Chapter 9
“You don’t think Lilly will be angry about this?” Amy asked, and gripped the thick, navy blue leash in her left hand. Dave tugged on the end of it, desperate to go faster.
Ever since he’d started his walking and weight loss regime, his energy levels had skyrocketed. Bad news for whosoever dared to walk him.
“Oh, she’ll be fine. It’s Christmas. Besides, the animals needed to get out.” Heather grip on the end of Cupcake’s thin, magenta leash was loose. The kitten had a knack for behaving herself in public – a nice break from her private charades.
Amy grumbled under her breath and marched down the sidewalk, toward their destination.
Heather tilted her head back and watery sunlight bathed her face. She blinked and inhaled through her nose. Case or no case, the dawn had brought another beautiful day in Hillside and the afternoon had glazed into existence beyond that.
“Hillside by the Wayside Motel,” Amy announced, and stopped in her tracks. She placed her free fist on her puffy-coated hip. “Somebody ordered cheese as a side in this joint.”
An image of a hill, capped by an orange sunset danced on the neon sign above the door. The spotless windows gleamed and afforded them a view of the retro interior, decked out with an orange sleek-lined coffee machine, a circular chrome reception desk, and a swinging lamp overhead.
“Goodness,” Heather said and widened her eyes to take it all in. “That’s quite a style choice.”
“I think you mean, lack of style choice,” Amy muttered.
A sign peered out from the front door’s single glass pane. The dark silhouette of a dog crossed through with a bright red bar.
“No pets allowed,” Heather muttered and scratched her chin. She held out Cupcake’s pink leash. “Guess I’m going in alone.”
Amy took the leash and gripped it tight. She didn’t trust Cupcake one bit, ever since the cat had pounced on her leg at dinner and clawed her way up Amy’s body to get to the donut in her hand.
Sweet-toothed animals were a curse. At least the cat hadn’t colored Amy’s white carpets yellow, yet.
“I’ll be right back,” Heather said, and waved at her bestie.
Amy didn’t shift her gaze from Cupcake’s head. “Uh-huh. Hurry up, Heather. I can feel her plotting something. I don’t have an extra hand to fend her off if she pounces.”
Heather snorted a laugh, even though her bestie was dead serious, and rushed up to the front door of the motel. She pressed a silver button beside it, and the receptionist glanced up from behind the desk.
The door buzzed and Heather opened it, then slipped inside. Her heels clacked on the polished parquet floor. A glossy radio burped out pop tunes from the corner of the room.
“May I help you?” The receptionist rose and flashed her a flawless grin. His teeth were whiter than should’ve been legal.
“Hi,” Heather said, and stopped just short of the squat, circular desk. “I’m looking for one of the guests here. Mr. Johnson. Do you know if he’s in his room?”
“Johnson, Johnson,” the receptionist hummed, in musical tones. He bopped his head in time to the music and fingered a long list of names. “Why yeah. He should be in his room. Number 13.”
“Thanks,” Heather said, and turned toward the hall, beside which a plastic board displayed arrows denoting which directions the rooms were in.
“Wait a second, I have to call ahead to check he’s approved your visit,” the receptionist said, and lifted bright yellow receiver off its equally luminous cradle. It made a ching as it popped free.
“That won’t be necessary,” a man said, and stepped out of the long hall. His dressy, black shoes echoed on the parquet floors too.
“Mr. Johnson,” the receptionist said, and dipped into a half-bow. He placed the receiver back in the cradle. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I get you anything.”
“Peace and quiet,” Johnson said, but his expression softened. The hard angles of his face and the crow’s feet beside his eyes melted into a state of satisfaction. “The service here is exemplary. Thank you for that.”
The receptionist positively squirmed from the compliment.
“Let’s talk here,” Johnson said, to Heather, and gestured to the two orange egg chairs near the coffee machine.
Heather walked to the one on the right, then sat down. “I suppose you’d like to know why I’m here,” she said and rolled her eyes at herself.
Goodness, that was a childish opener.
“I assumed it was to do with the murder of Victor Hardbody, correct?” Johnson sat down across from her and placed his forearms on the tops of his thighs.
“How did you know?” Heather asked.
“I’ve only been a town a few days and already the rumors about your bakery and your investigative prowess have traveled to my ears,” Ramsey Johnson said, and patted those ears, which were as wrinkled as the skin at his neck. “Young lady, you’re making a name for yourself.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been called young. Forgive me while I take a minute to collect myself,” Heather said, wryly.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Heather smiled her fantastic, ‘enjoy your donut’ smile. “Mr. Johnson, when did you arrive in Hillside?”
The man whipped a stub out of his pocket and handed it over. “You’ll see that I hired that car in Waco on the morning after the murder. I arrive in town later that afternoon to find the man I’d come to meet with, was dead. Feel free to call the company and confirm the details.”
Heather tucked the stub into her pocket. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she said. So far, his alibi was rock solid, which ruled him out as a suspect and narrowed the list, somewhat. “What was your business with Mr. Hardbody?”
“He was my client in a case. I defended him against a competitor who’d filed a lawsuit against him citing malpractice. He won, but he never paid me. I’d come to discuss that lack of payment, since he’d dodged most of my calls,” Johnson said. He shrugged his shoulders and the designer suit shifted. “But that’s all in the past now. Mrs. Shepherd, I assure you, I had no intention of harming him and –” He froze and his gaze cut past her to the street outside.
“What’s wrong?”
“That woman out there,” he said and raised a wrinkled finger. “She’s being attacked by a kitten.”
Heather turned in her seat and made eyes at the havoc. Cupcake clawed her way up Amy’s leg, meowing. Amy tried and failed to shake her off. Dave barked and twisted the leash around Amy’s other leg, running in haphazard circles.
“Heather,” Amy howled. “Heather Shepherd, you get out here this second and control this kitten.”
“I’ve got to go,” Heather said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson. I’ll be in touch.”
“Contact me at my offices in Houston,” he said. “I’m leaving town.”
Heather didn’t get a shot to argue.
Chapter 10
“Never again,” Amy said, the minute they crossed the threshold of the Shepherd house. She unceremoniously dropped Dave’s leash. The doggy made a run for it, but Lilly stopped him at the bottom of the stairs and removed his long train.
“Oh my gosh,” Lilly said and hurried up to them. “What happened?”
Amy’s arms bore several scratch marks, bright red with blood, and raised around the cuts themselves.
“That happened,” Amy said and jabbed her finger toward Cupcake, who purred in Heather’s arms. “I don’t know why, but that cat does not like me.”
“It’s probably because you insulted her on our last walk,” Lilly said and took Cupcake from Heather’s arms. She unhooked the pink leash from her diamante collar. She dropped it on the entrance hall table and cooed to the kitty in her arms. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”
“That’s right,” Amy said, “everyone console the real victim here. That crazy kitten.”
“Maybe she just wanted a huge,” Lilly replied, but she giggled right afterward.
&
nbsp; Heather kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Where’s your dad?” She asked.
“In the living room. He’s been on the laptop ever since he got some call from a guy at work. He won’t tell me what’s going on, so I guess it’s about work,” Lilly said.
Amy fiddled with her scratches.
“Lils, please show Ames the medical kit, so she can quit whining. I’m going to speak to your dad.”
“I hope you’ve got a tetanus shot,” Amy said, in a ‘woe is me’ tone.
Lilly beckoned, and the injured woman followed her down the hall, toward the kitchen.
Heather dropped her keys on the table beside Cupcake’s leash, then ducked into the living room. “Hey, hon. I hear you’ve got case work.”
“There’s no keeping secrets from you,” Ryan said and patted the spot beside him on the sofa.
“Not that you’d want to, of course.”
“Of course,” he replied, and narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Seriously, though, come take a look at this. I need your opinion.”
Heather hurried to his side and sat down.
“My colleague just sent me a portion of the video. He stumbled on it when he was backtracking to make sure we hadn’t missed anything. Turns out we did,” Ryan said.
Heather stared at the black screen. “I don’t see anything.”
“Hold on, let me rewind.” Ryan tapped the bar at the bottom. “Who do you think that is?”
Heather leaned forward and examined the young man on the screen. His blond hair glinted by the light from one of those flamboyant mini-chandeliers. “Kenny Hardbody,” she replied.
“Watch what he does next,” Ryan said and tapped the triangle on the screen.
Kenny Hardbody paced across the hall in silence. He fisted his hips and glared up at the camera in their corner.
Heather shuddered. It was as if he stared directly into her soul.
Kenny turned and disappeared from sight, then clanked back into view a few second later, a short ladder in hand.
“What on earth?” Heather asked.
“Wait for it.”
Kenny placed the ladder just out of sight. He disappeared again and then his face invaded the screen. Full on. It hovered, eyes narrowed and tongue caught between his teeth, intense concentration made flesh.
Another two seconds ticked by and the screen went black.
“What?” Heather whispered. “Did he just tamper with the camera? When was this recorded?”
“Two days before Victor’s murder,” Ryan replied. He tapped the play button, and the screen froze again.
“You’re kidding,” Heather said. “And where is this particular camera situated?”
“That’s what I’ve just figured out,” he said. “It’s the one above the door to the basement.”
Heather sat back and stared at the Christmas tree just in front of them. So, Kenny Hardbody had tampered with a camera in his home just before the murder of his father. That didn’t mean anything good.
“There can’t be another reason for him to fiddle with it, other than to mask the killer’s tracks,” she said. “And that means he’s the killer or someone he cares about.”
“I’d like this to be free of complications,” Ryan said, then sighed. It transformed into a laugh at the end. “But we both know that’s not feasible. Kenny Hardbody is our prime suspect now.”
Heather grabbed one of the folded blankets and pulled it into her lap. She picked at the fibers and clicked her teeth together. “Okay, so we’ve got male DNA, no fingerprints, Kenny’s tampering fun, and then the footage of the two brothers together a half hour before the murder.”
“That’s right.”
“How do we know they didn’t climb out of Junior’s window, circle the building and break into the basement?”
“Because the –”
“Door was locked, and the window pane knocked out from the inside,” Heather said. “You’re right. Ugh, I wish this was a little easier to decipher. And Kenny definitely didn’t leave Junior’s room?”
“The two of them ran out after their mother started screaming,” Ryan replied. “And that was after the murder.”
Heather balled up her handful of the blanket. “Right,” she said. “I guess that means I’m going back to the Hardbody Mansion.”
Chapter 11
Heather settled herself in the high-backed Parisian armchair across from Madame Softie Hardbody.
The grieving widow patted a black handkerchief to her moist cheeks, then blew her nose into it, noisily. “I can’t get over this,” she said and patted her cheeks again.
“Ew,” Amy breathed, loud enough for only Heather to hear. Her bestie stood behind the chair, a box of donuts clutched between her palms. They’d brought consolation, sustenance, a little something to sweeten the deal, should they question Kenny.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Hardbody.”
Jennifer lounged on the sofa, the back of one hand pressed to her forehead. “He was the love of my life. The love of my life,” she wailed. “And now he’s gone.”
Heather quashed the skepticism which brewed in her gut and clouded her thoughts. She had to remain unbiased to investigate properly, but Mrs. Hardbody’s innocent act didn’t sit well with Heather.
She grieved a little too loudly for someone who’d been convinced her husband had been unfaithful. And that innocence didn’t gel with her investigations into money laundering on the dark web, either.
“Is Kenny home?” Amy asked, behind Heather. “We’d like to speak with him.”
“He’s out with friends,” Jennifer replied. “He’s hardly home since it happened. I think he’s grieving for his father, too. But on the inside.”
“How’s he been on the outside?” Heather asked.
“Cold,” Jennifer replied. “It’s winter, after all.”
“Uh – no, Mrs. Hardbody, I meant how his behavior has been,” Heather said.
Amy snorted and transformed it into a sneeze. “Ah, bless me.” Her mouth twitched into a crescent moon shape.
“He’s been happier than usual, but I think it’s his way of grieving, poor kid.” Jennifer shifted her ankles on the sofa and sighed. “I hope he’ll be all right.”
There wasn’t an easy way to bring this up, but it wasn’t as if Heather had much of a choice.
“Mrs. Hardbody, are you aware that your son tampered with the surveillance camera outside the basement door two days before your husband’s murder?” Heather asked.
Jennifer sat upright, immediately. “What are you insinuating?” She asked. “That my son –”
“Nothing. I hoped you’d have some clue as to why he’d do a thing like that,” Heather said. “That’s all.”
“Of course I know why he did it,” Jennifer snapped.
Heather blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “Oh?”
“Yeah. His father asked him to fix the camera. It’d been flickering on and off for ages.”
“Why would Victor ask him to do that?” Heather re-positioned her tablet on her lap and tapped notes on the screen.
“Because Kenny studies electrical engineering. He knows everything there is to know about those camera things. In fact, he helped Victor install them,” Jennifer replied, and placed one palm on top of the other.
“Why didn’t Victor ask the alarm company to install them?” Heather asked.
“Because he didn’t want anyone to get into the house. Victor’s always been a bit paranoid about strangers in his home. I guess, I understand why, now.” Jennifer narrowed her eyes at the word ‘stranger’ and her gaze sharpened.
“I see,” Heather said and typed out the information. That didn’t rule out Kenny as the murderer, or Jennifer, for that matter. “Was Kenny skilled at the electrical engineering game?”
“It’s not a game,” Jennifer said, but she glowed from the inside out, regardless. “Yeah, he was brilliant. His father loved that about him. Kenny’s got a gift when it comes to electrical stuff.”
“That’s wonderful,” Heather said, but in dulcet tones. She typed, as quick as she could, but it was difficult to keep up with Mrs. Hardbody’s chatter.
“He’s such an amazing child. Not like that good for nothing brother of his,” said the loving mother. “He doesn’t apply himself to anything but fantasies. He’s been an endless source of disappointment for Victor and me.”
Heather paused her typing and skewered the woman with a look. “What about Kenny?”
“No, he was perfect. The perfect child. It’s just a pity Kenny’s attitude didn’t rub off on his brother. Junior is stubborn.” Jennifer sighed and brushed her fingers across her wrinkle-free forehead. “I guess that happens sometimes. One black sheep per family, right?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Heather replied, and had to stop herself from a sharper retort. What a horrible woman.
Heather inhaled through her nostrils. A calming effect. “And did you see Kenny do anything else, suspicious?”
“Apart from his cheesy grin,” Amy whispered.
Heather didn’t smile at her bestie’s joke. She kept her face straight and her focus on Jennifer Hardbody. The woman had dropped the grieving widow act and glared fire at Heather instead.
“Mrs. Shepherd, I’ve just lost my beloved husband. I’m not interested in leading questions about the other members of my family.”
“Ma’am, I’m just here to figure out who did this and why. Not to upset you,” Heather said. Not technically true.
The tension in the room had turned into a dense, warm mass which swelled around them. Heather would keep it that way if she could. The higher the tension, the more likely Jennifer would blurt out something she hadn’t intended.
Softie Hardbody folded her arms across her silk blouse and tapped her high heel on the carpeted floor in her living room. “Is there anything else?”
“I hoped –”
“Because I’ll have you know that the agent from the FBI said I don’t actually have to talk to you.” Mrs. Hardbody clicked her forefinger and thumb on her left hand.
“I find it strange you’d use the FBI agent as your defense, given the reason he’s come to Hillside in the first place.” Heather tapped another note. She highlighted the word ‘defensive’ by dragging her finger across the screen.
Christmas Donut Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 31 Page 4
