Birthday Sprinkle Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 37 Read online

  Heather pressed her fingertips together and created a steeple. She placed it against her lips. “I’ve already contacted one of Jung’s buddies about that. Mike Kissick. He’s going to come by next week to start work on installing the system. And then we’ll have to go through training on how to use it.”

  “Joy.” Amy rolled her eyes.

  “You can’t have your cake and eat it, Ames,” Heather said, and lifted a piece of paper from the laptop keyboard. The printed out order for Lilly’s Velociraptor cake.

  “That’s such a ridiculous saying,” Amy replied. “Why would you have your cake and not eat it? What, are you supposed to just stare at your slice of cake and drool? What’s the deal with that?”

  Heather opened her mouth.

  “Forget I asked,” Amy said, and raised a palm. “Don’t tell me. I know you’ll have something smart to say and I’m not in a learning mood today.”

  “Then what kind of mood are you in?” Heather asked, and lifted the order sheet. Lilly would love it. She’d absolutely love it. But the cake was just a tiny part of the organization needed for the party on Sunday.

  She still had to get her daughter a gift. Organize drinks and party favors, not to mention the guest list which would be substantial. Lilly had a knack for making friends everywhere she went, whether it was a retirement home or the kid’s shelter.

  “I’m in the ‘not filing’ mood,” Amy said, and slapped the file shut. “How about we talk a different kind of file instead.”

  “Huh?”

  “A case file.”

  “Smooth,” Heather replied, and flapped the order sheet at Ames. “That was quite a segue.”

  “It’s not my first time.” Amy wriggled her eyebrows in the classic intrigue dance.

  “We’ve got a lot of work to do, Donut Delights and otherwise,” Heather replied, safely. Still, she put down the order sheet.

  “Oh please, I’ve seen you eyeing out that dossier. It’s like you’re having a love affair. Your eyes met across a crowded room and the rest is history.” Amy clasped her palms together and blinked.

  “How is this a crowded room?”

  “I’m in it,” Amy said. “I’m worth at least five people. Six when I’m in my ‘no filing’ mood. Come on, let’s check out what Ryan sent over. We’ll look at the first few pages and then we can start organizing Lilly’s guest list.”

  Heather sighed and made eyes at the dossier.

  “See? You’re clearly intrigued.” Amy scooted forward. “Open it.”

  Heather traced the edges of the brown dossier, then flipped it open to reveal the first page of case details. She rifled through the documents. Ryan usually kept items of interest toward the front of the file, so she’d spot them fast.

  “What’s this?” Heather lifted a page and examined the words scrawled across it, in a handwriting which suited a doctor’s office.

  “Read it out loud,” Amy replied.

  Heather flicked the page and narrowed her eyes at the fine print. “Gosh, I need to get glasses.”

  “Kind of a weird note for Ryan to send along in the dossier.”

  “No, I mean me,” Heather said, then cleared her throat to read. “If you don’t name me as your heir, I will take further steps to prove it. You should’ve thought of that before you ran out on my mother.”

  “Goodness. Who sent that?”

  “It’s signed simply, C.W.” Heather flipped the page over and checked the back. “Yup. That’s it.”

  “Who’s C.W.?” Amy asked, and adjusted her grip on the lever arch file. “Another puzzle for the books.”

  “It’s got to be important,” Heather replied. “This is a direct threat to our missing victim. But did he have any family? They had little information on Sebastian Holland. Perhaps, now was the time to start digging for more.

  Heather’s phone buzzed on the corner of the desk. She put down the document in her lap, then grabbed it and answered. “Shepherd.”

  “I’ve got news,” Ryan said. “A lead.”

  “Oh?” Heather perked up. The sooner they finished this case, the sooner she could focus solely on Lilly’s party and the donut store.

  “Yeah. That Ursula Brown woman who lives next door to our vic,” he said.

  “What about her?”

  “She came to me early this morning with some information. Apparently, she noticed an Escalade hanging around the apartment building. She even got the registration down,” Ryan said.

  “And she just happened to make this connection, now.”

  “She wasn’t on the lookout before,” Ryan said. “Anyway, turns out that the vehicle is from a car rental agency. Guess who signed for it?”

  Heather pressed her lips together.

  “Camilla Wyatt,” Ryan said.

  “C.W.”

  “That’s right. We can only assume it’s the same person who made the threat, but we’ll be sure once we interview her.”

  “You have her address?” Heather asked.

  “That’s right. She’s staying at the Hillside By The Wayside. Meet me there in twenty minutes?” Ryan asked.

  “You’ve got it.”

  Chapter 7

  Heather stood beside the flat screen TV attached to the wall in Camilla’s hotel room, and focused on the suspect.

  The woman, young, in her twenties with short blue-black hair, stared right back at her, defiance in the set of her jaw.

  This had to be the same woman Ursula had seen at the Fierro building. The one who’d visited the day of Sebastian’s death.

  Detective Ryan Shepherd sat on the edge of a chromed out desk and scribbled things in his notebook.

  “Is this going to take long?” Camilla asked, and clicked her tongue.

  Ryan ignored her. He shifted and scribbled some more, and the chrome table squeaked beneath him.

  Camilla swiveled toward Heather instead, her green eyes sharp as the words on the tip of her tongue, no doubt. “You’re not a police officer.”

  “No.”

  “What are you doing here, then?”

  Heather shifted against the powder blue wall and switched her gaze to the black and white check tiles. Boy, they’d sure gone retro in this place. It never ceased to amaze her, and she’d interviewed a few witnesses – and suspects – here.

  “Hello, I’m talking to you.” Camilla clapped her hands once.

  “She’s a consultant with Hillside PD. Our star investigator.”

  Camilla’s expression altered only slightly, and she hid that change a second later. “The police need a consultant. Shouldn’t you people do that job yourselves?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell them that,” Heather replied. “But it’s not working.” She smiled even though she didn’t feel like it, one bit, and she’d never asked to be let off a case.

  Camilla didn’t have to know that. The less she knew, the better.

  Ryan finished writing and dotted the end of his sentence with a flourish. He clicked his ballpoint and slid it into his top pocket. “Miss Wyatt, is that correct?”

  “Oh, we’re talking now. Fantastic. I was worried you’d, I don’t know, waste my time. I was so wrong.” Camilla rolled her eyes. Her gray eyeshadow gave Heather the impression of a raccoon.

  “Little early in the day to be sporting the smoky eyes,” Heather said. “You got somewhere you need to be?”

  Camilla pursed her lips, also coated in bright red lip gloss. The makeup didn’t do much to hide the bitterness lurking underneath. “My business is my own. But, yeah, I have a date.”

  “Lucky lady,” Ryan said, and flicked through the pages of his notepad. “Did you come all the way to Hillside for a date? We know you’re from up in Houston.”

  Houston. Could the mysterious Mr. Fierro have sent her to deal with his lack luster superintendent?

  “Look, what’s this about? I haven’t got time to play games.”

  “You know what this is about, Miss Wyatt,” Heather said, evenly. “Sebastian Holland is dead.”
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  Camilla went pale around the lips. “And that’s how you tell me?”

  Oh boy, so much for playing the sensitivity card this week.

  “You were aware of it,” Ryan said. “Otherwise why would you have delivered flowers to his apartment?”

  “I – the – uh, the flowers were a thank you for a lovely evening. I didn’t –”

  “Which evening?” Heather asked. “Sunday evening?”

  “Yes.” Color returned to Camilla’s cheeks. She flicked back her short black hair, glossy from products. No one could have hair that glossy without using something on it. “We went out to dinner on Sunday night.”

  “Did he bring his dogs?”

  “Foggy and Moggy,” Camilla said.

  “Pardon?” Ryan arched an eyebrow.

  “The dogs. Their names are Foggy and Moggy.” Camilla massaged her temples and let out a long sigh. “We went to dinner together to discuss old times. Things that I don’t need to share with you. I don’t have to share them with you.”

  Ryan brought out the extortion letter and handed it over. “Oh, I think you do.”

  The suspect trembled from head to toe. The letter shook between her fingers. “Where did you get this? It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It looks like you were extorting Sebastian,” Heather said.

  “No. That’s not what I meant. He’s my father, you see. He wouldn’t believe that I was his long lost daughter. I just wanted to make him understand,” Camilla said, the words rushing from her in a gust of anxiety. “We talked about it on Sunday evening at dinner.”

  “Where?”

  “Some Italian place downtown. I don’t remember the name,” Camilla said.

  “You don’t remember the name of the restaurant?” Ryan asked. “Do you have a receipt?”

  “No. He paid. Look. Look. Just look for a second,” Camilla said, and raised her palms – they dripped sweat. “I didn’t do anything to hurt the man. I didn’t –”

  “Did you –”

  Camilla lurched upright and stood straight as a pylon in front of the powder blue bedspread. “Enough,” she said, and her tone wavered. “That’s enough.”

  “Miss Wyatt,” Ryan said. “Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated. A man is dead.”

  “I can’t speak to you without my lawyer present,” Camilla said. She cast a fleeting glance at Heather, then spun on her heel and dashed out of the hotel room door, taking the scent of cheap perfume with her.

  Heather raised both eyebrows at her husband.

  “What?” He shrugged and slipped his notepad into the pocket of his blue, standard issue shirt.

  “I don’t want to hear any complaints about my interviewing process, ever again,” she replied.

  Chapter 8

  “What happened?” Amy sat behind the wheel of Heather’s Chevrolet and drummed her fingertips on the plastic. She’d insisted on coming to drop Heather off at the motel – she wanted the scoop as soon as she could get it.

  Heather shut the door behind herself, then zipped on her seatbelt. “The suspect lawyered up,” she replied. “Did you see a woman come out of here? Black hair?”

  “Kind of looked like a raccoon?”

  “That’s the one,” Heather replied. “Which way did she go?” Camilla had to be on her way to meet her mystery lunch date. Shoot, brunch date given the early hour.

  “Straight down the road and took a left.” Amy started the engine.

  “Follow her,” Heather said. “Try not to make it obvious.”

  “Me? Obvious?” Amy winked and revved the engine. She pulled out of the parking lot and zoomed off down the road, driving like the inner racer she never unleashed.

  Except at time like this.

  Heather’s stomach turned and she gripped the armrest.

  They spun around the corner and Ames slowed down rapidly. The woman with the blue-black hair marched down the road ahead of them. She didn’t look back.

  “That’s her,” Heather said, and leaned forward a bit. Her seatbelt cut into her chest and she sat back again. “For heaven’s sake, Ames. Slow down a little. I can barely move.”

  Amy took it down another notch, and Heather shifted in her seat.

  “Where’s she going?” Amy asked, and checked her rearview mirror for cars.

  Storefronts flashed by and Camilla Wyatt stomped on, past Donut Delights and toward the end of the road. She crossed it and hurried down the adjacent street.

  Amy turned into it.

  “There,” Heather whispered.

  Camilla Wyatt entered Lil Mama’s, Hillside’s newest and favorite Italian restaurant. She’d eaten here with Sebastian on Sunday – this had to be the place. But if this was her second time at the restaurant, there wasn’t a chance she didn’t know the name.

  Which meant she wanted to hide the fact that she’d been there. There was more than one Italian restaurant in Hillside.

  “Stop the car,” Heather whispered.

  Amy parked across from the restaurant. “Are we going in?”

  Heather nodded and opened her door. She clicked it shut behind her, then walked diagonally across the road, away from the wide windows, rimmed by green, red and white fabric overhangs.

  The word’s Lil Mama’s Italian Restaurant spanned the glass in bold white print, but there was a chance Camilla could catch a glimpse of them.

  Heather halted just next to the building, in the mouth of an alley. Ames hurried up to her, hands in the pockets of her puffy, blue coat.

  Neither of them said a word. They inched forward and peeked through the window at the edge of the building.

  The hanging lights in Lil Mama’s caught the sheen of Camilla’s hair across the room. She sat in the back corner, her back to them, and across from a man in a suit. He wore a fedora.

  “A fedora?” Amy whispered. “Really?”

  “Not the point, right now,” Heather said. “Ugh, if only we could hear what they were saying.” She kept her gaze glued to the man and Camilla.

  “We could sneak in?”

  “I don’t think so. Not this time. Camilla looks shifty. Hyper aware. I think our questioning back at the hotel set her on edge.”

  Camilla Wyatt shifted in her chair. She glanced at the swinging, silver kitchen doors. She ran her hands over the top of her head and gesticulated at the man across from her.

  “Argument?”

  “Don’t know,” Heather replied. “That guy isn’t saying anything back.”

  Indeed, the mystery man sat staring up at Camilla as if she’d lost her mind. The young woman spun on her heel and marched toward the front of the restaurant.

  Amy let out a tiny squeal. “She’s going to see us!”

  Heather grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the window, backward into the alley. She slammed her bestie into the wall, then pressed herself against the bricks beside her.

  The restaurant’s front door slammed. Footsteps chittered on the sidewalk and moved off down the road.

  “She’s going the other way,” Heather breathed.

  Amy sagged and puffed out her cheeks. “I’m getting too old for this, uh, these shenanigans.”

  “You’re five months younger than me.”

  “You’re too old for this too,” Amy replied, and wiped her brow.

  Heather peeked out from behind the wall again and through the window. The man stood beside the table and rifled through a wallet. He took out a few bills, dropped them beside a steaming plate of uneaten pasta – sacrilege – then hurried toward the exit.

  “Here we go,” Heather said.

  Mystery man burst out into the cool morning, muttering under his breath. “What’s her problem? She’s always so –”

  “Hello,” Heather said.

  He stiffened and cocked his head in her direction. His nostrils flared. He straightened his fedora.

  “A fedora,” Amy whispered, and shook her head. Heather stepped on her toe, lightly.

  “Who are you?” He asked.
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br />   “I think the more important question is, who are you?” Heather walked toward him, measured steps which kept her at exactly the right distance.

  “I don’t have to tell you that,” he snapped, and jerked the fedora from his crown. “I don’t even know who you –”

  “Heather Shepherd,” she replied, and extended her hand.

  The shake never came.

  “The Hillside Private Eye.” The words came from the mystery man in a reverent hush.

  “Pardon?”

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I – uh, I’m a huge fan. My name’s Lemon. Kelly Lemon.” He took Heather’s hand and pumped her arm up and down.

  “You’re a fan?” Amy asked, and finally moved up beside her bestie.

  “That’s right. I’ve read all about you in the papers. Started doing some research of my own online. You’re the Hillside Private Eye. That’s what they’re calling you in the papers, anyway. You’re like Sherlock Holmes. One of those consulting detectives.”

  “Sherlock Holmes is fictional,” Heather said.

  “You do share some of his eccentricities,” Amy replied.

  “Like what?” Heather stared at her best friend. “I’m nothing like – ugh, I’m getting sidetracked.” She turned back to her number one fan. She’d have to start reading newspapers again. She’d had no idea she’d received a nickname. “You seem to know a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

  “Kelly Lemon,” he said, and reached for her hand again.

  She let him wrench it up and down, almost clean of her socket.

  “Investigator Lemon. I’m new to town. I wanted to catch up with you, to be honest. I’d love to pick your brain on some of the finer details of your cases. Don’t worry, I’m not here to steal the limelight. Just to learn before I move on,” he said, face as red as a tomato.

  “Is that why you were talking to Camilla Wyatt?” Heather asked. “Is she teaching you investigation techniques?”

  Lemon dropped her hand. “What? No. She’s just a client. Nothing important. Tell me more about you, Mrs. Shepherd. Are you –?”

  “Camilla is a client,” Heather said. “Why?”

  Lemon wriggled his lips. “I shouldn’t say. It’s not ethical.”

  “Just between investigators,” Heather said, and tapped the end of her nose. “I won’t tell a soul.”