Hot Chocolate Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 29 Read online

  “To frame you for the murder?” Ryan asked. “It’s no secret that you and Sharon weren’t on the best of terms.”

  Heather tilted her head this way and that. “I don’t know about that. We didn’t like each other, sure, but it’s not like we’ve ever had an outright fight.”

  Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you, love.”

  “Unless it was a random theft and the killer just happened to run into Sharon, got spooked and ran off without stealing the car,” Heather said.

  “Either way, it’s still a homicide investigation. At least we know they smoked. That’s one clue closer to the truth.”

  “I guess,” Heather said, but she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in her gut. “I just – motivation is a big deal to me. I don’t help out in these cases just to catch the killer, but to understand why the horrible act happened in the first place.”

  Her car. Why had they chosen her car of all the vehicles out there?

  “Do you have any suspects?” Heather asked.

  Ryan grunted. “Not yet. We’re still processing the information, and let’s face it, Sharon Janis didn’t exactly have a shortage of enemies.”

  That was true. The woman had made them wherever she went.

  “What about you?” Ryan asked.

  Heather wracked her brain. She chewed the corner of her lip and looked up at the gray sky. The clouds had bruised to a darker shade, and a few fat drops fell from the heavens and hit the tar.

  “One,” she replied. “I have one suspect, so far.”

  “Who?”

  “Jane Leon. She was in my store yesterday morning. She confronted Sharon about ruining her son’s life or something?” Heather scratched her temple and focused on the memory from the day before. “Oh, and she mentioned someone named George. I’ll need to check that out.”

  “Jane Leon,” Ryan said and scribbled her name down. “Good. The sooner we get back the fingerprint results, the better. Who knows, maybe this will be one of those cut and dried cases. Solved before we even have to put in any work.”

  Heather burst out laughing in spite of the situation. “Oh hon, you know that’s never the case with us.”

  “Hey,” he said. “A man can dream. It’s almost Christmas. I feel like we all deserve a break.”

  Heather stripped off the gloves and dumped them in her pocket. “Sure, we deserve it. But we’re probably not going to get it.”

  Chapter 4

  Heather halted in front of the white, wooden door and exchanged a glance with her bestie. “It’s been a while since we’ve confronted someone in their home. Are you ready?”

  Amy raised a bag of caramel corn and waggled it in Heather’s direction. “What do you think the comfort food is for?”

  “I figured you were treating this case as you did all the others.”

  “How?” Amy asked, and crunch-crunch went the candied corn.

  “As a spectator sport.”

  “It is entertaining. I’ll give you that,” Amy replied, then leaned back and glanced up the street.

  Birds chirped in the naked trees. The grass had yellowed on the outskirts of many gardens, where the sprinklers couldn’t reach. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that she lives right down the road from you?”

  “I’m not making any judgments, yet,” Heather replied.

  “Yeah, but I mean, how easy would it have been for her to jog down the road and just –”

  “Hotwire my car? Not that easy, I’d assume.”

  “You don’t know,” Amy whispered, and gestured with a bit of candied corn. “You can’t say that yet. She might have a record you don’t know about.”

  Amy had a point.

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Heather raised her fist and rapped her knuckles on the wood. The hollow knock traveled through the passage beyond.

  “What, doesn’t she have any furniture?” Amy muttered, and crunched a bit of candy between her teeth.

  Heather knocked again. “Miss Leon?” She called out.

  Footsteps stomped up to the door in a dead sprint.

  Amy stumbled back a step, chewing all the way. “What the –”

  The lock clicked, and the door swung inward, noiselessly. Jane Leon stood there, in a pair of ragged jeans and a loose sweater which flapped with every movement. “What is it?” She asked, and sweat poured down the sides of her face. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  Heather peered past the woman into the short, hall beyond. Cardboard boxes lined the walls. A picture frame poked out of one, and the spine of a book from another.

  “Are you moving, Miss Leon?”

  “I’m not,” she said. “Who are you?”

  Amy crunched another handful of caramel corn.

  “Sorry,” Heather said. “How rude of me. I’m Heather Shepherd, and I’m working with the Hillside Police Department to help solve a murder.”

  Jane’s eyes went round. “A – a murder?”

  “Uh-huh,” Amy put in and crunched some more of her treats. “Murder with a capital ‘M’. You know the rest.” She waved sticky fingers.

  Jane wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I’m sorry, but what’s this got to do with me?”

  “Sharon Janis was murdered yesterday afternoon,” Heather said. “Run over by a car.” She didn’t tell Jane who’s car had done the deed. Jane would either jump to conclusions or she’d hide the fact that she’d stolen Heather’s car if she was the murderer.

  “Sharon. Sharon is… Sharon’s dead?” Jane stammered a few inaudible phrases. “I don’t believe it,” she said, out loud. “Why?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I hope you’d be able to answer a few questions for me,” Heather said and put up her best customer smile.

  “My sister is dead,” Jane said.

  “Your sister?” Heather asked, and true shock rattled through her chest. “Sharon was your sister?”

  Crunch, crunch went the caramel corn.

  “Yeah, she was my half-sister. We weren’t close until I moved to Hillside a few years ago. I – she hooked me up with my first job as a receptionist at the doctor’s office. I can’t believe she’s gone,” Jane said and bowed her head.

  “You didn’t seem that attached to her in Donut Delights, yesterday,” Amy said, around a mouthful of food.

  Jane froze. She met Amy’s gaze, then focused on Heather instead. “You’re the owner of that store. Aren’t you?”

  “That’s correct. I consult for the police, part-time,” Heather said, just so the woman wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and clam up. “You said that Sharon ruined your son’s life? His career?”

  “That’s right. She, look, it’s weird for me to tell you this now that she’s gone, but Sharon had a mean side. A dark side. She loved making other people feel small to make herself feel bigger.”

  “Trust me, we know,” Amy said, and pursed her lips.

  “Yeah, the whole of Hillside knows,” Jane said. “She hated it that Mark, my son, was finally finding success at the car dealership in town. Uncle George’s Pre-Owned Cars.”

  “I might have to look him up for more than one reason,” Heather muttered, more to herself than to Jane.

  “Well, she made up some vicious rumor that he was a thief and convinced George to fire my boy. And it worked. He’s moving back home, now,” Jane said and gestured to the boxes behind her. “He can’t afford to pay rent, anymore. I guess we’ll both have to start from scratch.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Leon,” Heather said.

  “We’re used to it. I’m a single mom. I think I can handle this and anything else the world throws at us.”

  “As long as it’s not a Honda Civic,” Amy whispered.

  Heather stepped on her bestie’s toes.

  “Look, if you really want to know more about Sharon, or who’d want to hurt Sharon, I suggest you talk to him,” Jane said. “He knew her well. If you catch my drift.”

  Hea
ther brought her new Lenovo tablet out of her bag and swiped her finger across the screen. She tapped on the Evernote App, then typed a note with her fingers.

  Jane stared at the screen, intrigue lighting her expression. “Will that be all?”

  “Two more questions, Miss Leon?”

  “All right,” she said, though she tapped the heel of her sneaker on the boards.

  “Where were you yesterday afternoon at around six in the evening?” Heather asked.

  Jane pressed her lips together. “Here. At home. Alone.”

  “All right,” Heather said and made a note of the useless alibi. “And do you smoke?”

  Jane scoffed. “No. That’s a nasty habit I never adopted, fortunately. Anything else? My bloodwork perhaps? Dental records?”

  “She’s got jokes,” Amy said and crumpled up her empty packet.

  “That will be all for now, Miss Leon. Thank you for your time,” Heather said.

  Jane didn’t wait for a full goodbye, nor did she offer one. She slammed the door shut, instead.

  Chapter 5

  Heather rang up another order, then handed the customer their change. The young woman clutched the plate, topped with a Hot Chocolate Glazed Donut, in one hand and accepted the cash with the other.

  “Thank you,” Heather said. “Enjoy! Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I totally will,” the woman said, then hurried off to the empty corner table.

  The spot where Sharon Janis usually sat, peddling her cheap tales about the residents of Hillside.

  Morally deplorable, sure, but no one deserved to die like that. Ugh, it gave Heather the shivers.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Eva Schneider placed her plum-colored purse on the countertop, then patted her hairdo in the same shade.

  “Not really, Eva,” she said. She pressed a few buttons on the coffee machine, then placed a mug under the spout. Eva’s usual order of black coffee with a donut of the week was on its way.

  “It’s the case, isn’t it?” The old woman asked. She clipped open her purse and placed a few dollar bills on the counter. “Sharon Janis?”

  “That’s right,” Heather said. “This one feels close to home. You know the killer stole my car, right?”

  “Your car?” Eva shuddered a gasp. Her wrinkled fingers stalled on the silver clip of her purse. “Oh my, I knew it was a hit and run, but I had no idea it was your car. You must be horrified.”

  “Sickened,” Heather said and plopped the specialty donut on a plate. She handed it to her oldest friend. “But I’m dealing with it. It’s not the method of death that bothers me so much, anymore. It’s the implication behind it.”

  Eva accepted the plate, but concern wrinkled the crow’s feet around her eyes. “Do you think the killer wanted to frame you?” She asked.

  “That’s what I wondered. But Ryan isn’t so sure, and I can’t be sure until we have more evidence,” Heather said.

  The Little Drummer Boy played over the speakers and Eva moved her head in time with the music. “This too shall pass, dear. If that’s the one gem of wisdom I can impart to you, I will. Everything is transient. Nothing ever stays the same.”

  “What do you mean?” Heather asked.

  “Well, think about it, dear. Not so long ago, you were investigating cases illegally. I hate to put it that way, but you were. And now, you’re above board. You’re helping the people of this town. Things changed. You changed.”

  “I guess,” Heather said. She placed Eva’s white cup on its saucer and slid it across the glass countertop.

  “One week might seem good, and the other might seem bad, but nothing ever stays the same. As long as you’re moving forward, that’s all that matters. I’d say you are.”

  That was true. She had a daughter, now. And Donut Delights had expanded beyond her wildest dreams. Her private investigator license had made investigating cases and helping people a lot easier.

  “In the grand scheme of things,” Eva said, “one bad week doesn’t dictate the direction of your life. Only you can do that, dear.”

  “Thank you, Eva,” Heather said. “You always make me feel better.”

  “Well, you know, when your face starts to wrinkle, you’ve got to find other ways to stay interesting,” Eva said and shrugged. She tittered a laugh, then trotted off to her favorite spot.

  No one sat in Eva’s table. Not even on the busiest days. It was reserved for her and everyone in Hillside knew it.

  The bell above the door tinkled, and Heather’s handsome detective entered the store. He strode up to the counter, a brown dossier tucked under his arm.

  “Uh oh,” Heather said and eyed the folder. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Quickest results we’ve ever gotten back from the lab,” he said. “And there’s a reason for it.” He handed her the folder.

  Heather took it and pressed her fingertips against the rough card. “No results?”

  “One result,” Ryan said. “Fingerprints from you. But given the fact that you were on the phone with me when the car was stolen, and we’ve got eyewitness accounts of that, it’s not a problem.”

  Heather’s heart sank. “No lead,” she muttered.

  “There was a partial,” Ryan said. “But it was more of a smear than anything else, and it didn’t turn up any results.”

  “Well, we had very little to work on in the last case, evidence-wise, and we still made it work,” Heather said. “I guess we’ll just have to do the same for this one.”

  “Agreed,” Ryan replied. “Did you get anything out of Jane Leon?”

  “Only that she has no alibi and she doesn’t smoke. Or so she says,” Heather tapped her bottom lip with the cardboard folder. “I do have another lead to follow, though. A guy by the name of George was pretty close with Sharon.”

  “George,” Ryan said. “Why does that name ring a bell?”

  “He owns that crummy dealership on the other side of town. Remember the ads? Uncle George wants you.” Heather jabbed her finger at her husband.

  Ryan chuckled at her impression. “You do that way too well.”

  “Amy’s dramatic streak must be rubbing off on me.” Heather fanned the folder in front of her nose and inhaled the scent of paper. One of her favorite smells in the world, apart from donuts and coffee, of course. “I think I’ll pay ‘Uncle’ George a visit this afternoon. At the least, he’ll know something about Sharon we don’t.”

  “And at the most?” Ryan asked.

  Heather didn’t have an answer for that. But a car salesman would probably know how to hotwire a car.

  Chapter 6

  “Welcome to Uncle George’s Pre-Owned Cars. What can I do ya for?” The blustery guy with the big, curled mustache could only be Uncle George himself.

  What was worse, he pronounced the word ‘uncle’ as ‘unca.’

  “George Alvarez?” Heather asked, and walked across the checked floor to the low-slung reception desk, where the man hovered. Amy followed her. This had to be difficult for her bestie.

  So many puns, so little time.

  “That’s me,” the man replied, and tipped his oversized cowboy hat.

  “He’s like a walking, talking stereotype,” Amy breathed. “But with a fabulous mustache.”

  Heather forced the mirth down into the pit of her belly. She had to maintain a veneer of professionalism.

  “How can I help you, lovely ladies?” Uncle George asked.

  The receptionist at the desk rolled her eyes beneath eyeshadow drowned lids. Apparently, she thought George was as ridiculous as Amy did.

  “We need to talk to you, Mr. Alvarez. In private,” Heather said.

  The receptionist raised perfectly penciled eyebrows, this time. Intrigue instead of yawn-inducing boredom? At least, someone’s day had looked up.

  “Of course, milady,” he said and did an elaborate bow. He pointed toward the closed office door behind the desk.

  The receptionist dropped into another eye roll.

&
nbsp; “You should get that checked out,” Amy said to her. “Too many of those and you might end up stuck that way, just staring at the inside of your head.”

  “Ames,” Heather hissed and looped her arm through her best friend’s.

  Uncle George scooted on ahead, no doubt excited by the prospect of another sale. No number of ‘milady’s’ and royal bows would convince Heather to buy from this guy. He gave her the shivers in all the wrong ways.

  George Alvarez held the door open for them, and they sidled into his beige-carpeted office.

  The two chairs in front of the pine desk would’ve suited a buffet at a two-star hotel. Perhaps, he’d bought them at an auction.

  Heather sat down. Amy retreated to the corner of the room to stare at the calendar of shiny red sports cars.

  “This is a Porsche Macan,” Amy said. “A six-seat sports car. Unusual.”

  “You know your cars, young lady?” Uncle George asked, who had to be at least three years younger than both of them.

  “I dabble,” Amy replied.

  “Fascinating,” George said. “Are you in the market for a pre-owned car? I’m sure I could pull a few strings over in Dallas. Get you a real looker.”

  Amy snorted a laugh but turned it into a cough at the last second.

  “Mr. Alvarez, we’ve come to talk to you in a professional capacity,” Heather said, firmly.

  The salesman attitude didn’t lift entirely, but it did depreciate somewhat. Uncle George focused on Heather instead. “All right. How can I help, milady?”

  “Calling me Mrs. Shepherd would be a start,” she replied.

  George didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. “What do you need?” He asked, and his tone took on a gruff timbre.

  “I’ve come to talk to you about Sharon Janis,” Heather said. “I’m working with the local police station to help solve the crime.”

  “Sharon,” George said, and hung his head. “Poor woman. I only heard about that this morning. Such a shame.”

  Amy shuddered and pulled a face. Her bestie didn’t buy the act.

  “Did you know her well, Mr. Alvarez?”