Chocolate Frosted Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 5 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 1

  The colored lights strung along the back fence and in the lower-hanging branches of the trees cast a subtle glow over the assembled guests. Heather sat in a folding chair at one of the long, white tables that had been brought in for the occasion in the back of Cousin Alberto's pickup.

  All around her, friends and family members of the Reyes family sat at the tables or stood along the fence enjoying Tia Teresa’s 75th birthday celebration. And what a celebration it was! The party had been going on for three hours, and it showed no signs of stopping. One of the young adult cousins, whose name Heather couldn't remember, and his band were providing the live music. Several of the older women were preparing the delicious food in the kitchen, and the younger women were moving swiftly back and forth from kitchen to yard with pictures and platters and trays, making sure everyone's plate and cup stayed full.

  Several igloo coolers holding ice and cans and bottles of various beverages sat against the fence, and two of the long, white tables, covered with tablecloths, held a greater variety of desserts than Heather had ever seen. She had visited the dessert tables more times than she should have, she knew, but she just couldn't resist the amazing array of confections.

  "Are you having a good time?" Uncle Ed — at least she remembered somebody's name among all the many people she had been introduced to — leaned toward her and smiled.

  "I'm having an amazing time," she said. "I'm so glad Maricela and Angelica invited me."

  "We glad you come," he said. "You our family now too."

  "Thank you," she said. "I'll be right back. I just want to go check and see if there's anything I can do to help in the kitchen."

  Uncle Ed tried to wave her back into her seat. "No, no, you guest. You not have to help. You sit and enjoy."

  "Thanks, but I'll be right back," she said, turning and heading inside the house.

  As she pushed open the back door from the patio, she could hear the voices of the women working in the kitchen as they laughed and conversed in Spanish. Feeling awkward because she only understood a few word, Heather approached the kitchen and waited for someone to look up and acknowledge her.

  Almost immediately, one of the women saw her, then turned and said something over her shoulder. Angelica turned away from a pot she was stirring on the stove and came over to Heather. "You having good time?" she asked.

  "I'm having a marvelous time," Heather said. "I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help in here."

  "No, we got it," Angelica said. "We don't need anything."

  "But I feel guilty just letting you guys do all the work serving everybody," Heather said. "Are you sure there isn't something I can do?"

  One of the older women, who was busily assembling tamales, leaned toward Heather and waved a corn husk at her. "We like doing this. Don't worry about it. If you want to help, you can take these tamales out and see who wants more." She gestured to a tray piled high with the steaming food.

  "I'll be glad to," Heather said, picking up the tray. "Angelica, have you seen Maricela?"

  "She went to call Gustavo," Angelica said. "He not here yet."

  "I take it he's supposed to be?" Heather asked.

  "He says he might be late, but he not supposed to be this late. She call him and see where he is."

  "Okay. I'll just take these out and put them on the table."

  At that moment, Maricela returned to the kitchen, shoving a cell phone into her pocket. She frowned. "He's not answering. I have no idea where he is or why he's not here yet."

  "Was he supposed to bring something?" Heather asked.

  "Yes, he was supposed to pick up the big present for Tia Teresa and bring it out here. She can’t open her presents if the big one's not here."

  Heather thought of the three long tables outside in the yard that were already piled high with brightly wrapped boxes and colorful gift bags and wondered what more there could possibly be to add to the huge assortment of gifts. Aloud, she said, "Do you need me to go pick up anything?"

  "No," Maricela said. "He already picked it up. He just hasn’t brought it home yet.”

  "Well, I hope he gets here soon," Heather said. The tray of tamales in her hands was growing heavy. "I'm just going to go put these outside. I'll be right back."

  "No hurry," Maricela said. "Go enjoy yourself. He'll be here soon."

  Heather returned to the back patio and walked over to the side of the yard, carrying the tray. She wasn't sure where to set it down, because the tables were already laden with food. Another woman saw her predicament and shoved some trays aside so that Heather could set down the tamales. Heather nodded and smiled her thanks before heading back to sit by Uncle Ed.

  When she saw that her previous seat was now taken, she stood for a while leaning against a tree and watching the band. But her thoughts weren't on the music. Why did it bother her so much that Gustavo had not yet arrived? Despite the lateness of the hour, people were still arriving every few minutes. Maybe he just hadn't made it. Things happen. Traffic happens. Plans change.

  But a niggling suspicion still lingered in her mind. Surely for something as important as this party, Gustavo would have made it a point to be here on time. Even if he’d been caught in traffic, he shouldn't have been more than a few minutes late. And if something dire had happened, surely he would have called. Or at least, he'd be answering his phone now.

  Heather mentally shook herself and tried to pay attention to the music so that she could see if she could pick out any Spanish words here and there. But she wasn't having any luck. The words all seem to flow together, and the music was up-tempo, with a catchy beat. Her high school Spanish was all but forgotten, so it wasn't doing her much good here.

  The cell phone in Heather's back pocket vibrated. She had put it on vibrate so that she would know if someone tried to call or text her. Otherwise, she never would have heard it with the music going full blast.

  Heather slipped the phone out of her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she saw that the text was from Ryan Shepherd, her boyfriend. She read the text. Call me. Now.

  She frowned. Such an abrupt, demanding text was not like Ryan at all. Worry fluttered in her chest. Was something wrong?

  Heather threaded her way through the chairs, tables, and guests and back into the house, cell phone in hand. Without stopping to speak to the women in the kitchen, she headed down the hall, as if she were looking for the bathroom. At the end of the hallway, next to a closed door that she assumed led to a bedroom, Heather tapped the phone icon on the text message screen to call Ryan.

&n
bsp; He answered after one ring. "Are you alone?" he asked.

  "No," she said, "I'm still at the party."

  "Are you where you can talk privately?"

  Heather glanced up the hallway. Though she could still hear the chatter in the kitchen, it looked like she had the hallway to herself for the moment. "I am for now," she said.

  "I just wanted to let you know that there’s a patrol unit on their way out there to your friends’ house with some bad news for your friends," he said.

  The flutters of worry in her chest turned to flares. "What happened?"

  "Gustavo Reyes," he said. "Do you know him?"

  "No," she said. "I just know he is supposed to have been here already, and people are wondering where he is."

  "I hate to have to tell you this," Ryan said. "But he's dead."

  "Dead?" Heather repeated. "When? How?"

  "30 minutes ago. At the park. It looks like a drug deal gone bad."

  "Oh, dear God," Heather murmured. "How am I going to tell them?"

  "You're not," Ryan said firmly. "That's what patrol is on the way out there for. I just wanted you to know so you could be ready to offer support and comfort."

  "I sure will," Heather said, just as another party guest headed down the hall, glancing back and forth. He disappeared through the door that led to the bathroom. Heather waited until he shut the door before speaking again. "How awful. I just can't imagine."

  A loud pounding came from the direction of the living room and the front door. "I think patrol’s here," Heather said hurriedly. "Somebody just knocked on the door, and nobody's been knocking. Everybody either just comes in or goes around to the back."

  "Talk to you later," Ryan said, and hung up.

  Heather reached the living room just as Maricela opened the front door. Two uniformed police officers stood in the doorway. "We're looking for Teresa Reyes," one of them said. "Is she here?"

  Maricela hesitated. "Just a minute," she said, her voice trembling. "Why don't you, um, have a seat?"

  The officers stepped inside, and Maricela shut the door behind them before heading out to the backyard. The two men stood awkwardly, as if unsure what to do. Heather approached them and spoke in a low voice. "I'm Heather Janke," she said. "Detective Shepherd called me and told me what happened. Do you want to sit down?"

  "Thank you, ma'am, but we'll stand," the first officer said. His name tag read Poltz.

  Heather stood awkwardly with them, not speaking, until Tia Teresa came slowly but regally down the hall toward the living room. She gestured toward the couch. "Please have a seat," she said graciously.

  The two officers sat then, each one choosing an armchair while Tia Teresa sat on the couch, Maricela next to her. Heather stood against one wall and tried to look unobtrusive, knowing what was coming and hating it.

  "Mrs. Reyes is Gustavo Reyes your grandson?" the officer asked.

  "Yes, Gustavo is my grandson," she said. "What's wrong?"

  "Mrs. Reyes, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this," the officer said, almost echoing Ryan's words to Heather earlier. Was that something they taught in the police academy? Heather wondered. How to tell someone their loved one had died? " But your grandson is dead."

  It seemed then that Tia Teresa crumpled inward. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she sagged into Maricela's arms. Maricela embraced her great-aunt and turned a stunned gaze on Heather. "I'm so sorry," Heather said, sitting down beside Maricela and embracing her as best she could. "Whatever you need. I'll do anything I can."

  But there was not much for Heather to do. Somehow, the news traveled lightning fast, and the living room was filled with relatives weeping, holding one another, and asking questions that had no answers. Most of what was said was in Spanish, and Heather simply didn't understand.

  After an hour of standing helplessly in the corner, having made room for relatives to be closer to Tia Teresa, Heather decided it was time to go. She walked over to Maricela and put her hand on her shoulder. When Maricela looked up at her, she said, "I'm going now. I'll have my phone on all night. Call me if you need anything at all."

  Maricela nodded and tried to speak the words, "Thank you." But they barely came out in a whisper. Heather squeezed her shoulder, turned, and slipped out the front door.

  It was way too quiet. The music had long since been silenced when the terrible news became known. The lights still cast their pastel glow over the backyard, but no one was there to see it.

  Heart heavy and body weary, Heather got into her car, buckled up, and drove home.

  Chapter 2

  Heather stood in the kitchen of the Reyes home, listening to the chatter in Spanish that was going on all around her as the women prepared food. The oven timer beeped, but nobody seemed to notice. Heather tried desperately to think of the Spanish word for alarm, but she couldn't dredge it up from memory. It continued beeping as Heather gestured frantically to the oven. But nobody was paying attention.

  The beeping became louder and more insistent. Heather turned to stare at the oven, watching 0:00 blink on and off, on and off. Wait a minute — that wasn't 0:00, but 2:00. And the numbers weren't on the oven timer in the Reyes kitchen, but on the alarm clock that sat on the nightstand next to her bed.

  With a groan, she reached over and fumbled for the button that would silence it. She'd only gotten two hours of sleep. But she had to get up. Maricela and Angelica obviously wouldn't be able to make it to work today, so she would have to be there at 3 a.m. to help Jung get everything ready for opening Donut Delights at five.

  She pushed herself to a sitting position and swung her feet to the floor. If she didn't get up right away, she would fall back to sleep, and Jung would be left to open the shop by himself, which was just too much work for one person. She pushed her long, curly red hair back from her face and over her shoulders. How did Maricela, Angelica, and Jung do this every morning?

  As the owner of Doughnut Delights, Heather didn't usually arrive until 8:30 or so. But her three employees began work everyday at 3. I need to pay them more, Heather thought. This is awful.

  She stumbled into the tiny bathroom just off her bedroom, turned on the water, and splashed the cold liquid onto her face. She had hoped it would wake her up, but it didn't help much. Stumbling through her morning routine of showering, getting dressed, and doing her hair, she realized that she would be lucky to get to work looking semi-coherent.

  But if that was all she had to worry about, she was blessed, indeed. At least she was only stumbling through fatigue, and not grief.

  Confused by the disruption to their normal morning routine, Dave, her fluffy white mixed breed dog, looked up at her from his doggie bed, cocking his head as if to ask, What are you doing up so early?

  "I'll let you out in a minute, Dave," she said, heading for the kitchen.

  Dave went back to sleep, perfectly happy not to have to get up yet, as Heather started some coffee. She dumped a heaping scoop into the basket — better make it strong — and slid her Las Vegas mug into position to catch the brew as it began to drip. Flipping the switch to on, she thunked into a chair at the kitchen table, rested her elbows on the table top, and let her chin sink into her hands.

  What was going on at the Reyes house this morning? How must Tia Teresa, Maricela, and Angelica be feeling? Even Uncle Ed? Heather returned to the bedroom for her cell phone so she could check for messages. There was only one text, from Ryan. Call me when you're up.

  On her way back to the kitchen, Heather made the call. When Ryan's voice answered, he sounded wide-awake. Had he even gone to bed yet?

  "You're up early," he said.

  "Have you even been to bed yet?" she asked.

  "Nope. Been busy. You want an update?"

  "Of course." As she listened, she prepared her coffee, adding one packet of Splenda and a dash of milk.

  "I don't know how well you know the rest of the Reyes family besides Maricela and Angelica," he began.

  "I just met most of them last night," she sa
id. "Of course, I know Maricela and Angelica pretty well, so that's why they invited me to come meet their family. Actually, being there was sort of like being one of the family. But I'm babbling. Sorry. Haven't had my coffee yet. You go ahead."

  "Gustavo was 20 years old, good looking kid. No criminal record. Not even a traffic ticket." Ryan paused. "But when his body was found yesterday, he had a gun and some crack on him."

  "I don't know him well enough to know if I should be surprised by that," she said. “Actually, I didn't know him at all."

  "His family, of course, says that he didn't own a gun and had never used drugs."

  "Well…I don't know," she said. "They don't seem to me like they would lie, or at least Maricela and Angelica don't. I don't really know the rest of the family well enough to know if they would lie. Maybe they just didn't know."