Candied Maple Bacon Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 13 (Donut Hole Mystery)

by Susan Gillard

“He sure is popular,” she said. She opened one of the articles and read it. “New York, born and raised, Chase Reynolds comes from a rough background. Lost his father very young – doesn’t say how – and decided to start investing in businesses at a young age. He catapulted himself to success when he pumped capital into a Starbucks competitor, CuppaJoe’s.”

  “Sounds like he’s got a good business mind.” Ryan didn’t shift his gaze from the slip of paper which Honey had written on. “But where did he get the capital from in the first place?”

  “This article doesn’t say.” Heather pressed back and went through the list, article by article. None of them mentioned where Chase Reynolds had gotten his money from. They went on at length about his poor background, but that was about it.

  “Curious,” Heather whispered, tapping her index finger beside the mouse pad. “Very curious.”

  “Thanks for the tip, babe. I’ll check this out tomorrow,” Ryan said. “Mind if I take the note for evidence?”

  “If it will help find Honey’s killer, then of course not,” Heather replied, unable to tear her eyes from Chase’s suit and tie.

  She’d never trusted anyone less.

  Chapter 10

  Dos Chicos had a unique atmosphere. The Gypsy Kings played through the speakers, and the owners had installed a dance floor at one end of the room. It was a relatively new addition, and it provided a lot of entertainment.

  A lot of the elderly residents of Hillside tried their luck on the floor and ended up having a grand time, even though they didn’t get any Salsa steps right.

  “Mmmm, salsa,” Heather murmured.

  “What was that?” Ryan asked. He held her hand on top of the table and lifted a glass of water to his lips.

  “Nothing, I’m just starving. I wonder when Amy and Kent are going to get here.” Heather dug her cell out of her tote and checked the screen. “They’re half an hour late.”

  “Maybe they got caught in traffic,” Ryan replied.

  Heather’s insides bubbled, and she hummed along to the song, even though she wasn’t that familiar with it. They hadn’t seen Kent and Amy together in a few months, not since he’d attended their wedding.

  “I hope everything will go okay,” Heather said. “I want to see Amy happy.”

  “Everything will be fine.” Ryan stroked her cheek then planted a kiss on it. “It’s sweet that you care about her so much.”

  “She’s my best friend,” Heather replied. “Actually, she’s more like a sister without the sibling rivalry.”

  Heather glanced over her shoulder and huffed a sigh of relief. Amy stood just inside the door, arms folded, and her back to them. Kent entered brushing off his buttoned shirt.

  “They’re here,” Heather said.

  Amy turned toward them, and Heather waved. Amy didn’t wave back. She walked up to them, a frown brewing on her forehead and Kent followed his expression just as unpleasant.

  “Sorry, we’re late. Kent was feeling emotional,” Amy said, sliding into the seat opposite them.

  Ryan pulled a face.

  Heather cleared her throat. So much for a pleasant evening out.

  “It’s been a rough time,” Kent said, shoulders inching upwards, back stiff as an iron rod. He slipped into the seat beside Amy but kept a healthy distance between them.

  “Oh boy,” Heather murmured.

  Ryan gave an infinitesimal nod of agreement.

  The waiter arrived and saved them from Round 2 of the incredibly awkward conversation. “What can I get for you, folks?” She asked, smiling widely and tilting her head to the side. Her apron was spotless, and she didn’t bother bringing out her notepad to write down their orders.

  “I’ll have a margarita,” Amy replied, “and you’d better bring Kent some tissues in case he decides to burst into tears over his ex-lover.”

  Everyone at the table sucked in their stomachs and stiffened.

  “Amy,” Heather said, “that’s hardly a polite thing to say.”

  “I don’t care,” Amy replied, bluntly. “I’ve had enough.”

  “Enough of what?” Kent thundered and turned to face her. “Of my attention? Of my time.”

  The waitress’s smile didn’t falter a white. She backed off slowly, one step at a time, retracting herself from the conversation as tactfully as possible. “I’ll come back to take your orders later.”

  “Make that two margaritas,” Heather called after her. She’d need the sustenance after this. Amy had only gotten started.

  “Three!” Ryan yelled.

  “I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Amy said, once quiet had fallen. “You ruined a perfectly good evening because of her.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Kent asked. “Why are you so jealous? I barely knew the woman.”

  “Oh yeah? Then how come you were crying over her in the bathroom. You can just stop lying. I know you cared for her.” Amy folded her arms and stared at the spot above Ryan’s head.

  Ryan sank in his chair, trying to avoid her laser gaze.

  Heather followed his example. Their argument had gotten loud enough to draw the attention of a couple two tables over.

  “Okay fine, you want to know the truth? I did care for her!” Kent replied. “I did. But not in the way you imagine. I care for everyone I work with. Everyone. Why do you think I call Angelica every other week?”

  “That’s different,” Amy said, finally turning her glare on Kent.

  “How? How is that different? She’s a woman too,” Kent replied. “I’ve been in contact with her ever since her arrest in Paris. I care about the people I help, otherwise, why would I help them in the first place? It’s just the right attitude to have in my business. So many lawyers –”

  “Spare me the lecture,” Amy snapped. “It’s different because Honey was, she was a, well, she was a dancer.”

  “I see,” Kent replied. “That’s childish of you, Amy. You’re threatened by a woman who didn’t earn half as much as you did, or have the opportunities you were granted. Who didn’t have your privilege.” The lawyer stroked his brow. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Me neither,” Amy said, lowering her voice. “I’m not cut out for this kind of pressure.”

  “Then you’re not cut out for me,” Kent said. “You should find someone else, someone who will worship you constantly, instead of helping other people.”

  “You know that’s not what I want.” Amy slapped angry tears from her cheeks.

  Ugh, this was the worst atmosphere in the world. The entire night was ruined, and Amy would take ages to recover from this. Clearly, Chase Reynolds had gotten inside her head.

  Kent got out of his seat and walked off. He stopped looked back at Amy, shook his head once. “I fell in love with you, Amy.” Then he marched to the door of the restaurant.

  Cue waterfall of tears from Heather’s bestie.

  “Maybe we should go home,” Ryan said. “Amy can stay over at our place tonight.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” Heather slipped out of her seat and hurried around to Amy’s side of the table to console her bestie’s broken heart.

  Chapter 11

  Heather left Amy curled up and fast asleep on her favorite sofa in the living room. The end credits of Something’s Gotta Give rolling on the screen.

  It was early morning, and Heather needed to get to Donut Delights to check on the sales of the Candied Maple Bacon Donuts. Maricela had called her the day before and told her they’d had to make three extra batches because of online orders.

  If they couldn’t keep up, that’d send a super unprofessional message to their buyers – not the impression Heather wanted to make.

  She let herself out of the house and strode down the garden path, toward her car, stifling a yawn behind her fist.

  Heather stopped by her car and brought out her smartphone. She scrolled through to her messages, then typed a text to Angelica.

  Be at Donut Delights in 30 minutes. Got one stop to make first.
<
br />   She stowed the phone in her pocket, then got into her car. She started the engine, put on her seatbelt and clicked on the lights.

  It was 5 am, and the sun hadn’t risen yet, though the sky had already lightened up a little.

  Amy’s fight with Kent had brought a lot of facts to the forefront of Heather’s mind.

  Why had Kent been so distraught over Honey’s death? Why had Hunter been less distraught? And more importantly, why had Honey’s brother bought a gun a few days before she’d been shot to death?

  Heather glanced at her porch, then shuddered. She’d never get used to the fact that a friend had died there, seeking her help.

  “Here we go,” Heather said, then checked her handbag for her Taser. “No one but you and me, little buddy. Let’s hope you’re impressive enough today. Or rather, that I’m on my game. Don’t want to make him angry.”

  Heather reversed out of her drive and headed into the suburbs. She’d asked around for Hunter’s address, and one of the town gossips, Sue Daily, had been happy to give her the information.

  Hunter Trickle lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Heather frowned at the expression. “How can there be a right side of the tracks?” She asked, herself, then chuckled. “Trains are noisy. Any side of the tracks is wrong. Great, now you’re talking to yourself. Upgrade from humming 80s hits.”

  She jabbed at the radio and listened to the early morning chatter from the DJs, driving down the quiet roads and towards the tracks at the other end of town.

  She waited for the all clear, then hurried across the train tracks, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She’d heard way too many stories of cars being run over by trains not to feel uncomfortable whenever she had to cross.

  Five minutes later, she parked in front of Hunter’s house. The lights in the front room were on, and the blinds were drawn, though they were material and kinda transparent.

  The front door was open.

  “That’s weird,” Heather said. She leaned forward and studied the sky. “Almost sunrise.” That was a small comfort.

  Then again, Honey had been murdered in broad daylight, and no one had seen a thing. Perhaps, it’d be wise to let Ryan know where she was.

  Heather whipped out her cell and texted him about it. He didn’t text back. He was probably busy, wriggling under Detective Davidson’s thumb.

  Heather slipped the straps of her handbag onto her shoulder, then let herself out of her car. She tucked her hand into the tote and grasped her Taser, firmly. Hopefully, Hunter Trickle was as friendly as he’d been in front of Geoff Lawless’ store.

  She hurried up the wooden front stairs of his house, then paused on the threshold.

  “Hello?” Heather said. “Are you in there, Hunter?”

  Not a sound. No, wait that was movement in the room adjacent – a shuffling noise. Light shone through the crack between the door and the jamb.

  Heather swallowed, brought out the Taser and strode towards the door. She knocked once, and it swung inward. She stepped into the well-lit room, scanning for Hunter Trickle’s telltale blonde do.

  “No one,” she whispered.

  The room was empty, except for a mottled sofa beneath the window and a desk against the wall opposite. A laptop sat in the center of the desk, the screen lit up as if someone had just touched the mouse pad.

  Heather walked forward a step, then paused.

  Hunter’s email was open, and he had messages from both Adele and… Chase Reynolds.

  “What the –?” Heather hurried to the desk to get a closer look, and placed her palm on the wooden surface. Except her skin didn’t contact rough wood, instead, it stuck to plastic.

  She drew her hand back and shuddered. A bag of white powder lay on the desk.

  “I bet that’s not confectioner’s sugar,” she whispered. The drug rumors were true, after all.

  “Hey!” Hunter appeared in the doorway, adjacent. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you, to talk,” Heather said, backing off slowly and clutching the Taser.

  Hunter caught sight of it and his expression darkened. “You’d better get out of here.”

  “Why didn’t you answer me when I called for you? Why’s the front door open?”

  “Get out,” Hunter yelled, pointing at her. “Get outta here or I’ll call the cops.”

  Heather nodded towards the desk and its bag of powder. “I highly doubt that,” she replied, but she wasn’t about to take chances. She turned on her heel and fled, rattling down the wooden front stairs, then streaking across the road to her car.

  Sweat trailed down her back and blood rushed in her ears. What had she just witnessed?

  Chapter 12

  Just because Hunter was on drugs and he’d bought a rifle, didn’t mean he’d killed his sister.

  Heather grimaced – the evidence certainly didn’t lean in Hunter Trickle’s favor – and rushed up the concrete stairs of the Hillside Police Department. She pushed through the doors and headed for the desk directly ahead.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” The woman behind the desk readjusted the name badge affixed to her uniform.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for my husband? Ryan Shepherd. It’s urgent,” she replied.

  “Just a sec,” Natalie replied, then pressed buttons on the phone in front of her.

  Heather backed off a few steps and stared out of the window instead. The sun had already risen, and morning traffic rumbled down the road. A traffic jam had spread back from the lights at the intersection. Cars honked their horns, and a man leaned out of his window, waving frantically at the others in the line.

  “Oh boy, what a weird start to the day,” Heather said.

  “Babe?” Ryan appeared beside her. “What are you doing here?”

  She’d never encroached on his working space before. It’d always seemed like a silly thing to do, even though he’d hinted that a box of donuts would go down well at the station.

  “Sorry,” Heather replied, “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t urgent.”

  “I know. But what’s happened? Are you all right?”

  “I want over to Hunter Trickle’s house this morning, I dunno, maybe it was too early –”

  “Wait, what?” Ryan grabbed her by the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did. I sent you a text about it. I take it you haven’t checked your phone,” Heather said.

  “No, I’ve been getting a lecture from Davidson instead. I can’t wait for this shift to end,” Ryan murmured, then rubbed his forehead with the back of his forearm. Their voices echoed down the long hall, bouncing off the nondescript beige walls and chipped linoleum.

  “What happened at Hunter’s place?” Ryan asked.

  “His door was open, and the lights were on. So I called out for him, but he didn’t answer.”

  “You went in, didn’t you?” Ryan pressed three fingers to his forehead. “I’m getting a headache. Stress.”

  “I went in, and I saw he’d gotten a couple of emails from Adele and one from Chase Reynolds. And there were drugs on the table. He walked in and chased me outta there,” Heather said. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but there’s something weird going on here. Why was he talking to two other suspects in the case? Why did he buy a gun?”

  “Okay, okay,” Ryan said, and flapped his hands.

  Heather lowered her voice and took a couple of deep breaths. She had been getting too excited. She needed a coffee, or better yet, a donut.

  “You need to go to the bakery and focus on your work, love. It will calm you down. Thanks for the tip off, I’ll follow through on the lead with Hunter,” Ryan said, then paused and licked his lips. “I want you to know that you’re the best investigator I’ve ever met. I’d trust you with my life, but sometimes, you need to pull back and breathe. The closer you get to the case, the harder it’s going to be for you to focus. That’s what I learned, anyway.”

  “You’re right. I need a break from this line of though
t. Shoot, I promised Angelica I’d be in a half hour ago.” Heather said, bringing out her phone and checking for messages. Nothing.

  Her staff always had a handle on the store, but it didn’t make her feel better about being late for work.

  “Shepherd!” A man barked.

  They both jumped and spun on the spot. They shared a glance, and Heather couldn’t help but smile – it was nice to respond to that last name instead of Janke.

  Detective Davidson crossed the hall in seconds. He stopped in front of them, fingers slung into his belt loops, glaring down his nose, his eyes sharp as a tack. “We’ve got a situation at Hunter Trickle’s residence,” he said, to Ryan.

  He didn’t glance at Heather, not a flicker of attention.

  “What happened?” Ryan asked.

  “Hunter Trickle has been shot. He’s in the ICU, right now. Critical condition, but they’re hopeful he’ll pull through.”

  “What?” Heather and Ryan said, in unison.

  Finally, Davidson met Heather’s gaze, his brows drawing inward, and those keen eyes growing sharper still. “Mrs. Shepherd. The last time you were here, it was for an interrogation. I hope we won’t have a repeat of that affair.”

  “Of course not,” Heather replied. “I was just on my way to work and decided to pay my husband a visit. Is that a crime, detective?” Sure, her response was antagonistic, but Davidson rubbed her up the wrong way.

  She got the feeling that he’d suspected her in the Jelly Polinksi case, and he hadn’t let go of those unfounded suspicions, judging by the set of his jaw. The man radiated disapproval.

  Detective Davidson didn’t answer her question. “We’re going to the Trickle residence. Once you’ve finished your personal issues,” Davidson said, gesturing to Heather, lazily.

  She schooled herself to calm, forcing a well of anger down, down, into the bottom of her gut. She couldn’t afford to snap at an officer of the law. She’d been on thin ice for a while, especially since she kept interfering in investigations.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Ryan said, then kissed her on the forehead. “Bye, babe.” He turned, then followed grumpy Detective Davidson out of the building.