Chocolate Peanut Brittle Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 45 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery)

by Gillard, Susan

  “What is it?” Amy asked.

  “Well, you know how we were saying there’s no such thing as coincidences?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How’s this for a non-coincidence?” Heather showed Ames the contents of the message.

  Background check on Steven Baron. Maricopa County, Arizona assault conviction from October 2016. Hasn’t checked in with his probation officer for two months. Works for – don’t overreact – works for Lyle Clarke as an unskilled laborer.

  “Lyle Clarke,” Heather said. “How many times is he going to crop up in one of our investigations?”

  “This doesn’t look good.”

  Heather didn’t ask whether Amy meant it didn’t look good for them or for Clarke. The pronounced lines on her face, the way she leaned back from the tablet and inhaled, all of it told Heather the story she didn’t want to hear.

  Ames was afraid of Lyle. And if Amy was afraid of the Mafioso then so were the rest of the citizens of Hillside. That or they worshipped him.

  This was more proof that Clarke drew in the convicts and felons. He folded them into his organization and used them at will. But had he used Baron to murder an old associate?

  There was only one way to find out.

  “No,” Amy said. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Tomorrow.” They’d interview him tomorrow.

  Chapter 13

  Lyle Clarke sat at the far end of his conference table, dressed in his custom made suit and wearing a grin which made Heather seethe on the inside. He knew he'd gotten to her with his letter the week before. He knew that sending James, his mole, to Donut Delights had set her off.

  And he knew why they were there. The man had eyes and ears everywhere and it made Heather itch. "Mr. Clarke," she said. "Thank you for meeting with us this morning." She'd determined that she'd remain calm and polite.

  Civility would disarm him. He'd expect her to rage at him after all the hints he'd dropped over the past two weeks.

  Lyle didn't falter, though. "I would say it's a pleasure." He left the sentence hanging. "What do you need?"

  "I'd like to talk to you about one of your employees," Heather said. "A man by the name of Steven Baron. Is it true that he's in your employ?"

  "Probably. I have a lot of new kids working with me."

  Heather hadn't mentioned his age. "Kids," she said. "Funny you should use that word. Hold on a sec, I have a picture of him for you." She held out her palm.

  Amy removed the mugshot Ryan had printed at the station from between the lips of her brown folder and slid it across the table. It stopped way short of Lyle's position. All three of them stared at it.

  Heather cleared her throat. "Well."

  "I'll get it," Amy said. "Wouldn't want his royal highness to crease his suit." She had the sense to mutter the last sentence but Heather could've sworn Lyle's grin meant he'd heard it.

  Amy fetched the mugshot and placed it on the table in front of the highness in question. Lyle didn't move a muscle. He didn't even look at it. "What about him?" He asked.

  Amy trudged back to their side of the table, grumbling under her breath. She sat down and whispered, "Well, that wasn't a wasted effort."

  "You know him," Heather said. "He's one of your unskilled laborers, yes?"

  "That's correct. What about him?"

  "He's a suspect in an ongoing murder investigation," Heather said, and nodded to Amy again. "I believe you're acquainted with the victim, as well."

  Ames brought the next image out of the folder. This one wasn't as pleasant. It depicted Atticus Beyer after the murder. Ryan had selected the crime scene photo on purpose. He'd said it might jog Lyle's memory - or scare him. Heather doubted it. Clarke was a man who'd probably seen and done worse.

  Amy rose from her seat and shuffled down the table's length, holding the picture out. She didn't examine it too closely. They'd both gotten a glimpse and it'd been enough for both of them. Heather wasn't as squeamish as she'd once been but she certainly didn't relish examining violent images.

  Amy showed that one to Lyle and this time he did look. His eyes flashed, an undiscernible emotion but still a reaction, nonetheless. "Atticus," he said. "Atticus Beyer."

  "That's correct."

  Amy brought both pictures back with her this time. "Do I need to remain standing for the rest of this?" She asked, and sat down anyway. She tucked the evidence back into the dossier, then clamped it to her chest.

  "You were well acquainted with him, I believe. Acted as his mentor when you lived in New York?"

  "That's right," Lyle said. "He was a good guy. It's a pity this happened to him."

  Pity wasn't the term she would've used. Tragedy, more like. "When last had you spoken to Atticus?"

  "Oh, it must've been about two months ago."

  "You don't seem shocked that he was in Hillside," Heather said, and narrowed her eyes. "Why is that?"

  "Well, Mrs. Shepherd." He hissed her name. "Atticus emailed me a few months ago to let me know he would come down and see me in Hillside. I was aware he'd arrived but didn't meet with him after."

  "Why not?"

  "Mr. Beyer wanted to enter into a deal with my company. He was interested in a partnership and I was not," Lyle said. "He didn't take it well and cut off communications with me."

  "And you didn't see him after that?" Heather asked.

  "No. I did try calling him once to mend the relationship. I'm a firm believer in leaving bridges unburned," Clarke replied. "But he didn't take my call and I left it at that."

  Heather didn't have time to mull this over, yet. She desperately wanted to force puzzle pieces into place here, but no amount of shoving would do the trick. The pieces didn't fit and that was the problem.

  Why had Atticus had a wad of hundred dollar bills in his back pocket? What did that have to do with the murder or Steven Baron for that matter?

  "Do you have any more questions for me?" Lyle asked.

  "Where can we find Steven Baron?" Heather asked.

  "Oh, he'll be somewhere on one of the sites," Lyle said. "Probably at the old florist's spot. We're renovating it, now." He gave her a sharkish grin.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. That case remained unsolved in her mind, even though the killer had confessed. Heather couldn't shake the feeling that Clarke had been involved. He'd benefitted from the death of the previous owner, after all.

  Heather steeled herself for the next bit. Ryan had warned her against asking certain questions of Mr. Clarke but she held the firm belief that nobody was above the law. Especially not Clarke and all his cronies.

  "Mr. Clarke," she said. "Where were you on Monday morning at around 9am?"

  Lyle's lips writhed. They peeled back over his too white teeth. "Oh, Mrs. Shepherd," he said, "I don't think you'll ever learn."

  "Pardon me?"

  "Exactly," he replied. "Pardon you. You're free to leave, now."

  "I haven't finished asking my questions," Heather said, and with not a hint of defensiveness. Okay, maybe her pitch had spiked there, but only because she had to put up with commands from this criminal.

  "I think you'll find you are done," Lyle said. "I won't answer questions about my whereabouts because there's no reason for me to be a suspect in this case. And I've give you all the information I have about Atticus Beyer and one of my employees. We're all out of time." It came out jolly, like Santa Claus handing out presents or stuffing stockings.

  "If I ask for an alibi you need to provide one," Heather said. "I'm working with the police department. Are you suggesting you're above the law?"

  "Heather." Amy kept her voice to a whisper but the warning was clear.

  "Listen to your friend, Mrs. Shepherd." Clarke rose from his seat and straightened his suit jacket. "When you're in my building you live by my law."

  Heather stood too. "There's only one law in this state, Mr. Clarke. I suggest you abide by it. Good day to you."

  Chapter 14

  Heather sat on the sof
a in her living room, the only light from the TV screen up front which played one of her favorite documentaries on the Blue Whale. Eva and Leila slept on their blow up mattress, side by side. They'd fallen asleep shortly after the documentary began, though they'd been all gung ho to watch it in the beginning.

  Lils had gone upstairs to sleep - school in the morning - and Amy had dropped off on the sofa opposite, Cupcake curled up in her lap. Dave twitched beside Heather and whined.

  "Hush you," she whispered. "You'll wake the others." She stroked the furry section behind his left ear. She'd wanted to stay up for Ryan, who'd be home past 12, but a yawn rocked her on the spot.

  Oh heavens, the chat about Clarke and her suspicions would have to wait until morning.

  She rose from the sofa, picked past the blow up mattress, then clicked off the TV on its power button - Amy had fallen asleep with the remote. She paused for a moment in the living room doorway and smiled at the three women snoring away.

  She'd thought having this many people in her home would've made it crowded but it felt right. Busy and full. She couldn't picture herself living here alone, anymore, though she'd done it for years.

  It was amazing how much things could change in such a short span of time. Dave barked and hopped off the sofa. He padded into the hall and halted in front of the front door.

  "What is it, Davey?" Heather asked, and followed him. "Is Ryan home?"

  Dave whined and scratched at the base of the door, tail ramrod straight.

  "Dave?" Heather bent over next to her pooch and frowned. "What's wrong?"

  A strange smell drifted under the crack beneath the door, carried by the mild breeze the weatherman had promised them on the evening news. It smelled like... "Smoke?"

  Dave barked again to confirm the deduction.

  But no, it wasn't cigarette smoke. It was something worse, bigger. "Oh heavens," Heather whispered. What if someone's house was on fire? She swept up her cell from the entrance hall table, ignore her reflection in the mirror, then typed in the code on their alarm pad.

  It disarmed and she jammed back the latch, unhooked the chain, went through all the other motions with the locks, then, finally, slipped out onto the porch. The view from between the columns took her breath away.

  A thick wedge of smoke poured into the night sky, illuminated by the orange haze of street lamps, or no, it was from an actual fire. A burning, crackling fire in the distance. She did the mental measurements and horror thumped against the inside of her chest.

  "No, no, no, that can't be," she said. "I must be wrong."

  Dave barked again, louder this time. A siren went off nearby, the wail which had always reminded Heather of a crying child since she'd been one herself. Her earliest memory had been of her Aunt going into labor and Grandma calling the ambulance.

  Except this wasn't an ambulance. The siren was more serious, somehow. A deeper wail followed by a baritone toot.

  A firetruck blew by the house, red lights flashing, followed by two police cars and that ambulance she'd heard. Goosebumps rose on Heather's forearms. Dave absolutely lost his mind from the excitement.

  "What's going on?" Leila stumbled out onto the porch, rubbing both eyes with her knuckles. Eva followed on her heels and bumped into her.

  "Fire," Heather said.

  "Oh that's horrible." Eva stepped around Leila and interlaced her fingers under her chin. "I hope no one was hurt."

  "I don't think so," Heather said.

  "What? Why?"

  Amy came out next, tugging at her blue and white striped PJs. "People are trying to sleep," she said, but stopped at the sight of the black column and the orange-red glow beneath it. "Fire? But that's in the direction of -" Her cheeks went pale. "Heather?"

  "I don't know, yet." Her phone buzzed and she lifted it. Ryan's name flashed on the screen. Perhaps she did know. "Shepherd," she said.

  "Where are you?" Ryan asked.

  "I'm on the porch with everyone. Except for Lilly. She's sleeping upstairs."

  "Mom?" Lils wandered out onto the porch and Amy drew her into a one arm hug and whispered something.

  "Scratch that," she said. "We're all here looking out at a cloud of smoke. You want to tell me what's going on?"

  "Try to keep everyone calm there, okay. And don't let them leave."

  "Who?"

  "Leila and Eva," Ryan said. "Their house is on fire."

  Heather squeezed her eyes closed and tried shutting that little truth out. It didn't work and she opened them again to the view of Eva's home dissolving into ash on the wind. "How?"

  "We'll have to find out. Get an inspector over here once they've killed the blaze." A siren screamed in the background and Ryan cut out for a second. Yells followed that. “- to go."

  "Pardon?"

  "I have to go," he said. "I'll be home soon to talk about this."

  "All right," Heather said. "Be safe." She hung up and delayed the inevitable, choosing to track the column of smoke which dissipated into the night. She'd have to tell Eva what'd happened. Hopefully, they killed the blaze before it got any worse.

  "Heather, dear? What did Ryan say?" Eva asked.

  "Let's go inside and talk."

  Chapter 15

  Heather had left Amy with the two older women at Donut Delights to get their sugar fix. She’d brought a box of Chocolate Peanut Brittle Donuts with her but the sight of Eva’s home, now a smoldering mess with cracked, black windows, hanging gutters and a missing front door, squelched her appetite.

  Not so for Ryan. He tucked into one of the donuts, perched atop the hood of his cruiser.

  “And?” Heather took a sip of her coffee instead, and burned her lip through the tiny hole in the plastic lid. She pressed her thumb to her lip and frowned. “Ryan?”

  “The inspector will be out in a moment. After that, our next team is going in,” he said. “I told you, love, you don’t need to be here for this. Although, I do appreciate the snacks.”

  He was wrong about that – she did need to be here for this. Eva’s home had burned, thankfully not razed to the ground, but bad enough that it would take a lot of money to repair the fire and water damage. A whole section of the roof had caved in.

  “What’s the next team?” Heather asked.

  “Forensics,” he said, and pointed to the men and women outfitted in plastic booties and caps, milling around behind the nearby truck. They held silver suitcases or texted on their phones. “They’re going to sweep for any and all clues. Most of the right half, the living room, kitchen and so on, has retained its integrity. They’re going to sweep through from that point and work their way back to the fire damaged area.”

  “But you’re not sure it’s arson yet.”

  Ryan finished off his donut and brushed crumbs from his pants. “I don’t care what the inspector says.” He hopped off the hood. “There’s no way this house burned down of its own accord. We’re checking this out.”

  “Good,” Heather said.

  The inspector, a man in a suit with a clipboard, tromped out of the house, over the broken remains of the front door and down the stairs. He stopped on the grass, wiped off the soles of his shoes and examined the notes on his clipboard.

  “You heard about the interview, I assume?” Heather hadn’t spoken to him about Clarke since yesterday. He’d arrived home covered in soot and exhausted.

  “You know it. He gave Cap another call this morning. Threatened him at length,” Ryan said, and actually smirked. “But the Cap told us to keep doing what we’re doing. He’ll do his best to placate the guy while we investigate.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool.”

  “None of us like him, Heather. We know he’s no good, we just can’t prove it.” Ryan shrugged. “And unfortunately, we have to prove it. We can’t arrest him on a whim.”

  “Heads up,” Heather said.

  The inspector had finished with his clipboard and set out for them. He stopped in front of the cruiser and eyed Heather. “Who’s this?” He asked, in
father time’s voice.

  “She’s an investigative consultant directly involved with the case.”

  Heather closed the lid of the donut box. She’d have offered the inspector one but he’d just lost his chance with that derogatory onceover.

  “What have you found?” Ryan asked.

  “It’s arson,” the inspector replied. He tapped the metal clip on the board. “The fire originated in the first bedroom. Gasoline, from what I can tell. I’ll send you my full report when I get back to the office.”

  “Gasoline,” Heather said, and formed fists. The murderer had come back to get rid of the evidence. Or someone else had decided it was time to take matters into their own hands.

  “That’s right,” the inspector said, and checked his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He waddled off without waiting for that pardon.

  The team of forensic experts had already filed into the house. All they had to do was sit and wait for a result. Heather leaned against the cruiser and sighed. Ryan munched through a second donut, periodically licking his fingers.

  The sun edged across the sky.

  “You don’t have to stay, hon. I can call you once we know something,” Ryan said, and fanned himself with his police hat.

  “No, I want to be here. I told you. This is Eva and Leila. It wouldn’t be right to leave now.”

  “I – oh, here comes Lucy.”

  One of the women hurried down the front stairs and across the lawn. Heather’s heart skipped a beat. What had they found? Was it important?

  Lucy halted in front of Ryan and caught her breath. “Hot out here,” she said, and removed her latex gloves. They didn’t snap so much as produce a wet fwap. “We found something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Fingerprint on the door jamb leading into the hall outside the bedroom. It’s a long shot, it could be from one of the women who live here, but it’s something.”

  “Brilliant,” Ryan said. “Brilliant work. How soon can we get the comparison done?”

  “I’ll expedite it. By tomorrow if we push? I’m not making any promises, though.”