Rhubarb Frosted Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery Book 10

by Susan Gillard

  They were husband and wife, but when it came to food, they didn’t like to share.

  Kind of like Joey from Friends.

  “I don’t want you investigating, and I can’t share certain details about the case,” Ryan said that by rote.

  “I understand that. I just want to be able to share what I’ve discovered, and maybe get information which could protect Amy. I mean, about that Jed character. He has to be a suspect.”

  Ryan tilted his head and bobbed it once. “That’s pretty obvious. He definitely has a motive. I can’t reveal anything else about our suspect list, but I have questioned Mr. Jed I. Knight.” He leaned in and beckoned for her to do the same. “He’s got priors. Nothing serious, but he’s been served with a restraining order before.”

  “What? When?”

  “A few years back. Woman by the name of Lacey Drawer. No history of violence or assault, though. I had to let him go. We didn’t have enough to keep him.” Ryan’s tan forehead wrinkled up. “What’s up?”

  “I don’t like the thought of Amy anywhere near that creep. And I’ve just realized that he doesn’t fit my profile.”

  “That better not be a dating profile you’re talking about, woman.”

  “Really?” Heather asked, and spared him a quick giggle. “I figured something out. The whole lipstick heart thing is a calling card. Only serial killers use calling cards.”

  “And superheroes.”

  “Super villains,” Heather corrected, then picked up a quesadilla and waved it while she spoke. “But that’s beside the point. I did some research and found out that there was a murder in Dallas, which had a similar calling card. Except the hearts were drawn with a red marker rather than lipstick.”

  Ryan pressed his back into the chair and pulled his lips down at the corners.

  “Well,” he said, “well-o-well.”

  “Didn’t see that comin’, did ya?” Heather asked, then bit off a piece of cheesy tortilla goodness. She chewed enthusiastically. “Unsolved case. Cold case, actually. It could be a copycat.”

  “Or it could be the man or woman has come to Hillside.” Ryan shuddered.

  No doubt, the thought of a serial killer on the loose in his town gave him the creeps.

  “I think Amy should stay with us, from now on. Until this is all cleared up. Whoever did it clearly has it out for her,” Ryan said, and he whipped out his cell. “I’ve got to make a call. This is excellent information, Heather, thank you.”

  She shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

  “Such modesty,” Ryan replied, then chuckled. “I’ll be right back, gorgeous.”

  He hurried off to the other side of the room, phone already pressed to his ear.

  Ryan was right. Amy had to stay with them until the case was done, but the fact that the cops hadn’t considered the serial killer angle alarmed Heather.

  Surely they should have been on top of that kind of thing?

  She inhaled through her nostrils, then blew out through her mouth.

  Heather hadn’t gone out of her way to interview anyone, due to her respect for Ryan and his wishes, but hearing that they weren’t as in control as they should be…

  Maybe it was time to dig in here.

  Oh boy, she couldn’t go back and forth on this anymore. She either had to be in and help her best friend and her boyfriend or out and watch the Hillside PD possibly bungle a case.

  Heather bit into her quesadilla and thought it over, enjoying the Mexican flavors on her palate.

  “I’m in,” she whispered.

  Chapter 7

  “This will be fun,” Heather said and readjusted herself on the sofa.

  The TV was on in the background, a nature program about the migration and mating habits of salmon, and Amy had positioned herself on the couch opposite.

  Amy plumped a pillow and stuck it behind her back. “Yeah, kind of a sleepover but with the constant threat of stalking.”

  “Oh come on, Ames, it’s not all bad.” Heather sipped her homemade milkshake. “How are things with Kent?”

  “Not great,” Amy replied. “He’s awake, but he doesn’t remember anything. He keeps repeating the same word over and over again.”

  “Which word?”

  “Heart,” Amy whispered. She slurped on the end of her straw, then lifted it and pumped it up and down in the glass. “That’s all he says. Heart.”

  Heather raised her eyebrows and settled back. She stroked Dave, asleep beside her and curled into a doggy ball, and stared at the salmon swimming upstream towards a waterfall on the TV screen.

  Heart. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Amy finished her milkshake and placed it on the coffee table, swapping it out for a Rhubarb Frosted Donut instead. “I keep thinking that things will get better with him, but I’m really starting to stress out now.”

  “You weren’t before?”

  “You know what I mean. That was crazy stress. This is more of a slow burn.” Amy bit off some donut and chewed lazily.

  Heather clapped once.

  Amy jerked and a bit of icing plopped off and into her lap. “What?”

  Dave snuffled and groaned, then rolled over onto his back and presented his belly for a scratching.

  “Okay, I can’t stand to see you so morose anymore. It’s going to drive me up the wall, I swear. So, Amy, I’m going to take on this case properly.”

  Amy gulped down the half-chewed donut and choked. “Are you serious? You’re going to do that? Wait, where’s Ryan?”

  “He’s still at work. Late shift tonight. And yes, I’m really going to do that.” Heather ticked her ring against the glass between her palms. “I’m going to have to ask you a few questions, though.”

  Amy squished upright, grasping her donut between two fingers. “Sure, it’s probably nothing the cops haven’t already asked me, and if it helps get us any closer to stopping the stalker-murderer person.”

  “Great. Ames, don’t get weirded out by me asking this, but did you and Kent have any problems? You know, romantically?”

  Amy wriggled her lips from side-to-side. She took a bite of donut and chewed on it without answering.

  Dave’s nose twitched. He opened one eye and scanned the living room, gaze resting on the salmon and bears on the TV, then flicking to the donut in Amy’s hand. He was up and awake in a second.

  “Don’t you dare beg, Dave. You’ve already had your donut quota for this week,” Heather said and tapped him on the nose with her index finger.

  “Okay, yes. We did. We did fight before he was attacked. The night before, to be honest,” Amy said, at last.

  Both Dave and Heather looked at her. Dave’s reasons were donut-based.

  “What happened?” Heather asked.

  Amy hopped off the couch and paced back and forth in front of the TV, blocking the salmon, then revealing them again. “I was irrational. I got jealous.”

  “Jealous of…?”

  “Right before Kent moved to Hillside he took on a pro bono case for an exotic dancer. She wanted custody of her kids, but her ex-husband claimed she was into drugs, which turned out to be false. Kent wouldn’t have helped her otherwise.”

  “Sure,” Heather said. This was like an episode of Days of Our Lives.

  “He helped her get custody, and that was the end of that. He moved to Hillside, but, ugh, I found out that the woman had moved to Hillside too. It looks like she followed him here.” Amy stopped pacing and shuddered. “I just couldn’t figure out why she would move unless they were, you know, connected somehow. She left a message on his machine at home and everything.”

  “Wow.” Heather scratched at her temple.

  Dave’s gaze followed the donut, still clutched in Amy’s hand, as it made its way across the room.

  “But he denied that anything was going on and was pretty upset that I got angry with him for no reason. I know I should’ve trusted him. He’s a good man.” Amy paused and licked the corner of her lips. “I just keep thinking I’m going to
lose him somehow. That sounds so desperate. Am I totally pathetic?”

  “No, you’re not pathetic. But this woman interests me. I wish there were a way to get hold of her. She sounds like a potential suspect. Kent might not have been interested in her, but if she was into him, then she had a legitimate motive to hurt him.”

  “And tear up that picture of us together,” Amy said. She shoved the remains of her donut into her mouth and chewed frantically, then swallowed. “Okay, don’t judge me.”

  “I would never.”

  “Good,” Amy said. She dug around in the back pocket of her jeans and brought out a square of cardboard. “Catch.” She tossed it.

  The object cartwheeled through the air. Heather snatched at it before it hit the sofa, then lifted it for examination.

  It was a matchbox with a logo on the front. The Flirty Fox.

  “That’s where she works. I found it in Kent’s pants the other day. I wasn’t snooping, before you ask, I haven’t descended into total insanity yet. I was doing his laundry.”

  “And you’re sure this is where she works? It kinda sounds like –”

  Amy pursed her lips. “It’s sort of like a strip joint except classier, whatever that means. Kent must have gone there to meet with her. Ugh, I just get the creeps thinking about it.”

  Heather didn’t bring up the obvious – Kent had been a club which men who had wives and girlfriends shouldn’t frequent. She turned the cardboard box end over end, stroking it with the pads of her fingers.

  “I don’t suppose you know her name?”

  Amy bit her bottom lip. “I might’ve Google stalked her and that club a little bit. She goes by the name of Honey Trickle.”

  Heather lifted The Flirty Fox matchbox and narrowed her eyes. “Honey Trickle.”

  Chapter 8

  Strip joints weren’t Heather’s scene. Okay, so this wasn’t technically a strip club, it was an exotic dancer’s club.

  The inside was filled with patrons, mostly men, all sitting at the far side of the room beside a bar. A smoky haze hovered in the air, and music pumped from speakers high up on the velvet padded walls.

  The space was devoid of stages or poles, but a door led into a VIP area, where much dancing could be had.

  Heather rolled her shoulders and grimaced. She’d left Amy back at the house, Dave playing guard dog and wetting rugs no doubt, and come right away. After all, what better time to get hold of Honey Trickle than during work hours?

  Her work hours at least.

  Heather strode to the bar and rapped her knuckles on the wood to get attention from a burly, leather-clad bartender.

  He turned and jerked his chin at her. “Whaddaya want?”

  “I’m looking for Honey Trickle,” Heather replied. “Know where I can find her?”

  A man a few bar stools downshifted at the mention of the dancer’s name. Heather eyed him and had to suppress a shiver. Creepy dude. His trench coat shrouded everything but the grime stains on his fingernails and the smattering of hair across the top of his head.

  “Over there,” the bartender pointed at the loveseats opposite. “Girl with the honey-colored hair. Go figure, am I right?”

  Heather didn’t answer. She waved thanks, cast a last glance at the trench coat guy, then marched to the dancer.

  She had company. A handsome guy, who wore his wavy brown hair parted to the side. He looked up at Heather and jumped. Apparently, he knew who she was.

  “Honey Trickle?” Heather asked.

  The dancer looked up at her, gaze hooded by makeup laden eyelids. “Yeah. What’s it to ya?”

  “I need to talk to you,” Heather replied, then threw the matchbox onto the table. She’d had it pressed into her fist ever since she’d left the house. “Now.”

  The wavy-haired man leaped from the cushioned seat and scooted off at a furious pace.

  “You just lost me a client,” Honey said and sucked her teeth. “This better be good.”

  “No, it’s not good. It’s downright annoying being in here.” Heather had to raise her voice to be heard above the music. “Is there anywhere else we can talk?”

  Honey raised a single, far too thin, eyebrow. “Yeah, come with me.” She rose and tottered off towards the door, teetering on her stilettos. She lacked the grace Heather expected from a dancer.

  Moments later, they were outside the club, both with arms folded, staring each other down.

  “What’s up?” Honey asked, both eyebrows raised this time. Her bright red lipstick was perfect, her eye shadow a glittery gold and her blonde locks were curled and swept her lower back.

  Easily in her early twenties.

  “I’ve got some questions for you.”

  “You said that already,” Honey replied, then yawned. “Almost the end of my shift. Time is money, lady, hurry it up.”

  “I’m here to talk to you about Kent Bentley. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but he was in a terrible accident. He’s in the hospital with a concussion and amnesia.”

  “Huh,” Honey said and shrugged her tanned shoulders. “What’s it got to do with me?”

  Heather blinked. “Uh, well, I have it on good authority that you and Kent were close. He did some work for you, I believe, helped you in a custody battle?”

  Honey stared at her in silence, shrugged again.

  “He was attacked in his home,” Heather said, “tied up, beaten over the head and almost poisoned.” Hopefully, the shock factor would get through those thick curls and to the brain below them.

  Honey’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t –” The dancer trailed off, then rubbed at her eyes. She drew her hands back as if she’d scalded. Her makeup had smudged.

  Heather brought a handkerchief out of her pocket and offered it up.

  “Thanks,” Honey said and wiped the eye shadow off her fingers. “I loved Kent. Did you know that?” She sniffed. The hint of a tear had appeared at the corner of her right eye.

  Why now? She’d been unconcerned about Kent a second ago.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, he helped me get my kids back. And we connected, you know? On like, a deeper level. He was so kind to me. So, when I heard he’d moved, I followed. I mean, I was in love.” Honey sighed. “I called him and asked him to meet up with me.”

  “And what did he say?” Heather asked.

  “He came to the club. I could tell he didn’t like it, and he told me,” Honey broke off and swallowed, “he told me that he don’t want me. That he had a girlfriend.”

  Yes, that was what Heather had wanted to hear. Kent had been faithful to Amy after all, and he’d tried to do the right thing by letting Honey down in person. Heather waved mental pom-poms for the guy.

  “And you were angry about that?” Heather asked.

  Honey Trickle narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? You a cop or something?”

  “No, I’m just a friend of, uh, of Kent’s. I’m trying to help find the person who hurt him.”

  Honey glanced back at the Flirty Fox. A man had appeared in the doorframe, the guy in the trench coat. She met Heather’s gaze again and shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to say to ya.”

  She walked off, but Heather grabbed her forearm and stopped her.

  “Honey, please, this is for Kent. If you had any feelings for him, you'd want to help.”

  “Who do you think you are? You’re not a cop! Let go of me,” Honey snapped and ripped her arm free. She charged off towards the club, less tottering and more stampeding this time.

  The trench coat man glared at Heather, his arms folded across his chest. Honey reached him, and they disappeared into the Flirty Fox together.

  Heather let out a long breath. She fished her car keys out of her pocket and hurried off, the investigative cogs ticking in her mind.

  Honey Trickle was up to something. Those lipstick hearts had been drawn in a shade similar to the dancer’s lipstick.

  Chapter 9

>   Heather jangled Dave’s leash for encouragement.

  She’d called into work and let Angelica know that she’d be in a little later in the afternoon. She desperately needed this morning walk with her doggy dearest.

  Ryan was totally caught up in the case. He came home late at night, fell asleep after a quick snack, and rushed out again in the morning. It was almost as if he wanted to avoid her.

  But that couldn’t be right, could it?

  Maybe he thought she’d interfere with his case. Or that she’d tried to force him to tell her details. He wasn’t wrong on the latter.

  Heather craved more information about the attempted murder. Her leads had run dry thanks to Honey Trickle.

  She snorted a laugh.

  Dave gave a bark which transformed into a sharp whine. Heather had increased the length of their daily walks, and Dave wasn’t impressed.

  “If you ever want to work off all that extra donut weight, you’re going to have to put in the work.”

  Dave looked up at her and she could almost read his mind. “Who said I want to lose the extra donut weight, woman?”

  “Well, Dave, I won’t allow you to suffer from –” Heather cut off and stopped. A creepy sensation prickled at the nape of her neck.

  They’d been about to pass the park, one of their favorite morning routes, but something was off.

  Dave took the lull in movement as an opportunity to park his cute butt on the sidewalk.

  Trees stood tall nearby, Texas-Olives and Redbuds, motionless thanks to the breezeless morning. Sweat dripped down Heather’s back, and she grasped the front of her white cotton shirt and wiggled it.

  Dave whined again.

  “Shush you, something’s not right here.”

  Lanterns decorated a path through the park, all off now, and the park bench –

  “There!” Heather hissed.

  A man in a trench coat sat on the bench, pretending to read a magazine. She could tell it was a pretense, because the image of Kylie Jenner on the cover was upside down, as was the title. Something about a lip kit?

  Heather sniffed. “Wants to stalk me, does he? We’ll just see about that.” She took her smartphone out of her pocket and clicked through to Ryan’s number. She let it hover on the screen in case she needed to make an emergency call.