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

  “You know, soybeans are less stinky and just as protein-packed.”

  Heather waggled a finger at her bestie. “No health talk now, woman. We’ve got a case to solve.”

  Charlie Buckle’s lips twitched upward, then settled in a straight line. He placed his container on the bench beside him and dusted off his palms. “What is it you need?”

  “I know that you met with Junior just before his death. I have evidence of your argument in Geoff Lawless’ store.” Weeks had passed, and she still couldn’t bring herself to call it Delightful Donuts. Too much of a rip-off.

  “I – uh,” Charlie said, and stiffened against the bench. “My son refused to talk to me. I met with him because he had a competition to attend. Some gaming thing in Dallas. I just wanted to tell him that he could quit if he wanted. Find a real job. He didn’t take it well.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” Heather asked.

  Charlie shook his head and looked down at his hands in his lap. “Because I thought it would make me look guilty. I was worried you’d believe I’d hurt my son. I – look, he was my boy,” Charlie said, and his voice cracked. “He was still my son. Maybe if I’d been more understanding, we could’ve had more time together. But now he’s gone.” Charlie cleared his throat and sniffed. “And I’ll never get to tell him that I was proud.”

  Amy wiped a tear from beneath her eye. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “Me. I’m the one who didn’t tell the truth. I could’ve helped you.”

  Heather swallowed the lump in her throat and set her mind to focus sleuthin’ mode again. “You still can help.”

  “How?”

  “Do you know anything, anything at all that might help us find out the truth?” Heather crossed her finger at her sides. It was a long shot.

  “No, well, no,” Charlie replied, then shook his head, his pocked brow wrinkled up. “Wait, he did leave me a strange message after our disagreement. I deleted it, but it was scratchy and weird.”

  “What did Junior say?” Heather asked, and her pulse quickened. The beat of her heart pounded against her chest.

  “He shouted something about a dog and bottles messing up his car.”

  “Bottles?”

  “Yeah. Let me think for a moment, little lady,” Charlie said and pressed his wrinkled hand to his forehead.

  Amy and Heather exchanged a glance.

  “That’s it!” Charlie exclaimed. “My son yelled at a dog. He didn’t want his car messed up. Boy always had a passion for cars.” The old man puffed out his chest and thumbed himself. “He got that from me.”

  Amy deflated. “I don’t get it.”

  Heather paced back and forth in front of the bench. All suspicions she’d had with regards to Charlie Buckle had dissipated.

  No, now the focus lay on two suspects alone. Davidson and Francesca.

  “Dog,” Heather said. “That Chihuahua. Lucy. She would’ve been in the house at the time.”

  “And the bottles?” Amy asked.

  Heather’s insides twisted, a rock hard lump dropped through her core. “Antifreeze,” she said.

  Then she turned and jogged out of the park. Amy sprinted after her. “What? Where are you going?”

  Heather didn’t meet her friend’s gaze. The truth burned through her soul.

  “Doggy Days Training Center.”

  Chapter 16

  “Wait one hot second,” the woman said, and crossed her arms across her chest. The keys to the locker room jangled in her left hand. “You tellin’ me I got a potential murderer on my staff?”

  “You don’t read the papers much, do you?” Amy asked.

  Heather nudged her in the ribs and met Marlene’s gaze. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that seems to be the case.”

  Marlene, the owner at Doggy Days Training Center, stood in the center of her office. Pictures of dogs in frames splattered in artsy paw prints lined the wall behind her. A massive bone shaped cushion peered out from the rungs of her office chair.

  “I gotta think about this,” Marlene said and scratched her chin. Her nails were clipped short but paint mauve.

  “Sure, you take your time. We’ll just sit down, and you know, read a dog magazine while a murderer runs rampant through Hillside,” Amy replied, and strolled to a cushy armchair in the corner. “What are you gonna do right?”

  Marlene paled and clasped the keys tighter. They jingled again. “A murderer. You really think –?”

  “Nope,” Amy said, and picked up her aforementioned doggy magazine. A bull terrier frolicked on the front page. “We make a habit of pulling pranks like this. I mean, we could be making caramel stuffed donuts right now, but this is way more fun. Way. More. Fun.”

  Heather couldn’t bring herself to stop her bestie’s sarcastic tirade. Marlene had made them wait to speak to her for twenty minutes and the urgency to find the evidence they needed had built to breaking point.

  “This is incredibly serious,” Heather said, evenly. “Marlene, I’m investigating this case as a consultant to the Hillside Police Department. Please feel free to call them and ask if you’re unsure.”

  Marlene’s eyes widened. “You’re with the police.”

  “No, like I said, just a prank,” Amy replied, then licked her thumb and flipped over a page in the magazine.

  “That’s correct, Marlene. I need access to the locker rooms, and to Francesca Charles’ locker. Can you do that for me?”

  Marlene placed her fist to her chest and stared at them for another second. “Sure,” she said, at last, then held out the keys.

  Heather took them from her. “Thank you. We’ll return these to you in a second.”

  “Oh, the fun’s over?” Amy asked. “But I just started a scintillating article on tick and flea removal in short-haired pets.”

  “You’d better hurry,” Marlene said. “Frankie’s shift starts in ten minutes. She’ll be here soon.”

  “Thank you,” Heather said, then made for the office door. Amy dropped her magazine and followed.

  They hurried out into the early afternoon and strode around the corner to the locker rooms. Dead quiet. Not a sound except the chirping of birds and a distant dog bark.

  “It’s so calm,” Amy said. “Yet, I am so freaked out. This is it, isn’t it?” Amy puffed out her cheeks and blew a raspberry. “My name will finally be cleared.”

  “Like you were even worried,” Heather replied, and inserted the key into the lock. She turned it, and the door clicked, then swung inward.

  “Not with you on the case.”

  They entered the locker room and the drip of a tap accompanied their muted footsteps. Heather switched on the fluorescent lights, then narrowed her eyes and scanned the lockers.

  “Split up?” Amy asked.

  “Double time.” They hurried to opposite ends of the room and worked their way down the row of lockers. There weren’t too many employees, but some of the solid metal compartments had labels for training toys or treats or the like.

  “Here,” Amy called out from the end of the room. “It’s got her name on it. Bring the keys, quick.”

  Heather darted to her bestie’s side, then fumbled the keys to the lock. She opened it, and it dropped to the tiles.

  “Oh boy,” Amy said.

  Heather swung the metal door outward and stared into the depths of Frankie’s locker.

  “Bingo,” she breathed.

  A bottle of antifreeze sat on the top shelf; few spare clothes piled up behind it.

  “That’s it?” Amy asked, and reached for the bottle.

  Heather swatted her hand down. “Not touchy, Ames. We need to get Ryan and the other good officers of Hillside down here to –”

  Footsteps scraped on the gravel and dirt outside the locker room.

  Amy’s eyes went donut hole sized. “She’s here,” she whispered. “What do we do?”

  “Relax,” Heather said.

  “Hide!” Amy dove for the corner and ran st
raight into the open locker door. It bent and clanged. The woman rebounded and landed on the tiles.

  “Very effective,” Heather said, then reached out and nudged Francesca’s locker closed with her elbow.

  Amy groaned and gripped her head in both hands. “Epic fail,” she whimpered. “I think I broke something.”

  Heather offered Amy a hand, then heaved her bestie to her feet. “I highly doubt –”

  “What are you doing?” Francesca Charles stood at the end of the locker room, her back to the door. Detective Davidson stepped up beside her. “Get away from there!”

  Heather met Frankie’s gaze, then leaned calmly against the woman’s locker. She placed her foot on the padlock and folded her arms. “I don’t think so, Francesca.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Davidson asked, and gritted his teeth.

  Heather narrowed her eyes at him, then focused on the murder instead. “I think Frankie can explain.”

  Chapter 17

  “Frankie?” Davidson turned to his girlfriend, and a frown crept across his forehead. A flicker of uncertainty. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh please,” Amy said. “You know exactly what’s going on. We spoke to you about it. Frankie’s the murderer. She killed Junior.” Amy pressed her hand to her forehead again and grumbled.

  Heather leaned casually but whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Ames, send Ryan a message and tell him to come down here. Sign it from me.”

  Amy backed off a few steps and sat down on the bench in the center of the room. She brought out her cell and swiped her finger across the screen to open it.

  Heather focused on Francesca again.

  The beautiful young woman twisted her hair around her two front fingers. She stared up at Davidson and gulped. “It’s nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  Lucy, the Chihuahua, barked at her ankles and worried the end of her diamante leash.

  “It’s not nothing,” Heather replied, then shifted her focus to the ex-cop. “I found the murder weapon in Frankie’s locker. She killed Junior Buckle.”

  Francesca took a step toward Heather, her gaze fired daggers, then paused and glanced back at Davidson. “It’s not true.”

  “There’s no use lying, Francesca,” Heather replied, and reached into the back pocket of her jeans. She’d had the forethought to bring her Taser this time. She clasped it, then let go and swung her arms at her sides.

  Frankie glared at her and folded her arms. “Fine. You want the truth?”

  “Yeah, that would be a good start. Honestly, I want to understand why you did it. That’s the only question left unanswered, to my mind.”

  “Ha,” Frankie said, then gave a sick laugh. Her gaze darkened, but she didn’t tear it from Heather’s. “You would’ve done it too if you’d gone through what I did.”

  Davidson’s alarm radiated from his every pore. Oh, this would look terrible on his resume, for sure. Fraternizing with a murderer would mar his already imperfect record.

  “Did he abuse you?” Heather asked.

  “Not physically, no,” Frankie said, and raised her chin. Her hooked nose obscured her stare and she lowered her head again. “But that’s not the only type of abuse.”

  “So verbally, then.”

  “No,” Frankie snapped. “Fine, he didn’t abuse me. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Heather ran her hand over her hair, then rested it on the side of her neck. “Then why did –”

  “Because that was the point!” Francesca yelled.

  Amy jumped and juggled the phone in her grip. She caught it before it fell, sighed in relief and returned to her mission.

  “He didn’t do anything, that’s the point.” Frankie dropped Lucy’s leash and marched forward two steps. She pounded her finger into the palm of her opposite hand. “Nothing! All day long he sat in front of that stupid computer, playing that stupid game and ignoring me.”

  Heather swallowed and reached back for her Taser. She clasped the cold plastic through the fabric of her jeans.

  “And you didn’t like being ignored?” Heather asked.

  “It’s not like that,” Frankie hissed, and wagged her hands in front of her. “I’m not some attention seeking person, but I have my limits, okay? He didn’t celebrate our anniversary with me because of his game. He didn’t buy me anything for Valentine ’s Day. He got angry about doing the washing up. Everything was a chore except for that dumb game. I got tired of it, wouldn’t you?”

  Heather inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Why didn’t you just leave him?”

  “Oh, I did. I threatened. I begged. I pleaded. I had an affair and told him about. Nothing made him care. Except, of course, that stupid competition. He had the chance to win thousands of dollars playing World of Warcraft.”

  “And you wanted the money,” Heather said.

  Davidson moved to block the exit and a thrill of fear travelled up Heather’s spine. What was he up to?

  “I didn’t want the money. I have enough money,” Francesca replied. “No, this was about respect and dignity and – gosh, you know what? I just didn’t want him to be happy.”

  Amy coughed and slipped her phone back into her pocket. She glanced up at Heather and winked. That could only mean one thing: help was on the way.

  Heather shifted her position against Frankie’s locker.

  “He was so excited about this darn competition, convention thing. Like, it made him so happy. He thought he’d win at it. Be the ‘elite’ gamer or whatever it’s called. And I didn’t want him to have that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he sucked the happiness out of my life for years!” Frankie roared.

  Amy jumped again then pulled a face.

  “I did everything for him. I made sure there was food on the table. I made the money and supported his gaming addiction. I paid the bills! I got him that stupid upgrade on that stupid computer and he couldn’t take off one day to spend time talking to me about anything!”

  “I –”

  “I tell him that I’m getting a promotion at work and he screams at me because I’m interrupting his game time in a dungeon thing or whatever it’s called.” Frankie stopped and caught her breath.

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I just couldn’t sink with him anymore,” she said. “And I wanted to make him feel pain.” Frankie’s eyes opened. “So much pain.”

  “Well,” Amy said. “This has been an education in psycho, but I believe I hear a few sirens in the distance.” She cupped her hand to her ear and leaned right. “Oh yeah, the cops are on their way.”

  “No,” Frankie said, and pressed her palms outward. “I can’t go to prison. I’m not cut out for it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not your choice,” Heather replied. She tugged her Taser-free and clicked off the safety, then brought it out in front of her. “You broke the law, Francesca, and that has consequences.”

  “No,” Frankie said. “He deserved what he got. He guzzled down that stupid malt milkshake like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. Okay? I’m not going anywhere.” She backed up and bounced off Davidson’s chest.

  Francesca turned on the spot and wrung her hands in front of the ex-detective. “Please, let me through, hon. I have to get out of here. For us.”

  “You never told me about this, Francesca,” Davidson said, coolly. “You didn’t say a darn word.”

  “I couldn’t. I had to do what was best for us and –”

  “You thought this was what was best for us?” Davidson shook his head and buried his face in his palm. “I can’t believe it.”

  Heather’s heart pounded against the inside of her chest. Ryan had better get here soon – Davidson might let the woman go out of some misplaced sympathy.

  “Come on, Davey,” Francesca said. “We’ll run away together.”

  “Davey?” Amy asked. “Gag.”

  Davidson didn’t shift his gaze from Francesca’s face. He sighed
, at last, then looked up at Heather. “We might have our differences, Shepherd, but I am still an officer of the law.”

  “What? What does that mean?” Frankie asked, and batted her eyelashes.

  “It means I can’t let you leave this room,” Davidson replied.

  Heather let out a long, low sigh and slipped her Taser back into her pocket.

  Chapter 18

  The last remnants of afternoon sunshine filtered between the filmy curtains in Heather’s living room and played across the donuts on the coffee table. Takeaway cups filled with chocolate milkshake sat beside the caramel glazed treats.

  “Everyone, help yourselves. We’re here to talk business, but we’re also here to congratulate ourselves on a job well done,” Heather said and smiled around the room.

  Angelica and Maricela didn’t need to be asked twice, and Lilly already had a milkshake in one hand and a donut in the other. Caramel smeared her lips, and she grinned at Heather.

  The tension from a few nights ago had disappeared.

  “Heather, what’s going to happen now that the renovations have moved into our side of Donut Delights?” Ken asked.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about,” Heather replied, “We aren’t going to be able to fill online orders in the store next week. And we can’t exactly bake from a kitchen that hasn’t been inspected.”

  “Unless it’s to eat them ourselves,” Jung said and gestured with a donut.

  “So, we don’t have much of a choice here. We’re going to have to take a week off making orders in general. I need a notice put up on site,” Heather replied.

  “I can take care of that.” Jung munched on his donut, then groaned. “Oh boy, I have some kinda self-control. It’s a wonder I don’t eat all the donuts we make.”

  “If you did, you’d be the size of a house,” Lilly said and giggled in between slurps on the end of her straw.

  “Right, that’s settled then. Now, everyone can relax and celebrate another successful week at Donut Delights.” Heather’s confidence had solidified after the arrest of Francesca Charles.

  It freaked her out that Frankie hadn’t expressed any remorse about taking Junior’s life. She’d probably have done it again if she’d been given the chance, and that meant that she was a danger to Hillside.