“As well as I know any of my customers,” he replied. “Sharon was interested in one of our fabulous cars. She was about to buy, but – well, you know the rest.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Heather said. “I have it on good information that you recently fired one of your employees, Mark Leon. Did Sharon have something to do with that?”
George’s laughter rumbled in his large belly. The front of his cotton, plaid shirt bobbled back and forth with the movement. “Goodness, no. Sharon didn’t have anything to do with the inner workings of my business. She might’ve mentioned Mark was a thief, but I only fired him after I found out that was true.”
Heather slipped her tablet out of her bag and opened Evernote. She tapped out Mark’s name and the note about thievery beside it. “How did you know it was true?”
“Well, it turns out Mark was charging our customers a little extra for every sale he made. He’d swipe fifty dollars here, a hundred there. I wouldn’t have caught on if it wasn’t for Sharon’s tip-off. I’m eternally grateful to her for that. May she rest in peace.” He crossed himself.
Amy shivered again and focused on the sports car instead.
“Your friend okay?” George asked.
“I’m fine. I just get creeped out in the presence of –”
Heather cleared her throat to cut off whatever horrible jibe Amy had been prepared to sling at the used car salesman.
Uncle George squished forward in his seat. “Is it true she was hit by a car?”
“Yes. A ’98 Honda Civic, to be precise,” Heather replied.
“Huh,” he said. “Interesting.”
“Not the term, I’d use,” Amy said. “But all right.”
George ignored the blond in the corner and studied Heather’s expression instead. “You know that’s one of the most popular cars to steal in the US? In 2010 it was in the top ten list of the most stolen cars. Easy to hot wire. Popular.”
Heather made a note of the information, then froze, finger hovering above the screen. “Mr. Alvarez, how did you know the car was stolen?” Heather asked.
George erupted into another raucous bought of laughter. “Oh, I didn’t, but now I do. Am I right? Am I right?” He winked at her. “No, just when you said the name of the car, it reminded me of that fact. Easy car to steal. Easy car to drive. Poor Sharon. Poor, poor, Sharon.”
Heather’s skin crawled. “I think that will be all for now, Mr. Alvarez. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”
“Great, great,” he said. “I trust you’ll find your own way out?”
Now that he’d established they didn’t want to buy one of his ‘fabulous’ cars the offer of an escort had disappeared entirely.
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Heather said and tucked her tablet under her arm. “Have a good day, Mr. Alvarez.”
He twirled his dark black mustache between two fingers. “Oh, I will, Mrs. Shepherd. I will.”
Chapter 7
Sharon Janis lived in a single story house on the edge of Hillside’s middle-class suburb. Her front door stood ajar and creaked in the slight wind which brushed past Heather’s ears.
The yellow police line flick-flacked in the wind, and the end came free from its pole.
“You’d think they’d like, nail that down or something,” Amy said and rubbed her palms together. She’d opted for a sweater instead of her puffy coat for a change. “Is it just me or is it cold enough to freeze a bonfire out here.”
“That was a terrible simile,” Heather replied.
“It’s a metaphor,” Amy said. “Learn your figures of speech.”
Heather restrained the laughter which tickled the back of her throat and strode up the path, toward the loose yellow line, instead.
“It says ‘do not cross,’ Heather. Shouldn’t we take that advice?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, you should.” Hoskins poked his head around the edge of the open door. “What are you doing here, Shepherd?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied.
He trundled out of the house, with one of her donuts in hand.
“I see. Dirtying the evidence is the correct answer,” Heather said and arched an eyebrow.
“Don’t get smart with me, lady.” Hoskins gestured with a Hot Chocolate Glazed. “I told you I wanted a donut and you never brought any to the investigations, so I had to get one of my own.”
“Uh huh,” Heather said and brought her tablet out of her bag. She unlocked the screen and opened her Evernote app. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Well, it makes me –”
Amy snorted a laugh.
Hoskins’ already ruddy cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. “Ha-ha, very funny.”
“Mind stepping out of my way, officer? I’ve got a job to do.”
“You got authorization to be here?” Hoskins asked and took a bite of the donut. A mini-marshmallow dropped to the sidewalk.
“Why don’t you phone Detective Shepherd and find out?” Heather asked. “For now, you’re in my way, and I need to get inside and out before the schools close for the afternoon.”
“Wow, load up the Volvo, mommy,” Hoskins said.
“Thanks for pointing out my car was stolen,” Heather replied.
Hoskins blush deepened. He cleared his throat and mumbled apologies or excuses under his breath, and finally stepped aside.
Heather hadn’t had to deal with too much sexism in the workplace, but Hoskins had effectively given her a crash course.
“Did he just say load up the Volvo?” Amy asked.
Heather led the way through Sharon Janis’ front entrance and into the entrance area. “Don’t worry about it, Ames. We’ve got a job to do.”
“What’s that thing people say nowadays? Haters gonna hate?” Amy’s footsteps creaked the wooden boards, and she grimaced.
“Let’s find the bedroom,” Heather said. “If there’s anything relevant or private, it will probably be in there.”
She strode down the hallway and peered through the first door on the left. She clicked on the light against the wall. A toilet sprang into view, along with spotless salmon pink tiles.
“Now, that’s a color scheme you don’t see every day,” Amy said.
Heather switched off the light again and continued down the hall. Each step rang through the empty house and elicited creaks or sharp noises from the floor. She half-expected Sharon to pop out and demand to know what they thought they were playing at, marching around her home.
She shuddered at the thought.
Heather peered into the next room on the right. “Bingo,” she said.
The pale pink curtains fluttered in the breeze from an open window. Sharon Janis had positioned her bed in the corner flush with the wall. A massive dressing table sat against the opposite wall and took almost all the space in the room, apart from an armoire squished into the space behind the door.
“That’s a lot of makeup,” Amy said.
Tubes of mascara and lipstick, pots of night cream and concealer, highlighter, contouring kits, blush, eyeshadow.
“It’s like a Maybelline commercial in here.”
Heather walked to the dressing table and opened one of the drawers. She ignored her reflection in the mirror.
A book slid into view. Black, leather-bound and without a title.
“What’s this?” Heather whispered. She grasped the hefty tome and lifted it from the drawer. “Ugh, it weighs a ton.”
“Sit on the bed,” Amy said. “It’s not creepy at all.”
Heather gave a nervous laugh and backtracked to the bed in the corner. She sat down on the edge and the bed springs squeaked beneath her weight. “I don’t know if I should be offended by that noise.”
“Oh please, you’re perfectly plump. You’re not fat. You’re my Heather.”
“Watch it,” she said and flipped open the book.
A photo of a family stared up at her. She recognized those faces all too well. One of them had been her shop a
ssistant before she’d been murdered.
“That’s Christa Fordyce,” Heather said and pointed to the young woman. Sadness erupted in her heart.
“Look what it says underneath,” Amy whispered.
Heather brushed her fingertips across the page. “Fordyce family,” she said. “Christa’s dead. Good riddance. I hear that Carolyn, the mother, blames Billy for the death, even though he didn’t murder his sister. I think I can take advantage of this. Up the pressure in the family and see what happens. Should be fun.”
Heather quit reading and pulled a face. “Oh gosh, that’s disgusting. Sharon was horrible.”
“It’s like that, uh, what’s that teen movie? Mean girls? It’s like that Burn Book.”
“Don’t recall it,” Heather said.
“Oh come on, everybody knows mean girls,” Amy said. “I made you watch it once, I’m sure.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to get over the trauma of watching Beaches on repeat,” Heather said, and dropped her gaze to the book again. “I can’t believe Sharon would write something like this. Or plan it for that matter. I mean, ugh, I knew she was a little mean, but this?”
“Mean girls,” Amy hissed.
“I’m not watching it.”
“I bet there’s something about us in there,” Amy whispered. “Look how big it is.”
Heather flipped through the pages. Names and faces popped out at her. All familiar, all folks who’d come into her store and enjoyed a donut. She didn’t read any of them.
It felt… wrong.
“What’s this?” Heather paused and touched the ragged edges near the center of the book. “Someone tore out a few pages.”
“Weird. Maybe Sharon made a mistake,” Amy said. She rubbed her arms and glanced around the room.
“I don’t know, but I need to show this to Ryan, right away. I have a feeling that there’s something in here that might be relevant.”
Chapter 8
Heather’s mind drifted to Sharon Janis’ strange diary. She’d left it on the dressing table upstairs in anticipation of Ryan’s arrival back from his shift at the station. She’d even called ahead to tell him about the discovery.
“Hello,” Amy sang and clicked her fingers in front of Heather’s face. “Earth to Shepherd. Are you reading me?”
Heather swatted her bestie’s hand away. “Sorry, I was in another place.”
“Well, this Christmas tree isn’t going to decorate itself,” Amy said.
Lilly dangled a Christmas ball from the end of her finger and wiggled it back and forth. The snowman on the front was locked in a state of perpetual joy, beneath a frosting of glitter and glaze. “Look at him, dance,” Lilly said, then burst out laughing.
“All right,” Heather said and clapped her hands together.
Business mode for Christmas trimmings. They’d already managed to get the lights on the massive tree.
“I’m going to teach you how to decorate a Christmas tree, the same way my grandmother taught me.”
“Not this again,” Amy said and groaned. “Can’t we just throw some tinsel at it and call it a day?”
“No,” Heather replied.
Lilly did a little dance. “I can’t wait to do it. Let’s have fun!”
Dave barked from the sofa and pawed a cushion.
“I think –”
Heather’s doggy dearest barked again.
A rustling sound from the base of the tree caught their attention and Heather glanced down.
Cupcake the kitten lay on her back, clawing at a strip of tinsel and tossing her little body from side to side.
“Cupcake, no!” Lilly said, and grabbed the tinsel from the kitten. “You’re going to ruin Christmas.”
“It’s been her diabolical plan all along,” Amy said. “Lure us in with blue-eyed, white fluffy cuteness, then swoop in and destroy the holiday season.”
Dave barked agreement.
“All right, everyone, that’s enough. Let’s get serious about this tree. We need to hang the balls first. Then come the other trimmings and lastly any trimmings made of glass or delicate material.”
“What about the tinsel?” Lilly asked and lifted the red bit out of Cupcake’s reach.
“Right. That comes at the end,” Heather said. She bent down and rummaged around in a plastic bag then produced a rolled length of white and gold fabric. “And I bought this ribbon to twirl around the tree.”
“And the star?” Amy asked and stared up at the top of the tree.
“That’s Ryan’s job. He’ll do it when he gets home.”
Evening had barely fallen, but they’d left the pale, white curtains open. Lights flickered on the house opposite theirs, festivity all around.
“We should put on some Christmas music,” Lilly said. “And eat chocolates. And roasted chestnuts.”
Dave barked at the mention of food.
“That’s a good idea. Ames, will you get the CDs I brought home? I left them on top of the donut box in the kitchen,” Heather said.
“You had me at donut,” Amy replied, then scooted out of the room.
Heather laughed and grabbed a ball from the box at the base of the tree. It’d been a while since she’d taken decorating seriously, but with Lilly in the house, this was set to be the best –
“Heather,” Amy hissed and poked her head through the living room entrance.
“What’s up?”
Ames had gone pale as fondant. “Listen.”
Lilly froze beside the tree. Heather waited, with the ribbon attached to the ball draped around her index finger.
Gentle scrapes ran along the walls from the kitchen, downward. They grew closer and closer. Dave barked, and Cupcake darted beneath the sofa, the fur on the back of her neck raised.
“Mom, what is that?” Lilly whispered. “What is that?”
“Calm,” Heather said, softly. “Everything’s fine, love.” But her pulse raced and beat a tattoo on the inside of her throat.
The scratching strengthened and squealed outside, near the corner of their room now. Amy’s gaze tracked its passage across the wall.
Heather strode to the front window and drew the curtains. She turned back to her bestie, immediately. “Check the front, and back doors are double-locked.” Then she focused on Lilly. “Sit on the sofa with Dave, love.”
Lilly darted to the sofa. She dove onto it, then curled Dave against her chest and clung to him.
Heather wormed her phone out of her pocket. She’d never let it out of her sight since she’d started consulting on cases – Ryan could call with new information at any moment.
Heather dialed her husband’s number and placed the phone to her ear. She kept her exterior calm, even though her insides had turned to custard mush.
“Detective Shepherd,” he said.
“There’s something happening at the house. Scratching noises along the side,” she whispered. “I’m not sure what it is, or if it’s a false alarm, but I don’t want to take the chance after what happened with the car.”
“I’m on my way,” Ryan said and hung up.
Amy bustled into the living room and straight to Lilly’s side. She sat next to the girl and clasped her arm around her. “Doors and windows locked and closed. We’re good.”
“Dad’s coming home,” Heather said to Lilly.
The girl exhaled, slowly.
The scraping continued and Dave gave another muted bark. He hopped against Lilly’s chest.
Heather glared at the corner of the house. Would it wrap around? What could that noise be?
“It sounds like someone’s scratching the paint,” Amy said and shuddered. “Why?”
Heather shook her head. She’d heard a noise similar to this before, and it’d also been an alarming incident. Everything about this case struck at her heart. Nostalgia rang through each investigation.
A book of information about the residents. Her car stolen. The killer was a smoker. The scraping along the side of the house. Dave on edge.
Heather couldn’t afford this kind of danger around her child. Not now, not ever.
She marched to the alarm pad against the wall and checked it was armed.
The scratching stopped. Heavy footsteps stomped past the front window and into the distance. Silence prevailed.
“I think they’re gone,” Heather whispered.
Tires skidded on the road outside, and a car screeched to a halt in front of the house. The slam of a car door, more footsteps and then…
“Honey, it’s me,” Ryan’s said, from the porch.
“Dad,” Lilly said, and hopped off the couch. Dave barked and followed her. “Dad’s home.”
Heather hurried through to the entrance hall, then drew back the bolt on the front door. She entered the alarm code, then jerked the front door open.
Ryan Shepherd strode across the threshold, expression somber. Lilly threw her arms around his waist and squeezed. He patted her on the back, then dropped to his haunches in front of her. “Honey, I’ve got to talk to your mom, now, okay? Stay with Amy and Dave in the living room.”
“I’ll get us some donuts,” Amy suggested.
“Sugar is a good idea,” Heather replied.
Lilly hugged Ryan one last time, then hurried through to the living room, Dave hot on her heels.
Ryan rose from the crouch and dusted off his hands. “I spotted someone running away from the house as I came around the corner,” he whispered. “There was definitely someone out there, but they’re gone now.”
Heather’s stomach dropped. “Are you serious? Ryan, Lilly’s in the house. We can’t have this kind of thing happening anymore.” This was all her fault. If she’d never decided to start investigating –
“I know,” he said. “But I also know you’re blaming yourself right now, and it’s not fair to you. This could happen because of me too. I’m a cop. Danger is part of the job description.”
“Whoever it was, they scratched up the side of the house,” Heather said and glanced over her shoulder.
Amy walked down the hall and disappeared into the living room, donuts at the ready.
Ryan took out his flashlight. “I’m going to check it out. You stay inside,” he said.
Hot Chocolate Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 29 Page 3
