A flash of white caught Heather’s eye and she squinted at the door. What was that?
A bit of paper had been wedged in the crack.
“Well,” she whispered and looked down at her doggy dearest. “There’s only one way to find out.”
She crept to the door, her soft slippers whispered on the hall carpet, then halted and stared down at the bit of paper. A ball of fear melted through her belly.
Heather shook out her arms. “Stop being ridiculous,” she said, then bent and slipped it out from the crack.
It was blank and waxy. Another paper fluttered from its back, and she caught that mid-air. “Weird.” She turned the waxy paper over in her hands, and a spark of familiarity shocked her back to her senses.
It was a photo.
Three young people, about Emily Potts’ age, stared out of the frame at her. A man, with short cut brown hair, a woman who looked a lot like a much younger Brooke and Laura Jenkins.
Billy and Brooke wore massive smiles – the kind that only happened when the cameraman yelled, “say cheese!”
And Laura… she stared at the pair of them and a deep scowl twisted her features.
Heather shuffled the second bit of paper forward and frowned at it.
“It’s a receipt,” she said and showed it to Dave. “For, oh my gosh, rock hard fudge balls. It doesn’t say who it’s for, but the date and time –”
Keys jangled on the other side of the front door. The lock clicked, and the handle pressed downward.
Ryan shuffled into the hall but stopped at the sight of her. “Honey?”
“Hey,” Heather said and held out the two bits of information. “Someone just slipped this under our door.”
Ryan frowned and locked up, quickly. He dumped his police hat on the table, along with his keys, then took the items from her. He turned the picture over, then studied the receipt.
“That’s the Bolde’s and –”
“The beautiful?”
“Hilarious,” Heather said. “But I’m serious. That’s Brooke and Billy, and that’s Laura. And the other one is a receipt for the fudge balls from Geoff’s store. And look at the date and time on them. That has to be right before Billy’s attack.”
Ryan lifted the receipt and studied it. “You’re right.”
“What do you think it means?” Heather asked.
Detective Shepherd stifled a yawn, then handed the evidence back to her. “I’m not sure, hon. I’m kind of beat. Hello, by the way.”
“Oh sorry,” Heather said and pecked him on the lips.
Ryan hugged her then rubbed her back. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and guided her back toward the stairs. “I think this means that you need to get some sleep and think about it in the morning.”
“But –”
“I’m serious, love. You’re going to burn yourself out this way. I haven’t seen you this obsessed about a case since your grandmother’s recipe book went missing,” Ryan said.
“I guess. I just don’t want the wrong person to end up behind bars,” Heather replied.
“I know you don’t. We’ll figure it out in the morning,” Ryan replied.
“Wait a sec, before I forget.” Heather stopped at the base of the stairs, and Dave ran into the backs of her legs. “Did you know that Billy Bolde had a prior?”
“Sure, yeah. It was a minor assault charge. Apparently, he had some altercation in the parking lot of a grocery store. Something about a parking space,” Ryan said and scratched the back of his neck. “Why do you ask?”
“I just figured it was relevant,” Heather replied. “He could’ve had a lot of enemies.”
“I think it’s real clear that Billy Bolde had a lifetime supply of enemies,” Ryan said, then guided her up the stairs. “Come on, hon. Before you wake up Lilly.”
Heather stifled a yawn and allowed her husband to guide her all the way to the comfy bed and plush pillows.
Sleep took her immediately.
Chapter 16
“Mrs. Bolde,” Heather said, and folded her hands behind her back. She rocked back and forth in front of the suspect’s door and narrowed her eyes.
“What do you want?” The woman asked, and patted the curlers in her hair. “You gonna make good on your promise and call the cops on me?”
Heather didn’t reply to that. She had to remain professional, even in the presence of rudeness.
“I’ve come to talk to you about your husband’s murder.”
“What about it?” Brooke asked and pursed her lips. She lifted her nails and studied her chipped nail polish, intently.
“Ma’am, it doesn’t seem as if you’re all too worried about your husband’s death.”
“Why would I be? He hated me, and I hated him. It was a lose-lose situation,” Brooke replied. “I’m glad he’s gone.”
Oh, boy. She’d stumbled into the viper’s nest on this one. She couldn’t accuse the woman of murdering her husband, but the temptation was real.
The attitude didn’t help.
“You hated each other,” Heather said. She brought out the image which’d been slipped under her door and handed it over. “It sure doesn’t look like you hated each other.”
Brooke’s gaze skipped across the photo. Tears welled up, then dried. “Where did you get this?” She asked. “This was before Billy and I got married.”
“I thought you could help me with that,” Heather replied. “This was slipped underneath my door last night.”
“What? Why?” Brooke asked.
Heather didn’t have an answer for that. She’d pondered it on the drive over, in fact. She adjusted her tote bag and the plastic of her Taser clacked against her phone inside.
“Do you know of anyone who would’ve wanted to harm your husband?” Heather asked. “Anyone at all?”
Brooke stared at the photograph. She traced her finger along the image and rested it atop Billy’s face. “No,” she said. “No one. I don’t know anything.” She swung the door toward Heather.
“Mrs. Bolde!”
“I need to be alone,” the woman snapped. “Just please, leave me alone.”
It was the first sign of sadness the woman had expressed since the start of the week. Perhaps, she did have a heart.
The lock on the door clicked, and Heather sighed.
She turned and meandered down the drive. Her insides writhed in protest. Gosh, this couldn’t be Geoff’s fault, could it? Who else would’ve slipped the papers underneath her door?
That was a typical Lawless maneuver.
Heather’s phone buzzed in her bag, and she reached in and whipped it out. Ryan’s name flashed on the screen.
She swiped to answer. “Hello?”
“I’ve got news. I think you’re going to like this news, but I’m not sure,” Ryan said.
“What is it?”
“We’ve just gotten the DNA results back from the lab,” Ryan replied.
“You know who the killer is.”
“No,” he said, “I wish we did, but no. The sample was pretty degraded. The only thing they managed to find out was that the blood on the glass came from a woman.”
Heather gasped. It wasn’t Geoff after all. “You’re sure?”
“Dead sure. Excuse the unfortunate pun, there,” Ryan replied. “We have no idea which woman, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that the wife is looking pretty solid as a suspect.”
“She just told me she hated him,” Heather said, then clamped her mouth shut.
“I’m on my way down there to bring her in. Just for questioning, you know, but yeah. This might be it.”
The fingerprints had been partials. That meant Brooke’s prints could’ve been in Geoff’s store after all. But did Brooke have the savvy to wipe the end of the recording?
And did she have access to the syringes?
“The syringes,” Heather said.
“Nothing on that yet. We’ve checked around, but whoever had access to them, didn’t work as a doctor or nurs
e in this town,” Ryan replied.
Heather sighed. “All right. See you in a bit.”
She hung up and tucked her phone back into her bag. She slung it over her forearm and walked down the path and past the car in the driveway. The license plate read ‘Jenk1.’
Laura’s car, no doubt.
Heather paused and frowned. Something felt off. Weird.
Her mind hadn’t caught up to a sensory perception.
Donuts.
Donut Delights box on the front seat of the car.
Heather rushed to the window of Laura’s navy blue Mazda and pressed her nose to the glass. Her bag dropped to the ‘crete.
That was a Donut Delights box, all right, half-open. Except, Heather had never sold donuts to Laura Jenkins.
And she certainly didn’t stock Geoff Lawless’ rock hard fudge balls in her store.
Chapter 17
Heather took a step back. She staggered to the left, then turned.
“There you are,” Laura Jenkins said, and stepped out of the shady spot against the wall of the Bolde house. “I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out.”
What was it with killers and the arrogant attitude?
“You’ve wanted me to figure it out?” Heather asked. She glanced down at her tote bag, then casually picked it up. Not a care in the world.
The weight of the Taser dragged at her arms.
“No, of course not,” she replied, then tugged at the end of her long blonde braid. “I didn’t want anyone to know, but the first time didn’t work.”
“You hit him with the fudge ball?” Heather asked. Obviously, Laura had hit Billy, but she needed to know more, and she needed to stall. Ryan was on his way.
Heather hung her bag over her shoulder and kept her hand on the flap.
“Yeah, I hit the idiot. I knew he would be at Geoff’s place because I heard him talking to Brooke about it. So, I followed him. Bought those balls. Used one of them when Geoff was in the kitchen.”
So, that was who’d entered the store after the tape cut out.
Then Geoff still fulfilled orders at Delightful Donuts. He just did it discretely. But why?
Ugh, the man was an enigma she couldn’t afford to unravel, presently.
“Why?” Heather asked, at last.
“The million-dollar question,” Laura Jenkins replied, then tittered a laugh. “Because he hurt my sister. He screamed at her. He treated her like trash, and when there was financial trouble he made her pay for it. Well, guess what?”
Heather didn’t want to guess. “What?” She asked, anyway.
“My sister’s the one with the freedom and the money now. She’s the one who gets to go away on a vacation and run her own business,” Laura said and pulled on her braid again.
“She didn’t know about any of this?”
“Of course not. She would’ve tried to stop me, but I’ve always known what was best for her. Even when we were kids,” Laura replied.
Heather glanced up at the house and then down the road. No sign of Ryan’s police cruiser yet.
“How did you get hold of the syringes?” Heather asked.
“Huh?” Laura scratched her forehead. “Oh, I work in a drug store, duh.”
Heather’s shoulders relaxed. Every burning question had been solved, apart from those to do with the whereabouts of Mr. Lawless. That’d have to wait until later.
“I figured he’d wake up eventually and rat me out and I couldn’t let that happen. So, I went after him,” Laura said.
A curl of dread swept through Heather’s stomach. “Why are you telling me this?” She asked.
Laura’s lips twitched upward at the corners. “Because it doesn’t matter what you know.” She marched toward Heather, her hands clasped into fists.
Laura Jenkins held a rock-hard fudge ball. She wasn’t afraid to use it.
Heather reached into her back and drew out the Taser. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I refuse to go down by a hardened ball of fudge.”
Laura yelled and raised her fist.
Heather dove into her and tackled her to the ground. Her bones ached, and the impact shuddered through her chest, but it was enough.
She sat on Laura’s stomach and raised the Taser. “Make one move, and I will shock you.”
“You’re on top of me,” Laura said. “If you shock me, you shock yourself, duh.” She struggled beneath the weight on her body, but Heather placed the Taser against her chest.
“I don’t care,” Heather replied.
Not true. She cared a whole lot, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“We can’t sit here all day,” Laura replied. “You’ll have to let me up some time.”
Heather looked up and grinned so hard, her cheek muscles hurt. “You’re absolutely right,” she said. “We can’t sit here all day. Luckily, we don’t have to.”
Ryan’s police cruiser stopped behind Laura Jenkins’ car.
The murderer turned her head. Her eyes widened. “What? How did you? When did you?”
“Never doubt a baker,” Heather replied.
Ryan got out of his car and strode up to them. “What’s this?”
“You really need to ask?” Heather snorted and shifted the Taser a little. Sweat slicked the plastic.
“Officer,” Laura said, “Officer, I swear, I was just here doing nothing and she ran up and tackled me. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Save it,” Heather said and pointed at the fudge ball clenched in Laura’s right hand. “Look at that, Detective.”
Ryan shifted his glasses upward and stared at the fudge ball. His lips thinned out. He unhooked his cuffs from his belt, then unclipped his holster and slid his gun out.
“You can get up, Heather,” he said.
She lifted the Taser and struggled to her feet, then groaned and gripped at her back. “Oh boy, that’s going to hurt in the morning.”
Heather walked toward Laura’s car and stopped beside her bag.
Ryan pointed the weapon at Laura. “Don’t make any sudden movements,” he said, in calm tones.
“Police brutality!” The blonde woman shrieked.
“Ridiculous,” Heather muttered. “Hon, I’ll let you handle this. I’m going back to the house to nurse my wounds.”
Ryan didn’t reply. His focus remained squarely on the murderess.
Heather hurried past him and left him to his job. After all, she was the one who helped solve the murders, and he was the guy who did the hard job of locking up the perpetrator.
She wouldn’t switch those positions for anything in the world.
Heather walked to her car, then looked back at the scene. Ryan had already cuffed the woman.
Curtains fluttered in the front room of the Bolde house. Brooke looked out at her sister and tears streamed down her cheeks.
Every murder had a clear cost, but it was often the hidden one that scarred those left behind.
Heather turned her back on the scene and got into her car.
Chapter 18
“So, what’s the plan for next week’s donut?” Jung asked and stripped off his Donut Delights apron. “Are we only getting the info on Monday or what?”
“Yeah, this time around,” Heather said. She took off her apron too and hung it on the peg beside the door in the massive kitchen in Donut Delights. “This week was hectic, to say the least.”
One mystery solved but the other… nothing. She had no idea where Geoff had disappeared to, and he was out on bail for trying to steal evidence from Hillside PD.
Heather stifled a yawn and pushed through the swinging kitchen doors.
The last customers of the day sat at tables in Donut Delights. They sipped coffee and devoured Coffee Treacle Donuts.
Syrup dripped onto plates, only to be swept up by greedy fingers.
“Another perfect afternoon in Hillside,” Heather said, and sat down behind her counter.
She spent her Fridays and Saturdays in a state of ultimate gr
atitude. What more could she ask for?
She had her bakery, her family, and her best friends. She did what she loved and –
The door slammed open, and the bell tinkled overhead.
Heather jolted upright.
“There you are,” Amy said and rushed through the center of Donut Delights.
“Here I am,” Heather replied. “Wait where else would I be? Did I forget something?”
“No, of course not,” Amy replied. “I’m not thinking straight.” She huffed and puffed all the way up to the counter, then rounded it and sat down. “How’s about a coffee?”
“All right, one sec.” Heather squished off the chair, and her aching bones squeaked their complaints. She grabbed two cups then shoved them under the spouts and pressed the buttons required.
Coffee gurgled in the machine, and Heather sat back down again.
“Why so stiff?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, when I said I tackled Laura Jenkins, I didn’t mean it metaphorically.” Heather grimaced and rubbed the graze along her elbow.
“Oh shoot!” Amy slipped off her seat and walked to the machine. “I’ll handle the cappuccinos then.”
Heather folded her arms and studied her bestie. “C’mon, you can tell me. You came in here all rushed, and now you’re just standing there in silence. What’s up?”
Amy chewed the corner of her lip. “I’m not sure I should tell you. I’m having second thoughts about it.”
“Ames,” Heather said, and raised a finger. “Don’t make me wiggle this under your nose.”
“Fine, fine,” the bestie replied. She frothed the milk, then poured it into the coffees. “I heard something on my way over here.”
“What was it?”
“Geoff Lawless’ bakery is closing. He’s totally bankrupt,” Amy said. “But here’s the kicker: it’s not like he filed for bankruptcy or anything. He’s just never there.”
“Something really weird is going on with him,” Heather said, and she couldn’t keep the concern from her tone.
Sure, he’d given her a run for her money, and most of the time her sanity, but he was a Hillside resident, and he didn’t deserve trouble or pain.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Amy replied, and handed Heather her cappuccino. “The case might be solved, but it looks like you’ve got another mystery on your hands.”
Coffee Treacle Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 24 Page 6
