Banana Coconut Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 21 Read online

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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 2016 by Guardian Publishing Group - All rights reserved.

  All rights Reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  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

  “How are Angelica and Ken doing with the next batch?” Heather asked, and tightened her apron.

  The clink of plates and coffee cups in the new and improved Donut Delights brought a grin to her face. Life had come to the store – an injection of customer’s for the grand re-opening today.

  And, boy, were the Banana Coconut Donuts a hit.

  Amy rang up another order, handed out a coffee, then turned to Heather. “They’re coming, they’re coming. You need to stop stressing. Everything’s going smooth as can be.”

  Heather stretched her neck, then knuckled her lower back. She’d been on her feet since 4 am, preparing for the big day.

  “Gosh, Heather,” Amy said, “You’re exhausted.” She turned, got a plate, then brought out another Banana Coconut Donut and placed it, carefully. She handed it to the young girl on the other side of the counter with a smile.

  “It’s finally happening,” Heather replied. She rotated and planted her feet, then smiled around at the massive interior of her store. The work team had knocked down the divider which had once led into the building next door.

  Now, she had a massive kitchen and more space for customers too.

  “You need to take a break,” Amy said, behind her. “Why don’t you go sit with Eva for a while? She’s been asking after you since she came in.”

  “Good idea,” Heather replied. She didn’t bother untying her apron. Like it or not, she needed a break, even if it was just a short one.

  Heather strode to Eva’s sunny spot at the front of the store, then lowered herself into the chair opposite the elderly woman.

  Eva’s expression lit up, and she shifted her newspaper to one side. “Heather, dear, how are you this fine Monday morning?”

  “Spinning,” Heather replied, then twirled her finger beside her head. “Crazy too.”

  Eva chuckled then glanced around the store. “You should be proud. The grand opening is a fantastic success. I’ve never seen this many Hillside residents together in one place. Apart from that nasty business with the archery competition.”

  Heather eyed Eva’s Banana Coconut treat and wriggled her nose. “Are you enjoying the newest creation, Eva?”

  “Oh yes, divine. Absolutely divine, as usual.” Eva lifted the donut, then took a bite. “How did you make this one?”

  Heather scooted forward. “I thought you’d never ask. Well, I got it from an old recipe in my grandmother’s book, and adapted it slightly.”

  “Do tell,” Eva replied, then picked up her napkin and dabbed at her lips.

  “I wanted to do something creamy and lights, so the topping is a whipped banana cream, with toasted coconut for topping.”

  “And the donut itself?”

  Heather tapped the side of her nose. “Coconut laced batter, crisped to perfection, then dipped once in a light vanilla glaze.”

  “Genius, as usual,” Eva said. She finished off her donut and sighed her delight. Her plum colored hairdo wobbled. “Oh, I’ve meant to ask you a question, Heather.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Eva patted the front page of the newspaper with her forefinger. “Do you like ballet?”

  Heather blinked at her. Amy probably would have had a smart retort, but she couldn’t summon one up. “The ballet?”

  “Yes, you know, dancing. It says in the paper that the local ballet school is putting on a big show,” Eva said and hunched over the newspaper. “Apparently, some big American Ballet Theatre recruiter is coming to Hillside to see if there’s any talent here.”

  “So the school is putting on a show to impress?”

  “That’s right. It opens this week Wednesday. Would you be interested in going?” Eva asked.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Heather replied. “Oh, it’s a school night, though. I’m sure Lilly would’ve liked to come.”

  “Oh,” Eva said, then readjusted the paper on the table. “Yes, the show will go until quite late. Maybe there’s a midday show we could go to. I’ll phone the number here and find out.”

  “That would be fantastic,” Heather replied. So much had happened in the past while, she could hardly keep track.

  Lilly had chosen Ryan and Heather to be her foster parents, but she couldn’t move in immediately. Pamela, her social worker, first had to interview them and inspect their home to ensure it was the right place for a ten-year-old girl.

  Nerves fluttered around in Heather’s belly.

  Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans, and she hopped in the chair. “Excuse me, a second, Eva,” Heather said. She slid from her seat, then squished her phone out of her pocket.

  Ryan’s number flashed on the screen. She swiped to answer, then pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Shepherd,” her husband said. “How’s the grand opening treating ya?”

  “Very well,” Heather replied, then stifled a yawn behind her fist. She strode to the front door of the store, then opened it and slipped into the fresh fall breeze outside. “Great actually. I’m just a little tired.”

  “Then, you’d better pick up a couple of coffees on your way over here,” Ryan replied.

  Heather’s insides looped around themselves. A pretzel of anxiety. “Over where, exactly? And do I need to ask why?”

  “The ballet school. There’s been another murder. It looks like a young woman, a ballerina, was pushed down the stairs,” Ryan said. “Can you get away from the store? Or do you want to skip out on this way.”

  Ballet summoned thoughts of beauty and grace, not murder. And Eva had been so excited about the show.

  “I’ll take the case,” Heather replied. Honestly, she wouldn’t let a case slide in her beloved Hillside. Not with the possibility of a new family member looming on the horizon. The safer Hillside became, the better. “And I’ll bring those coffees you suggested.”

  “Hoskins is angling for donuts again,” Ryan muttered.

  Heather laughed out loud. A man in a suit nearby flinched, then frowned at her. “I won’t bring any donuts,” she replied. “Not until he learns to behave himself.”

  “See you soon,” Ryan replied.

  “Oh, you can bet your last donut on it.”

  Chapter 2

  Heather folded her arms across her chest and stared down at the landing below her. The bo
dy had been – thankfully – removed before her arrival. “One flight of stairs in the entire building?”

  “That’s right,” Ryan replied. He walked to the top of the stairs, a takeaway Donut Delights coffee cup in his hands, and positioned himself in the center of the walkway. “My best estimate is that she was here when she was pushed.”

  “If she was pushed,” a gruff voice said, from the doorway nearby. Hoskins’ bulk filled the entryway, which led into the office of the ballet school.

  The scent of resin, hairspray, and musty costumes wafted on the air.

  “She was pushed,” Ryan replied.

  “How do we know?” Heather asked.

  Hoskins grunted and stared at her. His jaw dropped – perhaps, he’d thought she’d be biased. She was here to discover the truth, not pick sides in an internal issue.

  Ryan nodded and used his coffee cup to gesture. “Blunt trauma to the back of the head. Focused blunt trauma. Whoever hit her, did it when she wasn’t looking and with enough force to topple her.”

  The narrow flight of stairs had given Heather vertigo on the way up. She restrained a shiver at the thought of what’d happened here.

  “Victim’s name?” She asked, and refused to meet Hoskins’ gaze – which burned a hole in the side of her face. Heather took a sip of her coffee and focused on her husband.

  “Isabella Hunt,” Ryan said, then whipped out his notepad. He flipped through the pages. “One of a pair of twins. Sister by the name of Sophia Hunt. She lived in an apartment with Sophia and one other dancer. I didn’t get her name, though.”

  “Isabella,” Heather whispered. “That’s a beautiful name. What a pity.” She walked to the doorway and stared at Hoskins. “Excuse me,” she said.

  “You’re excused. You forget those donuts again?”

  Heather pressed two fingers to the center of her forehead. “Are we going to do this every time I investigate a case? Doorways seem to be your favorite spot to hang out. What’s up with that?”

  Hoskins sniffed, then hustled out of Heather’s path and off to the side of the stairs. “Just doing my job,” he muttered. “Not a crime to try do the right thing.”

  Ryan walked past him, then stopped at Heather’s side. “This is the office of the guy who owns the school. Name is, hold on a sec,” Ryan said, then rifled through the pages of his notepad again. “Ah, here he is. Guy by the name of Shawn Masterson.”

  “Do we have any information on him? Anything relevant to the case?” Heather entered the office and glanced around. A window on the wall sported a view of the park opposite.

  “He was outside when I arrived. He found Isabella’s body. Called 911.” Ryan scratched the bridge of his nose with the back of his ballpoint. “Guy was in tears when I interviewed him, so I let him go. Quite a strong reaction from a guy his age. Mid-thirties.”

  “Yeah, because middle-aged men don’t have tear ducts.” Heather snorted at herself. She’d channeled Amy for a second there.

  “I’m just saying it was a strong reaction. I can understand teacher’s having an emotional connection with their students, but this seemed, I don’t know, it seemed personal to me.” Ryan drew a heart in mid-air.

  Heather arched her eyebrows. “So, he’s suspect number one, then.”

  She walked to the desk in the center of the room and touched the tips of her fingers to the wood. “Clean,” she said. “Neat guy.”

  “Better than the last crime we investigated,” Ryan replied. He opened the top drawer, then drew out a few papers from within. “Flyers.”

  Heather picked one up. “Oh yeah, this is for the show they’re putting on this weekend – oh.”

  “Weekend-o? Like Old MacDonald had a farm in Ohio-i-o?”

  Heather swatted him on the shoulder. “No,” she said, “Look at the name. Prima ballerina in the show was Isabella Hunt. No wonder Shawn was upset. He’d just lost the star of his show.”

  Ryan grunted something unintelligible and continued his search through the desk drawers, and the scrape of wood on wood accompanied him.

  “Isabella Hunt,” Heather said. “Interesting.”

  “Ha, I knew I was on to something,” Ryan said, then lifted a folded note from another drawer. “A letter from our vice to Shawn.”

  “What does it say?”

  Ryan flipped the page open, wiggled then squinted at the words. “Remind me to get reading glasses.”

  “That’s what it –”

  Ryan rolled his eyes at her. “I can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t tell her I’m coming to visit. Love, your Isabella.”

  “Wow, okay, I’m on board, now,” Heather replied. “How old are these women?”

  “Early twenties,” Ryan replied. He folded the note again, then placed it on the desk. “I’ll have to take that into evidence. I can’t say there’s a connection between Shawn and the murder, but this fits the bill for a crime of passion.”

  “Hit on the back of the head and forced down the stairs. Yeah, you’re right. I think I should have a chat with Mr. Masterson, myself,” Heather said, and stared at the image of Isabella on the front, mid-pirouette, a smile on her face, her arms elevated. She exuded grace.

  “He owns the health food store down the road, too. So, if he’s not here, he’s there,” Ryan replied. “Should be pretty easy to track down.”

  Heather blocked a yawn with her fist. “Good. I’m on it.” She walked to the door, the flyer gripped between her fingers.

  “Oh, and hon, one more thing,” Ryan said.

  She stopped and looked back at him.

  “We found the murder weapon. A woman’s ballet shoe. It was taken from the locker room downstairs. Apparently, the studio had a bunch of old and spare shoes just lying around.” Ryan shrugged and thumbed through his notes.

  “Wait, she was hit with a ballet shoe?” Heather’s brow wrinkled.

  “Yeah, one of those hard ones.” Ryan twiddled his pen in mid-air. “You know, the ones with the wooden block in the front, what are they called?”

  “Pointe shoes. She was hit with a pointe shoe. Ouch.” Heather grasped the back of her head. “All right,” she said. “I’m on it.”

  “You always are.” He blew her kiss.

  Chapter 3

  Amy grumbled under her breath and strode along beside Heather. “I can’t believe you’ve pulled me away from my donuts to come here,” she said.

  Heather patted her bestie on the back, then looped her arm through Amy’s. “I need your quick wit and jibes to disarm the suspects, Ames. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”

  “Now, you’re talking,” Amy said, and her constitution brightened up. She lifted her head and sunshine trickled across her cheeks and glinted off her blond locks. “I guess you do need me in your investigations.”

  “Of course, I do.” Heather grinned and nudged her bestie. “You’re like my assistant. If you weren’t so busy keeping Donut Delights on track, I’d take you everywhere with me.”

  Amy clicked her fingers. “I could totally be your full-time assistant. Do your paperwork and all of that.”

  “What paperwork?” Heather asked, then halted in front of the health food store and stared up at the sign above the door.

  “Strictly Organic,” Amy said and narrowed her eyes. “They should’ve called it Strictly Fat-Free. Or Strictly Boring. Strictly Force Organic Food on Donut Makers.”

  “What’s eating you?” Heather asked.

  “Organic food, apparently,” Amy replied, then sighed. “Just these places give me the creeps. It’s not the food. It’s the ideology. I’ve had how many people come up to me and tell me what I should eat and why. Did I ask for their opinion? No. But they went ahead and gave it anyway, and that really –”

  “May I help you?” A man spoke behind them.

  Amy squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll bet you twenty donuts that’s the owner of the store,” she hissed. “I know my luck.”

  Heather didn’t take the bet. She turned and put up her famed cus
tomer smile. “Hi,” she said, then extended her hand, “I’m Heather Shepherd. I’m here looking for someone in particular. Do you know the owner of this store?”

  The man pursed his lips and didn’t take her hand. His green-eyed gaze flickered from her face to Amy’s. “I happen to be the owner of this establishment,” he replied, in a nasal whine. “What do you want?”

  “Told you,” Amy whispered. “I always put both of my big feet in my even bigger mouth.”

  “Mr. Masterson, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Heather said.

  “What do you want?” He repeated. His eyes were red, and the lids puffy – had he been crying again?

  “I’m here to talk to you about the death of Isabella Hunt. She was a student at your ballet school,” Heather said and clung to her serene façade.

  “I know who she was. But who are you to talk to me about anything?” Shawn asked. He folded his arms and his cotton, sleeveless shirt stretched. He stared down his nose at them.

  “I’m a private investigator working in conjunction with the Hillside Police Department to solve the case. Do you have a minute to talk?” Heather phrased the question carefully, but her tone didn’t ask a thing.

  He would talk to her. He had to.

  “Fine,” he said, at last, and dropped his arms to his sides. “But you’d better make this quick. I’ve got shelves to restock.”

  “Heaven forbid Hillside should miss out on your tasty, uh, tomatoes.” Amy couldn’t help herself. Her cheeks colored, and she broke eye contact immediately.

  “This way,” Shawn said and fisted the door to his store open.

  They entered and cold air swept over Heather’s skin. Goosebumps raised on her arms. She rubbed them and glanced around at the shelves of fresh produce and a section of gluten-free goodies in one corner.

  A few plants hung in pots from the ceiling, swaying slightly in some unknown current.

  The empty store embraced them – though Amy’s upper lip curled back in disdain. “Like a veg party in here.”

  “You don’t like vegetables?” Shawn raised both eyebrows and his gaze swept from her head to her toes. “I can tell.”