Peppermint Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 28 Read online

  “You don’t pull any punches, do ya?” Vaughn’s grin tightened up at the corners. “Yeah, I gave it to her. There was a problem with her parachute. Her mother, Helena, spotted it and we helped her take it off and get kitted up.”

  “I see,” Heather said. “And when last was the spare parachute checked?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, a couple of days prior?”

  “Who checked it?”

  “Me,” Vaughn said and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s part of my job description to –” He cut off and glanced past Heather to the front of the building.

  A door slammed, and Heather and Amy both spun to observe the newcomer.

  Joe Gankin raised a hand. “Morning,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you around here again.”

  “I make it a point of double-checking my facts,” Heather said. “And doing a thorough job.”

  “Good to hear. Good to hear,” Gankin replied, and wandered toward an SUV parked to one side of the building. The Just Jump It Skydiving logo glared off the side of the vehicle in luminous yellow paint.

  Clearly, the company needed as much attention as it could get.

  “So,” Heather said and faced Vaughn the ever-cheesy. “You were saying?”

  “I check the parachutes. I checked the spare, and I checked Kiki’s. There weren’t any problems with it,” Vaughn replied, and his gaze darted toward the SUV and back again.

  Why was he so worried about Gankin’s presence?

  “But you didn’t check the spare parachute the morning of the jump?” Heather asked.

  “Well, no, I didn’t think we’d need it that day,” Vaughn muttered and reddened at the insinuation. “I love my job, but everyone makes mistakes.”

  “Pity that mistake was fatal,” Amy said, loudly.

  Gankin slammed the SUV’s door behind them, and Heather flinched.

  “I – look, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone. Not on purpose,” Vaughn said and cleared his throat. The color drained from his cheeks. “I’m a good guy.”

  “How well did you know Kiki?” Heather asked.

  “Well, enough. We hung out a few times because she spent a lot of time here. Her family too. They’re nice,” Vaughn said, but the tension in his voice belied his true meaning.

  The Folger’s weren’t that nice.

  “I believe him,” Amy said and shrugged. “Sounds like he’s got a frog caught in his throat, but I believe him.”

  Vaughn tried for a laugh, but it came out in a series of croaks which mirror Amy’s observation.

  The SUV’s engine started, at last, and Gankin pulled out of the drive, his tires crunching on the gravel. He glared right ahead and didn’t wave goodbye.

  “And what were you doing out in that field?” Heather asked, and pointed toward the yellowing grass, which swayed in a sudden fall breeze.

  “I was checking everything’s ready for our next jump. It’s part of my job description,” Vaughn said, a little too defensively.

  “Another jump?” Amy asked. “So soon?”

  “Yeah, well, Gankin said we have the all clear to carry on. Business as usual, you know?” Vaughn cleared his throat. “Is that all? I should probably get inside and man reception now that Joe’s gone into town.”

  “One last question,” Heather said. “Who usually flies the planes around here? Is it always Henry?”

  “Most of the times, yeah,” Vaughn replied, and nodded. He gestured to the blue sky. “He’s done it since the business started. I guess that was why he became a partner in the first place.”

  A partner. So, Gankin and Henry Folger ran the business together? There was more to this murder than met the eye.

  “Thank you, Mr. Josephs, that will be all for now.”

  Vaughn dashed toward the front door of the office.

  “Don’t leave town,” Amy called. She winked at Heather. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  Chapter 10

  Heather brandished the CD case and waggled it under Amy’s nose. “Look what I got us,” she said.

  “What’s this?” Amy plucked the item from her bestie’s grip and squinted at the image on the front. Her eyes widened. “How did you know? How did you know?” She couldn’t contain the excited squeal.

  “I didn’t, but I do now,” Heather replied.

  “Frank Sinatra is my favorite. I love Michael Buble, don’t get me wrong, but ol’ Frankie boy is so smooth,” Amy said, and made an ocean wave movement with her hand.

  “Well, I figured it would Christmas up the store.”

  Donut Delights hummed with activity as it was wont to do on any given weekday, but the build up to Christmas had already begun, and more of those Santa Claus hats had appeared.

  Along with a few green ones for the elves.

  Ken halted in front of the counter and placed an empty coffee pot in front of them. “So, I’ve been thinking,” he said and adjusted his own festive hat.

  “I’m all ears,” Heather replied.

  “We should make Christmas hats with donuts on the front. Donut Delights logos I mean, and then give them away free with every purchase of a dozen donuts or more,” he said. “It would be fun, and festive.”

  “Brilliant idea,” Heather said. “You really are my go-to business idea guy.” Ken had been the one to take photos for the website online. He’d practically started the donut revolution in Texas.

  Ken gave them a thumbs up, and Amy handed him a full coffee pot. He turned and wended his way between the tables, stopping to refill mugs on request.

  “Smart guy,” Amy said.

  “I wonder if Maricela thinks so,” Heather replied and winked.

  A crocodile-skin handbag slapped down on the counter in front of them. The gaudy gold clasps clicked against the glass and sent shivers through the reflection of the donuts.

  “Heather Shepherd.”

  “Sharon Janis,” she replied, and plastered up a smile she hoped would come across as genuine – it definitely wasn’t.

  The town gossip had wormed her way into Heather’s bad books, along with her mean son and the other less than savory inhabitants of Hillside. Kate Laverne topped that list, sure, but Sharon was a close second.

  “Do you need some coffee?” Heather asked.

  “Shush, don’t offer the woman anything that will energize her even more,” Amy said and swatted Heather on the arm with the Frankie S CD case.

  “Oh, that’s hilarious, Amy Givens,” Sharon snapped. “You’re hilarious. I hear Kent Bentley thinks so too.”

  Amy paled and clamped her mouth shut. She’d only broken up with Kent a few weeks ago, and the pain hadn’t faded yet.

  “That’s unnecessary, Sharon,” Heather said and glared at the town gossip. “Is there something you want? Or have you just come to spread your special brand of Christmas cheer?”

  “I heard you’re investigating the Folger murder case,” Sharon Janis replied, and pursed her purple lips. She’d spread on too much lipstick, and some of it had smudged at the corners.

  “Did you hear it or absorb it through osmosis?” Amy asked, and her upper lip curled. She’d been hit back a step, but Miss Givens always made a quick recovery.

  That plucky attitude had drawn Heather to her bestie in the first place.

  “What’s your insinuation, Givens?”

  “That you’re an ameba,” Amy replied.

  “Enough,” Heather said. “This is getting us nowhere. Say what you’ve come to say, and don’t be nasty about it.” She poked her bestie in the ribs to indicate that she was involved in that last directive.

  “Here’s the scoop,” Sharon said and leaned both her elbows on the counter. Her bangles clacked together around the thickest parts of her forearms. “Joe Gankin isn’t as innocent as you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sharon tapped the side of her sharp nose. “I hear he’s having an affair with Helena Folger. It’s tragic, really, since Henry is his business partner, as I’m sure you know.” Of cour
se, she chased the sentence with a gleeful giggle.

  Tragic indeed.

  “Helena Folger and Gankin?” Heather sat back on her stool and crossed her ankles. “How can you be sure?”

  “Osmosis,” Amy muttered, under her breath.

  Sharon didn’t hear her, by some miracle. “It’s the talk of Hillside, Heather, darling. I mean, everyone knows that Kiki died and everyone’s known for a long time that Helena and Gankin were having an affair.”

  “I didn’t know,” Amy said and raised her hand.

  “That’s because you’re as thick as a brick wall.” Sharon smiled at Heather’s bestie.

  “I said enough of that.” Heather eyed the horrendous crocodile skin purse, then grasped it by the straps and lifted it off the counter. “I think we’ve heard enough gossip for one day, Sharon.”

  The bag should’ve been snakeskin. It would’ve suited the woman better.

  Sharon collected it with finger tipped with sharp, red nails. “Your loss,” she said, then turned and hurried off to her favorite corner of the store. Her Santa Claus hat bobbled on her conical hair do.

  “Well, isn’t she a treat?” Amy flipped open the CD case and extracted the Frank Sinatra CD. “Never mind. This will cheer us up.”

  But no amount of smooth-toned Christmas music could lighten the mood for Heather. Rumors like the one Sharon Janis had told them usually didn’t start without some kernel of truth.

  And she intended to find out just what it was.

  Heather untied her apron.

  “Oh no, you’re going, aren’t you?” Amy asked.

  “I’ll be back soon, Ames. You stay here and make sure Sharon Janis doesn’t poison the store with her vim and vitriol,” Heather replied, then rushed around to the other side of the counter.

  “But I don’t know what that means!”

  Chapter 11

  Heather squished into the chair in front of Gankin’s desk, notepad at the ready. She’d bought another one, though the environmental guilt had eaten at her in the process and a fresh pack of pens.

  One of these days, she’d find an app on her phone and start taking notes that way, but the keypad on the touchscreen was too small.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Shepherd?” Joe Gankin wheezed and rolled his chair back. His stomach popped free from the desk, and he exhaled in relief.

  The poor guy could barely fit in through the door, let alone behind a tiny desk.

  “This visit is strictly professional, Mr. Gankin.”

  “Oh, I figured as much,” he said, and wiped sweat from his brow, below the shining splotch that was his nearly-bald head. “What do you want to talk about this time? My instructor, Vaughn?”

  One of the motivational posters behind Gankin had peeled away from the wall at the corner.

  “Not him, no. I wanted to speak to you about the Folgers. One in particular.”

  “Who?” Gankin asked. “I’m close with all of them.”

  Heather uncapped her pen. She tapped the nib against the side of the page. Boy, there wasn’t a ‘gently’ manner in which to broach this topic. “Helena Folger. I’ve heard rumors that you and Helena are involved.”

  That put it mildly. Hopefully, he got the point.

  Gankin swallowed and fanned his face. “Okay? Involved how? We’re not business partners if that’s what you mean.”

  Ugh, apparently not.

  “There are rumors in Hillside that you and Helena Folger are having an extra-marital affair.”

  “What?” Joe Gankin leaned back in his chair, and it squealed a complaint. He burst into laughter, and it rang in the tiny room. “No, no, not a chance. Helena wouldn’t look at me twice. She’s beautiful and really, uh, full of herself, to be honest.”

  “I see,” Heather said and made a note on her pad. Silly Sharon Janis and her false rumors. Had she sent Heather on a wild goose chase on purpose?

  “No, Helena and I have barely shared two words. But Henry?” Gankin lifted both hands and twisted them together in mid-air. “He’s an idiot.”

  “What? I thought he was your partner,” Heather said and scribbled furiously. Her pen blotched ink everywhere, and she huffed a sigh. That didn’t help.

  “He was my business partner. Ah, shoot, he still is my business partner, but not for long,” Gankin replied. “I’ve already opened up the position for a new pilot at Just Jump It Skydiving. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d suit the position, would you?”

  “Me? No?” Heather capped her pen again, and ink smeared her fingertips. For heaven’s sake. “But why don’t you want him as your business partner anymore, Mr. Gankin?”

  “Because he’s a thief,” Joe replied and clenched his ham-sized fists. All right, that was an over exaggeration, but they were chubby. “He stole money from my business. From what I thought was our business. I don’t know what he’s using it for, but he’s going to pay!”

  Heather arched an eyebrow. A threatening remark from a man who’d had access to the plane and its contents before the jump which had ended Kiki’s life. “Have you reported this to the police?”

  “Yeah, actually, just this morning. I’ve opened up a case or laid a charge or whatever the heck it’s called,” Gankin said and shuffled closer to the desk again. His stomach hit the desk, and he wheezed. “The man is going down.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your losses, Mr. Gankin. I’m sure the Hillside Police Department will take care of this,” Heather replied.

  Gankin snorted in the air and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “They’d better. I want that man behind bars for what he’s done to me.”

  “Do you have any idea why Henry Folger would steal from the business?” Heather.

  “Actually, no,” Gankin said and popped free of the desk again – a dance of wheezes. “He’s always been rich. He was the guy who invested the capital way back in the beginning. He bought the Cessna and insisted he’d be the only one to fly it. I agreed since he has a pilot license and everything.”

  “What a pity,” Heather replied.

  Gankin pushed his lips out. “Yeah, it’s like cutting off the face to spite the nose.”

  Heather stalled at that. He’d definitely mixed up the idiom. “Uh, something like that. When did you find out he was stealing from you?” Heather asked.

  “A couple of weeks ago. I’ve been waiting for exactly the right moment to take him down,” Joe Gankin said, and formed another fist. He raised it into the air. “What better time than right after his daughter’s been murdered, right?”

  Revulsion tremored through Heather from head to toe. She clung to her calm façade with every scrap of her willpower.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Gankin,” Heather said. She scrambled to her feet and made for the door before the man could greet her.

  Anything to be away from a guy who thought a woman’s death introduced the perfect moment for personal revenge.

  Had Gankin perpetrated the whole thing to get back at Henry Folger?

  Chapter 12

  Heather plopped her notepad next to her in-tray in her office and spared a quick smile for the tinsel which Ames had twirled around the plastic rungs.

  She plunked down in her high-backed chair and rested her weary head. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the week’s events wash over her.

  A girl had plummeted to her death.

  The sister despised her.

  The mother was a snob.

  The father was a thief.

  The instructor, well he had an incredibly cheesy, disingenuous atmosphere.

  And finally, the owner of the skydiving business couldn’t resist the urge to take revenge, even after the victim had died.

  “Who did it?”

  “Isn’t it, whodunit?” Amy asked and poked her head through the gap between the door and the frame.

  “Hilarious,” Heather said and beckoned for her bestie to enter the office.

  Amy strutted inside, bumped the door closed with her elbow, t
hen sauntered to the chair in front of Heather’s desk. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

  “My brain. It’s fried from all the variables.”

  “Variables. Is that a kind of marinade?” Amy asked, and sat down. She twisted a bit of tinsel between her fingers, then let it spring free again. Bits of brightly colored plastic fluttered to the carpet.

  “I’m serious. I don’t know what to think.”

  “So, the whole ‘you’re having an affair’ discussion didn’t go as planned, I take it?” Amy asked, and commenced more tinsel twirling.

  “No, it did not. Turns out Gankin isn’t having an affair with Helena. Or so he says. But, he does despise her husband, Henry.”

  “Okay, Henry is the victim’s father, right?”

  “Confusing, isn’t it. Yeah, that’s Kiki’s father. He’s been accused of stealing from the skydiving business,” Heather said, then scooted her chair forward. “And get this, he was happy to take revenge right after Kiki’s death. He made a point of telling me that.”

  “Another standup guy for the history books,” Amy said. She dropped the twisted remains of the tinsel onto Heather’s desk, then leaned forward and rested her elbows either side of it.

  “I’m stumped for now. Maybe I should speak to Ryan about this,” Heather said.

  Her cellphone buzzed inside her handbag, beside her chair.

  “I bet that’s him,” Amy said and jabbed her finger toward Heather. “You summoned him with your variable-marinated brains.”

  Heather shushed her and swept her handbag onto her lap. She rooted around inside it, brought the phone out from its depths, then swiped her thumb across the screen to answer the call.

  “Shepherd,” she said.

  “Hey honey,” Ryan said.

  “Told you so,” Amy mouthed and tapped her temples with her index fingers.

  “Hey, love, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got some news regarding the case,” Ryan said. “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?” Heather asked, and grabbed her blotchy notepad. She dragged it toward herself, then grabbed a pen from the rosewood wooden holder on the corner of her desk.

  “Well, it involves a lot of the same people.” Her husband cleared his throat. “Hoskins just arrested Henry Folger.”