Chocolate Tiramisu Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 9 Read online

  “Thank you,” Heather said and sniffed the tears away.

  She felt better already. She was a strong woman, but she’d have been lost without her new husband, Amy and, of course, Dave the notorious weak bladder pup. Oh, and Eva, and Angelica and… There were so many amazing people in her life.

  She was lucky.

  And tomorrow they’d head home and meet with all her friends again.

  Still, the niggling sensation of a job unfinished sat in the back of her mind.

  There was a knock at the door about ten minutes later, and room service wheeled in the food. The buttery scent of popcorn perked Heather up instantly.

  Everybody made mistakes. Maybe she was a little hard on herself, after all.

  Her sleuthing techniques were unorthodox, but they worked most of the time.

  “Right,” Ryan said, at last, after closing the door to their suite. “Are we ready for some TV and treats?”

  “You bet,” Heather replied.

  He squished onto the couch beside her with the popcorn, then clicked on the TV.

  A news report sprang onto the screen, the headline in Italian.

  “Oh, a boat chase,” Ryan said, leaning forward with a handful of popcorn. He shoved the kernels into his mouth and crunched on them. “Now, if that isn’t the epitome of trashy TV, then I can’t say what is.”

  “Yeah, that’s awesomely trashy. I think…” Heather trailed off. Her jaw dropped. She spluttered half-eaten popcorn kernels.

  “What? What is it?”

  “That’s Gia Ginelli! Look at the name cycling at the bottom of the screen,” Heather yelled. She jumped up onto the couch and pointed. “They’re chasing Gia.”

  Ryan grabbed the pants leg of her PJs and tugged lightly. “Hey, get down from there, you’re bouncing the popcorn everywhere.”

  “Sorry,” Heather said, then lowered herself to a sitting position again. “Why are they chasing her?”

  Gino Ginelli’s name cycled along the blue band at the bottom of the screen.

  “It’s got to be because she’s their suspect. She must’ve run when they turned up at her door,” Heather whispered, and stuffed more popcorn into her mouth. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I do. From what you told me, she was pretty much after her father’s money and nothing else. She was furious about Verdi, right?”

  “So, she must’ve sent her those magazine clippings after all,” Heather whispered, tapping her bottom lip with a popcorn piece. “No, wait, that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Why not?” Ryan asked.

  “Because all the notes seemed to come from a jealous lover. They looked like they’d come from Gino, rather than Gia.” Heather ate the popcorn, then reached for a strawberry. She gobbled that up too.

  “Yeah, but it’s possible that Gia staged the letter to make it seem like Gino was angry at Verdi.”

  “Then why would she keep writing them after Gino’s death? That would just raise suspicion,” Heather replied, then shook her head. “No, this doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t feel right.”

  “I don’t know, Heather, if the Italian police think it’s her and all the evidence points to her –”

  “Most of the evidence,” Heather put in.

  “Right, most of the evidence points to her. Look, they’ve invested time and money into chasing her through Venice.”

  “How did she even get her hands on a speedboat? I wish I could read these subtitles; there must be a pretty interesting story behind it,” Heather murmured.

  “I doubt there will be anything online about it yet,” Ryan said, reaching for his phone anyway. He tapped away on the screen, Googling and YouTubing to his heart’s content. “Nothing. Just an Italian feed on YouTube. No new information.”

  Heather ate another strawberry, the tart sweetness spread across her tongue and sent tingles down her spine. It reminded her of the Strawberry Crème Donuts back in Donut Delights.

  They watched the chase, the police zooming around on jet skis and in boats, Gia always just ahead of them, until she came to a canal that was too small for her speed boat.

  The chopper feed showed the crash and the aftermath. Gia rose in the center of the boat, screaming and throwing rude signs at the camera.

  “Oh wow, angry woman,” Ryan said.

  “You have no idea,” Heather replied. But even with Gia’s angry, something still didn’t sit right with the arrest in Heather’s mind.

  The letters, the pictures.

  “I guess that’s that,” Ryan said, “mystery solved.”

  “I guess,” Heather whispered, then shrugged.

  Chapter 16

  Heather had cultivated a craving for Strawberry Crème Donuts, thanks to the choc-dipped strawberries, and that craving led her down into the kitchen of the Hotel Venezia, one final time.

  If she couldn’t enjoy the last night of her Honeymoon, baking donuts just for the sake of it, then what was the point? Ryan had fallen asleep an hour prior, and she’d tossed and turned, thoughts of Gia’s arrest driving her to distraction.

  Her sleepless nights were another common theme in Venice.

  Man, she couldn’t wait to get back to Hillside and back in her own space. See her friends, squish Dave into a donut because she’d missed him so much. Oh, and Amy was in line for a squishing too.

  Heather clicked on the lights in the Hotel’s kitchen and strode inside. She listened for any noise, perhaps Chef Dante up and about in his secret ingredient closet, but the kitchen was quiet.

  The comforting kind.

  Heather strode to her side of the kitchen and took out the implements she’d need. The bowls and whisks, the measuring cups and jugs. Actions that were totally ingrained into her character by now.

  Donuts were her life and moving this way was her nature.

  “Hmmm,” she said, and smacked her lips. “I need strawberries. Oh, real delicious strawberries for the crème.”

  She hurried to the fridge and opened it up. The strawberries sat in a plastic container, just beneath Chef Dante’s favorite – and exceptionally cold – magazine.

  Heather chuckled. She’d miss his quirks if nothing else.

  She grabbed the magazine in one hand and the strawberries in the other, then walked to the bench and put them both down. A picture of Verdi Salsa glared up at her.

  “If only I could read Italian,” she said.

  Heather picked up the mag and rifled through it, spying pics of people she didn’t know, one of George Clooney vacationing with Amal. The mag fell open on the center page, and Heather’s heart stopped beating for a millisecond.

  Her insides did the dance of ‘I told you so, Heather’.

  A central photograph of Verdi Salsa dominated the page and below that a headline. Except the Italian headline was incomplete. Several of the letters had been cut out.

  Heather’s hands trembled. Her right eye twitched, and she pressed two fingers to it.

  “Chef Dante,” she whispered.

  Facts crashed together in her mind.

  Dante had constantly spoken about Verdi, negatively for the most part. Hadn’t he said she’d once lived in the hotel? And he’d despised Gino. Despised him to the point where he’d possibly poisoned his food to make him ill.

  Heather placed the magazine on the counter and stepped back from it. Her tummy bubbled with nerves.

  “Chef Dante,” she said again, then snapped her mouth closed in case it magically summoned him somehow.

  She shook her arms out.

  Chef Dante had been the killer. That was the only answer. He’d discredited Gia, he’d hated Gino, and he’d acted strangled about Verdi, and now this.

  A crime of passion?

  Had Chef Dante been infatuated with Verdi Salsa to this point?

  “Get yourself together,” Heather whispered. In spite of the magazine, the clippings and the threats, this wasn’t enough evidence to convict him, even though her sleuth instincts jabbed the truth at her constantly.

&nbs
p; Heather turned and walked down the length of the kitchen.

  She stopped in front of Dante’s secret room. The answers, if there were any, would lie behind it. If she could just get a tiny bit of evidence, anything, she’d have enough to call the cops.

  Maybe she’d even find a hate shrine for Verdi, like the one Gary Larkin had built for her.

  Heather tried to the door handle. No luck. Chef Dante had locked up tight.

  “Another day, another door,” she said, to herself. This was her other talent. Breaking down doors. First Gary Larkin’s hate shrine door, then Lori Lisalot’s hotel door, and now this.

  She’d have to get a chiropractor at this rate.

  Heather stretched her neck, cracked her knuckles. “Here we go again.”

  She ran at the door and hit it with her left side.

  There was a terrific crack, and the wood around the lock splintered. The door bounded inwards and slammed into the opposite wall, then stayed there.

  Chef Dante had certainly lied. This room didn’t contain a single secret savory ingredient unless he planned on putting women’s underwear in the evening soup.

  Lingerie, pictures of Verdi, a small nest-like blanket, letters and newspaper clippings were strewn around the room. And in the center of it all, against the wall on a shelf, sat a rolling pin.

  A massive granite rolling pin.

  Heather swallowed involuntarily and shuffled towards it. She didn’t dare touch it, but leaned forward and examined the surface.

  Yup, there was blood on there.

  This was like a repeat of the Gary Larkin affair, except Chef Dante had done it in his own unique style, and judging by the women’s clothing because he’d been in love with Verdi.

  Heather’s mouth went dry. She’d seen enough blood for a lifetime, even though they were only tiny dots, and she’d certainly had enough of secret shrine rooms.

  But this, oh yes, this was enough evidence to get the cops down here to arrest the sleazebag chef who had taken a life.

  Heather turned and marched out of the room. She strode out of the kitchen and down the hall, straight to the receptionist at the desk. This time, it wasn’t the poor old man, but a young and enthusiastic lady, with dyed purple hair.

  “How can I help you, signora?”

  “Get on the phone with the police, please. Have them put you through to Inspector Matteo Ajello.”

  “Jelly?”

  “No, Ajello,” Heather said. “Tell them that I’ve found the murder weapon in the Gino Ginelli case.”

  The receptionist blinked a few times. She didn’t move.

  “Now, would be a good time to do that,” Heather replied, glancing back to the hall. If Chef Dante got up now… No, he couldn’t run. There was too much evidence and he definitely wouldn’t have time to hide all of it before the police came. “Please?”

  The receptionist fumbled the phone out of its cradle and dialed the number. She spoke in Italian, in hushed tones, then hung up. “They’re on their way, Signora.”

  “Good,” Heather replied, and set her teeth. “Could you call up to the honeymoon suite and ask my husband to meet me downstairs too? I have a feeling he’s going to want to see this.”

  The receptionist didn’t hesitate to comply, this time around.

  Chapter 17

  “What’s going on?” Ryan asked, hurrying into the lobby. He’d thrown on one of the fluffy hotel robes, and it flapped around his ankles.

  Heather pointed to the line of police streaming through the entrance. She’d spoken to Inspector Ajello moments before, and they had cordoned off the kitchen as a crime scene.

  “Did you know that Chef Dante lived in the hotel?” Heather asked.

  “No, I didn’t, but what’s that got to do with anything?” Ryan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and blinked. “Wait a second, you’re not saying that he did it.”

  “Yes, I am. I found the murder weapon in the kitchen. They’ve gone upstairs to apprehend him right now,” Heather replied.

  Ryan was quiet for a few minutes, but then he let out a wry chuckle. “Heather does it again. You just can’t resist solving crimes.”

  “I didn’t even mean to solve this one. It all just came crashing into my lap.” Heather explained what’d happened in the kitchen, the magazine, the clippings and the rolling pin.

  Ryan listened impassively, using his practiced impartial police expression.

  A commotion interrupted their discussion. Yelling in Italian and the stomping of feet.

  Inspector Ajello strode through the lobby a couple of minutes later, with Chef Dante in tow, his arms cuffed behind his back. Dante spotted her and hissed. “You! You just couldn’t keep out of my business. I’ll get you for this. Do you hear me, Heather Shepherd? I’ll get you for this.”

  He howled it all the way to the door of the hotel, and out into the street, where a police boat waited in the canal.

  Heather shuddered. Luckily, Dante wouldn’t have the opportunity to get her back, because their flight left for Hillside, Texas first thing in the morning.

  “I’m glad that’s over with,” Heather said.

  “Yeah, now come on upstairs. We need our rest if we’re going to catch that flight tomorrow. You do still want to go home, right?”

  “That has to be a rhetorical question,” Heather replied, unable to stifle her laugh.

  She followed Ryan to the elevator, and they ascended to their floor and walked down the hall arm-in-arm. Her craving for Strawberry Crème Donuts was still firmly in place – at least she could fill up on those back in Donut Delights – but her need to solve the mystery was sated.

  At least for now.

  *

  Heather and Ryan carted their bags across the threshold of her house, both breathing as if they’d run several marathons.

  “That’s it for me and traveling for the foreseeable future,” Heather said. “I’ve had enough.”

  “Ah, just when I was about to whisk you off to Hawaii.” Ryan clicked his fingers and shook his head.

  “You’re kidding!”

  Ryan guffawed. “My dear wife, I am most definitely kidding.”

  They traipsed through to the kitchen together, yawning and chatting about the flight. Heather made them a pot of coffee, and they seated themselves in the living room, on her sofas.

  “You know what would really go well with this?” Ryan asked, gesturing with his coffee cup and averting his eyes whenever they landed on the still-packed bags in the entrance hall.

  “Donuts,” Heather replied, with a grin. “I was just about to call the bakery and ask Maricela to bring us a few, actually. What do you want?”

  “How about a couple of Strawberry Crème donuts? Or the Funfetti?” Ryan asked, sipping hot coffee from his mug.

  “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Heather grinned. Strawberry Crèmes it would be. Heather grabbed the receiver of her cordless phone and dialed the number for Donut Delights.

  The doorbell rang.

  Heather shuffled off the couch and walked through to the entrance hall, dodging bags, and still with the phone pressed to her ear.

  “Donut Delights, how may I help you?” Jung answered the phone.

  “Hey, it’s Heather.”

  “Boss!” Jung yelled. “It’s so good to have you back in town. What do you need?”

  The doorbell rang again, and Heather clicked her tongue. “Just a second, Jung.” She pressed the phone to her blouse and opened the door with her free hand.

  Amy grinned at her, holding out a Donut Delights box. Dave barked hysterically and bounded into the house, tail wagging like crazy. He ran circles around Heather’s ankles, licking and hopping.

  Heather laughed, then lifted the phone again. “Never mind, Jung. I’ll see everyone tomorrow.” She hung up and stuck the phone on the table nearby, then turned back to her bestie.

  Amy rushed inside and gave her a one-armed hug. “Finally! I missed you too much. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

/>   “My phone broke,” Heather sighed. “And the new one hadn’t even charged fully before we decided to head back.”

  “Why did you come back so early?” Amy asked.

  Heather picked Dave up and snuggled him against her chest. He gave her a juicy and exceptionally ‘Dave’ lick on the nose. “Oh, it’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time,” Amy replied, and gestured with the box.

  Ryan peered around the corner. “Oh, heya Amy.”

  “Good day, Detective,” Amy replied. “I come bearing Dave and –”

  “Donuts,” Ryan said, his face lighting up with glee at the sight of the Donuts Delights box.

  “You know what they say about cops.” Amy shrugged.

  “Hey, that’s my joke.” Heather shut the door behind Amy, and they walked through to the living room together, Dave perched in the cradle of her arms like a king.

  “I hope Dave here wasn’t too much trouble?”

  “Oh no, apart from trying to break into my fridge and peeing on the carpets a few times, he was a wonder. Good company.” Amy scratched Dave’s furry ears.

  “So, what’s in the box?” Heather asked, and they all sat down on the sofas again.

  Amy positioned the Donuts Delights box on the coffee table and opened the lid.

  “Strawberry Crèmes. I hope that suits you?”

  “Oh yes,” Heather said, laughing harder than she should have. “Yes, that suits me just fine.”

  THE END

  A letter from the Author

  To each and every one of my Amazing readers: I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think by leaving a review!

  I’ll be releasing another installment in two weeks so to stay in the loop (and to get free books and other fancy stuff) Join my Book club.

  Stay Curious,

  Susan Gillard