Neapolitan Delight Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 33 Read online

  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

  A reverent hush filtered through the interior of the cinema. All eyes focused on the screen. The gentle creak of blood red, cinema chairs, and the occasional cough from one of the guests were the only noises which disturbed the pre-movie quiet.

  Heather’s fingertips brushed the leather armrest and crept over to her neighbor’s spot. She ran them down the back of his hand.

  Ryan Shepherd turned his hand over and caught her fingers with his. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

  The opening night of the Keleman Cinematic Theater had arrived at last, and the décor made the dormant butterflies in Heather’s stomach dance with excitement. It’d been a long time since she’d been this excited.

  The light from the pearlescent, shell wall sconces dimmed and the white sheet, not a wall, but an actual sheet draped in front of a broad, brown stage, lit up.

  Letters flickered across it. An old-timey countdown to the start of the movie.

  A thrill ran through the room. People shifted to get a better view, even though the seating was tiered.

  Heather glanced back at the balcony behind them, where the projectionist’s box sat, its single window lit with bright white light.

  Orchestra music thrummed through the room, and Heather snapped her gaze back to the screen.

  The title, The Woman in Shadows, glared from the screen in white font on a background of gray.

  Ironic, that the first movie played in the Keleman Cinematic Theater would be a detective mystery.

  Ryan squeezed her hand as if he’d read her thoughts.

  She settled back into the cushy leather seat and focused on the screen.

  A bang rang out, but not from the credits which still rolled in bold font.

  Ryan flinched and let go of her. He shifted and craned his neck toward the front of the theater.

  A shocked cry sliced through the music.

  “What the –?” Ryan rose in his seat.

  “Sit down. I can’t see the screen,” a man said, from the row behind them/

  Heather hopped to her high-heeled feet, too, and glanced back. Herman Schulz met her gaze, and they both jerked back for a second.

  The woman at his side touched his arm. “What is it, dear? What is the matter?”

  “Nein. Nothing, nothing,” Herman said, in his thick German accent.

  Heather turned her back on them and focused on the source of the disturbance instead. Something had upset the viewing, and she got the feeling it wasn’t a planned first-night opening surprise. “What’s going on?”

  Slowly, the folks rose from their seats and confused whispers susurrated through the air, a choir of voices to accompany that invisible orchestra.

  Heather bobbed on her heels and caught a glimpse of an open side door which led out into the parking lot. She frowned. “Why isn’t that locked?”

  Ryan pointed to the screen.

  A man stumbled up the wooden stairs of the stage and gripped the left side of his shirt. He halted in front of the screen, and the images of the movie, black and white people, their voices unaware, warped across his front.

  “You,” he shouted. “You!”

  He stumbled forward a step.

  Several of the movie goers screamed, and Heather clenched her fists. He’d fall off the end of the stage. Was he mad?

  The man halted, and a thin stream of red ran down the front of his white polo shirt. “You’ll pay,” he said. “For – it – all.” He collapsed to his knees, then keeled over onto his side.

  His head bonked against the wooden screen.

  The movie continued, but none of the moviegoers noticed. They screamed and rushed out of their seats, toward the open door.

  “No,” Ryan said. He hopped up onto his leather seat.

  A man pushed Heather back into hers. “Hey,” she yelled, but he’d already fumbled by, grabbing at the tops of the chairs either side of him.

  “Don’t go out that way!” Ryan roared, above the screams and confusion.

  But the crowd had a mind of its own. They rushed out of the open side door, the same door through which the man had entered, and pushed into the parking lot.

  The white flashes from the projector caught slips of white shirts, and dresses, or a flash of red or pink. Panicked movements in the dark, and freeze frames of each one.

  “Shoot,” Ryan growled and dropped down from the seat.

  Already, most of the theater had cleared out, and only the stragglers pushed at the back of the crowd, casting horrified glanced over their shoulders at the man on the stage.

  The dead man on the stage.

  His eyes stared at the balcony, unseeing.

  Finally, the movie shut off, and the lights came back on.

  “What just happened?” Heather asked, though, she’d already guessed.

  Ryan offered her his hand, and she took it. “I’ve got to call this in,” he said. “It looks like we’ve got another murder case on our hands.”

  Heather’s gaze flickered to the open side door. If this was a murder case, then most of Hillside had just trampled through part of the evidence. And every witness to the crime had just performed a mass exodus.

  “We’ll never catch them all in time,” she said and started toward the door.

  “Leave it.” Ryan caught her arm. “I’ll get the attendance list from Keleman. I’ll call Hoskins and get him down here to cordon it off. You stay here. Right here. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Heather said and averted her eyes from the body.

  “Honey, are you all right? I can leave you here?” Ryan asked.

  Heather plonked down in her seat and crossed her ankles. “I’m fine, Shepherd. It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed a murder.” And it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  Ryan pressed his lips
to her forehead, a hasty brush of the lips. He rushed down their aisle toward the scarlet steps at its end.

  Heather worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Here we go again,” she whispered.

  Chapter 2

  The black and white poster sat behind a pane of glass, rimmed by a golden frame. The man and woman within gazed into each other’s eyes. His black hat tilted to one side, her lips parted slightly.

  Old Hollywood.

  It reminded Heather of the case from last week.

  Honestly, they’d just rung in the New Year, and already another murder had ripped through the peace in Hillside.

  Heather’s high heels clicked on the swirled beige and white marble. She turned and walked toward the grand staircase which led to the second floor. Red carpet traveled up the marble stairs and to the landing above.

  She grasped the golden balustrade and glared at the pinnacle. Why tonight?

  Usually, she’d be focused on the murder, but tonight was special. Or it had been. She hadn’t had time alone with Ryan, just the two of them, without a case or a holiday celebration or some other stressful topic to broach in months.

  For one night, she’d wanted a bit of selfish couple time.

  The theater door creaked behind her. Footsteps thumped across the carpet. “Ryan’s coming in a second,” Hoskins said. “You okay, there, donuts? The show scare ya?”

  Heather spun toward the overweight officer, who gripped a half-eaten piece of pie in one hand. “Not as much as your manners scare me, Hoskins.”

  “Oh ho, somebody’s touchy tonight.”

  Heather opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. She snapped it closed again.

  Ryan pushed through the walnut double doors, accented with more gold and porthole windows. “You two aren’t fighting again, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry, dad,” Hoskins said, and trundled off to the same picture Heather had viewed minutes ago.

  “What do we have?” Heather asked. She folded her arms across her floor-length velvet red gown.

  “The medical examiner’s in there right now,” Ryan said, “but the preliminary report is a stabbing. Stabbed just below the heart. Guy by the name of Pete Boston. Local to Hillside.”

  Heather rubbed her upper arms against the chill which rattled the locked front doors of the theater. “Stabbing. Where?”

  “That’s the trouble. It must’ve happened somewhere outside the theater. Side parking lot where he came from.”

  “And everyone left through that door,” Heather said. “Oh boy.”

  “Yeah, we’re going to have trouble processing evidence from the scene. But hey, the examiner should be done soon, then we can talk to him ourselves.” Ryan paused and eyed Hoskins, who’d flung his head back and stared, open-mouthed at the poster. “Hoskins.”

  The other detective didn’t hear him.

  “Hoskins! Wake up,” Ryan said.

  “Relax, I heard you the first time,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Did you cordon off the crime scene? Around the parking lot outside?” Ryan raised his finger and pointed back toward the main hall.

  Hoskins blinked. “No. I just put my uniform on for fun.” Sarcasm dripped from his bottom lip, along with pecan and pastry crumbs.

  The hall doors opened for the third time, and a slip of a man wormed between them. His jacket swished around his hips, a little too long, and he snapped off latex gloves as he walked.

  “Done already?” Ryan asked.

  Hoskins turned from the poster at last and rammed the remains of his pie into his mouth.

  “They’re removing the corpse, now,” the examiner replied. He nodded at Heather by way of greeting. “Stabbed beneath the heart. Punctured lung and bleeding. His lung collapsed and that was what caused the collapse you saw, on stage.”

  “But he was dead when he hit the ground,” Ryan said.

  “No. I don’t believe so. He died shortly after due to the lack of oxygen. Possibly, lost consciousness first.”

  “Please,” Heather said, and couldn’t keep the slight tremor from her voice. “Please tell me, that we couldn’t have saved him. Because I’ll never forgive myself if –”

  “No,” the examiner said. “It’s my experience that chest wounds are hard to recover from. He’d already lost blood outside, and the punctured lung coupled with the graze to his left ventricle –”

  “Blood outside?” Ryan asked. “You found some?”

  “We’ve got a few technicians sweeping the scene, now, but it doesn’t look good. The evidence was trampled.”

  Heather bowed her head. She’d feared that might’ve happened. The rush of people, the screams and confusion. Doubtless, a lot of evidence had been spread around, and that’d make the case difficult to solve.

  But Heather Shepherd, never backed down from a challenge. She focused on the medical examiner, again.

  “I noticed the blood, though. I can’t deduce much, but the stabbing appears to have occurred outside the theater doors,” said the examiner. “We’ll know more once they’ve finished processing the scene.”

  “And the murder weapon?” Heather asked.

  The examiner’s dark brow wrinkled. “We don’t have it. No murder weapon on the stage or in the parking lot.”

  “Thank you, Kyle,” Ryan said, and patted the examiner on the shoulder. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “I trust you will.” Kyle returned to the doors and Hoskins tailed him.

  “So, like, do you know if there’s a vending machine around here?” Hoskins asked. “I could use a diet coke.”

  They exited and silence settled in their wake. Heather raised her palms to her eyes and rubbed them. “Gosh, another week, another case.”

  “Sorry date night got ruined,” Ryan said and slipped his arm around her shoulders. The sleeve of his black suit scraped against her bare skin. “But hey, we’re not going to go through the scene tonight. The theater will be closed off while the techs work. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “Meaning?” Heather rested her head against his chest.

  “Meaning, we still have the whole evening ahead of us. What’s say we get some takeout, head home and spend the evening watching movies on the sofa? Dave and Cupcake are over at Amy’s with Lilly, so they won’t pester us for food.”

  Heather chuckled at that, though how she’d eat after what they’d just witness wasn’t a laughing matter.

  “That sounds like heaven,” she said. Relatively speaking, of course.

  Chapter 3

  Heather and Ryan hurried toward the front door of the theater, arm in arm, beneath the crystal chandelier which scattered light to the carpet.

  Ryan grasped the golden handle of the door and rattled it. “Shoot. Locked, of course.”

  “I have the keys,” a man said, behind them.

  They turned as one, their fancy dress clothes brushing against each other, and Ryan stiffened beside her.

  “Mr. Keleman. You were told to leave, after your interview. Weren’t you?”

  Edgar Keleman smoothed the tufts of hair around his bald crown, keys jangling in his grip. “Interview. That’s what you call it?” The man had to be in his early fifties, at least, but the boyish grin he leveled at them spoke of pranks and mischief, rather than maturity.

  “Detective Hoskins didn’t interview you?” Ryan asked.

  It was Heather’s turn to stiffen. She glanced at her husband askance. He’d let Hoskins interview a witness?

  “He asked me a question or five, but he didn’t tell me to leave. And he didn’t tell me to lock up either. I did the latter on my own command,” Keleman said. He grasped the golden balustrade with thin, tapered fingers.

  “Who operates the projector?” Heather asked, and slipped her arm from Ryan’s. “You?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Keleman said and inclined his head. She caught a glimpse of his bald patch, which glinted in the light of the chandelier.

  “And you own the theater too?”

  “It’
s not called Keleman’s without reason,” he replied, and marched down the last steps. He hit the square of marble which separated the carpeted stair from the thin strip of red which led to the theater doors. “I do both jobs. I’ve always had a passion for movies. Black and white film. A time when going to the cinema wasn’t about popcorn and plastic cups, but the je ne sais quoi of timeless elegance.”

  Both Heather and Ryan blinked.

  “I’m sure you can understand,” Keleman said and gestured toward their clothes. “You've dressed appropriately for a night at the theater.” He swung his arms upward toward the chandelier, and his voice boomed to the ceiling.

  Heather cleared her throat to regain a hold of the situation. “You were in the projection room at the time of the murder?”

  Keleman dropped his arms to his sides again, miffed by her lack of enthusiasm. “That’s right. I operate the film to bring the beauty of –”

  “You witnessed it, then. The collapse of Pete Boston.”

  Keleman’s lips writhed. “I did, yeah. Poor guy keeled over right in front of everyone. Screams were something awful.”

  Heather blocked out the memory. She glanced up at the entrance to the projection room – a single, brown door with a golden knob. A decorative dagger hung on a plaque beside it.

  “Mr. Keleman,” she said.

  “Please, call me Edgar.”

  “Mr. Keleman,” Heather repeated. “Is that your knife?”

  “My knife,” Keleman said. He didn’t shift to view the item beside the projection room door. “My knife.”

  Uh oh. Had he hit a snag in the record?

  “Yeah, your knife,” Heather said. “Would you like me to call a doctor, Mr. Keleman. Are you well?”

  “That’s not a knife,” Edgar Keleman replied. “No, my dear, that is a dagger. It’s my family dagger. The Keleman family dagger.”

  Another round of quiet passed through the theater’s lobby.

  “A family dagger,” Heather said. The concept was foreign to her. Ryan’s frown told her he felt the same way.

  “That’s right. And it’s attached to the plaque, and that plaque is nailed to the wall. You guys can try to take it down or dust it with that fingerprint stuff when you rip through here tomorrow,” Keleman replied.