Lavender Grape Dust Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 32
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 2016 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 red paint glistened beneath the beaming sun. Light glinted off the windshield and the golden cross insignia just below the black grill.
“You’re staring at it again, dear.” Eva’s voice trickled into focus, along with the rush of sound in Donut Delights.
Happy chatter, cries of delight, a giggle here and there, as well as the clink of cups on saucers and the crunch-munch of donuts devoured by the dozen.
“I can’t help it,” Heather said and directed a sheepish smile at her oldest friend. “I’ve never owned a car this adorable. It’s like having another pet.”
The Christmas present had taken Heather by surprise, and now, she couldn’t get enough of it. Just this morning, she’d drive Lilly to the bookstore to browse for dinosaur and cop adventure novels, and after that, she’d dropped her off with Amy.
“You shouldn’t even be here,” Eva said and patted her on the arm. “This is your week off. The store is doing just fine without you.”
“I know, I know,” Heather said, and glanced down at her fluffy sweater. “It’s just strange to be anywhere but at Donut Delights, especially at 5 am in the morning.” That was the one blessing of a holiday – she could sleep in!
Eva slurped some coffee, then swirled her index finger above a purple dusted donut in the center of her plate. “Yet, you still managed to come up with another of your creations.”
“I worked on it with the assistants last Friday,” Heather said and leaned in to examine the treat. “I’ve been desperate to use the Lavender dust my grandmother wrote about in her recipe book.”
“And this is it?” Eva asked. Her fingers itched toward the donut and halted just beside the plate. “Tell me more.”
“It’s another vanilla dough, but this time it’s deep-fried to crispy goodness.” Heather raised her finger and pointed to two points on either side of the sweet treat. “There are two pockets of grape jelly here, made from scratch, of course, and the donut is dipped in the lavender dust right after,” Heather said. “The Lavender Grape Dust Donut.”
“Wow,” Eva whispered. She grasped the donut, lifted it, and then took a massive bite. A little jelly dripped onto the table top, but Eva didn’t notice. She’d already shut her eyes to enjoy the flavor.
Joy bubbled in Heather’s belly. She grasped a napkin from the holder. “What have you got planned for New Years, Eva?” Heather dabbed at the jelly, then crumpled up the napkin and placed it beside the plate.
Eva’s eyelids fluttered open. She smacked her lips. “Goodness. I haven’t had plans for New Years in ages.”
“We’re having a little party at our place. Just a few treats and friends, you know, and streamers, of course. And a midnight countdown.”
“Wonderful,” Eva said and put down the donut. “I’d love to come.”
“Perfect.” Heather turned to her new car, once again. She’d never been a materialistic person, but there was something about this gift. Perhaps, it was all the love and thought that’d gone into it, especially after what’d happened to her last car.
She wriggled her nose at that thought.
Heather’s phone buzzed in the front pocket of her jeans, and she jolted at the table. The foam on top of her cappuccino wobbled and flowed toward the rim of the cup. Thankfully, it didn’t spill over.
“One sec,” Heather said, to Eva, who’d already disappeared into another donut induced dreamland.
She wormed her cellphone out of her pocket, then paused and stared at the name on the screen. Her belly did a gymnastic flip.
“Oh boy,” she said. “Here we go again.” She pressed her thumb to the green phone icon, then swiped it across the screen. “Shepherd.”
“Still using my lines, I see,” Ryan said, and his tone sparkled with laughter.
“Hey honey, how’s the start to your week?” Heather asked, and mad eyes at her plum-haired friend across the table.
Eva licked the lavender dust off her fingers and stared at the phone.
“It’s been – huh, I’m not sure how to describe it,” Ryan said.
“So who is it?” Heather asked. No use beating around the bush, after all.
“What do you mean?” Ryan tapped something on the other end of the line. Probably, a pen against a notepad.
“Who was murdered, love? That’s the only reason you’d call me this early on a Monday morning.”
Ryan let out a sigh. “You know me too well. We’ve got a case, and we need your help, Mrs. Shepherd.”
“Help? From little ol’ me?”
“Needless to say, helping that FBI agent solve the last case drove your stocks through the roof at the station,” Ryan said. “There’s talk of a permanent consultation position.”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” Heather replied. Hillside wasn’t the smallest town in the state, but the recent rash of murders hadn’t done anything to encourage folks to move or live here.
“Right, well, can you meet me at Hillside Manor in about thirty minutes?”
“Hillside Manor,” Heather said.
Eva dropped the remains of her donut into the plate. “Hillside Manor,” she mouthed and shook her head, aghast.
“Yeah. The victim was an elderly gentleman, already on his way out. And get this, he was famous.”
“Famous?” Heather’s brow wrinkled. There weren’t any famous people in Hillside. Apart from the infamous Kate Laverne.
“Thaddeus Turlington,” Ryan said.
“That name sounds so familiar,” Heather replied, and wracked her brain for detail.
“Yeah, he was a big movie star in the fifties. A heartthrob. He was pals with Elvis Presley, or so the rumor goes.”
“No kidding.” Heather tapped her fingernails on the side of her porcelain mug. “And he was murdered?�
�� She made sure to keep her voice low – freaking out her customers was a no-go.
“At the ripe old age of 86.” Ryan shuffled papers on his side, and the reception crackled. “Meet you there?”
“Oh yeah,” Heather said. “I’m on it.” She hung up and tucked her cell back into the front pocket. The material scraped against her fingers. “Say, Eva, have you ever heard of a guy by the name of Thaddeus Turlington?”
Eva froze. Her cheeks flushed bright red. “Of course I have, dear,” she said and fanned her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Eva said. She tittered a laugh but didn’t stop fanning. “It’s just, Thaddeus Turlington, well, he was what the young kids nowadays would call ‘hot.’ He was the kind of actor who made your heart flutter. Swarthy good looks, that deep voice and faraway eyes.”
“Goodness, Eva, I’ve never seen you this flustered,” Heather said.
Eva bowed her head and laughed again. “Silly old me. I got lost in the past for a moment. He was a lovely actor, though.” She sat up straight again, and the pink spots on her delicate cheeks faded. “He’s dead?”
“Murdered,” Heather replied. “And I’ve got to figure out who did it.”
Chapter 2
“Thaddeus Turlington,” Heather said, and stepped from the hall into the room where the man himself had spent the last few years of his life: one of Hillside Manor’s luxury rooms.
The bed lay empty, the covers neatly made. Records decorated the wall behind it, along with signed black and white photographs of a blue-eyed Thaddeus in his prime.
Each signature looped in the same languorous fashion, signed simply: Thad.
Deep purple curtains hung in front of the window and fluttered in an icy draft.
“Where is that wind coming from?” Heather asked.
“That’s one of our leads,” Ryan replied, and gestured with the end of his pen, toward the window pane. “The window doesn’t close properly. Apparently, it’d been reported and was due to be fixed in the New Year.”
Heather strode to the curtains and checked her latex gloves were properly positioned. She grasped the right curtain and drew it back.
Light sparkled into the room and danced across the rusted frame of the window. “Sheesh, this thing must be ancient. The paint is peeling here.”
“As far as we can tell,” Ryan said and flipped through the pages of his notepad. “That’s the only entry point into the room. Mr. Turlington was murdered in the middle of the night. No surveillance cameras and the bedroom door was locked from the inside.”
Heather scanned the ceiling and floor, then lowered herself to the polished wood. She peered beneath the bed, but nothing jumped out at her.
“You looking for donuts down there?” Hoskins asked from the doorway.
Heather rose to her feet again, without acknowledging his presence. “No entry point except for the window. And no one heard anything?”
“No,” Ryan said and raised his voice to be heard over Hoskins’ candy wrapper and smacking lips. “But it makes sense. Thaddeus would’ve been asleep at the time, and the murder weapon was a pillow.”
Heather met her husband’s gaze. “I see. So, he suffocated to death?”
“That’s right.”
“Very personal,” Heather muttered, and walked to the bed. In spite of Turlington’s rich tastes, he’d opted for a plain white sheet and matching pillows – no doubt duck feather.
“Wha’ tha’?” Hoskins asked, around a mouthful of chocolate. Slurp, sploosh, slurp, went his lips.
“Please, contain your food inside your mouth,” Heather replied. “I said this is obviously personal. Thaddeus was singled out and dispatched in a way that would’ve given the murderer maximum satisfaction. Excuse me for saying it.”
Ryan grimaced and scribbled a note on his pad. Hoskins brought the eating noises down a notch.
“Do we know of anyone who wanted to hurt Thaddeus?” Heather asked. She leaned closer to the bed, her eyes narrowed to slits.
“Not yet,” Ryan replied. “But we do know who spent the most time with him.”
“Who?” Heather asked. The rays beaming through the window glinted across a gossamer thin strand of gold on the sheet.
“Vera Bain. She was the aide who looked after this hallway,” Ryan said and gestured to the door. “But the head of staff says she’s out sick. Has been for two days. Some kind of flu, apparently.”
“Huh,” Heather said. “Someone bring me a tweezer and a plastic bag.”
“This some weird baking thing?” Hoskins asked. “Cos, I can get on board with that. You gonna make us cookies in a bag?”
“No, but there’s a vending machine down the hall calling your name,” Heather replied.
Ryan strode to her side and produced the items she’d requested. “What is it? What have you found?” He asked.
Heather pinched the tweezers in her grasp, then lifted a single, blonde hair from the bed. “What color was Thaddeus Turlington’s hair?”
“It wasn’t blonde,” Ryan said.
The pictures of the heartthrob on the wall certainly weren’t.
“Then hopefully, we just found a little bit of DNA evidence,” Heather said and slipped the hair into the bag.
“Depends on if the follicle is intact,” Hoskins said. “If it’s not there, we can’t get DNA out of it.”
Ryan and Heather stared at him.
“What? I know stuff,” he said and shrugged his shoulders.
Heather sighed and closed the bag. She passed it to her husband. “Anyone else? Any relatives?”
“He has a daughter and a son, both famous actors, and both were here over the Christmas period, presumably to spend time with their father,” Ryan said. “But the other aides we’ve spoken to saw them here all of once, and not on Christmas Day.”
“Turlington,” Heather said, and clicked her tongue. “That rings a bell. Turlington.”
“Kevin and Janie Turlington,” Ryan said.
“Oh my gosh, you’re kidding,” Heather replied.
Those Turlingtons were Hollywood royalty. The brother and sister duo who’d taken the world by storm, starring in a variety of action movies both together and apart.
“Not even a little bit,” Ryan said. “We’ll have to talk to them too.”
The rush of excitement dissolved as fast as it’d appeared. Celebrities or not, the Turlington twins were suspects in this case, and she’d get to the bottom of it.
“I’ll get the hair to a lab for DNA testing,” Ryan said. “No one’s going to touch that window now that we’re investigating, but I doubt they’ll be able to get any prints off it.”
Heather bobbed her head up and down. “And that leaves me with the caretaker, Miss Bain.”
“If you can reach her,” Ryan replied. “Try the receptionist down the hall. She might know where Bain lives.”
“Thanks,” Heather said. She strode to the door and snapped off her gloves. Hoskins jostled out backward, tummy wobbling, candy bar clutched in his hand.
“What a way to end the year,” Ryan muttered, behind her.
Heather chuckled under her breath. He had a point, but at least, she had the week off to investigate this.
Chapter 3
Heather rapped her knuckles on the open door and met the gaze of a graceful woman, seated in a cushy armchair beside a bedside table. A leather-bound book rested in her lap, the open pages standing upright.
“Heather, dear,” the woman said, and a radiant smile lit her from the inside out.
Even in old age, Leila, Heather’s grandmother’s best friend, hadn’t lost her unique beauty, or the shimmer of wisdom which drifted around her head, barely tangible but ever present.
“I haven’t been to see you in a while,” Heather replied, and produced a Donut Delights box from behind her back. “But I brought something to make up for it.”
“Oh goodness me,” Leila said and snapped her book shut. “Is it something delectable? What a
question. Of course, it is. A few Strawberry Cream Donuts perhaps?”
“No, but I hope you like these better,” Heather replied.
She strode into the room, and her high-heeled boots clicked on the polished wooden floor.
Leila had moved to another room since Heather had last seen her, and the upgrade suited the woman well. A potted plant sat in the corner of the room, its fronds brushed against the bedsheet, and the open window let in a stream of cold air.
Leila had always liked cold air. She’d insisted it kept her alive on multiple occasions.
Heather handed Leila the box, and the elderly woman patted her gray hair, up in its usual messy bun, then popped the lid open.
“Oh my,” she said and reached inside. She extracted a Lavender Grape Dust Donut and eyed it. “This looks fascinating. So creative.”
“Taste it first, before you make the judgment,” Heather replied, and drew up an armchair from against the wall. She sat down on it and lowered her tote bag to the ground beside the wooden leg.
Leila took a bite of the donut. She gasped, and a shudder ran up her arms and into her shoulders. She shimmied them back and forth. A delighted giggle escaped her powder-dusted lips. “Amazing. The grape jelly. Genius. Your grandmother would’ve been so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Heather replied. She missed her grandma more than words could say, but the lessons she’d learned sat in her mind and her heart, carried from home to work and back again each day.
“In fact, I dare say you’re making better donuts than she did,” Leila whispered, then pressed her index finger to her lips. “Shush, she might be listening.” She made eyes at the ceiling.
Heather settled back against the upholstered chair and let her gaze wander to the stark trees outside, still tangled in the throes of their long winter sleep, bare but imposing at the same time.
“But, let’s cut to the chase,” Leila said and brushed off her fingers into the box. The dust flitted to the surface of two more donuts within.
“The chase?”
“Yes,” Leila said. “I know how busy you are, and I know you try to visit as often as you can, but you’re not here to speak to me about donuts and your grandmother. May she rest in peace.” The old woman’s eyes glinted, and she winked once. “Right?”