Heather grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Luck was her lady tonight – it was unlocked!
She barged into the room and blinked in the pink neon light which snaked along the edge of a mirror against the wall. A mirror that was suspiciously free of lipstick hearts.
Honey trickle was tied to the chair beside her dressing table. Fishing wire again. At least there wasn’t a donut this time. Honey struggled against the bindings and moaned beneath the duct tape which had been stuck over her mouth.
Heather darted across the dressing room, grabbed a pair of nail scissors from the counter top, then snipped through the wires.
Honey’s arms popped free and she reached up to grip the corner of the duct tape.
“Wait, that’s going to hurt –”
The dancer ripped the tape from her mouth, then yelped. “Man that hurt.” A red stripe crossed her mouth. “And am I glad to see you. Never thought I’d say that about the nosy old lady from before.”
“Old lady? Thanks,” Heather replied, sarcastically.
“No offense or anything.”
Much offense had already been taken, but that didn’t matter. Honey was a victim in this and that didn’t fit Dusty Carr’s story in the slightest.
“What happened?”
“That crazy idiot tied me up. He said something about going to destroy Kent once and for all.”
Heather groaned and grabbed her forehead. Of course, it was Dusty who dunnit. She should’ve put the pieces together sooner than this.
“Why? He said he was in love with you.”
“Yeah, he’s in love with me. He’s been following me around since we were kids,” Honey replied, and turned to the mirror. She picked up a stick of lipstick and smeared her lips gold. She snatched up a napkin and dabbed her lips.
“But why would he tie you up?”
“He does this every few months. I tell him it’s never going to happen, he gets angry and ties me up. This is the first time he’s spoken about another man, though.”
“Wait a second, hold the presses, whoa nelly.” Heather put her palms up, bathing them in the pink glow from the fluorescents. “He wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“What?!” Honey turned, brandishing the gold lipstick. “Ew! That is just nasty. I would never date that creep. No, he’s been like, following me around forever. I told you.”
“And you never thought to inform the police?” Heather asked.
Honey shrugged her shoulders. “He’s harmless, I didn’t see the reason to.”
Apparently, Honey Trickle was a few tablespoons short of a jar. “Honey, he tied you to a chair and duct taped your mouth closed. That’s pretty harmful, I’d say.”
“I guess. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it. He’s never hurt anyone else, I’m sure.”
“He attacked Kent.”
Honey’s eyes widened. “So that’s why he said he was going to finish what he started?”
“Uh huh,” Heather said. She pointed to the door. “Kent doesn’t have a guard at the hospital. I’m going to call the cops and give you the phone, okay? You need to tell them exactly what happened here and what you’ve just told me about Kent.”
“Okay,” Honey said, and nodded, her blonde curls bobbed on her head.
Heather brought out her smartphone and dialed Ryan’s number. She pressed her cell to her ear, tummy bubbling again.
“Hello?” He answered, voice gravelly with sleep.
“Ryan, I need you to shelve your anger for a second and talk to someone for me. Can you do that?”
“What’s this about?” Ryan asked, and the shuffle of sheets in the background told her he’d sat up in bed. Click went a light.
“One second.” Heather handed the phone to Honey.
The danced took it with long, lacquered nails. “Hello, yeah, this is Honey Trickle. This old lady told me to speak to you.”
Ryan’s voice rumbled down the line.
“He’s angry,” Honey said, covering the phone with her palm. “Maybe you should phone another cop?”
“Talk to him,” Heather replied, flapping her hands. “Go on.”
Honey shrugged and put the phone to her ear again. “Look, dude, I don’t care what’s going on with you and the old lady. Dusty Carr tied me to a chair in my dressing room and told me he’s going to finish up what he started with Kent.”
Deafening silence from Ryan’s end of the line.
“Yeah, so I think you should probably check on him at the hospital.” Honey sniffed, then thrust the phone back to Heather, who put the phone, smudged with foundation, to her ear.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’ll send someone to look out for Kent. We still don’t have enough to arrest Dusty on the charge. It’s Honey’s word against his.” His voice was taut as a string.
“That’s fine, love,” Heather replied, softly. “Please just protect him.”
Then she hung up because she simply couldn’t deal with his grumpiness. They didn’t have enough evidence? Fine. Then she’d have to find the evidence to put the man behind bars herself.
“Honey,” she said, sticking her phone back in its chosen pocket. “Do you know where Dusty lives?”
Honey wriggled her golden lips. “Yeah, but I can’t remember the address. I can take you there, though, I know the way.”
Heather stared at her for a long time. “All right, take me there.”
“Why, though? Dusty isn’t there. He went to the hospital, remember?”
“That’s the point,” Heather replied, then tapped the side of her nose.
Chapter 16
“This is kinda creepy, though,” Honey said, as they strode down the sidewalk together. The dancer had thrown on a trench coat, which didn’t match her purple stockings.
She clutched the coat around her body and glanced left and right.
“I’m not used to this kind of thing.”
Heather couldn’t sympathize. Maybe once she hadn’t been used to visiting the homes of potential murderers, but that time was long gone. They stopped on the corner for Honey to get her bearings.
“All right, yeah, he lives there,” she said, pointing at a dilapidated, and tiny house.
Its front door hung on one hinge, and both windows had baseball sized holes in them. They looked like pupils in the house’s eyes.
“Wow, you don’t say.”
“Yeah, he’s not doing that well financially. He’s always at the Flirty Fox instead of at work. Not that he has a job, the creepo.” Honey shuddered and rubbed her arms.
“Can you do me a favor, Honey?” Heather asked, taking her phone out for the second time in the last fifteen minutes. “I hate to ask it of you, but could you stay close by and keep my phone? If you see Dusty, I want you to call the cops right away. Okay?”
Honey took the phone and stared at the blank screen. “Call the police. Got it.” She turned and hurried to the mouth of an alley. She hid behind a dumpster, crouching in the shadow to avoid detection.
Heather rushed across the road, towards the dilapidated house, fumbling with her Taser. She’d clipped it to her belt in its pouch, which felt geeky but necessary at the same time.
She brought out the Taser, then bolted up the front stairs and to the swinging door.
There wasn’t a chance that Dusty would’ve been able to lock the thing. It flapped open and closed in the balmy breeze, and the eerie bang, bang set Heather’s hair standing on end.
She grasped the rough wood and opened the door fully, then slipped into the darkened interior.
“Hey!”
Heather shrieked and jumped, clawing at thin air.
“Sorry,” Honey said, moving through the door behind her. “But it’s kinda creepy back there, and I don’t wanna be alone in the dark.”
“No, that’s okay, you can go back to the club if you want.” Heather held out her palm for the phone, but Honey didn’t give it to her.
“Nah, I kinda wanna see what happens,” Honey replied. She lifted Heath
er’s phone and switched the flashlight function on. Oh, that she could understand, but the violent nature of Dusty Carr? Forget about it.
“So, what are we going to do?”
Heather breathed through her mouth and choked on Honey’s flowery perfume. She rammed her mouth shut and pointed down the hall. “We need to find evidence. Let’s start in the bedroom, if there is one.”
The bedroom turned out to be a mattress on the floor, with a single worn desk pushed against the wall.
Honey pointed the phone at the mattress, and both women shuddered.
The sheet was worn and stained, and there wasn’t a pillow, and the blanket looked rock solid from layers of grime and years of use.
“Moving on, swiftly,” Heather whispered. “Point the light there.”
Honey did as she was told and the mottled desk was thrown into sharp relief. The women hurried over to it, and Heather tried the top and only drawer. It slid out, and three bottles rolled into view.
They were filled with gray fluid. Heather lifted one and eyed it up and down.
“I think I know what this is,” she said, sagely.
“What?”
“Arson –”
The front door slammed, and both women flinched. Honey flashed the light around frantically, illuminating the ceiling, bed, desk, and doorway.
“Switch it off, quickly!” Heather whispered. She reached for the phone at the same time Honey fumbled her thumbs across the screen.
Both women jabbed at it, the flashlight illuminating Honey’s stilettos and Heather’s flat, burgundy pumps.
“Off, off,” Heather hissed. It could’ve been the wind.
Footsteps rattle down the hall.
“It’s him! He’s coming,” Honey shrieked, because, of course, she didn’t have a noise filter.
“Calm down,” Heather whispered. “Give me the phone.”
But the louder the footsteps got, the more Honey panicked and clung to the phone. She was whinier than Dave at a donut sale.
“Quick, quick!” Honey yelped.
The footsteps halted, and both women stopped moving. The phone trembled in their collective grips.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a man said.
Both women jumped again, and the phone dropped to the floor. Heather bent, tugging Honey down with her, in case Dusty had a gun.
“Hey,” Honey yelled, trying to pull her coat out of reach. “This is Prada!”
Heather ignored the dancer and grappled with the smartphone. She lifted it, flashed it towards the figure framed in the doorway.
Ryan Shepherd stepped into the smelly bedroom, gun at the ready. “He’s not here, then?”
“No,” Heather replied. “But I found this. I think if you take it for testing you’ll find it’s arsenic. Just a hunch.”
“Wait, he’s not at the hospital?’ Honey asked, putting two and two together in an absolute stroke of brilliance for her.
“No. He was there but left after he couldn’t get through to Kent’s room. Kent’s fine again, by the way.”
Heather sighed. “He’s talking?”
“Yeah, and he remembers it was Dusty who did it. Apparently, this isn’t Dusty’s first –” Ryan cut off and shook his head. “This is a discussion for another time, I should think. Let’s get out of here.”
“Totes!” Honey yelled.
Heather slapped her forehead and shook her head. “Honey needs to get back to the Flirty Fox. It might be a good idea for a few officers to keep an eye on her since she’s clearly in danger.”
Heather hurried to Ryan and handed him the bottle she’d touched. Hopefully, she hadn’t messed with the evidence on this one.
“Let’s go,” Ryan said. “You and I need to have a long talk about this case and every other case you’ve investigated in Hillside, Heather Shepherd.”
She couldn’t help but grin at the ‘Shepherd’ part.
The three left the house, the loose door flapping and slamming in the breeze, as if it’d never been opened in the first place.
Chapter 17
Heather placed her hands on her hips, over her Donut Delights apron. It was awesome to be back in her kitchen, creating donuts with her assistants around her.
Ken and Jung craned their necks, while Angelica brought a silver bowl out from the cupboard and set it on the counter.
“So, since the 4th of July is coming up, I figured we could do a –”
“Heather?” Maricela’s head had appeared in the doorway, her dark hair draped across her forehead.
“What’s up? Problem with the new computer system?”
“No, there’s an officer here to see you. He in your office.” Maricela said, then disappeared before Heather could ask what it was about.
Heather dusted off her apron and shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to continue with this later.”
Her assistants grumbled and started packing up ingredients, casting longing glances at the silver bowl.
Heather chewed her bottom lip. Only three days had passed since Dusty had been found in the Flirty Fox and arrested for the attempted murder of Kent Bentley. The FBI had been called in on this one because it turned out he had been involved in the murder in Dallas.
Amy hadn’t spoken to Heather since the arrest.
Heather squared her shoulders and marched out of her kitchen, towards the office at the back of the central room of her bakery. Maricela refused to meet her eye, instead, focusing on the line of customers which was almost out the door.
What on earth was that about? Maricela was usually a happy girl.
Heather frowned and let herself into her office.
Ryan stared back at her, seated in her chair. “I’ve called you in for a chat, Mrs. Shepherd. I have a few questions that need answering.”
Heather burst into laughter, then used her hip to bump the door to her office closed. She took a seat on the visitor side of the desk. “What’s this about, Detective? Am I under arrest?”
Their relationship had been strained the past three days, but they’d worked hard on it. Ryan was back home with her, Dave was happy that things had returned to normal, and everything seemed okay.
“And why is Maricela acting like she’s guilty?” Heather asked.
“Probably because she’s in on the secret,” Ryan replied. He slipped a couple of books onto her desk, then slid them over to her.
Heather picked one up and turned it over. Criminal Psychology the title read, in big bold letters.
“What’s this about?”
“You’ve told me loads of times that you’ve got the investigating gene, am I right?” Ryan asked, and gestured to another.
Forensic Science and Investigation.
“Yes,” Heather said. Her heart had leaped into her throat, and pounded along, beating a tattoo on the inside of it.
“I’ve decided that I’m tired of you running around and solving my cases for me.”
“Ryan, I never meant to interfere, I was always just trying to help. I’m sorry,” Heather said and bowed her head. She truly was sorry, she wanted things to be normal again between them and with Amy too.
“I know you didn’t mean to, but you can’t help yourself.” Ryan rose and strode around to her side of the desk. He got down on his haunches and took her hand in his, stroking the back of it gently. “I understand passion when I see it. You’ve said it yourself. You have a passion for donuts and investigation.”
“I’m getting nervous now, and I don’t know why.” Heather fanned her face with her free hand.
“It’s because you’re about to embark on a new adventure.” Ryan drew in a deep breath – he was nervous too. “Heather, I’ve enrolled you in an online criminal psychology and investigative course online.”
Heather was glued to the seat. She had no idea what to say or how to react.
“With it, you’ll be able to act as a private investigator in a loose capacity.”
“But, I don’t have time to be a private investigator. I’m just a
donut maker, you know that,” Heather whispered.
“I know, but you won’t have to take on official cases once you complete the course. This just means that I can call on you as a consultant in any of my cases. And that you’ll learn how to handle crime scenes better, should you encounter them.” Ryan grinned as broad as a Cheshire cat.
Heather’s mind reeled, trying to piece together what he meant.
“It means you’ll be a qualified to weigh in on murder cases, both in and out of court, Heather.”
“I – uh.”
Ryan laughed. “Still not sure what I mean? I’m telling you that you’ll officially be able to interfere in any Hillside murder case once you’ve completed the training. I’ll approach you as a consultant whenever a relevant case crops up.”
“Oh!” The realization finally dawned, an oven light dinging on in her mind. “I won’t be interfering anymore, then.”
“Not even a little bit.”
And that meant their marriage wouldn’t suffer either. Tears pricked the corners of Heather’s eyes, and she flung her arms around her husband’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Anything for you, my love,” Ryan said, then kissed her cheek. “But, and this is a big but, Heather.”
“Oh no, what have I done now?” She asked, leaned back, still with her fingers interlaced at the back of his neck.
“You have to lay off the cases until after you’ve achieved the qualification. The course will take you six months to complete, and after that, there’s an advanced course of a year.”
“A year and six months without investigating?” Heather asked.
“Yes. Look, you’ll be able to give me tip-offs and ask questions like any civilian would do,” Ryan said, tilting his head to the side. “But no more exploring in broken down houses, or bashing doors down, or sneaking around in movie star trailers. Understand?”
“Did I do all those things?” Heather asked, feigning innocence with puppy dog eyes to rival Dave’s.
“Heather,” Ryan groaned.
“All right, all right. I understand.”
“Good,” he said, then rose and helped her up as well. “That’s really good. Now, how about one of your Rhubarb Frosted donuts? A milkshake? I’ve got a hankering woman, snap to it.”
Rhubarb Frosted Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery Book 10 Page 6
