’m able –”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, and opened his eyes. “I understand, Mrs. Shepherd. I understand very well.”
Heather crossed her fingers for the second time in two days. She’d made a habit of it, lately. Maybe this would replace the humming in times of anxiety.
“Sara Hines,” he said. “She injured herself quite severely a few weeks ago. Wouldn’t tell me what happened or how, but she had serious bruising on her arm.”
“Wow,” Heather said. Sara Hines again. The woman’s name kept coming up, and the evidence mounted in her favor. Or rather, against her favor.
“Yeah, she was bruised all the way to the bone. Quite literally. I sent her for a scan at the hospital, just to be sure.” The doc sighed and shut the file. “But, there was nothing they could do for her. The arm wasn’t broken, so I wrote her a prescription for this medication.”
Heather dragged her teeth across her bottom lip. “Doctor, in your experience, would you say the bruising was consistent with a fall or something more sinister?”
“I can’t make any assumptions. You’d have to speak to Sara about that. I haven’t heard from her since she got the prescription, so I assume she’s doing well.” Doctor Williams frowned, then flipped open his diary and traced his finger down the page. “Strange. She was supposed to come for a checkup yesterday.”
Heather touched her phone through her jeans. She’d have to phone Ryan and let him in on this information.
“But here’s the thing,” the doctor said. “You can’t overdose on painkillers and die in one night.”
&nbs
p; “What do you mean?” Heather asked.
“You could take maybe forty to fifty Tylenol and overdose, for instance, but you wouldn’t die the same day. You would be taken to the hospital, suffer for two or three weeks and most likely die of liver failure.” He twisted his lips to one side and shook his head.
“Really?”
“Yes. I highly doubt that whatever killed curator Boddington was prescription painkillers. Not like this.” Doctor Williams shut his diary, then interlaced his fingers and placed them on top of the book.
“Thank you for the information, doc,” Heather said. His information, while useful, had just complicated matters even more.
If painkillers hadn’t killed Henry Boddington, then what had?
Heather rose from her seat and shook the doctor’s hand, then turned and hurried to the door.
She needed time to process all of this.
Chapter 8
Heather paced down the road. Dave jogged to catch up to her and whined at the end of the leash.
“Are you okay, Au-Heather?” Lilly asked. She strained to hold Dave back.
“I’m fine, honey. Just fine.”
“Okay, could you maybe slow down, then? Because Dave’s freaking out, back here,” Lilly replied.
Heather stopped dead in her tracks, and Dave crashed into her calves. His wet nose smeared her skin, but Heather didn’t complain. Instead, she dropped into a crouch and ruffled his ears. “I’m fine, big guy.”
Amy trotted up behind them. “Really?” She huffed. “Because you don’t seem fine. Is this punishment for all the squats I made you do that one time?” Amy fanned her face and wafted her short, blonde hair back.
At least, she hadn’t worn her massive fall coat, today.
Sunset threatened the horizon, awaiting its perfect opportunity to plunge them all into the purple hour. The magical time just before evening truly set in.
The last remnants of warmth touched the back of Heather’s neck, and she turned her face to the sun. “We should probably get home soon.”
“Aw,” Lilly said, “but we’ve only just started walking. Dave likes it out here. Don’t you, Dave?”
“You haven’t done your homework,” Heather replied, and pursed her lips at the young girl.
Lilly’s chest swelled outward. “I have too. I did it at school. Because I’m cool like that.”
“Very smart,” Amy replied, and patted Lilly on the back. “Heather, let’s walk a little further. I mean, it’s not like we’ve got anything else to do. We’ll be back at your place before the sun goes down all the way.”
Heather looked from Lilly’s wide-eyed expression to Amy’s mischievous grin. Dave barked his support of the cause, to add insult to injury.
“Fine,” she said, at last. “You three have twisted my rubber arm.”
“Did you truly foresee a different outcome?” Amy asked.
Heather rose from her crouch, and they set off again. This time, she kept her pace to a slow walk. She couldn’t let the frustrations of the case leak into her personal life. Especially, now that she had Lilly to look out for.
“I’ve meant to talk to you about something, Heather,” Amy said. She strode on Heather’s left side, and Lilly kept to the right. Dave wandered ahead of them on the end of his long leash.
He sniffed at a lamppost then lifted his leg.
“Dave,” Lilly hissed. Miraculously, the dog put his leg back down and had the decency to look sheepish.
“What about?” Heather asked.
“Emily,” Amy replied. “I caught her crying in the bathroom, this morning. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but it’s got me worried.” For once, Amy didn’t have a hint of mirth in her tone. “She’s a great worker, but I feel like something’s seriously wrong in her personal life. I want to help her.”
Lilly clicked her tongue at Dave, and the dog quickened his pace. The training school had paid off.
Heather sighed. Not once in the history of Donut Delights had she turned down the opportunity to help out a staff member. And she wasn’t about to start now.
She had orders coming out of her ears, a new donut to put up on site, and a case to solve, but the personal relationships in her life would always take precedence.
That was how it was meant to be.
A life without love and family and friendship wouldn’t be a life to live.
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
Lilly grasped Heather’s arm and stopped dead. “Look,” she whispered.
Two figures stood on the corner just ahead. A man and a woman. A shout rang out from the man.
“You’ve gone against me again.”
Amy froze mid-stride, then sucked in a shallow gasp. “That’s Emily. Look. I’d recognize that hair anyway. It’s a lot like my perfect do.” She patted her hairstyle. “Maybe you’ll get your chance to talk to her.”
Emily shook her head. “You don’t understand. Look, let’s just go home, bro. I don’t want to talk about this here.”
“I don’t know if now would be an appropriate time,” Heather whispered.
“I don’t care what you want,” Jabby Joe yelled at his sister. “I told you to stay away from that store and that woman, but you just didn’t listen.”
Heather bit down on her tongue and pain sprouted in her mouth. Shoot, she hadn’t meant to do that. She simply hated confrontation.
“Ames, please take Lilly and Dave home,” Heather said. “I’ll be there in a moment, okay?”
Lilly grabbed Heather around the waist and squeezed her quick, then let go and hurried off down the road.
“Be careful,” Amy said.
“Don’t worry,” Heather replied, and tapped the hard plastic shape of the Taser in her back pocket. “I brought my little friend.”
Amy patted her on the shoulder and then hurried off after Lilly.
Heather returned her attention to the matter at hand. One angry, marble fondling brother versus her newest and sweetest assistant.
“For heaven’s sake, Joe,” Emily said. “You’re losing control. It’s just a job.”
“I told you not to get one,” he snapped.
“Well, if I hadn’t, we would be living on the street right now,” she replied, in a low keen.
Why couldn’t Emily stick up for herself? She was timid, but she didn’t need to take this type of abuse from her brother.
“Is there a problem here?” Heather asked, and kept her hand behind her back. Her knuckles brushed against the hard plastic of the Taser, through her jeans.
Jabby Joe flinched and dropped his marble. The glass ball rolled toward the gutter, and he dove after it. “Now, look what you did.” He grabbed the ball, then straightened and pointed at Heather. “I don’t like you.”
“Jabby, no,” Emily replied. “You can’t speak to people like that.”
But the ‘quirky’ brother turned and marched off down the road.
Emily stared at his back, then hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shepherd. I – he’s got a disability. He gets aggressive sometimes. I’m trying my best to keep him in line.”
Heather patted Emily on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Emily.” But it wasn’t. She couldn’t imagine what her assistant has to deal with at home. “It’s all right.”
Chapter 9
Dos Chicos hummed with life. The thrum of a guitar and the beat of drums jived through the restaurant from the newly installed stage at the end of the room.
“A live band,” Heather said. “Can you believe it?” She hadn’t seen a live band in years. Not since she’d snuck into a Backstreet Boys concert with Amy.
That’d been a fun night. Ludicrous, but fun.
“I’d say it’s the perfect setting for our first romantic evening in a few weeks.” Ryan reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
They’d been busy with work, cases and Lilly’s move into their home. The romance in their marriage had taken a hit as a result.
“Well, we have the entire eve
ning to ourselves. Lils is sleeping over at Amy’s with Dave,” Heather replied, and jived along in time with the music. “Poor Ames. I’m surprised she hasn’t changed those white shag carpets of hers.”
“They have to be yellow by now,” Ryan replied. “Dave’s favorite toilet.” He chuckled, then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, gently.
“You’re making me blush, Mr. Shepherd,” Heather said, then grinned at her hubby.
The waitress strode up to their table with a smile and a plate of nachos for the table. “Extra spicy,” she said and placed the plate in front of them. “Can I get you, folks, anything else?”
“No, thanks,” Heather replied.
“Can I get a refill?” Ryan asked and tapped the side of his soda glass.
“Sure thing,” the waitress replied. She hurried off and disappeared into the throng of people.
Dos Chicos’ little makeover had worked wonders for attendance. People loved the atmosphere in the restaurant.
Ryan grabbed a nacho, then chomped down on it. He grinned and crunched it between his teeth. “Even better than I remembered.”
Heather nodded, then pressed her lips together. “I bet.”
“Uh oh, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why?” Heather asked. She couldn’t hide her emotions from Ryan. She’d never been able to.
“Oh come on, hon. I always know when you’re anxious. You know you can’t keep it from me.” He ate another nacho, then licked his fingers. “It’s the case, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Heather said. “And no. It’s both. I’m beginning to wonder if the two are connected or not.”
“Huh?” Ryan dipped a chip into the guac, then lifted it and gestured toward her.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’ll wait for my enchiladas.”
“What do you mean, hon?”
“I just don’t feel like nachos,” Heather replied.
“No, I mean about the case, and you said something about ‘both’?”
“Oh, right,” she said, then grinned. “Sorry. My mind is all over the place today.” Heather reached for her soda, then lifted it and slurped some up. “Emily is worrying me. She’s got this weird brother, and he’s been treating her badly.”
Oreo Sprinkled Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 22 Page 3
