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

by Susan Gillard

  “I think I found the bald guy,” Amy said and rubbed her shoulders. “He’s got a grip like iron.”

  “Is there a reason you’re assaulting my friend, Mr. Keleman?” Heather asked.

  “She did it. She set the fire. How else would she know my –” His words trailed off at the implication. “I – sorry,” he said. “I just, my theater’s on fire.”

  Keleman walked to the cruiser, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of loss. “I don’t know what happened,” he said and placed a soot-stained palm to his forehead. “I was in the office when I first smelled the smoke.”

  “The office is upstairs?” Ryan asked. They’d concluded their investigation and confirmed that Keleman could return to the theater to get back to work that same morning.

  The roof of the theater cracked and collapsed inward, drawing screams from the crowd.

  Keleman’s shoulders shook, and he bowed his head to hide the emotion. “It’s on the second floor. The top floor is the attic, where I store my reels.”

  “The attic had a window?” Heather asked.

  “Yeah. These reels are highly flammable,” Keleman replied. “And sensitive to light. But I kept the windows shuttered and stored the films in their original canisters. I don’t understand what happened. It was so fast.”

  “Please, try to stay calm, Mr. Keleman,” Ryan said. “There’s an ambulance on the way, right now.”

  “I smelled the smoke, and I ran out, and the fire was on the stairs to the attic. I tried to put it out, but the smoke was too much.”

  That must’ve been how he’d lost what was left of his hair on the right side of his head.

  “Have you taken out insurance on the theater, Mr. Keleman?” Heather asked.

  Ryan nudged her and turned his head left, and then right. A tiny shake ‘no.’ Perhaps, the question was insensitive. The poor man had just lost his life’s dream. But then, Pete Boston had lost his life too, and he didn’t have the luxury of mourning for it or anything else.

  “No. I was going to do that next week after things had settled down,” Keleman said and stroked his forehead. He smeared soot across it. “It’s been complicated after what happened to Pete. Poor Pete.”

  “You didn’t see anyone exit or enter the building?”

  “No, I keep the doors locked during the day. There was no reason to have them open. Oh wait, I did run out earlier to get tea from the local shop, but I’m sure I locked it behind me. Or did I?” Keleman’s nerves had reached the end of their tether.

  Another crack from the building sent him closer to the edge.

  “Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Keleman. I think that will be all for now,” Ryan said. “It looks like the medics have arrived. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you over there.”

  Ryan walked around to the theater owner, then guided him off the white van parked nearby, red lights flashing.

  Amy clicked her tongue. “I don’t like that guy. I don’t care how distraught he is about his theater. I bruise like a peach.”

  “I can’t believe he just attacked you like that.”

  “Yeah, and right after I asked him his name. He totally flipped out about it. Weird.” Amy sniffed and rubbed the tip of her button nose with the back of her hand. “I’ve had just about enough smoke for one day. Let’s get back to the store.”

  “Agreed.”

  Chapter 10

  Rain clouds blocked Heather’s usual view of the sky from her office window. They brood above the bakery, silent for once, and stayed empty of chain lightning.

  The ambiance matched her mood, perfectly.

  She clicked on her desk lamp and adjusted her grip on the sheet of numbers in front of her. “I need an accountant,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?” Amy asked, and stifled a yawn.

  They’d both been up since the early hours of the morning, producing donuts and taking care of the paperwork, not to mention the crazy fire that’d disturbed their investigations that afternoon.

  Both of them stank of smoke.

  Heather yawned too and wiggled the paper at her friend. “It’s not just the online sales that are down,” she said. “Our numbers didn’t meet the projection for December. Maybe, I was a little too ambitious with that projection, but it’s still not as much as I expected.”

  “How is that possible?” Amy asked, and sorted through invoices. She filed them away one by one, by order of date and invoice number. “It was crazy busy during December. All seven of us spun to keep up with the baking, the coffees, the – ugh, you know the rest.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t enough,” Heather said and rapped her knuckles on the sheet of paper. “At least, according to this.”

  Amy marked her place in the file with her finger. “There might be ways we can increase revenue. And cut costs around here.”

  “Explain,” Heather said and placed the paper beside her laptop. “I’m all ears.”

  “There are the online sales, and I like Jung’s idea of redoing the site,” Amy said.

  “Yeah, but that’s not all that’s holding us back,” Heather replied.

  “No, it’s not.” Ames lifted her coffee cup from the corner of the desk. She sipped the coffee, gaze fixed on Heather.

  “What else do you suggest?” Heather trusted her bestie with everything. What with the case and running the store full time, feeding her family and spending quality time with Lils, Dave, and Cupcake, she barely had time to think about improvements for the store.

  “Hmm.” Amy put down her cup. “Firstly, we need to go full on electronic. There should be some hard copies of things in the office, but I feel like this filing stuff takes too much time.”

  “But we are electronic. All the orders are down online, and we’ve got the computer for in-store purchases –”

  “Yeah, but we still print out all this stuff,” Amy said and knocked on the front of the lever arch file in her lap. “It’s an antiquated system. If we streamline this, we’ll be able to spend more time working out there. I mean, isn’t that what you wanted when you opened this place? To enjoy the bakery?”

  “That’s true. All the filing, bookkeeping, paperwork, it’s become a chore,” Heather said.

  “Right, so let’s install a real system. A full one. And then we get that accountant you were talking about.”

  It was just good business sense.

  “Thanks, Ames, you’re a lifesaver,” Heather said, and the weight on her shoulders lifted a little.

  “Oh, I’m not done yet,” she said. She dumped the file on the seat beside hers. “I say we organize an event to drum up more excitement about the store. Some kind of annual event.”

  “That’s interesting,” Heather replied. “Maybe some kind of in-store competition. Or a festival. Imagine a Hillside food festival.”

  “That’s more of a summer thing, though. I’m not sure the tourists would want to spend hours chomping down on donuts in freezing cold weather.”

  Heather burst out laughing. “Ames, it’s not freezing cold. It’s raining. It’s 38 degrees for heaven’s sake.”

  “Maybe it’s not freezing for you, Mrs. New York,” Amy replied. “Some of us have sensory receptors left.” She smoothed her puffy coat beneath her Donut Delights apron.

  Heather checked her filigree watch and blinked at the hands which ticked across its pearlescent face. “It’s getting late, though, and I need to fetch Lils from Eva’s place before Cupcake rips up the house in protest. She gets Dave all riled up. You wouldn’t imagine the mess they can make.”

  “Oh, I think I can,” Amy said and winked. She’d spent many a night babysitting Dave, and Cupcake too, now. Though, neither the cat nor the human appreciated the proximity.

  “We’ll talk about this whole event thing tomorrow,” Amy said and flapped her palms. “At least this means I’m done filing for the day. Fires and filing. There’s a movie in there somewhere.”

  Heather snorted.

  “Hey,” Amy said and rose from her s
eat. “I didn’t say it was a good movie.”

  Now, that the business worries had been taken care of, summarily, Heather’s confusion about the case drifted back to the forefront.

  Mona’s distraught expression appeared first, followed by the half-charred fear of Edgar Keleman. Faces and places, people who had possible motives, but the evidence lacked.

  “Hello,” Amy said and waved from the doorway. Donut Delights’ interior had emptied while they’d been in the office, and Emily Potts stood behind the register, counting the float. “Are you coming? Or do you plan on napping in the office tonight.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “I can always count on you to keep me grounded, Amy Givens. Even when I don’t want to be.”

  Chapter 11

  “Lilly,” Heather called up the stairs. “Come on. You’re going to be late for school. Dave and Cupcake will survive without you.”

  Every morning the same charade played out. A scene from a Greek tragedy, more like. Lilly would hug Dave, who’d whine and howl in response. Cupcake would act aloof until the minute Lils exited her room, backpack slung over one shoulder, then decide that the time was nigh to purr and meow for attention.

  “Just a minute,” Lilly called back from her bedroom.

  Heather sighed and rested her butt against the entrance hall table. The antique wood creaked and complained but, once again, Heather hadn’t caught more than two winks of sleep the night before.

  The fire and Herman Schulz’ words about Mona’s marriage had revolved around her head. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this went deeper somehow. That they’d missed an important detail during their investigation.

  And now, it was too late to go back and rifle through Pete’s things, since the theater had burned to the ground.

  Hillside’s first real fire in months. The last had been in relation to a case, too.

  “But is it arson?” Heather muttered. She straightened her plain, white blouse, the same type she wore to work, every day – the uniform of Donut Delights.

  “I have to go.” Lilly appeared in her doorway at the top of the stairs. She held the doorknob and creaked the door open a sliver. “Dave, don’t look at me like that. I’ve got school. It’s important. You’ll understand one day.”

  “He’ll never understand, Lils,” Heather said. “He’s too stubborn.” Starrköpfig. The word Herman had called Pete Boston.

  Lilly sighed and trudged down the stairs, her fingers tucked under the straps of her backpack. “I guess.”

  “What’s wrong, honey? Did you get enough sleep?”

  “Yeah, I’m just not looking forward to school,” Lilly said.

  “Why? You love school.” A point of pride in Heather’s mind. Her daughter loved to learn as much as she loved to play. Perhaps, the constant interruptions to her schooling, the moves from one home to another, had imparted the importance of learning on Lilly.

  “I do normally,” Lilly said. “But there’s this boy who sits next to me in class, and he’s really irritating.”

  “What does he do that’s irritating?” Heather asked.

  “Interrupts me whenever I ask a question. He makes jokes about me when I do too. It’s not bullying or anything, don’t worry, but he’s started getting on my nerves,” Lilly said.

  “You could ask the teacher to move you to another seat,” Heather said. She walked to the alarm pad beside the front door. She keyed in the code and two beeps rang out.

  “Yeah, but that would be like running away. I’m not going to let him know he got to me. He’s acting like an idiot, and eventually, he’ll make a fool of himself,” Lilly said. “He doesn’t need any help from me with that.” She readjusted her grip on her straps and hurried to the front door.

  She clicked back the lock, opened the door, then stepped out onto their front porch.

  “I agree with that sentiment,” Heather said. She armed the alarm again. “Just keep your head down and your mind focused. This too shall pass.”

  “You sound like dad,” Lilly said, and stuck out her tongue.

  Heather hurried out onto the porch. “That’s why we’re married,” Heather replied, and shut the door behind her.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Lilly pointed to the white paneled front door.

  A note had been pasted to it, and curly cursive writing spread across the lined A5 page. Heather ripped it down and shielded the words from her daughter’s view.

  “What is it? Can I see?” Lilly asked.

  “No, Miss Inquisitive.” Heather tossed Lilly the car keys. “Open up for me, would you?”

  “I’ll take her for a spin.” Another of Lilly’s teasing remarks. She’d spent too much time with Amy.

  Lilly trooped down the front steps and hurried to the cherry red Chevrolet Spark in the driveway. The lights flashed once, and Lils opened the passenger door of the car.

  Heather focused on the page again. Her gaze chased across it.

  I have information which you will find interesting. Meet me at the Hillside Library at 2pm. You won’t regret it.

  Anya Katz

  “Anya Katz,” Heather said, and re-read the lines of text. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

  She folded the note and slipped it into her tote. Curiosity slipped into her mind and that sleuthin’ gene danced again. A silent demand.

  Heather stretched her arms out and hurried down the front stairs, toward her parked car. Lilly grinned at her, the same curiosity in Heather reflected in the eleven year old's expression.

  “Are you okay?” She asked, the minute Heather opened the car door.

  The question accompanied the new car smell which still hadn’t faded. Heather exhaled and sat down behind the wheel. “I’m fine, darling. Why do you ask?”

  “Just your face when you read that note. It was like you’d seen a ghost,” Lilly said.

  “Not yet,” Heather replied, and gestured to Lilly’s seatbelt. “Let’s hit the road. Got to get you to your appointment with the annoying kid at school.”

  “Oh boy,” Lilly said and clapped her hands. “I can’t wait.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Amy.” Heather’s laughter washed away some of the intrigue, but that sensation of foreboding remained.

  Heather put the car in reverse and checked her mirrors. She could convince herself a meeting with the mysterious Anya Katz was a bad idea, or pretend to, but she’d go to that meeting.

  She couldn’t fool herself on that point.

  Chapter 12

  The Hillside Public Library had a history which stretched back to the town’s humble beginnings. An image of the library, a tiny ramshackle building in the same spot on a dirt road, sat proudly on the wall beside the double wooden doors.

  Heather tucked her hands behind her back and examined the photograph.

  “That’s the only one we have,” a woman said, behind her.

  She jolted to attention and turned around. A woman in a knee-length, woolen dress stared back at her from behind a pair of wire-framed glasses. Her liquid brown eyes blinked, once.

  “You must be Anya Katz,” Heather said and extended her hand. “Heather Shepherd. But I’m sure you know that already.”

  Anya accepted the shake, though she grasped only the fingertips. “Research is what I do, Mrs. Shepherd. Finding you was easier than most projects I undertake.”

  “Who are you?” Heather asked. She couldn’t help herself.

  Anya laughed, and a section of silvery hair fell from her neat bun. “I’m the town historian,” she said. “And I’m currently working on a book about the founders of Hillside. Gold miners.”

  Heather ran her teeth along her bottom lip. She was at a loss here. What did the early gold miners and the founders of Hillside have to do with her?

  “Shall we have a seat?” Anya asked. She walked off toward the rows of tables and shelves of books, without waiting for a reply.

  The thin, elderly woman’s gait spoke of power and elegance. She wasn’t the type of w
oman who took ‘no’ for an answer.

  Heather strode after her, and equal parts of confusion and curiosity pushed her onward, between the towering bookcases. The spines of leather bound and jacket-covered books blurred past her.

  Anya Katz took a left at the end of the aisle and disappeared. Heather shot out from between the shelves and halted in an enclave of wooden desks and hushed rustling pages.

  A man looked up from his book and frowned at her.

  Anya popped out from behind another shelf. “This way, Mrs. Shepherd,” she said. The hush dusted the air with a sense of anticipation. What would this historian tell Heather?

  This might’ve been a waste of time, but then, was anything ever a real waste of time?

  Her life had been a succession of lessons, and she’d learned from each encounter, whether it came from a woman like Anya Katz or the anger of Billy Fordyce.

  Heather hurried after Anya and between another two shelves. Names leaped at her from the spines of the books, now. Stalin. Karl Marx. Susan B. Anthony. Nelson Mandela.

  Books by other historians, titles which called to Heather. She didn’t know as much as she should about world history. Now, wasn’t the time, though.

  Heather emerged from the shells and faced another grouping of desks. Any sat at one, her palms resting on top of it, fingers intertwined. “Please, have a seat, Mrs. Shepherd.”

  Heather drew back the wooden chair across the thick green carpeting. She sat down and slipped her tote bag off her shoulder and onto the floor. “I must admit, my curiosity has peaked. What is this about, Ms. Katz?”

  The historian grasped a massive tome on the corner of her desk and drew it closer. She traced the title on the front of the book. “This,” she said, in hushed tones, “is one of my sources for my book about the founders of the town. It tells the tale of the start of Hillside, and lists some of the gold miners who came to the region.”

  Heather hadn’t heard too much about the miners in Texas. After all, the rush had hardly been as significant as the one in California.

  “You see, the South Bosque River held gold. Alluvial gold, the last of the stuff in the state. The miners came with their pans and their families, seeking fortune.” The old woman’s eyes lit up. She bore a far-off expression, lost in memories she didn’t possess, but which had been recorded for her.