Toasted Coconut Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 36

by Susan Gillard

  “This is the best day ever,” she said.

  They’d planned the celebration ahead of time, but it was pure serendipity that today had been the actual day the adoption papers had been signed and finalized.

  Lilly Jones was officially their daughter, now. Except, she wasn’t Jones anymore. She was Lilly Shepherd.

  Heather reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I wish this could’ve been finalized sooner.”

  “It doesn’t make a difference,” Lilly said and shrugged. “Even without all that paper stuff, I’m still your kid.”

  “Yeah, you are. You’re cheeky enough,” Ryan said and pinched her cheek to bring the point home.

  “I think she gets that from you,” Heather said and took a bite of her pizza.

  “No, you,” Ryan replied.

  Lilly placed her hands on the red and white checked tablecloth and rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I get it from Amy.”

  They all burst out laughing.

  Lil Mama’s had the family friendly atmosphere which reminded Heather, once again, of her grandmother. It was the candles flickering on the tables, the scent of garlic on the air, and the smiles from kids at each table.

  The laughter.

  Hopefully, Donut Delights emulated that – without the garlic, of course.

  “Ugh, I want to eat all the pizza,” Lilly said. “But I don’t think I can eat another bite.” She patted her stomach. “Mom, will you get me a takeaway for this? I just need to go to the girl’s room, real quick.”

  “Sure, hon,” Heather said.

  Lilly slipped out of the booth and strolled down the long, tiled aisle which led to the restrooms. Every step she took bounced her long ponytail.

  “Is it just me, or is she getting taller by the second?” Heather asked.

  “It’s not just you. She’s sprouting up. Soon we’ll have a teenager to deal with, not a pre-teen.”

  “Oh gosh,” Heather said, and couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t picture Lilly as a teenager, and she didn’t even want to think about her all grown up and on the police force or excavating in a desert somewhere, searching for dinosaur bones.

  She sat back with a sigh and grabbed another slice of pizza off the silver tray in the center of the table. She put the vegetarian piece on her plate and picked off an olive.

  “Thinking of the case?” Ryan asked, and took a bite of his own slice.

  A burst of laughter from the table across the room took Heather’s focus for a moment.

  “For once, no. But now I am,” she said and glanced back at the entrance to the bathroom. “Do you have any results back, yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah, I do. Didn’t get a chance to tell you before we got to the restaurant,” Ryan said. He put down his pizza and grabbed a napkin instead.

  “DNA?”

  “The only DNA found belonged to the two victims,” Ryan said. “Same goes for the fingerprints on the map. I’d say it was a cut and dried case but for one thing.” He raised his napkin bearing hand, index finger directed at the ceiling.

  “What?”

  “Charlie Pole’s gun was wiped down. Totally clean of prints. And it was in his right hand.”

  “Why’s that significant?” Heather asked.

  “Because Charlie Pole was left-handed. I checked with his wife. Ink marks on the fingers of his left hand tipped me off to it,” Ryan replied.

  “So Charlie didn’t fire that gun.” Heather bit her lip and worried it with her teeth. The plot thickened, and that meant the batter had too because Heather wouldn’t be able to solve this case in the next few hours, let alone the next few days.

  “No, he didn’t. And that’s seconded by the fact that there was no ballistics powder on his hands. Gerard, however, had it all over both hands and on his clothing.”

  “Then Gerard shot first,” Heather said.

  “That’s what we can assume.”

  Heather squeezed her eyes shut and tried ramming puzzle pieces together in her mind. None of them fit, yet.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked, and caressed the back of her hand.

  “I’m a little stressed out about the bakery and the upcoming fair,” she said and admitting it took a weight off her shoulders. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle. We’re staying late tomorrow, to make sure we’re ready for it.”

  Lilly appeared beside the table. She slipped back into her seat. “Are you talking about the fair? Do I get to help?”

  “Sure, you can help,” Heather said. “But you’re not allowed to stay too late. School the next day.”

  Lilly tucked into her pizza, lost in her own little world. Heather wished she could join her.

  Chapter 7

  “Everybody ready?” Heather asked, and locked the front door of Donut Delights with a click. She grabbed the blind’s swinging chain and dragged it all the way down to block out the road outside.

  Sunset had arrived, and that orange glow reminded her that they only had so much time left before the fair.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” Amy said, behind her.

  She turned to the room full of faces and smiles. All her assistants had turned up for the after-hours work, and Eva and Lilly had insisted on coming to show their support, drink coffee and milkshakes, and help out when they were needed.

  Lilly twirled her hair around her finger and kicked her legs back and forth on her chair.

  “All right,” Heather said and clapped her hands, once. “We’ve got three hours of uninterrupted baking time, and then I’ve got to get Lilly home, and you guys have to get some rest so we can do this again tomorrow.”

  “What’s the plan, boss?” Ken asked, and adjusted the straps of his camera. He took it off and placed it on the glass top of one of the tables.

  “Col and I have planned for the past week for the Fair on Sunday. I know I haven’t given you exact numbers and donut types yet, so this might come as a little bit of a shock.”

  “How many do we need?” Emily asked, in her smooth, shy mouse voice. She sat with a pocket-sized notepad in front of her and her pen at the ready.

  “I want to make five hundred donuts,” Heather announced.

  Angelica’s eyes widened to donut holes.

  Jung said and shuffled backward to the kitchen door – seeking escape. “That all? I’m sure you don’t need my help for that.”

  Lilly giggled.

  “Five hundred is a lot, dear,” Eva said.

  “I know. But we’ve got a huge expected turn out, and I want as many people to taste these donuts as possible. I think we could do even more than that, but I’m going easy on you guys. Col’s bringing crates of tea,” she said. “So here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to make those donuts to hand out in the crowds, but at the field itself, we’re going to have a station.”

  “A station?” Maricela asked, and frowned.

  “Yes. We’re going to setup an oven, gas stove, fryer, counters and we’re going to bake donuts all day long for the masses. It’s going to be exhausting, but fun. I hope.”

  “It’s always fun when we’re together,” Amy said.

  Heather appreciated the words, even if they did come off a little cheesy. They needed as much positivity as they could get. “We’ve already spoken to the mayor and the town council, and we’ve got the go ahead. Hillside High is going to play for the crowd.”

  “Will there be games?” Lilly asked.

  It’d been almost impossible to organize all of that in such a short time. The council had been helpful. The school had agreed immediately, but the games, they’d been trickier.

  Heather had reached out to the American Croquet Association Club in Hillside, and Col had organized a bouncy castle for kids. They still hadn’t nailed everything down, perfectly. “Some,” Heather said.

  “Which flavors are we going to do for the fair?” Emily asked, and raised her hand like she was in school.

  “Two hundred Toasted Coconuts. One hundred Hot Chocolate Glaz
ed. One hundred Strawberry Creams. And finally, one hundred Peanut Butter Fudge Delights,” Heather said. “They’re the crowd pleasers.”

  “And we’ll be making the same on the day?” Ken asked.

  “That’s right. The same on the day,” Heather replied. “Split up into groups please, and work on one specific donut type. I want three people on the Toasted Coconuts.”

  The assistants hurried to their feet and split into groups. Lilly joined Amy and Maricela, grinning from ear to ear. She’d no doubt beg to do the Hot Chocolate Glazed Donuts. They were her favorites.

  Heather circled the counter at the front of the store and halted beside the coffee machine. The gang would need as much energy as possible, and she certainly would too.

  “What’s on your mind, dear?” Eva asked, and placed her clutch on top of the glass. “Is the fair bothering you?”

  “The case bothers me more. I can handle the fair,” Heather said. “At least, I can now that I know we’re actively working toward it. I was freaked out about all the work ahead.”

  “Ah, but once you dive in you realize it’s not too bad,” Eva said, and shuffled around to Heather’s side of the counter to help with the coffees.

  Heather focused on the button pushing and the milk frothing. She tried – and failed – to push the case details from her mind, now that the chatter had subsided and the assistants had hurried through the swinging kitchen doors.

  Gerard Furrows had had the map with the strange key. Letters across the top which had to be a clue. He’d also shot first. If only she could figure out where that treasure map led and what the hidden treasure was supposed to be.

  Heather sighed and placed cups on a plastic tray. All those questions would have to wait for tomorrow. For now, they had donuts to bake.

  Chapter 8

  “What does this meant?” Amy asked and held out the copy of the treasure map. She shifted on the front step of Gerard Furrows' apartment and kicked her feet deeper into her boots.

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Heather replied and lifted the front door key. “They look like a list of coordinates to me, but there’s something missing, and I have to figure out what.”

  Amy squinted at the numbers. “What’s YOB and DOD?”

  “We’re both fishing in the dark here, Ames. I just don’t know.” She let them into the musty front hall and out of the blustering wind which swept through Hillside, early in the morning.

  Surely, winter had to come to an end sometime soon. Gosh, it wasn’t freezing in Texas, but she sure did miss the summer sun.

  “YOB and DOD,” Amy said. “I’m not even sure what that sounds like. It’s not a name, right?”

  Heather shut Gerard Furrows’ front door. She took the treasure map from Ames and studied it in the cool light from the window beside the door.

  31˚YOB’44.5”N, 97˚DOD’05.1”W.

  It was definitely a set of coordinates, but where did it lead? The South Bosque River, apparently.

  Heather walked down the short hall and took a left into the conjoined kitchen and living area.

  “Not one for décor, eh?” Amy clicked on the only lamp in the room, and yellow light cast the room in relief and highlighted the stark simplicity. Beige carpeting, and matching curtains drawn across the only two windows in the room.

  A single armchair sat in front of a small coffee table, and a wooden desk had been pushed into the corner, out of sight of both windows and covered in pages.

  “No TV,” Amy said. “And no books either.”

  “He’d just moved to Hillside,” Heather said. “It makes sense he wouldn’t have everything sorted out yet.” She adjusted her grip on the copy of the map and walked to the desk. Chances were, Furrows hadn’t had much time to store anything.

  He’d obviously lived day by day.

  “Still, you’d expect him to have something, you know. He doesn’t even have boxes of stuff. Surely, the guy didn’t just leave everything behind to come down here?” Amy leaned on the back of the sofa and dust motes puffed up to greet her. She sneezed and waved a hand in front of her face. “Seems kinda weird, don’t you think?”

  Heather sat down on the rickety wooden chair in front of the desk and placed the treasure map beside the pile of papers. “Uh-huh, I guess.”

  “What did he do? Sell everything to come down here?”

  Amy had a point there.

  People collected a lot of stuff over the years. Furniture, potted plants, utensils, chairs. Why did Furrows have so little in his apartment?

  “I’m going to check out the bedroom,” Amy said. “Before I die of consumption.”

  “Consumption is tuberculosis,” Heather replied, without looking up from the papers.

  “Ugh, sorry,” Amy said and strode down the hall.

  Heather sifted through the documents one at a time. Bills and receipts. Clippings from newspapers, all about Hillside and the recent expansion of the town. A message from Furrows’ secretary. Heather tucked that into her handbag, just in case.

  She glanced at the treasure map every few seconds.

  “YOB and DOD,” she said. “It’s got to be an acronym for something.” She scratched her temple.

  “Heather!” Amy’s voice traveled from the other room, excitement in her tone. “You’ve got to see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t describe it. Come quick.”

  Heather grabbed the treasure map, then scurried out of the living room and down the narrow hall. She entered Gerard’s bedroom and froze in her tracks, focus glued to the corkboard which had been pasted against the wall.

  “You couldn’t describe this?” Heather asked. “It’s a corkboard.”

  “Yeah, but try describing what’s pinned to it,” Amy said. She reached over and flipped the light switch on the wall.

  Pictures and notes had been pinned to the board and connected with red lengths of string. Heather drew closer, intrigue warring with her sense of unease. The last thing she’d seen something similar, she’d almost lost her life.

  She glanced over her shoulder out of habit.

  “What is this?” Amy asked. Her jaw dropped, and she tilted her head back to take in all the details.

  “That’s Charlie Pole,” Heather said and nodded to the picture on the far right. A string connected him to a nameless woman in the middle. An old photo, colored purple on one edge from an ink spill or the seep of old age.

  Beyond her, an image of Gerard himself sat in the center of the board.

  “Why did he draw a question mark on his face?” Amy asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. But look at this,” Heather said and pointed to a sticky note near a pinned envelope. “YOB and DOD.” The words had been printed in bold, black ink.

  Gerard’s penmanship was far from neat.

  “This reminds me of one of those cop shows where they link all the suspects together and put them on a board,” Amy said.

  Heather squished her cell from her pocket, raised it, and snapped a few pictures of the board. Close ups on every item, then several from far away to confirm it’s original composition.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Documenting the scene,” Heather said and flicked through the photos. “Now, I can do this.” She plucked the envelope which bore Gerard’s name off the wall.

  Amy moved in and pressed her shoulder to Heather’s. “Who’s it from?”

  “Let’s find out,” Heather whispered. She turned the envelope over, the paper slipping against her fingertips. She sucked in a breath.

  A name had been stamped across the back.

  Herman Schulz, Attorney of Law.

  “Herman,” Heather said. “What on earth has he got to do with this?” She fumbled the lip of the envelope open and drew out a single sheet of writing paper, so thin it was transparent.

  She flipped it open along the fold.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, out loud. “I wish it could’ve been different. YOB is the year o
f birth. DOD is the day of death. Forgive me. A. Pole.”

  “A pole?”

  “No, A. Pole,” Heather said. She flipped the note over and checked the back for writing, but the looping scrawl was absent. “A. Pole. Who’s A. Pole?”

  Amy took the envelope from Heather’s left hand. “I don’t know. But I get the feeling we know someone who does.” She flashed Herman Schulz’ stamp on the back of the thick paper. “Shall we?”

  They had to get back to the bakery soon, finish up orders, prepare for an evening of baking again – they’d only managed a quarter of the donuts last night – but this was a tangible lead. Something that might take them directly to the buried treasure which had drawn in two men, and ended in their untimely deaths.

  “Let’s go,” Heather replied.

  Chapter 9

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Herman Schulz asked, from the confines of his high-backed seat. He tapped the end of a smoking cigarette into a crystal ashtray. “When we meet bad things occur, it seems. I am correct in assuming this, yes?”

  Amy opened the office window and perched on the sill. A chilled breeze drifted in and disturbed the curls of smoke which rose from the end of the lawyer’s thin, white cigarette.

  “I’m afraid this visit is no different,” Heather replied and sat down in the leather chair in front of the desk. She removed the treasure map copy from her purse and placed it on the table in front of Herman.

  Then she took out the envelope, addressed to Gerard Furrows, and put it down too so that Herman’s stamp remained face up.

  “Care to explain?”

  “What is there to explain, my dear?” Herman asked, and lifted the envelope from the table. “It is a letter dispatched from my office, through the use of my services.”

  “Since when are you the mailman?” Amy asked, and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I offer specific service to certain clients,” Herman said and sighed. “I suppose it is futile to tell you lovely Damen, that the information is confidential.”

  “Did you just curse?” Amy asked.

  “No, no, heaven’s no. Damen means ladies.” Herman chuckled at the misunderstanding and winked at Ames. “I will tell you what you wish to know, should you wish to know it.”