Peaches and Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 41 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Read online

  There was something here? Some type of jealousy which Heather couldn’t identify and certainly didn’t trust. Perhaps, Hannah had something more to hide than her age.

  “Do you need my alibi again?” Hannah asked. “I was eating dinner at my friend’s house. Marco. He’s my makeup artist. You can phone him and ask. There were plenty of people there.”

  “The police are following up on that, Mrs. Price. I’m not here to talk alibis. I want to talk about Shane,” Heather said. “Can you do that for me?”

  “I – I suppose so. It’s still so painful.” Hannah’s face screwed up. Not a darn wrinkle on that forehead. Goodness, modern medicine amazed her.

  “Do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Mr. Price?”

  “Yes I do,” Hannah said. “Those two assistants at the store. Tristan Turner and that girl, Jean Lafonte.”

  “Girl?”

  “She’s not a girl, she’s probably about my age but that doesn’t matter. She behaves like a girl. I’m sure she had a crush on Shane but he despised her,” Hannah said, and tossed one of the ringlets of hair. “How could she compete with me?”

  Heather typed notes on her screen and didn’t answer.

  “Jean was transparent. She liked Shane. She even dyed her hair blond to be more like me.” The widow tittered a laugh. “Shane thought she was ridiculous.”

  The diatribe was obscure. It didn’t matter what Shane had thought of Jean’s advances. It mattered whether Jean had murdered him or not, and the only woman who’d shown any jealousy thus far was the pageant queen herself.

  “Tell me about Tristan Turner,” Heather said and crossed her ankles. She knocked the lemonade glass and it bobbled in the grass but didn’t tip over. “I believe he was the one who found your husband.”

  “Tristan was a nobody. I think that was why he hated Shane so much.”

  “He hated him?”

  “Oh yeah. They used to argue all the time. Shane wanted him to sit up, pay attention, work harder, but Tristan didn’t like that. Typical failed college student. He wanted to laze around and do nothing all day.” Hannah checked her French tips. “Tristan was dangerous and Shane was a hard taskmaster.”

  “I see.”

  “Mark my words, it was Tristan and Jean who did this. I bet they worked together to bring my beloved husband down.”

  If Hannah’s beloved husband had been so, well, beloved, then why didn’t she seem the least bit concerned about his death? Alarm bells rang in Heather’s mind but she kept her expression blank.

  It didn’t matter whether Hannah Price had fed her a false lead. She still had to check out Tristan and Jean.

  Heather checked her filigree watch.

  But not today. She had an Amy to collect.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Price. I hope you find some peace this afternoon,” Heather said and rose from the bench.

  “Oh thank you. That’s so kind of you to say. I’ll try my best but it’s been difficult so far.”

  “Maybe a manicure will solve the problem,” Heather said. Oof, she really shouldn’t have.

  “That’s a fantastic idea.” Hannah beamed. The sarcasm had flown right over the top of her magnificent head.

  Chapter 4

  Amy trembled in the chair opposite Eva, clutching a cup of coffee right in front of her nose. “They graded it right in front of me. I had no idea they did that.”

  “It’s over now, dear. Have a bite of your donut. It will help with the shock.” Eva pressed her newspaper to the edge of the table and focused on Ames.

  “You should be over the moon, Ames,” Heather said. “I’m so proud of you. You did it! You can investigate with me, now.”

  Amy let out a hysterical laugh which turned heads throughout the interior of the store. Coffee slopped over the edge of her mug.

  Eva got the napkins and swabbed up the mess. Ames put down her cup. “I didn’t think I’d make it. There were a couple questions that had me stumped.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Heather said. “You pulled through. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got another case.”

  Amy laughed again, but softer this time. She picked up her Peaches and Cream Donut and took a massive bite. Cream filling dropped to her plate. “I take it you’re going to fill me in on the details,” she said, between chews.

  “Maybe a little later,” Heather replied. “I think you need time to relax and celebrate. And relax.” She eyed the coffee-soaked napkins. “It’s my turn to update the filing system. You stay out here with Eva and take a breather, all right?” If she let Ames into the kitchen in this state, she’d probably burn herself or one of the other assistants.

  Or she’d swap out lemon juice for vinegar and scar half their customers for life.

  Ames exhaled and gobbled the last of her donut up. She gave Heather a thumbs up, her cheeks distended like a giant, donut-eating hamster.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Heather said. She got up and hurried through to her office – if she dragged her feet, she’d never make it. Updating the filing system was as dry as toast.

  She’d thought they’d managed to finish it all by the Sunday before they’d left for Key West, but she’d discovered two more files when she’d arrived in Donut Delights that morning.

  Heather entered her office, closed the door behind her and made for her cushy leather chair. She lowered herself into it with a sigh, then swiveled from side to side, grinning.

  Amy had done it! She still couldn’t get over the fact that her best friend had managed to pass her exam and now, they could take cases on together. Ames had become an integral component of her investigating process.

  Whenever Heather had doubts, Ames was there to help her with ideas, leads, and clues. She had a fresh opinion which opened Heather’s mind to new possibilities. And Amy’s special brand of sarcasm – the defensive kind – helped put suspects and witnesses on the back foot.

  “Enough stalling, Shepherd,” she said and pressed the power button on her PC. The computer hummed to life and gave a few obligatory ticks. It did that every time it started up.

  Jung had assured her his buddy had given them the best deal for the best hardware and software for the store.

  Heather’s phone buzzed in her Donut Delights apron. She brought it out and frowned at the screen.

  “Honey?” Heather answered. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  “I’m frustrated,” Ryan said. “I called the forensics guys and they confirmed we don’t have any fingerprints or DNA to work with on this one, apart from the victim’s.”

  “Oh boy,” Heather said. She flashed back to the Key West murder and how difficult it’d been to work without trace evidence and the help of the police. “So we’re going in blind.”

  “And handcuffed,” Ryan said. “This is not good for my constitution.”

  “I’ll fix you a donut for dessert. Would that help?”

  “Somewhat.”

  Heather chuckled and touched the button on her monitor. It sprang to life. “I guess we’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way. I spoke to the widow Price. She didn’t seem that concerned about her husband’s death.”

  “I got the same vibe from her,” Ryan said. “She was more interested in her nails than answering my questions.”

  “Same thing for me. She did give me a potential lead, though. Jean Lafonte and then the man who discovered Shane’s body –”

  “Tristan Turner. Yeah, that’s part of the reason I’m calling,” Ryan said. “I don’t have a rap sheet for this guy and no priors, but I had a concerned citizen place an anonymous call.”

  “Saying what?”

  “That Tristan fought with Shane often. And that it’d gotten so bad that on one particular occasion, Tristan’s screaming had chased customers from the gift shop.”

  “Well,” Heather said. “Well, goodness me. It sounds like talking to Mr. Turner might be our next step.”

 
; “I agree. I hoped you’d be able to handle that. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through down here and several background checks to do on our current list of suspects,” Ryan said. “Did you know Mrs. Price was a beauty queen?”

  “I did. She told me the minute I crossed the threshold of her garden,” Heather said. “And the massive beehive of hair clued me in, too.”

  “Vanity and murder go well together,” Ryan said. “Ugh, I’d better get back to it, love.”

  “You and me both,” Heather replied and pursed her lips at the computer screen. “Love you.”

  “Me more.”

  Heather hung up and shoved her cell back into the pouch. Questions tugged her thoughts in three different directions. She leaned in shook the mouse and clicked on the –

  Crash!

  Her office door burst inward.

  Chapter 5

  “What on earth?” Heather grabbed her handbag and tugged it into her lap – a tactical move since the Taser was hidden inside.

  The scent of musty roses drifted into the office, followed by the elderly woman Heather had met just that morning. Carly the sulky pensioner trooped up to Heather’s desk and dropped her handbag in the chair.

  Emily poked her head round the door. “I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t know how to stop her,” she said. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “I’m going to have to get a bodyguard at this rate,” Heather muttered.

  “Shut the door, girl.” Carly glared at Emily. “This is a private meeting.”

  Ems jumped and shuffled out backward. The door clicked shut.

  “Miss – uh?”

  “Lafonte,” Carly said.

  Heather blinked and allowed that tidbit to sink in. “Are you related to –”

  “Jean Lafonte. Yes, I am. And that’s exactly what I’ve come to talk to you about.” Carly picked up her bag, then sat down in its place and organized it on her lap. She picked at a thread on the patchwork of material.

  “All right,” Heather said. “How may I help you?” She’d have been harsher on the interruption if it hadn’t related to the case. If Carly had information Heather could use, this ‘meeting’ would be beneficial.

  Carly grunted. “I thought you’d see sense. You’re not as dumb as the blond at the table out there.”

  “Insults won’t be tolerated,” Heather said. “Either keep them to yourself or leave my office right this second.”

  Carly shifted as if she’d actually leave. She frowned and considered it. “Fine,” she said. “But I don’t see why that kid out there took my spot opposite Eva.”

  “That’s not anyone’s spot but Eva’s,” Heather replied. “What did you come to speak to me about?”

  “I didn’t come to speak to you, Shepherd. I came to warn you.”

  “Warn me.”

  “That’s right. And don’t you raise your eyebrow at me like that, young lady. I’m old enough to have paddled your bottom as a toddler.”

  Heather wasn’t chided. She kept her eyebrow raised. “What are you warning me about, Mrs. Lafonte?”

  “About my granddaughter. You stay away from her, you hear?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t make any such guarantee,” Heather said, tone even. “I have an investigation on my hands and your granddaughter worked at –”

  “I’m aware of where she worked. I see the girl every day,” Carly snapped, and her plum hair wobbled and bobbled.

  “Then you understand why I can’t stay away from her,” Heather said.

  “That girl has been through enough without you and your foul husband snooping around. You stay away from her.”

  She didn’t say the ‘or else’ part of the sentence but the intonation got the point across. This was a threat. Heather had never done well with threats. She tended to move against the grain rather than with it.

  “I’m not going to do that, Mrs. Lafonte. I’ll level with you, right now. You wasted your time barging into my office this afternoon,” Heather said. “You’re wasting your own time too. And you can bet that the Hillside Police Department will hear about this intrusion.” Ha! Take that, old lady.

  “Do you think I’m afraid of you and the two-bit police officers in this town?” Carly asked and leaned forward, a vein popping in her wrinkly forehead. “I’m not afraid of anybody. Jean hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Heather understood the concept of protecting family, but an outright threat? It was stupid and totally counterintuitive. She was more interested in Jean Lafonte now than she’d been before Carly had made her presence known.

  “Mrs. Lafonte, were you aware of any bad blood between Jean and her employer, Shane?”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Carly said and waggled her finger. “I’m not telling you anything. Not a thing, you wretched woman.” She stood up and thump her handbag’s straps onto her shoulder. “I know what kind of a person you are. I read all about you in the Hillside Reporter.”

  Ugh, Heather had almost forgotten about Lemon and Laverne’s plot to discredit her.

  “You’re a fake. Unethical. If you go near my granddaughter you’ll regret it. She’s been through enough, I tell you, enough.”

  “What do you mean by enough?”

  Carly’s complexion turned as purple as her hair. “None of your stinking business.” She marched to the exit, wrenched the door open, then charged out into the interior of the store. “Move out of my way,” she yelled.

  Gasps rang out. The bell above the front door tinkled. A slam and then stillness.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Heather muttered.

  The chatter in Donut Delights renewed slowly. These kinds of interruptions made her store look bad, especially since that gossip chain ran right through the middle of it. Everyone in Hillside, the originals, at least, would know all about Carly’s visit to the office before the hour was up.

  “Everything okay, boss?” Emily asked. “I’m really sorry about that. I couldn’t stop her. She just –”

  “It’s fine, Ems. And everything is all right,” Heather said and smiled at her most studious assistant. “Apart from the fact that I have a load of filing to catch up on.”

  And that Carly’s visit had only induced more questions about the murder.

  “I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” Emily said, then shut the door.

  Heather’s mind didn’t quiet down in the solitude of her office. There were too many variables to consider, and Carly Lafonte had just included herself in the list.

  Chapter 6

  Heather tugged on the end of Dave’s leash and the doggy dearest slowed down a little, his tail wig-wagging from side-to-side.

  “Hey, Ames, you want to wait for us? You’re making Dave jealous,” Heather said.

  Amy strode ahead of them, Cupcake clutched to her chest, and head held high. The kitten was totally at home in her arms. Everyone had assumed that Cupcake had gone stir crazy because Heather had left home, last week, but Heather had other ideas.

  Cupcake’s weird behavior – scratching up furniture and refusing her litterbox – could be attributed to a missing person, for sure. But it wasn’t Heather. It was Amy.

  The two had forged an unbreakable bond after an initial rocky – or scratchy – start.

  Dave barked and tried speeding up again.

  “Ames!”

  Finally, Heather’s bestie dropped to a regular walk and waited for them to catch up. “Sorry,” she said.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I guess I’m just excited to interview our first suspect. And I can say ‘our’ because I’m finally qualified to investigate with you,” Amy replied. She’d switched out her warm puffy coat for a loose cardigan.

  “I’m excited too,” Heather said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m committed to a cardio workout before we get there.”

  Amy chuckled and fell into step with Heather. “So what are the details on this guy?”

  Heather had walked her through the basics of the case and requested an extra d
ossier for Amy’s perusal. It hadn’t arrived yet.

  “His name is Tristan Turner,” Heather said. “And he’s the one who found Shane’s body. Also, he’s argumentative according to an anonymous tip-off. Meaning he argued with Shane frequently to the point where it made customers at the Tourist Depot uncomfortable.”

  “Sounds like a mean guy,” Amy said.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Heather gestured to the single story boxy house across the road. A rusty sedan sat in the driveway, trunk open, and boxes piled in the back.

  “Uh oh. Looks like someone’s trying to skip town.” Ames lead the way across the road.

  They hit the sidewalk on the other side and a man rushed out of the front door of the house, dragging a suitcase on wheels. It thumped over the yellow grass patch on his lawn and into the dirt.

  “Hello,” Heather said.

  The guy dropped the case and jerked his head up.

  “Are you Tristan Turner?” Heather asked.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “You going somewhere, Mr. Turner?” Amy asked and strolled toward the car, stroking Cupcakes fluffy white fur like a villain from an old timey movie. “You sure look like you’re heading out.”

  “Who are you?” Tristan asked. He’d cultivated a bald spot in the center of his head, but hadn’t shaved off the rest of his graying hair. He had to be at least forty years old. His stained shirt flapped against his chest. “Who are you?” He asked again.

  “I’m Heather Shepherd and this is Amy Givens. We’re private investigators working in –”

  “Conjunction with the Hillside Police Department, to solve the murder of Mr. Shane Price,” Amy finished. She cast a glance over at Heather. “Sorry. Always wanted to say that part.”

  Heather barely managed to keep the grin off her lips. “Mr. Turner, we’d like to ask you a couple questions.”

  “Better ask ‘em quick,” Tristan said and picked up his case. “I’m out of here before whoever got Shane gets me too.”