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

  Oh wait, Ryan wouldn’t reprimand her. This was part of her ‘job’ now.

  “What did you find?”

  “She met with some stranger in a house around the corner from Junior. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I need to know who lives there. I have a feeling it’s important to the case.”

  “A feeling.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “One of my infamous, sleuth-sense tingling feelings. Trust me, hon, this has something to do with the case.”

  Ryan nodded, at last. “I’ll look into it,” he replied, then scraped his fingers through his hair.

  “Is everything all right?” Heather asked. “You seem kinda stressed.”

  “Frustrated is a better term,” Ryan replied. “I found out that Junior was leaving for Dallas in a few days. Some gaming competition or the other. I’m not a hundred percent on whether it had anything to do with the murder but –”

  “Whoa, a gaming convention in Dallas?” Heather blinked. “That’s why we’re up late tonight. We’re filling orders for that exact convention.”

  A coincidence? Probably not. Heather had given up believing in coincidences long ago.

  “You’re kidding.” Ryan scratched his temple. “That doesn’t clear up much.”

  “Unless the killer had some reason to stop Junior from going to the convention,” Heather replied.

  “Or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “What if they found out about your orders and wanted to bring you down instead?” Ryan whispered. He stroked his fingers across his lips.

  “But Amy delivered the milkshake.” This was a stretch – or was it? She’d helped put a lot of murderers behind bars. One of them might’ve taken offense and managed to set this up.

  Ugh, it didn’t sit right in her mind. No, it couldn’t be that.

  “They wouldn’t know that,” Ryan replied. “The murderer might’ve believed you would deliver. That you would be the one to pay for this.” He rose from his seat, then kissed her on the forehead. “Whatever the case, we’ll get to the bottom of it. Right now, I gotta get back to the department. The new captain has taken it open himself to clean up.”

  “Good luck,” Heather said.

  Her husband marched out of Donut Delights. His heavy shoes clunked on the golden boards. Heather’s guts twisted into a knot of tension.

  The answer was right in front of her nose. She just had to sleuth it out of its shadowy spot.

  Chapter 10

  “Another route we’ve never taken before,” Amy said, and kept an easy pace beside Heather.

  A day had passed since she’d given Ryan her information and still he hadn’t been able to find out who lived in the house. That meant one thing and one thing only – it was up to her to figure it out.

  She hummed the Girl with April in Her Eyes and squinted. She had no idea who’d sung this one, but the melody had lodged itself in her mind.

  Dave padded down the sidewalk, his tail flicking left and right. He paused, lifted his nose to the air and sniffed.

  A golden retriever barked from behind a fence across the road.

  “I take it this has something to do with the case.” Amy chuckled, then bent and ruffled Dave’s ears. “Why else would you be humming, incessantly?”

  “Whatever, I wasn’t humming,” Heather replied, and cleared her throat. She resisted the urge to take up another tune. “But yeah, you’re right. This has everything to do with the case.”

  “As long as we’re not going to the graveyard.”

  “No graveyards. This is better than that,” Heather replied.

  “Better? That’s the word you’re going for in that sentence?” Amy asked. She straightened and readjusted her loose cotton shirt. “What’s better than a graveyard, do tell?”

  “Investigation wise? The house I told you about,” Heather said, then bit her lip. She raised her leash-free hand and pointed. “It’s just down there.”

  “All right, a house. What’s the catch?” Amy folded her arms.

  “Catch?” Heather averted her eyes and scanned the clouds. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Heather Shepherd, don’t you toy with me. There’s always a catch when we go interviewing or investigating. What is it this time?”

  Heather tapped the heel of her flat ballet pump on the ‘crete. “Fine. There’s a catch.”

  “I knew it.”

  “I’m not sure if the mystery guy is there or not. And it’s not like I can get a warrant to search the place so –”

  “So, this is strictly off the record.” Amy stuck out her hand, and Heather handed her Dave’s leash. “And spectacularly illegal?”

  “I don’t think you can grade illegality,” Heather replied.

  “Of course you can,” Amy said. “Just ask all those nice folks you put behind bars.”

  Heather set off down the road, and Amy hurried up behind her. Dave whined a couple of time, but neither of the women looked at him, and he quieted into an attention-seeking sulk.

  Another Hillside morning had taken the suburbs. A weekday. Peace and quiet, with only a few cars in the driveways. People had work to get to and lives to lead. Apart from Junior, of course.

  His plans had stalled completely.

  Heather shook the melancholy from her mind and slowed down. “This is the one,” she said and stopped beside the fence.

  “Could this place have any more trees?” Amy asked. “It’s like a jungle in there.” She leaned over the fence and pushed a few leaves out of her path. The branch creaked back, then snapped into place.

  A bird launched itself from the tree, and Amy let out a yelp. Dave growled low in his throat.

  “Don’t you dare bark,” Heather hissed. “Do you see anything?”

  “My life flashing before my eyes,” Amy mumbled.

  “There’s no car in the drive.” Heather grasped the edge of the fence. “I’m going in.”

  “I know we’re not ancient but do you think climbing fences is the thing to do at our age?” Amy asked.

  Heather ignored her and scrambled over the fence, then dropped onto her haunches in the bushes. “Don’t let society define you, Ames.”

  Amy plopped Dave down beside Heather, then scrambled over the fence too. “The things I do for you.”

  “Let’s go,” Heather said, then lifted Dave into her arms. They crept through the bushes and kept to the edge of the fence, then halted. Heather hovered between the trees and stared at the windows on the side of the house.

  “No curtains,” Amy said. “So, either somebody just moved in, or privacy is not an issue.”

  Heather stalked across the yard, shoulders hunched. The grass mulched beneath her feet, and sprinklers dotted the flowerbed beneath the window. She grimaced and stuck to the grass instead – footprints in the mud would be a dead giveaway.

  Heather craned her neck and Dave licked her wrist as a mode of encouragement.

  “What do you see?” Amy asked.

  “Boxes. Loads and loads of boxes. Men’s clothes and shoes, and,” Heather paused, her gaze lit up. “Dog toys.”

  “Dog toys?”

  “Training equipment. That’s Frankie’s stuff. I’d bet a hundred donuts that’s Frankie’s stuff.” Heather dropped down on her heels, then turned and hurried back to the bushes.

  Amy followed a second later. “Wait, so Frankie’s living with some mystery guy, now?”

  “That’s what it looks like. I can’t be sure, though,” Heather said and paced back and forth between the trees and bushes in the garden. Twigs scraped her bare forearms. Dave yapped at her, and she stopped moving. “Conjecture. Too much conjecture.”

  “What are you saying?” Amy asked.

  “I’m saying, even with the toxicology report and the evidence from the crime scene, even with the interviews, I still don’t have enough information to make a deduction about the case.” Heather chuckled. “I thought this would be easier after I got my license. Turns out the work has just begun.”
/>   “Speaking of work,” Amy said. “We’d better get back to the store. There’s another order of Caramels to make and that convention is in two days.”

  The convention. Another piece of the puzzle. Heather sighed and rested her forehead against Dave’s wet nose. “You’re right. Let’s get back to the store.”

  At least she’d get to make donuts today. In a world of murders, mayhem and sleuthing, donuts were her anchors.

  Chapter 11

  “Out!” Heather pointed to the plate glass door of Donut Delights. “This second. Both of you.”

  Angelica and Maricela linked arms and gave her puppy dog eyes. “But boss, we just help you,” Maricela said.

  “No, you’ve both done enough. No more overtime this week. I’ll see you tomorrow during normal work hours,” Heather replied.

  “If you call waking up at 5 am, normal,” Amy said, then stifled a yawn behind her hand. “But yeah, you guys have done enough. Heather and I will handle tonight’s work.”

  “But –”

  “No arguments,” Heather replied, and flapped her hands at them. “Go on, go have some fun. Live a little.”

  “I just go home and bake there,” Angelica said, then winked at them. She dragged Maricela toward the door. The two women bustled out into the late afternoon and traipsed down the sidewalk.

  Heather smiled and turned her back to the windows. She needed to focus.

  “All right, so, we’ve got one hundred donuts that need to go to Mrs. Henley and another fifty to finish up the order for the convention. We should be able to handle that for tonight,” Heather said.

  “Uh –”

  “And then we need to whip up some donuts for the grand opening in two weeks. Maybe you and I should sit down and do some planning. We could decide which donuts would be the best for it. Or hey, why not create a new one?” Heather asked.

  Inventing the donuts with the help of her grandmother’s recipe book, was Heather’s favorite part of the job.

  “Heather,” Amy said.

  “Oh I know, it’s a lot of work on short notice, but we could make something simple and yummy. It wouldn’t be too overwhelming, I mean, think about it. It could be something like –”

  “Heather!” Amy bolted out of her seat, strode to her bestie and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “What?”

  “We’ve got company.” Amy spun her on the spot to face the door.

  Geoff Lawless stood just inside the entrance. A goofy grin tickled the corners of his mouth. Though, she couldn’t be sure with all that beard in the way.

  “Lawless,” Heather said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I don’t like that smile,” Amy whispered in Heather’s ear. “It bodes ill.”

  Geoff trudged forward, then stopped just short of their chosen table. His bald pate glinted in the light of the setting sun. “I’ve got to talk to you about the dead guy.”

  Geoff had never been good at communication. Sub-standard donuts and mimicry? Sure, any day. But actual sentences hindered him.

  “Junior?”

  “Geoff,” he said, and thumbed himself in the chest.

  Heather inhaled and counted to ten in her mind. “No, Geoff, I meant are you here to talk to me about Junior Buckle, the young man who was murdered.”

  “Yeah.” Geoff snorted and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose.

  “What do you know?” Heather asked.

  Geoff dug in the front pocket of his grubby jeans, then brought out a flash drive. He tossed it at her. Amy gasped, but Heather reached out and snatched it from the air. Class act, that Geoff Lawless.

  She turned it over between her fingers, then looked up at him. “Care to explain?”

  “That man, dead guy, was in my store with some old dude. They had a fight. There’s the evidence. Surveillance. That’s all,” Geoff said.

  “He’s going to run now. I’ll bet you a donut,” Amy said.

  Geoff glanced at Amy and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got a smart mouth.”

  “Comes with my smart brain. You should try an upgrade.”

  Heather snorted a laugh, then stopped herself. “Geoff, is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”

  He took a step back, then another. He froze and narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll beat you, Shepherd. Don’t you forget it.” He spun and darted from the store. The glass door clanged shut behind him, and the bell tinkled a ‘goodbye’.

  “I like him more, every time he comes to visit,” Amy said, in a dry monotone. “At least he didn’t pick donut crumbs out of the trash can, this time.”

  Heather stared at the flash drive in her palm. “Shall we?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  They hurried through to Heather’s office and huddled over her laptop. Heather inserted the flash drive, then clicked through to the files.

  “Yeah, it’s a video,” she said. Heather clicked on the video, and it opened up in a new window.

  A grainy surveillance shot of the front of Geoff’s store popped into view. Men and women walked through the doors, but the tables were empty, for the most part.

  “Still not having any luck selling his rock hard fudge balls and stale donuts?” Amy leaned in and braced her hands on her knees.

  “Weird, Sharon made a big deal about how good Geoff’s store is doing nowadays,” Heather said. “Oh, there’s Junior.”

  “Sharon was probably trying to get to you, Heather.” Amy chewed her lip and stared at the screen. “Yeah, that’s him all right. I had no idea he patronized Geoff’s place too.”

  “No, he’s not buying anything. He’s just standing there.”

  Junior checked his watch on the screen. He tapped his fingers on the bar, then lifted his arm and glared at the timepiece again.

  “There! Someone’s coming.”

  Another figure strode up to the counter and stopped in front of Junior.

  Charlie Buckle wore the same shirt he’d had on the day Heather had interviewed him. He raised his finger and jabbed Junior in the chest, then pointed it to the door.

  Junior put his palms in the air and took a step back.

  “Wow,” Amy said. “Charlie Buckle. He lied. He did see his son.”

  Heather’s gaze roved over the screen and rested on the date stamp in the bottom corner. “Yeah, and only a day before his son’s murder.”

  Chapter 12

  “This isn’t how I pictured my Thursday evening going,” Amy said. She squished back in the passenger seat, gaze focused on the open garage door.

  Charlie Buckle’s Shelby whatever it was car sat in the center of the room. The old man pottered around it, carrying a rag and an indistinguishable tool.

  “How did you picture it going?” Heather asked. A stake out of a potential suspect hadn’t been on her list of things-to-do either.

  “Making donuts. Stealing some of the caramel glaze when your back is turned. You know, the usual,” Amy replied. She sighed and rolled her head from side-to-side. “But, I suppose the view isn’t that bad.”

  “The car?”

  “That’s not just any old car. That’s a –”

  “Shush!”

  “Shelby, actually,” Amy muttered.

  Heather sank low in her seat and jerked her thumb toward the garage. “Sorry, Ames, but someone’s coming.”

  Amy hunched her back and peered over the dashboard. “Who is it?”

  A lone figure walked down the sidewalk. No car, no flashlight. Darkness shrouded the person’s steps. They stopped just outside the vignette of light from the globes in Buckle’s garage.

  Charlie swiped his rag across either palm, then stopped and stiffened.

  “Roll down the windows,” Amy whispered.

  Heather did as she was told, and both women leaned toward the driver’s side.

  Charlie Buckle rammed his fists on his hips and stared at the ominous figure. “What are you doing here? Come out in the light where I can see you, girl.”

&nb
sp; The figure hovered, took a step back, then finally strode into the light. Francesca Charles halted short of the garage and worked her fingers on either hand. “I – I don’t know why I came.”

  “Haven’t seen you in years. Didn’t expect to see you ever again.”

  “Seriously?” Frankie asked. “It’s a small town. We’d probably run into each other at the store.”

  “I don’t go to the store.”

  Amy snorted. “Yeah, this is the height of dirt.”

  “Gos?” Heather whispered. Sharon Janis’ term for gossip tasted sour on the tongue.

  “You come to talk about my son?” Charlie asked.

  “Why else would I be here?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, girl,” Buckle replied, and dropped the rag on the floor of the garage. He didn’t walk toward his new visitor, but he didn’t back away either.

  “Whatever. Look, I don’t know what to do about Junior’s competition thing. I have no idea, so you’re going to have to work it out.”

  “Competition?” Amy whispered.

  Heather shook her head and shrugged. She made a mental note of it, then leaned closer to the open window.

  Amy followed her example and yelped. “Hit my hip on the stick,” she whispered.

  “- care about my son.” Charlie’s cheeks flushed.

  “You have no idea what transpired between us, old man,” Frankie yelled, then threw her hands up in the air.

  Clouds blocked the moon and stars, the inky blackness surrounding the homes and streetlamps completed the eerie atmosphere of Heather and Amy’s operation.

  “You’re hopeless,” Francesca hissed. “You don’t know what I went through with Junior. What I put up with.”

  “I don’t know?” Charlie gave a bitter laugh. “All right, so maybe I didn’t live with him for however many years you did, but I raised that boy.”

  “Didn’t do a very good job of it, did you?” Frankie hit back.

  “Ooh. That’s a deep burn,” Amy whispered.

  She squished over some more, worried the gear stick, then got onto her knees and tried shifting around it. She grabbed the side of Heather’s head rest for leverage.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Heather asked.