“What happened to them?” Heather asked. The question slipped from her lips. She hadn’t thought it before she’d said it. Perhaps, a subconscious part of her wanted to know. She’d been born and raised in Hillside, after all.
“There were dangers. This wasn’t the tame land it is now. Back in the 1800s, there were wild animals, flash floods, storms, you name it. A serious lack of sanitation and shelter, too. The mortality rate was quite high.” The woman brushed the surface of the book again. “But the miners persevered, and those who survived were the founders who created the first wooden cabins and shacks which formed the basis for the Hillside you see today.”
Heather’s thoughts chased back to the ramshackle image of the library, in black and white.
“One of these founder families is a name which might be familiar to you,” Anya Katz said and shifted in her seat. The light from the green banker’s lamps on the desk played across her soft cheeks and her sharp nose, which ended in a point.
“A founder family?”
“Yes,” Anya replied, and lowered her tone further.
No one would possibly here them between the shelves, but Heather glanced back at the rows of books and the aisle behind her, anyway. Empty, of course.
Any flipped open the book and paged through it. She didn’t lick her thumb to wet the page. She halted, then turned the book to face Heather and pointed out a single name, in a long list of others.
“James Boston,” Heather said, out loud.
“That’s right. Originally and immigrant from England, his family, settled in Texas years before he set out on a gold-finding expedition to our humble town.”
“James Boston,” Heather repeated. “But surely – no, it can’t be?”
“Pete Boston’s ancestor,” Anya said, connecting the dots for her. “Pete Boston’s family was one of the three founder families in Hillside. The three founders who created the town and named it. Though, admittedly, they didn’t always get along. The third left Hillside after one of their infamous arguments, and the remaining two stayed but never on good terms.”
Heather stared at that name in the book, printed for the world to see, if anyone cared to look. Had Pete known about his ancestry? Would he have cared?
“I thought you’d like to know more about the man you’re investigating,” Anya said and rose from her seat.
Heather didn’t look up from the page. She was trapped in the history. A part of her longed to page through it and find her own name. Had her ancestors immigrated to Hillside during the rush years too?
“Thank you,” Heather said, and finally lifted her gaze.
The historian had disappeared, the only remnant of her presence: the scent of a gently, flower perfume.
Chapter 13
Amy sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t get it,” she said.
Eva flick-flacked her newspaper and folded it closed.
“What don’t you get?” Heather asked. The late afternoon sunset grazed the tar in the street outside, casting long shadows and deep doubts in Heather’s mind.
“What relevance the whole Boston founder family thing has,” Amy said. “I mean, I get it’s important and everything, but what’s it go to do with the case? What was this Anya lady trying to prove by telling you that?”
“I don’t think she was trying to prove anything,” Heather replied. “I think she wanted to make sure I knew more about Pete.” That in itself was a strange endeavor to undertake.
Why did Anya Katz care?
Heather picked up her Neapolitan Delight Donut and took a bite. Once again, her assistants had done an amazing job at replicating her recipe. She savored the taste and shut her eyes.
“It seems like she’s got ulterior motives,” Amy said. “Maybe she’s trying to point you in the wrong direction.”
“Don’t be so paranoid, dear,” Eva said. “The woman was helpful.”
Heather put down her donut and opened her eyes. “I agree with Eva. I think Ms. Katz thought I’d appreciate the information. I’m not sure how she found out about my involvement in the case, however.”
“It’s creepy,” Amy said.
“That should be your catchphrase,” Heather replied.
The hubbub in Donut Delights had died down a half an hour ago, but the three women lingered at Eva’s spot, enjoying the last donuts and coffees of the day. Ryan had already shot off to fetch Lils from school.
No doubt, Cupcake, and Dave were in hysterics, by now.
“We should talk about the event,” Amy said. “We haven’t gotten a chance since yesterday.”
“What event?” Eva asked, and perked up. She loved anything social. Their plum-colored social butterfly. Eva Schneider hadn’t come out of her shell. She’d positively erupted from it.
Everyone loved Eva.
“I’ve been noticing a decline in online orders, and we didn’t meet our projections,” Heather said. “So, Amy suggested we should do something about it. An event. A competition or a –”
“No,” Eva said.
Ames and Heather sat in stunned silence. Ames lifted her donut and gobbled it out of sheer nerves. Crumbs spilled onto the glass tabletop.
“Eva?”
“Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to shock you. I meant, no that’s not going to help, even though it would be fun.”
“It won’t help?” Amy asked, and more crumbs flew from her lips. “Of course it will help. I mean, it will draw in the crowds.”
“Yes, for a few days, and then the memory of the event will fade. It won’t be televised, after all, and you can’t run an event all year round,” Eva said.
“Do you have an idea?” Heather asked. Eva’s opinion meant more to her than anyone else’s, though she’d never admit it to Amy or Ryan.
Eva Schneider had lost her husband and seen the world. She’d provided advice for Heather throughout her years in Hillside and Donut Delights.
“I do,” Eva said. “A joint venture.”
“What’s that?” Amy asked, and finally swallowed.
“It’s where Heather finds a business with a similar target market as hers, and together they co-operate to bring in more customers,” Eva said.
“Like a collaborator?” Amy asked.
“You could say that,” Eva said. “You just have to find someone with the same market as you, who isn’t a direct competitor.” She patted the back of Heather’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Heather had heard of joint ventures before, and how useful they could be in business, but she’d never envisioned one for Donut Delights. Perhaps, because she’d always thought of her bakery as ‘too small.’
That mentality might’ve held them back.
Heather tuned out Amy’s chatter and focused on the road outside instead. Now, who could she meet with? Which business would agree to an amicable partnership?
Certainly not Kate Laverne.
Heather buried her mirth at the thought.
Motion outside the antique store across the road caught her attention. Two women strode down the sidewalk, their backs warmed by the sun. One wore her hair in a silvery gray bun, the other loose around her shoulders, stark black.
Heather gasped and straightened in her seat.
“What is it?” Amy asked, and turned to the street. “What do you see? Hey, isn’t that Mona?”
“Yeah, that’s her,” Heather replied.
The two women entered the antique store without a backward glance, but their silhouettes moved behind the glass windows, free of dust and printed in brown letters – Hillside Antique Boutique.
“And that was Anya Katz beside her,” Heather said.
Amy clapped once. “I told you that woman had an ulterior motive. She’s obviously working for Mona. Or at least, helping her out. She’s trying to distract you. I bet Mona did it.”
“We can’t possibly know that,” Heather replied. Amy had a point, though. Anya’s note and strange insinuations had planted a seed of doubt, and Heather had to clear
it out.
The investigative process had to remain free of outside influence.
Heather waved at Ken behind the counter. He hurried over and halted in front of them, hands tucked into the front pocket of his apron.
“Ken, would you mind locking up this afternoon? If we’re not back by then,” Heather said.
“We?” Amy coughed into her fist. “What we?”
“Sure,” Ken said. “No problem, boss. I want to take a few pictures of the leftover donuts before Eva takes them to the hospital.”
“Great,” Heather replied. “You’re a lifesaver, thanks.”
“What we?” Amy repeated.
“Up and at ‘em, Givens,” Heather said, and grabbed her tote bag from the golden boards beneath her chair. “We’ve got two women to interview.”
“Heather, I’ve got a –”
“No complaints,” Heather said, and winked at her friends. “You know I need your jokes to diffuse the situation.”
Amy couldn’t argue with that. They hugged Eva goodbye, then rushed out of Donut Delights and toward the boutique.
Chapter 14
Heather and Amy hit the sidewalk opposite Donut Delights and scurried toward the stained Mahogany door to the Antique Boutique. Shapes moved behind the glass window beside it, which spanned the wall of the store.
“What are you going to say?” Amy asked.
“I haven’t planned it out,” Heather said. She usually played it by ear otherwise, her questions came out forced. “I think –”
The front door opened, and Mona Petrov walked out to meet them. Her skin glowed by the pale yellow light of the sun. Flawless, olive skin and those jade green eyes to skewer them.
“Mrs. Shepherd,” Mona said. “I thought I recognized you.”
Heather caught a glimpse of Anya Katz in the antique store, but the woman didn’t notice her. She threw her hands up in the air, red in the face, and gesticulated at the woman behind the counter in the boutique.
“What are you doing here, Miss Petrov?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Uh, we work here?” Amy moved to one side to afford Mona a view of Donut Delights’ logo. “Heather owns that bakery.”
Mona’s plump lips thinned out. “Oh,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“Miss Petrov, is there a reason you’re with Anya Katz? Is she your friend? Did you ask her to speak to me about Pete?”
“What? No?” Genuine confusion drew Mona’s eyebrows toward each other. “Anya is an acquaintance at best. She approached me about an artifact. She needs it for her research.”
“Which artifact?” Heather asked.
Mona tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m not sure I should say. It’s Anya’s project. I don’t want to give it away before she’s even put it out on the market.”
“I’m conducting an investigation, Miss Petrov. I need all the information you can give me,” Heather said.
Amy didn’t comment. Weird. Usually, she’d chip in with an anecdote about aiding and abetting criminals, or getting in the path of justice. Nothing today.
Heather’s best friend stood in her new, blue puffy coat and gripped either arm against the perceived chill.
Mona stepped closer and bit the corner of her bottom lip. “Fine,” she said. “Look, Anya is doing a book about the founders of Hillside.”
Heather waited for her to continue.
“And Pete’s ancestors just happened to be one of the three founders. She wanted to know more about him, so she came to see me. She was desperate to meet with Pete too.”
“Did they get the opportunity?” Heather asked.
“No. I was so caught up in trying to get the divorce out of the way that,” Mona broke off and sighed. “That I didn’t ask Pete for a meeting with Miss Katz. He would’ve said no, anyway. Pete was intensely private.”
“Private enough to live in a theater,” Amy said, under her breath.
“His emotions ran hot. I think Pete would’ve balked at the mention of his family. He lost both his parents in a car accident when he was a kid, and since then, he’s pretty much been a loner. No brothers or sisters, either.”
“But that means he was the last of the line, right?” Heather asked, and a pang twisted in her gut.
“Yeah, that’s why this is so important.” Mona tugged at the lapels of her woolen, red trench coat, which she’d cinched at the waist. “Pete’s legacy won’t live on through children, but Anya says it will live on through his family items.”
“And that’s what you came here to find?” Heather asked.
Mona bobbed her head up and down.
“What items are you looking for?” Heather didn’t ask her second question: “Why do you care so much about Pete’s legacy if you wanted a divorce?” It’d offend the woman and cut the conversation short.
Pete might’ve been the brooding type. But Mona had soft eyes which spoke of vulnerability. A true damsel in distress.
“Only one item,” Mona said. “A dagger.”
Amy and Heather both sucked in a breath. A beat passed.
“A dagger,” Heather breathed.
“Yeah, his family dagger.” Mona looked over her shoulder at the antique store. “When Pete left the house a month ago, he didn’t take anything but the clothes on his back, some papers and pictures, and that dagger. His family dagger. He’d carried it with him everywhere since I met him.”
Could it be the very same dagger which had ended his life?
“And you think he would’ve sold it?” Heather asked.
“It wasn’t in any of the personal effects I received from the police after his death,” Mona replied. “And I know that Pete didn’t have any money when he left the house. I figure it’s most likely here at the antique store. How else would he have survived?”
Heather bit her tongue.
“Anya came to me again, after his death, and asked if I had the dagger. She wants to have it sketched for her book on the founders. Apparently, this dagger is one that the first guy who came to the area used during his time here. I had no idea it was worth anything,” Mona said.
Heather’s mind had switched into overdrive. The dagger had to be the murder weapon. But they didn’t have it, Mona didn’t either, and now Anya Katz wanted to get her hands on it.
The boutique’s door opened, and Anya strode out onto the sidewalk. “Fruitless,” she said and rubbed her palms together to warm them. “Absolutely fruitless. That hopeless woman behind the desk can’t tell me whether she saw Pete or not. And she doesn’t have any daggers. Or so she says.”
“You think she’d lie about that?” Mona asked.
Anya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” She said, her tone acerbic. She turned to Heather, next. “Hello, Mrs. Shepherd. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“And you, Miss Katz,” Heather replied, stiffly.
“Well, I’d better get back to the library before it closes. I need to collect my books,” Anya said. “Thank you for your time, Mona.”
“No problem,” Mona said, though her frown didn’t match the words.
The women stomped off in opposite directions, and left Heather and Ames in front of the boutique, empty-handed.
Heather’s phone alarm went off. “Shoot, I’ve got to bring Lilly to Eva’s in a half hour. Date night tonight.”
“Oh, that’s fun,” Amy said, but without any enthusiasm. The area around her mouth had turned white.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Amy said.
“What are your plans for the night?”
“I said fine,” Amy replied. “I’ve got to go. Not feeling well. Bye!” And with that, her best friend sprinted off down the road and out of sight.
What on earth had gotten into everyone, today?
Chapter 15
Salsa music shimmied through the restaurant and injected Heather with unwanted enthusiasm. She scooped up a forkful of enchilada and deposited it in her mouth. The crispy chicken, t
he bell peppers and the salsa made the perfect combination.
Tangy, rich, flavorful. She swallowed, mechanically.
“What’s the matter?” Ryan asked. He scooted around the semi-circle banquette until his hip touched hers. “Honey, you’ve been picking at your food for ten minutes. What’s going on?”
Heather dropped her fork in her plate. Another date night. Eva was at Lilly’s, sleeping over with Cupcake and Dave for company, and they had the night to themselves.
Except they didn’t.
The ghost of the case, and possible Pete Boston himself, had followed Heather from the antique store all the way to home and then to the restaurant.
“Heather,” Ryan said. He touched his forefinger to her chin and tilted her face toward his. “I’m starting to get seriously worried about you. I think this week’s case has tipped you over the edge.”
“Not yet, but it’s working hard to get me there,” she replied.
“Do you need to get it off your chest?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I haven’t really talked to anyone about the case all week.”
Ryan scooched back a little. He stayed on her side of the table, and leaned in to ensure the conversation would stay between them.
“What did you find out?” Ryan asked.
They’d discussed the case each night before bed. He knew about Mona and Col Owen at the Tea Shop, and he’d questioned Keleman at length. Dead ends abounded.
“I met with a woman by the name of Anya Katz today. She’s a historian writing a book about the founders of Hillside. Apparently, Pete Boston is the descendant of one of these founders,” Heather said.
“Okay.” Ryan drew out the word.
“Yeah, and Boston owned a family dagger, which has been missing since he moved out of his shared home with Mona about a month ago,” Heather said.
“And you think this dagger might be the murder weapon?” Ryan’s spine stiffened. He grabbed his soda from across the table and dragged it toward himself, leaving a trail of condensation on the white tablecloth.
Neapolitan Delight Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 33 Page 5
