Kiwi Lime Surprise Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 40 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2017 by Guardian Publishing Group - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
The assistants crowded into the hotel room. Ken and Jung sat on Heather’s single bed, beneath the wooden ceiling fan. Ames and Angelica stood either side of Heather in the kitchenette, and Emily and Maricela peered out of the glass sliding door which looked out on the central swimming pool.
Their Key West getaway had only just begun, but the atmosphere, the smiles, and nudges had started back at the airport.
“All right,” Heather said and slipped on the oven mitt – decorated in palm fronds, of course. “We’re going to grab one of our newest donuts to go, then head out to Robbie’s Marina to feed the tarpon.”
Amy pursed her lips. “I watched a video once where this guy fed the tarpon, and he let his hand stay down there too long and –”
“Do I want to know the rest of that sentence?” Heather asked.
The rest of the assistants laughed.
“He didn’t get eaten, but the tarpon attached. It let go eventually,” Amy said.
“Goodness.” The oven tinged and she bent to get the donuts out of the small contraption.
They’d planned on renting out a kitchen to create donuts together, but the kitchenettes in their rooms would work just as well.
Amy and Heather had one room. Emily, Maricela and Angelica another, and Ken and Jung a third. Each one faced the pool, surrounded by palms and crystal blue, with the soft hush of ocean waves to lull them at night.
Heather placed the tray of baked donuts on the stove top.
“We might not be back in Hillside with donuts to serve, but I really want us to get this donut into our repertoire. Kind of like a souvenir for our customers back home,” she said. “Let’s go over it one more time.”
Emily stuck her hand up. She always did that, even though Heather had reminded her she wasn’t in school and it wasn’t necessary. “A lime-vanilla base,” she said.
“That’s right. Lime zest in the vanilla batter, and baked until light and fluffy,” Heather said. “Then what? Ken?”
He adjusted his camera – he’d spent the last half hour polishing it. “Then it’s a single dip into the cheesecake glaze.”
Heather pointed to Maricela. “And then?”
“Double dip in kiwi-lime glaze,” Maricela finished for them.
“Fantastic,” Heather said. “All right, so I think I’ll leave it up to you guys to do the dipping for these donuts.” She took off the mitt, placed it beside the tray, then circled the white kitchen island.
The assistants leaped up and hurried toward the cooling donuts. They’d spent the entire flight over laughing and thanking Heather for the trip. Maricela had never left Texas and Ken had been convinced they’d run into unsavory characters from his favorite novels down here.
He read Carl Hiaasen books religiously.
Heather halted in front of the sliding door and tucked her arms behind her back.
“Are you excited?” Amy asked. “To feed the massive fish?”
“Sure,” she said. “I miss Lilly and Ryan, though.” She’d called them the minute she’d landed and Lilly had promised that her dinosaur detective story, complete with a human with three arms, was well on the way to completion.
“I do too,” Amy said. “And Eva told me that she'd got her hands full with Cupcake. Apparently, she scratched up her armchair.”
“Not the floral one.”
“Oh yeah,” Amy said and nodded.
“Cupcake’s not responding well to adolescence,” Heather said and rolled her eyes. “I’ll have to reimburse Eva for that chair.”
Heather opened the sliding door, and a fresh batch of humidity walloped her in the face. Water-thick air sucked the energy from her limbs.
Amy stumbled back and wiped her brow. “Gosh, I don’t think we’ll need to shower out here.”
“I’m not sure we’d be able to dry out even if we did. Seventy-four percent humidity according to the radio,” Heather said. “Can you believe it?”
“At least the sun’s out, and the beach is close.”
Heather snorted. They’d been away from Hillside all of a day, and already they’d taken to complaining.
“Guys? I think we’ll leave the donuts to cool, actually. Let’s head out and feed some fish,” Heather said. “We can pick up something to eat on the way back.”
The assistants put the glazes back in in the mini-fridge. A commotion broke out, bodies squishing past each other in their rush to make it to the door. Holiday fever was in full effect.
They hustled out of the sliding door, and Heather slapped it shut behind them, then motored around the side of the pool as a group. They organized themselves at the small side gate which let out of the Palm Beach Horizon Hotel and onto the street.
“This way, guys,” Heather said and led them toward the rental van she’d hired for the occasion. “This marina is pretty close.”
The sun baked the top of her head. Heather unlocked the van, and the assistants scrambled for the side door.
“So hot,” Jung said and squinted in the glare.
Heather chuckled and walked around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck, and she shrugged her shoulders. What on earth? Why did she -?
Heather look
ed up and swallowed.
A man in overalls, holding a shovel, stood across the road beside the hotel, eyes narrowed. He tugged the peak of his cap down to shelter his face, then rammed the point of the shovel into the sidewalk.
“Uh, Heather?” Amy reached across and honked the horn once.
She flinched. “Shoot. Coming!” She cast a backward glance at creepy shovel guy, then clambered into the van. She slammed the door shut and pressed the lock.
The goosebumps still hadn’t settled. She didn’t dare check if the shovel-wielder had his gaze on her, still.
“Can we switch on the air con?” Jung asked. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
“Does anyone else feel like they’re actually swimming?” Emily asked. “I feel like we’re in the ocean right now.”
“Yeah, an ocean of sweat,” Ken put in.
“Calm down, kids,” Amy said. “We’re on our way.” She punched a few buttons on the dash and cool air filtered between the plastics slats.
Heather started the engine, heart thumping against the inside of her ribcage. She held her breath and glanced at the sidewalk opposite the van.
Shovel man was gone.
“Hey, are you okay?” Amy asked, and leaned closer to the cool air.
“You block it!” Maricela whined.
“I’m fine,” Heather said. “Fine.” She pulled out of the parking space and drove down the road. Finally, the prickles subsided.
Chapter 2
Heather couldn’t sleep.
They’d eaten too much at an awesome seafood restaurant at the marina, and come home to Kiwi Lime Surprise Donuts for dessert. But that wasn’t why Heather’s eyelids kept snapping open every few minutes.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the wary, creeped out feeling the strange overall, shovel guy had given her. Perhaps, it was because she’d grown accustomed to suspecting people.
Amy snored in her sleep and rolled over. “Is a donut, ya,” she muttered.
Heather kicked back the covers and huffed out a breath. She needed air. This humidity was unbelievable and to make matters worse the air con was busted – a fact they’d only discovered after they’d gotten home.
The hotel had promised to repair it in the morning.
Perhaps, her skin needed a chance to adapt to this weather or she’d end up flying home early because she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop being silly,” Heather whispered. She’d saved up for this trip to reward and thank her assistants, and she wouldn’t bail now. The homesickness had already set int.
She grabbed her cell off the side table beside her bed, then unlocked the screen and fired off a message to Ryan.
Thinking of you. Hope everything is fine there.
She put the cell back on the bedside table and blinked at the white, square patch which dominated her vision. This was why she never used her phone at night.
Heather slipped out of bed and walked to the sliding door. Even a few minutes of fresh air would help her deal with the temperature. After that, she’d grab a glass of water with ice and head back to bed.
She unlocked the door and opened it. The expected cool breeze never came.
The night was dead still. Not a hint of wind.
Heather stepped out onto the tiny porch with its two wicker chairs, then sat down in one of them.
The hum of the pool filter broke the silence outside. Tires crunched in the street adjacent. Heather shut her eyes and leaned her head back on the rest.
Footsteps crunched on the grass nearby, and Heather frowned. Who on earth would walk around at this time of night? Doubtlessly, another vacationer who couldn’t sleep.
A splash of water interrupted her thought. A woman shrieked. Glass shattered out in the darkness.
“What?” Heather’s eyelids snapped open, and she lunged out of her chair, immediately. “Hello? Are you okay?”
“What’s going on?” Amy called from inside the room, voice groggy.
“Ames, switch on the light,” Heather said and walked down the two short steps which led up to the pool.
A car started outside, headlights flashed, and an engine roared. Something bad had happened – Heather’s stomach held the leaden weight of certainty.
“Hello?” She hurried down the stone path which led to the central pool. “Is there someone out here?” Warm quiet was the only reply.
The lights in their room clicked on, and Heather’s shadow stretched across the grass ahead of her, at an angle.
A woman lay beside the pool, staring at nothing. The remains of what could only be a glass tank lay on the stone tiles. Three massive blobs of blue-gray jelly lay flush with her skin – one beside her cheek, the other against her right forearm and the last on her left kneecap.
“That’s not jelly,” Heather muttered. She didn’t bother checking the woman’s vital signs. She turned her back on the body, betrayed by nausea which sloshed against the lining of her stomach.
Gosh, this was the last thing she’d expected on her vacation.
“What’s going on?” Amy asked, and trudged down the steps from their bedroom, arms folded across her cotton PJ shirt. She stalled with one foot caught in mid-air. “No. No, no, no, no. Not here.”
“Call 911,” Heather said.
“A murder? What are those? What are they?” Amy pointed, and her arm quivered up and down.
“They’re Portuguese Man O’War,” Heather said. At least she thought they were. “Call 911. I’ve got to go get the hotel manager.”
“That’s the waitress from the breakfast buffet. She served our table,” Amy said. The woman hadn’t dropped her arm to her side. She’d entered a state of shock. Ames had never been good with the physical parts of a crime.
Heather hurried to her bestie, then grabbed her shoulders and shook her on the spot. “Amy! Focus,” she said. “Go back to the room and call 911. Tell them there’s a dead woman at the Palm Beach Horizon Hotel. Can you do that?”
“Y-yeah.” Amy set her jaw. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good,” Heather said. “I’ll be back in five. Just stay in the room. No, actually, stay out on the porch. Do not let anyone go near the body or touch it. Don’t let them contaminate the scene.”
“Got it.”
Heather strode across the lawn, wincing with every step – each had the potential to crush or ruin evidence. The French doors which led into the reception area swam through the half-light.
There had to be someone in reception or the office behind it. They’d contact the manager and call him down to the hotel.
Heather halted in front of the doors and banged her knuckles against one of the panes. She glanced back at the body of the waitress, mind swirling at the possibilities.
Why had she been beside the pool? Who’d killed her? And why had they used Man O’Wars of all things?
“What is it?” A man asked, behind the glass.
“There’s a dead body by the pool,” Heather said and faced the weasel-looking fellow. “Call the manager.”
The guy sighed and pushed his glasses up his sharp nose. “Not again.”
Chapter 3
“You’re the one who found her?” Detective Smith sat across from Heather in the lobby, a circular coffee table separating them. He laid his notepad on it, and the pen on top of that at an angle.
Each movement was executed with meticulous precision.
“I was,” Heather said. “What was her name? She served us at the buffet this morning, and I didn’t catch a glimpse of her name tag.”
“Daphne Wilder,” the detective replied, evenly. He clasped his dark brown hands together and studied her from underneath thick, expressive eyebrows. “Do you need a moment?”
“No,” Heather said. “I’m fine.”
The lobby had been emptied and each of the hotel’s customers isolated to their rooms. Detective Smith had chosen her for the first round of questioning.
Light sliced across the French door’s panes, beams from
the officers and examiners outside who’d arrived to process the scene.
Smith followed her gaze. “You seem remarkably calm, Mrs. Shepherd,” he said.
“That’s because this is not my first dead body,” she replied.
“Meaning?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Heather said. That probably hadn’t been the best choice of words. “I’m a consultant to the police department in my hometown. I deal with cases like these a lot.”
“A consultant?” He asked.
“Yeah, you know. They bring on outside help sometimes,” she replied. She’d watched a special on the CI channel where the police had called in a medium to help them contact the deceased.
Compared to that, her presence in cases didn’t seem all that crazy.
Detective Smith picked up his notepad and pen, once again with those clipped, purposeful movements. “Walk me through what happened, Mrs. Shepherd.”
Daphne Wilder. Who’d wanted to kill her? And in such an exotic manner too.
“Did she die from anaphylactic shock?”
“We can’t make that assumption yet,” Smith said.
“But that’s what it looks like,” Heather replied. “I know that a sting can be fatal if the person is allergic to the venom, right?”
“Mrs. Shepherd, I’m going to ask you the questions, not the other way around.” Smith flipped open the cover of his notepad. He scrawled something across the top of the page.
She didn’t crane her neck to figure out what it was. “Sorry. I guess I’m used to being the one asking the questions.”
Detective Smith drew a line across his page, a measured swipe of his pen, then focused on her. “Walk me through what happened,” he repeated.
“I couldn’t sleep because it was so darn hot,” Heather said. “I went outside to catch some fresh air, and then I heard – uh, it was strange. Three things at once. A splash, a shriek and then glass breaking. That must’ve been the tank.”
Detective Smith took notes. “All right, and then what happened.”
“Oh wait, I also heard a car afterward,” Heather said. “I didn’t see what it was, though, because I rushed down to the pool instead. My friend, Amy, turned on the lights and that’s when we saw her.”