Toasted Coconut Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 36
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 rich, almost creamy, breath of toasted coconut drifted through the interior of Donut Delights and mingled with the coffee aroma, the steam from mugs and the chatter of the customers.
Coconut could be divisive, but Heather had always loved it. The scent reminded her of baking her grandmother’s special toasted coconut cookies during the winter months – though Heather had never been good at making anything other than donuts.
“The smell in here,” Eva said and sniffed delicately. “I don’t know how to describe it. It reminds me of my mother’s apron.”
“Your mother’s apron?” Heather asked, and grinned at the blue-haired old lady.
Eva patted down the front of her long, woolen coat and brought out a tiny purse. “Yes, dear. She baked frequently and fattened me up as a kid.”
“You wouldn’t say so,” Heather replied.
Eva was skinny as a twig, despite her habitual donut eating. “You’re too kind. I know these donuts will catch up with me one day, but I can’t bring myself to stop eating them.”
“Want to hear about today’s?” Heather asked, and tapped the side of her nose. “I designed them specifically for the fair this Sunday.” A pang of nerves twisted her mind toward the inevitable event, but she pushed it away and focused on her favorite customer instead.
“Absolutely,” Eva said and peered at the toasted coconut sprinkled donuts beneath the down lights.
They sat on a tray beside last week’s specialty, and beside them, a mix of chocolate and strawberry, fudge and fruit donuts awaited the customers of Heather’s store.
“These,” Heather said and pressed her index finger to the glass above the donuts of the week. “Are the Toasted Coconut Donuts.”
“What’s in them? Apart from the coconut, of course,” Eva said and blinked her mascara-free lashes.
“The donut itself is a lighter than air base, fluffy and baked in the oven. Vanilla flavored to keep it clean. No cream filling for once. I wanted this to be mess free for the festival.”
“That can’t be all,” Eva said. “I know you’ve got a tRay up your sleeve, Heather Shepherd.”
“I do,” Heather said. “I’ve coated theses donuts in an incredibly light white chocolate ganache. It’s barely visible, see? But it should add the complexity of flavor we strive for around here.”
“And after that?”
“It’s dipped only once,” Heather said and lifted her index finger. “Then rolled through freshly toasted coconut. I get the shavings from the organic store on the main street.”
Eva clasped her hands together. “I’ll take one of those, please.”
“Absolutely,” Heather said, and bent to get the plate to one side of the counter.
The bell above the glass plate front door tinkled, and Heather snapped upright, color draining from her cheeks.
She stared at the front of the store, but no, these were just customers, and they wound between the tables toward the front counter.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Eva asked.
Heather punched buttons on the coffee machine, the plate in one hand. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” she said. “Especially with the fair coming up this weekend. I keep thinking Kate Laverne’s going to burst in here and disturb the peace, again.”
Eva nodded, and her eyes went as sharp as two knives. “That woman is no good,” she whispered and shuffled some money out of her purse. “Don’t worry about her. She’s only doing this because she knows your store is better than hers.” Harsh words from a woman who wasn’t mean in the slightest.
And that could only mean those harsh words were true.
Heather handed over Eva’s coffee and plate, just as Angelica hurried toward the counter to help out.
“Hey, boss,” she said, and tightened her apron. “I come help. Amy chase me out of the kitchen to ask for more coconut.”
“I’ll put through a call to our supplier right away,” Heather said and gestured to the customers who’d stepped up to the counter after Eva. “Would you mind?”
Angelica planted herself in front of the register with a smile to light a million donut stores.
Heather strode toward her office. She made a point of calling her suppliers in private, in case one of Kate’s spies was on the lookout. She wouldn’t put it past Laverne to have someone watching her every move in the store.
Kate and her brother, Geoff, had the same tendencies. Though, Geoff was relatively harmless and Kate… she wanted to cause as much harm as possible, at least in the business sense.
Heather opened her door, slipped inside, then clicked it shut behind her.
The laughter and warmth from the interior of the store didn’t disappear entirely. She’d never sound-proofed her office, and she didn’t plan on it. Those sounds of happiness made Heather’s day, every day.
She walked to her desk and ran her fingers along the back of the office chair in front of it along the way.
Heather’s cell phone rang in the front pocket of her Donut Delights apron. She brought it out and swiped her finger across the green icon.
“Heather Shepherd,” she said.
“And this is Detective Shepherd,” her husband replied.
“Another one?” She asked. The rash of murders in Hillside had intensified. Sure, the town had bloomed economically and in size in the last few months, but this was ridiculous.
“Yeah, another one,” Ryan replied. “But this one is tRayy. It’s different.”
“Different how?” Heather asked.
“Two victims. And they appear to have shot each other,” Ryan replied. “But I don’t think that’s the case. Something’s off at the crime scene. Evidence has been tampered with. I need your eye and your opinion.”
Heather chewed her bottom lip and kept quiet. She had a
lot to deal with this week.
The Tea and Donut Fair was on the horizon. The sales at the store had finally picked up again, and she had to make sure they had enough coconut and other baking goodies for the week.
“You can say no, hon if you don’t want to get involved,” Ryan replied, though a tinge of desperation marred the suggestion.
Heather exhaled. “No,” she said. “I want to help out.” It didn’t hurt that Ryan’s Captain had offered to pay her per case she helped solve. “Where and when?”
“The Forest near South Bosque River. One hour.”
One hour. That gave her just enough time to sort things out with her suppliers and at the store before she rushed off to get involved.
“I’ll be there,” Heather said.
Chapter 2
The South Bosque River tinkled merrily along between the trees. It grazed the river banks and swept away around a curve, off to destinations unknown. The river carried water and secrets.
Heather stood between the trees, to one side of the yellow plastic markers around the crime scene.
“They fell here,” Ryan said, and pointed to one side, “and here.” Then to the other. “About five feet apart.”
“A shoot-out in the middle of the forest,” Heather said and turned in a slow circle. She studied the trees and the fisherman’s shack, nearby. A gathering of poles and a rusted tackle box sat outside it, nestled in the long grass, beside a canoe.
Heather shrugged her jacket closer to her skin. “Why?”
“If we knew that, we wouldn’t be here,” Ryan said and adjusted his grip on his pen. He hadn’t brought out his notepad yet, but he clicked the ballpoint.
“So, what do we think happened?” Heather asked.
“Officially? Cap’s tempted to call it a double homicide and make us close the case. I’m not buying it, and he’s given me the wiggle room to investigate.”
“Why aren’t you buying it?” Heather asked, and frowned at a bullet hole in one of the trees.
“You’ve just spotted why I’m not buying it,” Ryan said and walked to her side. “Here’s the thing, these two guys, the co-victims, and murderers, were enemies. Gerard Furrows and Charlie Pole. They were both independent contractors. Pole lived in Hillside, and Furrows had just moved here a month ago.”
“Okay,” Heather said. She folded her arms and tilted her head to one side in her ‘go on’ stance.
“Supposedly, these guys hated each other so much Pole tried to sabotage Furrows’ business. We’ve got one witness who said he heard gunshots, but he can’t tell us how many, only that they were close together. And we’ve got two distinct bullets holes, both through the heart. That’s an almost instant kill.”
“So they would have to have fired at the same moment,” Heather said, then gestured to the round hole in the bark. “Except there’s a bullet hole in the tree.”
“And no possibility for ricochet, since the bullets were found in –”
“All right, all right,” Heather said and waved a palm. She’d never been great with the bloody details. “So there’s an external element or mystery here. Why were they out in the woods, though? Unless this was some kind of planned, pseudo duel.”
“Old school,” Ryan said. “But no. That’s what peaked my interest in the case. Gerard Furrows was found with this clutched in his left hand.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a plastic bag.
Inside it, a weathered piece of paper sat flush with the clear surface. A dotted line trailed along its surface, to an ‘x’ and a set of mysterious letters tracked across the left border of the page.
“That’s –”
“A treasure map.” Ryan placed it back in his pocket. “I’ll send a copy of it over to you late, in the dossier.”
That was the last thing Heather had expected. “So, Gerard Furrows came in search of some kind of treasure,” she said. “Or the two enemies organized an old-timey duel. Or there’s another motivation, and the exterior details like the map and the shootout are a lure to throw us off the scent of the real killer.”
“All possibilities. It seems far-fetched,” Ryan said and scraped the back of his neck with his pen.
“We are dealing with a treasure map. Surrealism is baked right in,” Heather replied. She turned and walked to the fisherman’s hut and the canoe. “What about this?”
“Haven’t checked it out, yet,” Ryan said, and fished around in his pocket. He brought out a pair of latex gloves. “They’ve only just removed the bodies for medical examination. That way, we’ll get a better idea of when they were shot.”
Heather accepted the gloves, then snapped them on and stepped up to the front of the fisherman’s hut. The lead was tenuous at best, a long shot, but they didn’t have anything else at the moment.
“What do we know about Gerard and Charlie?” Heather asked, and pressed her hand to the scarred wooden door in the hut. She pushed it open, and the scent of mildew and damp washed over them.
Ryan sniffed and reached in. Her grappled with a light switch on the wall and clicked it on.
Cold, blue light swam over wooden benches and tables, pushed into the corners of the tiny interior. Tackle boxes, spools of fishing line, packs of silver hooks and knives gathered in the hut.
A few pictures had been pasted on the right side wall beside a short bookcase.
“Gerard is a mystery until I can get a closer look at his offices downtown,” Ryan said.
“And Charlie?”
“Charlie Pole,” Ryan said and brought out his notepad at last. He flipped through it to a specific page and angled it toward the light bulb. “Wife by the name of Julie Pole. Local guy who’s been around for ages. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around, somewhere. Also a contractor.”
Heather let the information sweep over her and stepped up to the shelves and the picture.
An image of a man and a woman stood out. Heather plucked it off the wall and narrowed her eyes. She turned it over and read the words on the back.
“What color hair did Charlie have?” Heather asked.
“Dark. Kind of jaw-length,” Ryan said and demonstrated with his ballpoint. “Uh, middle-aged. Blue eyes.”
“Uh-huh,” Heather said, and flipped the photo over to look at the inhabitants again. “And Pole’s wife’s name is?”
“Julie Pole. You want to let me in on the secret?” Ryan asked.
“The secret,” Heather said and handed him the photo. “Is Julie Pole was having an affair.” She tapped the picture.
Ryan flipped it over and read out loud, “Me and Julie, New Year’s Day 2016.”
The man in the picture had short blond hair, green eyes, and an easy smile. Julie planted a kiss on his cheek.
All they had to figure out was –
“Ray Donnelly,” Ryan said.
“What’s that now?” Heather asked.
“This is Ray, the fisherman. He came down to the station not a week ago and complained that someone had been messing around down here with his canoe. Nothing was stolen, though, so there wasn’t much we could do.”
“Define messing around?” Heather asked.
“He said, someone, moved it. And that they’d dug up the ground underneath,” Ryan said.
Their eyes met, and Heather’s heart skipped a beat.
Digging for treasure?
Chapter 3
Ray Donnelly sat at the rough, wooden table in his kitchen, his back to the view of the woods behind him. He dry-washed his hands on the surface, bright green eyes focused on Heather. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing, Mr. Donnelly,” she said. “Apart from the fact that two men were murdered in the forest near your house and you happened to have this picture in your fishing hut.” Heather put out her palm.
Amy rummaged around in Heather’s tote, then drew out the thick dossier she’d stored within it an hour earlier.
Ryan had been quick about sending over the case file. Quick enough that she’d closed up shop and been abl
e to come out to the forest for this interview before evening fell, and she was due at Eva’s to pick up Lilly.
Heather took the dossier, flicked it open and removed the picture from the top. It was all a show for Donnelly’s eyes.
She wanted to make an impression that would last, so he’d know exactly who he had to deal with.
“I didn’t have anything to do with the, uh, their murders,” Ray said and fidgeted some more.
“Do you know this woman?” Heather asked, and pinched the picture between her fingertips. She held it out to Ray.
He didn’t take it. “Yes. That’s me. And that’s Julie,” he replied. His expression hardened and his face transformed into hard planes of rock. “She’s a good friend of mine.”
“Very good friend,” Heather said and turned the picture back to her own eyes. “Judging by that kiss.” She placed the image on top of the pile of pages and shut the dossier, again.
“Julie and I have been friends a long time,” Ray said.
“So you’re aware she was married then,” Heather replied.
Ray’s eyebrows shot up. “Married? No. She’d just gotten a divorce,” he said.
Dusk settled outside the cabin and fell across the naked branches of the trees, coating them in that special dusty purple which comforted Heather. Coconut and the sight of Hillside as it moved into night time.
“Divorced,” Heather said and switched her gaze from the trees back to the subject of the interview.
“Yeah, it’d just gone through. Look, I don’t care if you are with the police. You can’t come in here and accuse me of – of –”
“Of what?” Amy asked, quietly. She zipped up her puffy jacket.
“Murder?” Ray suggested.
“No one’s accusing you of murder, Mr. Donnelly. We just want to know where you were this morning at the crack of dawn,” Heather said.
“I was in bed. Like any normal person would be.” Ray’s fidgeting had stopped. His shoulders tensed up as if someone had stuck a coat hanger in the back of his plaid shirt.
“In bed,” Heather said. “And there’s no one to corroborate that?”
Ray hesitated. He rolled the pads of his thumbs against each other, twisting them back and forth.