Caramel Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 19 Read online

  “May I?” She asked, and pointed to the contents.

  “Go ahead.”

  Heather reached into the nearest box and removed a magazine from the top of the stack. “Who packs magazine?” She asked, then flipped open the copy of the Bark. Dogs pranced across the pages.

  “The girlfriend,” Ryan replied. “Her name is Francesca Charles. We’ve got someone interviewing her right now.”

  “I see,” Heather replied, then put the magazine back in the box. She strode to the next one and looked into its depths. “Woman’s clothes. And this box is full of shoes. Looks like only one person was moving here.”

  “Trouble in paradise,” Ryan replied.

  Heather took out her notepad and pen and made a few notes. She walked to the bookshelf in the corner, then narrowed her eyes. A pamphlet for Dave’s dog training school sat on top of the wood.

  “Wait a second,” she said. “Dog training. Francesca. Frankie? She’s one of Dave’s dog trainers at the school.”

  “She is?”

  “Yeah. Mousy brown hair and big blue eyes. I remember her from the last time we were there. Lilly and Eva have been taking him lately, though. I guess I’ll have to remedy that.” Heather picked up the pamphlet and turned it over in her hands. “I think there’s a training session tomorrow.”

  “I could come with you,” Ryan said.

  “No, that’s okay, hon. I’ll handle this one myself,” Heather replied. She put the pamphlet back on top of the bookshelf. “Have you gotten any results from the autopsy yet?”

  “Official cause of death was kidney failure,” Ryan replied. “We haven’t got the toxicology back yet, but it’s poisoning. No doubt.”

  Heather nodded. “Now, all we have to do is figure out who’d want to poison a slightly overweight, game enthusiast who enjoyed delicious malt shakes.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Ryan said.

  Heather laughed then walked back to her husband. It was never simple. But at least she had a real lead. The butterflies in her tummy had abated.

  Chapter 4

  Lilly waved at Heather and held Dave’s leash in the other hand. “Are you watching, Au-Heather?” She yelled. Dave barked and bounced around in circles. “You’ve got to see this. Dave is super good.”

  “I’m watching,” Heather called back. She sat down on the small bench on the side of the field and adjusted her floppy hat on her head. Hillside’s sun had come out in force that morning.

  The heat of it stung the back of her neck, and she reached back and worked her fingers on her skin.

  “All right everyone,” a woman said, and blew her whistle once. “In a straight line please, with your dogs at your sides.”

  It had to be Francesca. Her mousy brown hair fell just short of her shoulders, and a Chihuahua wriggled on the end of the leash in her left hand.

  “Ready?” She asked.

  Lilly waved one last time, then straightened and clicked her fingers at Dave. She whispered something to him, and he planted his cute doggy butt on the grass and stared up at her.

  Francesca gave one sharp blast of the whistle, and her Chihuahua rolled onto its back and kicked its legs in the air.

  Lilly waggled the leash once, and Dave copied the maneuver.

  “Wow,” Heather whispered. She resisted the urge to applaud – she’d probably distract them all – but excitement bubbled in her chest. “Dave and Lilly are fantastic.”

  Francesca blew the whistle twice, two sharp bursts, and the dogs sat up straight and put their paws in the air.

  “And the last one,” she announced. She blew the whistle three times.

  The dogs reared onto their hind legs and walked forward three steps, then did a wobbly turn and walked back.

  “Wow!” Heather leaped to her feet and clapped her hands.

  The dogs and their trainers craned their necks to see her and Lilly waved again.

  “All right, everyone, that’s it for today,” Francesca called out. “Don’t forget the doggy training party this weekend. Have a good evening.” The trainer and suspect walked off toward the building – an office and locker room for apparatus at Doggy Days Training Center – a few paces from Heather’s bench.

  Lilly and Dave sprinted across the field. “What did you think, Au-Heather? Did you like it?”

  “It was fantastic,” Heather said and drew Lilly into a hug. “I’ve never seen Dave behave so well in his entire life. Now, if only you could get him to quit eating donuts.”

  Dave barked at the mention of his favorite treat.

  “Donuts?” A woman asked.

  Heather looked up at Francesca Charles and put up her best ‘customer’ smile. “Yeah, Dave has a bit of a bad habit.”

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is for him? I hope you don’t give him chocolate,” Francesca replied, then folded her arms.

  Lilly picked up Dave and retreated a few steps. She sat on the edge of the bench, then curled Dave against her chest. He licked her chin and neck and wagged his tail at a million miles an hour.

  “I never give him chocolate,” Heather replied, “and he doesn’t get the excessively sweet donuts either. All my ingredients are sourced from organic stores and farmer’s markets.”

  “Uh huh, organic sugar? That’s a new one,” she replied.

  Heather ignored the twinge of anger in the back of her mind. She couldn’t lose her cool now. “I’m Heather Shepherd, by the way,” she said and stuck out her hand.

  Francesca looked at it as if it was a coiled viper. “Frankie,” she replied and shook it at last. “And I’m serious. Dave is already struggling to keep up with the others in the group.”

  Lilly grunted and shifted on the edge of the bench.

  “I thought he did great, and I highly doubt a donut a week is holding him back.”

  “Ha. Wait a second. You’re the Heather Shepherd, aren’t you? That woman from Donut Delights,” Frankie replied, and narrowed her eyes. Those eyes were surprisingly tear-free for a woman who’d just lost her partner.

  Or had she? What had those moving boxes been about?

  “That’s right. Donuts, coffee, and creamy, malt milkshakes, of course,” Heather replied, and crossed her hands behind her back. She clasped her wrist with her right hand and examined the suspect.

  Frankie dragged her teeth across her bottom lip. “Milkshakes. Right. I, uh –”

  “Are you all right?” Heather asked. She stepped closer to the other woman and lowered her voice. “I heard about your boyfriend, Junior. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, then blinked several times. Tears swelled in the bottoms of her eyelids. “I – I’m fine. I have my Lucy,” she said and pointed down at the Chihuahua at her ankles.

  “I’ve got some experience in these matters,” Heather said and readjusted her big, floppy hat. It blocked out the sun well, but it was a tent perched on top of her head.

  “I said I was fine,” Frankie replied, then clenched her teeth. She balled her hand into a fist and dragged her knuckles beneath her eyes. “Fine. Look, I’ve got to pack up after today. Lucy’s tired.”

  “I’ll level with you, Frankie,” Heather said. “I’m a qualified private investigator. I can help you figure this out, bring your boyfriend’s killer to justice.”

  Francesca’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “That’s right. I can help you. Did you see anyone suspicious around the house that morning?” Heather asked. Ryan hadn’t told her where Frankie herself had been at the time of the murder, yet.

  Or if she had an alibi for that matter.

  “I have to go,” Francesca replied. She turned and took two steps.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” Heather sighed. That hadn’t gone to plan.

  Frankie paused, mid-stride, then looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah, there is something you can do,” she said.

  “What is it? Anything.”

  “Stay out of this,” she replied
, then marched off toward the locker rooms, her mousy brown hair bouncing with each step.

  “Everything okay, Au-Heather?” Lilly asked.

  Heather whipped her hat off her head and fanned her face, then turned back to her favorite dog and girl in Hillside. “Honestly, Lils, I’m not sure about that.”

  Chapter 5

  Casa De Mia bustled by the light of the candles scattered across the restaurant tables. A melody jived through the speakers, and the delicious scents of paprika and chorizo drifted on the air.

  “I’ve never tried Spanish food before,” Ryan said and eyed the bowl of Patatas Bravas in front of him. “There’s not a lot of food in this bowl.”

  “It’s tapas, my love. You’re supposed to eat a little of everything. Trust me. You’re going to love it.”

  Ryan picked up a potato and deposited into his mouth. He chewed, his eyes went wide and then he sat back in his chair. “Okay, that’s good. Spicy, but darn good.”

  Heather grinned at him and swiped a meatball through its delicious sauce, then gobbled it up. “This is nice,” she said. “I needed to relax after today. There’s that order of the Caramel Glazes and let’s just say Miss Charles was less than accommodating when I interviewed her.”

  Ryan made an ‘mmm’ noise, then put down his fork. “That reminds me, I need to tell you what her alibi was. No, we probably shouldn’t discuss the case at dinner. This is a celebration. You’ve got your diploma, and you’re consulting on your first case.”

  “It wouldn’t be dinner if you weren’t letting slip details about a murder,” Heather said and gestured with a meatball. She ate that one too.

  Ryan chuckled, grabbed his napkin, then dabbed the sauce from his bottom lip. “She wasn’t home, apparently. She’d run out to the store to get more boxes and had taken her Chihuahua with her.”

  “Any surveillance tapes to prove that?” Heather asked.

  “Nope. So, she and Amy are both without alibis. The only other suspect I have is Junior’s dad.”

  “Charlie Buckle senior,” Heather said, then narrowed her eyes. That rang a bell. “Oh wait! I have his address on the system. That’s why there were two instances of Charlie Buckle on my CRM.”

  “Right,” Ryan said. “I’ll leave his interview up to you.”

  “No pressure,” Heather replied, then bit the corner of her lip. She wasn’t accustomed to her husband leaning on her actively for help. This would be interesting. Or scary.

  Both, probably.

  “And we finally got the toxicology report back,” Ryan said and ate another potato. Zippy tomato sauce dropped to his plate.

  “What was the official cause of death?”

  “Poisoning, as suspected. But the actual substances were ethanol, ethylene glycol and some other chemicals I can’t pronounce,” Ryan replied.

  “And that means it was, what, exactly?” Heather asked. She itched to take out her notepad, but she’d left it in her other handbag on her dresser.

  “Antifreeze. Someone spiked his milkshake with antifreeze,” Ryan replied.

  “Oh wow, that’s a horrible way to go,” Heather said. She forked another meatball, then examined it. “Wouldn’t he have tasted that?”

  “Nope, supposedly, antifreeze doesn’t taste all that bad.”

  “And we can rule out suicide? It’s a horrible prospect to talk about over dinner, but what if he was unhappy. It looks like his girlfriend was about to leave him.”

  “From what she told us, he was a pretty happy guy. He played his games and kept to himself,” Ryan replied, then snorted.

  “What?”

  “Just a middle aged man, playing computer games all day. It strikes me as strange.” Her husband shrugged. “Doesn’t seem all that ambitious.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I have it on good authority that there are conventions and uh, competitions for these kinds of things,” Heather replied, then pressed her lips together.

  “By ‘good’ authority, do you mean on ‘Amy’ authority?” Ryan asked.

  Heather laughed. “That’s exactly what I mean. She’s always helped me with the cases. You know how she is. Too curious for her own good.”

  The music bopped and tinkled, and a group of youngsters the table over burst out laughing and huddled around a phone.

  “You’ll have to keep her away from your investigation, this time,” Ryan said. “She’s a suspect. You can’t go off investigating with a suspect. It will look bad.”

  “I don’t care how it looks, Ryan. You and I both know that Amy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Where would she have miraculously gotten access to antifreeze on the trip over to Junior’s house?” Heather asked. “Ugh, don’t even answer that. Amy and murder just don’t mix.”

  “Hey, relax, I’m on your side. I agree with you, but there is certain protocol to follow for this.”

  “Not for me,” Heather replied. She reached for the bowl of olives and feta cheese. “I’m not an officer. Your rules and strictures don’t apply to me.”

  Ryan sighed. “You’ve got that set to your jaw. That look that says ‘watch out’! I know when to back off, my love. Just be careful.”

  “Why? Because of what the other officers on the force will think?” Add that to her plate of donuts? No thanks. She already had the store and the case to worry about.

  She couldn’t care less what Hossy thought.

  “Kinda. I’m out on a limb here. This is the first consultant Hillside PD has hired in years.” Ryan ruffled his hair. “We haven’t exactly got a great track record after that whole Davidson debacle.”

  “Blegh,” Heather said, then picked up an olive and a piece of feta. She ate them and enjoyed the mix of salt and tangy bitter. “That’s why I’m here to help.”

  “I know, but –”

  “Honey,” Heather said, firmly. “You hired me for a reason. That reason was my unique method of investigating. Amy is a part of that. I won’t do anything that jeopardizes the case.”

  Ryan stole a meatball and nodded. “All right. I trust you. I’ve always trusted you. I’m just giving you fair warning. The boys at the station are paying a lot of attention to what happens on this one.”

  “Once again, no pressure,” Heather replied.

  Ryan reached across the table and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “You’ll do great.”

  Chapter 6

  Amy grasped Dave’s leash and strode alongside Heather, her gaze glued on a distant point.

  “You okay, hon?” Heather asked. “You seem kinda distracted.”

  “Yeah, well, being a suspect in a murder case will do that to you, I guess,” Amy replied, then chuckled. “I’m okay because you’re on the case.”

  “Technically, you are too.” Heather grinned and checked the address on her Google Maps app. The screen had blacked out again. She swiped it, and the information popped up. “Hey, at least Mr. Charlie Buckle doesn’t live in Old Church Row.”

  “Tell me about it. If I have to walk past that graveyard one more time, I swear my skin will crawl right off my body.” Amy mock shivered, and Dave followed her example and shook out his furry form.

  Heather tapped the screen and centered their moving arrow. “Ah, right over there. Number 43.”

  Heather and Amy were on their lunch break. The only break they’d gotten from donut making in the last two days, thanks to the order from the gaming convention in Dallas.

  “Hey, the garage door is open,” Amy said. Dave barked and strained on the end of his leash. “Easy boy, we’ll stop in a minute.”

  Heather strode to the path of number 43, then peered at the open garage. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” a man called back. “Who’s that?” An elderly gentleman shuffled out of the interior of the garage. He halted and flapped his loose cotton shirt. “Might hot, isn’t it?”

  “Hi,” Heather said, “I’m Heather Shepherd.” She walked down the path, turned right then strode to the front of the garage. She stopped in front of the man and extended her hand for
a shake. “Are you Mr. Buckle?”

  “Yeah, but you can call me Charlie. Can I help you, ladies?” He asked. Dave barked for attention and Charlie grinned at him. “Ladies and little sir, I should say.”

  Amy and Dave walked to them, Dave wagging his tail all the way, then stopped too. “Watched any could mystery movies, lately?” Amy asked.

  Charlie Buckle’s brow wrinkled. “I – uh, no?”

  Heather rolled her eyes at her bestie, then turned back to Mr. Buckle. “I know this must be a difficult time for you, Mr. Buckle. I hope you don’t mind our intrusion.”

  “A difficult time?” The old man shuffled back toward the garage and beckoned for them to follow. “Not really. Why would you say that?”

  Heather and Amy exchanged a glance and then followed him into the interior of the garage.

  The scent of oil greeted them, along with a muscle car.

  “Wow,” Amy said. “Dave don’t pee on this. It’s a 1968 Shelby Mustang.”

  The sleek muscle car glistened by the light of a single globe overhead. Buckle propped the polished yellow hood up then braced himself on the rim and studied the engine, fingers blackened by grease, or whatever else was in engines.

  Heather had no clue.

  “A Mustang,” Amy said, reverently.

  “You like cars, young lady?”

  “I do,” Amy said and picked Dave up to prevent any peeing incidents. “And ten points for calling me a young lady.”

  “Ah well, when you’re my age, anyone’s a young lady,” Charlie said and fiddled with a cap in the depths of the engine.

  “And I’ll be retracting those ten points, again. But hey, you own a Shelby, so I’ll give you a little leeway.” Amy grinned and Dave squirmed in her arms.

  “I, uh, Mr. Buckle? You’re aware that your son has passed on, is that correct?” Heather asked.

  Amy pressed her lips together and retreated to one of the shelves further back.

  “I am,” he said, then wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “And what’s it to you?”

  “I’m an investigator. A consultant to the police and I’ve been asked to interview you,” Heather replied. Those bionic butterflies were at it again. They bounced off the walls of her stomach.