Neapolitan Delight Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 33

by Susan Gillard

  Heather treated the nailed to the wall part with mental skepticism. A dagger in a theater, where everything else screamed elegance and sophistication. It didn’t match.

  “I feel just awful about this,” Keleman said. “Real awful. I mean, this was supposed to be my opening night. My time to shine. And now it’s ruined.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Keleman,” I replied.

  Ryan grunted and pressed his lips together. No doubt to restrain the commentary that Keleman should be grateful he’d been behind the projector, not on the stage for this particular showing.

  “Sorry, ha. You know what they’ll say about this place now, don’t you? Every time folks come to watch a movie, they’ll talk about the murder. Not the effort I put in to bringing this type of place to Hillside,” Edgar said. He ruffled his tufts of hair again.

  “Did you know the victim?” Heather asked.

  “I don’t even know who the victim was, to know him. If you know what I mean.” Edgar jangled the keys from his left hand to his right.

  “Pete Boston,” Ryan replied.

  Edgar Keleman’s gasped. “No. Not old, Pete.”

  “He wasn’t that old,” Ryan said. “Early forties. You knew him?”

  “I knew him,” Edgar replied, and nodded once. “We had a rivalry going on. Nothing serious. Just a friendly competition.”

  “What kind of competition?”

  “Every kind,” Edgar said. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, but we were never friends. We were competitors. He won a trophy, I won a bigger one, that kinda thing. Poor Pete. Poor, poor Pete.” He hung his head and flashed them his bald spot again.

  “Do you have any idea who might’ve wanted to hurt him?” Heather asked. Pity, she hadn’t brought her handbag to this one. Her trusty note-taking tablet lay ensconced within its depths.

  “Pete? No. He was a nice guy. I think, I mean, we didn’t talk that often, except if it was to trade a few good-natured insults.”

  A paradox if ever there was one.

  “Why didn’t you lock the side doors?” Ryan asked.

  “I guess I forgot.” Edgar shrugged his shoulders. “Things have been exciting around here. Fun. Stressful. It’s a new business venture.”

  Heather could understand that part. She’d gone through similar after the renovation of Donut Delights a few months back.

  “In fact,” Edgar Keleman said, and stifled a yawn with his palm. “I think I might turn in, soon. Can I let you folks out?” He lifted the keys and wiggled them, fingers pinched on the ring.

  “Sure,” Ryan said, but uncertainty tainted his acquiescence. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Keleman.”

  “You know where to find me,” he said and jerked his thumb toward the projection room, and the strange dagger which hung beside it.

  Chapter 4

  Heather stood in front of the glass counter in Donut Delights and leaned her back against it. She folded her arms and met each bleary-eyed gaze from her assistants.

  Jung sat beside Maricela, his chin propped in his palm. Angelica yawned from the corner, standing, because she’d fall asleep if she sat. Emily balanced her elbows on the glass top of a table closest to Heather, her notebook open between her arms. Ken fiddled with the lens of his camera, which hung from his neck.

  And Amy, why Ames rested her forehead on her arms in Eva’s spot.

  The sun hadn’t graced Hillside with its presence, yet.

  “I know you all wish you could be back in your beds, right now,” Heather said.

  A mumble from the group. Amy raised her head long enough to spear Heather with a withering gaze. She plopped her forehead down on her puffy sleeves again.

  “But this is the start of our year, guys, and we’ve got to plan for it,” she said. “Ames, would you mind rustling up some coffee for the gang?”

  Amy shot upright at the mention of caffeinated sustenance. “Can do,” she said. She bustled to the coffee machine behind the counter and clicking ensued, thereafter. The push of buttons, the hiss of the frothing machine.

  The Donut Delights assistants perked up.

  “I’ve called you all here because I noticed something at the end of the year,” Heather said, and checked her watch. Four in the morning. No wonder she had a workforce of zombies. “And it’s not something I’m happy about.”

  “What is it, boss?” Angelica asked, from her spot beside the kitchen door.

  “Nothing that you guys have done wrong,” Heather said. “Let me make this clear. You’re awesome. Everything we achieved last year would’ve been impossible without your help.”

  “Great,” Amy said, and clattered cups onto a tray. “What’s the problem, then?”

  “Online orders have dropped off,” Heather said. “And I can’t figure out why. I’ll never keep anything from you all, so I figured I’d put it to you.”

  The assistants mumbled. Jung and Maricela leaned toward each other and muttered under their breaths.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Maybe the website needs a revamp?” Jung asked. “I could check that out. Ken could redo the photos if they’re not up to scratch.”

  Ken paused, mid-lens polish. “The photos are good, but I know I can do better.”

  Trust her exhausted assistants to be proactive about a dip in sales. They’d never cease to amaze her, even after a year, hard-worked, hard-fought, and a new donut each week.

  Amy strode out from behind the counter carrying a tray of steaming hot coffees. She halted in front of Heather, and she swept up her ear-marked cappuccino from the plastic surface.

  Steam rose from the foam and tickled her nostrils. Heather inhaled, a long, deep breath filled with the rich aroma of the Donut Delights specialty blend.

  “All right, let’s move on to lighter things,” Heather said. She’d only brought up the drop in online orders so they’d be prepared for less long shifts. “Lighter and fluffier, I hope.”

  Emily Potts clasped her mug of coffee to her chest and clicked her rings against it. “This week’s donut?” She asked.

  Heather’s newest assistant loved the creation part of the week, the best. “Yeah, finally, this week’s donut. I would’ve given it to you on Saturday, but what with New Years and so on.”

  “Get to it, woman,” Amy said. She slurped foam from the top of her cappuccino. “I’m running out of coffee already.”

  “This week, we’re going to start the year with a bang. Three distinct flavors melded into one beautiful donut, and coincidentally, one of Amy’s favorites.”

  Heather’s bestie arched an eyebrow. “I can guess it. I bet, I can guess it.”

  “Neapolitan,” Heather said before Amy could draw out the meeting further.

  “Yes,” Amy and Emily said, in unison. They shared a glance, blinked, then focused on Heather again.

  “We’ll start with a vanilla and white chocolate batter, baked until crisp in the oven. That will be topped with a fluffy, strawberry cream, kind of like the marshmallow topping we did a while back. And then drizzled with streaks of chocolate ganache.”

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Amy said. “Heather, how do you expect me to make these without eating them all right afterward?”

  “Angelica will guard them with her rolling pin, if necessary,” Heather said.

  Laughter scattered through the interior of Donut Delights and warmed it, at last. Her assistants shook off their sleepiness and finished their coffees.

  “When you’re done, head on through to the kitchen. Jung, I’d like you to make up a couple batches of Lavender Dusts with Angelica. Those were popular last week. We’ll do them and some Hot Choc Glazed. Ken and Maricela can do those.” Heather nodded to each of her named assistants. “Emily and Ames, you’re with me. I’m going to teach you this weeks and you can teach the others once we’re done.”

  “Roger that,” Amy said, and saluted with her empty coffee cup.

  Activity replaced the yawns and moans. Donut Delights was in business fo
r the morning. The bakers were at the ready, but Heather couldn’t shake the anticipation of what would come later in the afternoon.

  Her investigation of the Keleman Cinematic Theater. Hopefully, she’d have enough energy to make it through without tripping over her own feet.

  “Are you all right?” Amy asked, and tapped her on the shoulder, once. “You haven’t even put your apron on yet.”

  “Oh right, right.” Heather hurried around the counter. She grabbed her Donut Delights apron of the hook and tied it on. “Better?”

  Amy pursed her lips. “I will be after I’ve tasted one of your donuts.”

  Chapter 5

  “We’ve got the place to ourselves,” Ryan said and shut the rich, wooden doors behind them. They rattled in the door frame but settled right away. There wasn’t a breath of wind, for once.

  Heather stripped off her coat and studied the stage ahead of them. “Those weren’t there before,” she said and pointed at the thick, red velvet curtains which cascaded from beneath the lip of the ceiling and gathered in dark pools on the wood.

  “Must’ve been Keleman closing up last night,” Ryan said. “The side door is locked too, but that’s probably for the best. The techs cleaned up out there last night, and it’s all tar and painted lines out there. No room for muddy footprints.” He winked at her.

  Heather hung her coat over her arm and strode down the aisle in her sensible boots. The shell wall sconces cast light through the room, but they made Heather shudder.

  The place reminded her of a well-lit tomb.

  “Are you all right?” Ryan asked.

  “What? Of course. This isn’t my first case, hon, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I know, but it’s the first time you’ve seen something quite like this if you know what I mean.”

  Heather took great care in sheltering herself from the violence of the acts. It helped to distil everything down to facts. Clinical items which could be examined in on the notes in one of Ryan’s dossiers.

  Witnessing Pete Boston’s death had let an imprint on her mind which she didn’t like.

  “Where to start,” she muttered.

  “The stage would be the best spot. The forensic evidence is already taken care of,” Ryan said. “But what gets me is why did he come in here in the first place? Why onto the stage?”

  “He said something,” Heather said and shut her eyes for a second. She took hold of the top of one of the leather theater chairs and forced her mind back to that moment.

  Pete Boston on the stage, his hand on his chest. The blood on his shirt, ugh, that part made her stomach twist. And then he’d said… “You,” Heather said, and her eyelids snapped up.

  She moved off from the chair and down toward the front of the stage. “He stood right up here, and he said 'you’ll pay for this,' or something like that. I was a bit freaked. I can’t remember it verbatim.”

  “Which means he came in here on purpose. He was stabbed, and he ran in. Does that mean his killer entered first?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see Pete’s entrance into the auditorium. But one of the men or women in the front rows might have,” Heather said.

  “I’ve already got Hoskins working the phones back at the station on that one.”

  “You trust him with this?” Heather asked.

  Ryan pursed his lips but didn’t answer. He walked up the side stairs which led onto the stage, then disappeared behind the curtain. The thick velvet barely moved at the disturbance.

  “Find anything back there?” Heather called out. The silence pressed down on her shoulders. “Hon?”

  She dropped her coat on one of the chairs in the front row, gaze drifting to the balcony and the blank square in the projectionist’s room. Blackness, no sign of movement or life. But why would there be?

  The Keleman Cinematic Theater was closed until further notice.

  Two sharp squeaks made Heather flinch. She turned back to the stage, heart fluttering despite her earlier assurances.

  The velvet curtains glided across the stage toward the side walls. They lifted at an angle, their folds pinned by an invisible force. The white screen rose too, up, up and into the ceiling, out of sight.

  Ryan strode onto the stage. “That was easy enough. Care to join me?”

  Heather hurried up the side stairs and onto the stage. The polished wood creaked beneath her practical flat-heeled pumps. “Look at that,” she said and pointed to the markings nearby.

  Black crosses in duct tape sat in strategic positions across the stage.

  “This was an old performance theater before Keleman redid it. He must’ve left the stage portion intact,” Ryan said, and walked to the side curtains which led to the backstage area.

  “Makes sense. No use ripping the whole thing up if he’s going to use the stage for the movies.” Heather glanced at the spot where Pete Boston had collapsed, and the hairs on the back of her arms stood on end.

  She focused on her husband instead.

  Ryan walked further down the aisle, and his voice faded. “Good storage too. I bet there are loads of rooms back here that – oh, what?”

  “What? What is it?” Heather asked. She rushed after him, past the velveteen, gray tab curtain and into the narrow aisle which led backstage. “Ryan?”

  “Back here. Down the passage,” he called.

  Heather’s steps echoed down the narrow corridor which started at the backdrop and led toward an open door at the end. A change room, judging by the sinks and benches within.

  She turned the corner and continued down another passage.

  Light shone from a room, further along, its door ajar. “Where are you?”

  “In here,” Ryan said. “Hurry up. You’ve got to see this.”

  Heather quickened her pace, and her pulse raced to match it. What had he found? Her heart was in this one, more than her mind this time. Perhaps, it had something to do with witnessing the death.

  Heather entered the small room, outfitted with a steel bed, topped with a thin mattress, and a single desk and wooden chair in the corner. Pictures decorated the wall beside the bed, images of a beautiful woman, thirty by the looks of it.

  Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, and her jade green eyes met Heather’s, playful. A hint of a smile played across her full lips.

  “What is this place?” Heather breathed.

  Ryan moved from the desk holding a piece of paper. He presented it to her.

  It was addressed to a woman, Mona, and signed off – “Pete. Pete Boston. He was living here? In this room?”

  “I wonder if Keleman knew?” Ryan tapped his bottom lip with his thumb. “He can’t have. He would’ve mentioned it. Better double check, though.”

  “Who’s Mona?” Heather asked, and scanned the details of the letter. “Oh boy, this is really sad. He’s apologizing to her.”

  Ryan’s footsteps creaked on the boards. He took down one of the pictures of the woman and studied it, closely. “This must be her. Strange, she looks familiar.”

  “Uh-huh, to me too,” Heather said and accepted the photograph from him. “Mona. Who are you?” She turned the picture over and caught sight of the same blocky, text which sprawled across the letter.

  Mona Pestov. My love.

  Chapter 6

  “I’m sorry, but that has got to be one of the creepiest things I’ve heard,” Amy said, and folded her arms across her chest. She leaned back in the wrought iron chair at Eva Schneider’s table in Donut Delights. “Back me up here, Eva.”

  “No, I think the meat hearts were creepier, dear,” Eva said, without lifting her gaze from the newspaper laid out on the glass tabletop.

  “Meat hearts?” Amy asked. “Oh right, from the Julie Brookes case. Yeah, that was weird, but it was Larry. This is like, something out of a movie, or something.”

  “That’s a lot of something,” Heather said.

  “Whatever. You know what I mean, right?” Amy scooched forward and grabbed her coffee mug by the ear. She slurped a
sip. “This guy’s just been living there, in the theater by himself. Why? And why did he have pictures of a woman on his wall? Was he stalking her?”

  “A woman?” Eva looked up from the black and white print of the Hillside Reporter, at last. “No one mentioned a woman, did they?”

  Heather looked back over either shoulder. “Actually, yeah. Amy’s right.” She lifted her tote bag from where she’d dropped it the minute she’d bustled into the store.

  She rooted around inside, mind on the case, rather than the plump Neapolitan donut on the plate in front of her. Heather grasped the photograph she’d taken from the theater and brought it out.

  She laid it on the table in front of her two friends.

  Both women leaned closer.

  “She’s lovely,” Eva said.

  “Yeah, got that Angelina vibe going on, doesn’t she?” Amy picked up the picture by the edges and shifted it closer. “Who is she?”

  “Mona Petrov,” Heather said. “That’s her name, at least. I don’t actually have any more information about her. That’s what I’ve got to find out. Ryan’s interviewing Keleman to see if he knew that Pete had –

  “Setup his own personal hotel and spa in the back room of the cinema?” Amy asked, and wriggled her nose at the photo.

  “Yeah, something like that,” Heather replied. “But we did find a letter in the room too, that Pete had written to Mona. It was a love letter of sorts, and really sad. That’s all I have to go on, so far.”

  “Mona Petrov,” Amy muttered. She poked the woman’s picture in the face. “You look familiar.”

  “She looks familiar to me too,” Eva said and extended her palm.

  Amy plopped the photograph into it. “I’m sure I’ve seen her around town somewhere. Weird, I feel like I should know everyone by now.”

  “Hillside’s expanding faster than we can learn new names, it seems,” Heather said, and scanned her packed store. At least the in-store sales hadn’t dipped. Shoot, she couldn’t focus on that now.

  “Hmm.” Eva hummed under her breath and placed the picture beside her newspaper. “Oh yes,” she said.