"She was friends with Norma?" Heather whispered.
"Uh huh."
It flashed back to Heather - an image on that strange website's header. Two women side by side, one slight and blonde, the other red-haired and smiling. A friend. How come she didn't have information on this woman?
"Talk to her," Geoff said. "I don't mind. Will keep her busy while I'm with Dave."
Dave wagged his tail at the boutique owner. Heather left Lils and Amy with him and strolled to that steel table at the back, intrigue tugging her forward - a strange sensation behind her naval. Did Judy have something to do with it?
"Hi," Heather said and extended a hand. "I'm Heather Shepherd."
"Judy Walker." She gave Heather a single shake. Those were the kinds she preferred. Quick, sweet and to the point. No arm windmilling up and down. Heavens, that hurt. A lot of men preferred that tactic.
"It's lovely to meet you," Heather said. "Listen, I'll get straight to the point. I'm investigating the murder of Norma Young. I hear you were close with her."
Judy smoothed the fluff at her temples. "Norma. Poor Norma. Sorry, I'm not in great shape. I haven't slept well since I heard. You're an investigator?"
"Yes," Heather replied. "I'm working with the Hillside police department."
"How do I know you're not lying?"
Heather was stumped. In all her investigations she'd never had to present any form of identification, possibly because the locals knew her on sight or had at least heard of her and her work solving crimes.
"I - uh, you could call the station?"
Judy shook her head. "It's fine. I don't have anything interesting to tell you anyway. Norma was my friend a long time ago. We weren't friends when she passed. We hadn't spoken in years."
"Why did you stop talking?"
Judy shrugged. "People drift apart." She lifted the purse with its two puppies inside and slung it over her forearm. "You know, I think I'll come back another day. I don't have time to wait around for an appointment."
"I didn't mean to intrude."
But Judy didn't reply. She waved at Geoff on her way out the door and didn't look back. Heather added her to the mental list of suspects.
Chapter 7
"I should've thought of that," Ryan said and helped her around a rocky outcropping which jutted in the center of the aisle. Trailers and RVs surrounded them - the Best Fishin' Camp hadn't been this busy last week, but spring had arrived and the people had come for the fresh air and South Bosque fishing opportunities.
"It's no big deal. I should have thought of it too. Identification hasn't been a problem before. I guess I've been on autopilot these last few months."
"Me too," Ryan said. "So much work. Not that I'm complaining. I'll speak to the Cap about getting you some kind of ID. I think there's something they give to the forensics guys which might help you out."
"Thanks, hon. I appreciate that."
They hurried through the grass and scanned the little boards which poked out of the ground at the front of each lot. The owner of that disturbing tribute website had listed his address. A permanent location at the Best Fishin' Camp lot number 61, with the name Danny Turnbull.
"Here's 55," Ryan said, and pointed at the placard. "Almost there."
They trooped on in a comfortable silence and Heather listened to the sounds of the forest. A bird chirped and another swooped from tree to tree. The sibilance of wind through leaves and then a shriek of laughter from the nearest trailer. "I wish we lived closer to the water," Heather said.
"You know what we should do?" Ryan directed her toward number 61. "Go camping. We should take Lilly and the gang camping one of these days. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"If we can get time off from work."
"We could go on a weekend." He didn't sound that hopeful, though.
They stopped in front of number 61's cream trailer. Ryan rapped on the door.
Someone cried out inside and a pot clattered. "Just a minute. Shoot, ah heck. Just one minute, please."
"Everything okay in there?" Ryan asked.
"Yep." Another minute passed and finally, the latch clicked and a man in a robe appeared. His belly distended and tugged at the rope which held the wool closed. "Sorry. I just, uh, I just woke up." He scanned Ryan's uniform then switched to Heather. "You're police?"
"I'm Detective Shepherd and this is my investigative consultant, Heather," he said. "May we speak with you, Mr. Turnbull?"
"Sure, sure." He backed up, bare feet sticking on the linoleum. "Come on in. Excuse the mess. Like I said, I was sleeping."
Ryan helped Heather up the stairs then clambered in after her. They sat at the tiny fold down table, hip to hip, with Danny Turnbull across from them and boy, had he worked up a sheen of sweat in the interim.
He lifted the edge of his collar and wiped his face across the rough wool. "Hot isn't it?"
"Spring is here," Heather said.
"Not really," Ryan added, in the same moment.
"What can I help you with, detective?"
"You were acquainted with Norma Young. Is that correct?"
Danny didn't twitch. "Yeah. She was my girlfriend way back. In High School. Haven't spoken to her in years, though. She owns that store downtown, right? Beverages."
"That's right." He hadn't seen her in years yet he had recent photos of her up on the website. One of them had been taken with Pete Sampson.
"All right, I'll level with you," Danny said. "We weren't just dating. We were married. In high school. It's tough for me to talk about it. She was a gorgeous girl back then."
"Back then?"
Danny blushed. "She's put on a bit of weight."
Ryan cleared his throat. "Mr. Turnbull, you are aware that Norma was murdered, correct?"
"Yes."
Strange. Murdered but he had no problem discussing her weight and didn't blanch at the mention of her death. Heather kept her peace. Ryan had taken the wheel and he had a great sense of direction.
"Can you explain the website you set up in her honor prior to her death?" Ryan asked.
Now, Danny Turnbull blanched - a blank page in an unlined book. "No."
"Let me rephrase that," Ryan said. "Explain. Explain why you set up the website."
Danny ran his tongue over his dry lips. "Because I've always loved her and I never stopped. It didn't work out between us but she was the one for me. She didn't see that, though. She didn't see it last week either."
"You spoke to her last week?"
"Yes. I went to see her at the store. I brought her a bouquet of roses and she threw them out. I thought it was because she was still dating that Sampson guy. Have you seen him? Size of a friggin house."
"What did she say when she saw you?" Heather asked.
"Took the roses and tossed them in the trash, then screamed at me. Blue faced screamed at me to get out of her store. I've never seen her like that before. I don't know why she was so upset."
Maybe because he'd created a tribute page for her like she was a 90s rock band.
"And you didn't see her again after that?" Ryan asked.
"No. I know I said I hadn't seen her in years but last week was the only exception. I had to try one more time. I had to know whether it was really over or not."
"I think we're done here," Ryan said. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Turnbull. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions. Don't go anywhere."
"I won't. And yeah, if there's any way I can help with your investigation or whatever, just let me know."
Heather scooted out of the teensy seat and stood up. Her head banged into a cupboard overhead. "Ouch!" She grabbed her head and squinted at the offending object. "Oh, I knocked the knob skew." She grabbed it and twisted.
"Don't touch that!" Danny yelled.
Heather jumped at the noise and dragged the cupboard open a whit. A single piece of paper flitted out and landed on the table top. Except it wasn't a piece of paper. It was a picture of Norma Young in her store, holding Rodney. A picture
that had to have been taken in the last few days.
Ryan narrowed his eyes at Turnbull. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you a few more questions."
"I swear, it was just one time. I just wanted a picture of her. Just once!"
Chapter 8
Eva and Leila sat side by side at the table in front of the window in Donut Delights poring over a copy of the Hillside Reporter a piece. They turned pages and only took a break from reading to indulge in a bite of a Vanilla Cream or a sip of coffee.
"They're becoming more like each other every day," Amy said.
"Oh, I don't know. I think Leila's a bit zippier."
"Meaning she's light on her feet?"
Heather rolled her eyes. "No. She's more like you. A little bit crazy. I think that's why my grandmother liked her so much."
"Crazy. That's how you see me?" Amy asked, and forced the hurt into her tone.
"Oh come on. We're both a little crazy but you take the cake. Leila's like you in other ways too. My grandmother knew that when it came down to it, if things ever went sour or she had to bury a dead body, Leila would be there. That's how I feel about you."
Amy tugged the strings of her apron tighter and it cinched around her waist. "Except we're uncovering dead bodies instead of burying them."
"I think it's better this way, don't you?"
The bell above the door tinkled and Roadkill Rodney strode into the store. He made a beeline for the counter, rubbing his fingertips against each other and muttering under his breath. He whipped the cap off and scrunched it up.
"Everything okay, Rodney?" Heather asked.
"No," he said. "Not even a little bit. Am I suspect in this case, lady? Am I? I think I'd like to know if I'm a suspect."
"Everyone who was involved with Norma over the past few days is a suspect," she said. "But innocent until proven guilty. Did someone talk to you?"
"Some police officer named Hoskins came over to see me and asked me all these questions."
"What kinds of questions?" Amy pushed buttons on their coffee machine.
"Ones that made me uncomfortable. I don't like him and I don't want to think that I'm a suspect when I loved my Norma. I didn't get much time with her but I loved her. You seen that, right?"
"Rodney, it doesn't matter what I think. Evidence matters. You know that," Heather said. He had to after what'd happened to his friend Daphne in Key West.
"Evidence," he said, and put his cap on the counter. "All right, you want some evidence. Here's evidence." He produced a cell phone from his back pocket and showed it to them. "I've got emails from Norma, all on here, they tell how she felt in the last few weeks."
Heather frowned. They hadn't retrieved any emails from Norma's side. Had she deleted them? And if so, why? "What did she say?"
"She was afraid of her ex. She told me all about how afraid she was he was gonna get her. That he acted really strange and followed her around," he said.
"Which ex?"
"I dunno, she didn't mention him by name. I thought it was that guy at the warehouse. That huge guy," he said. "There's another ex?"
"It doesn't matter," Heather said. "Listen, Rodney, I need you to send me those emails, okay? It's really important for the case."
"All right, I'll do that." He relaxed a little and clicked the button on the side of the cell.
"Why didn't you have that the night you went to see Norma at the warehouse?" Heather asked. "The cell, I mean."
"Oh, I left it back in my apartment. I was so afraid something had happened to her I dropped it and ran out of there. Left my door wide open, too." Rodney wheezed out a laugh which faded almost instantly. Norma's death wasn't a laughing matter. He focused on the screen and tapped away. "There, I sent it."
Heather's email notification binged and she drew out the smartphone to take a look.
Hey Honey Bunny Boo,
I miss you so much even though we've never even met. I love you more than words can say. I've got something to tell you but I don't want you to be upset, okay? There's something bad happening over here. I still want you to come but I want you to be careful too. My ex has been threatening me. He cornered me today and demanded I take him back. Just don't get angry.
I think once you're here everything will fall into place.
Lots of love,
Sweetie Pie Poo
Heather forwarded the email thread to Ryan, then locked her screen and tucked the phone back into the front pocket of her apron. It didn't feel right to talk about the email to Rodney. No wonder he'd kept it to himself - these were the thoughts of lovers.
"Thank you for this," Heather said. "It's a lead."
"Find the murderer and put them away, Mrs. Shepherd. I can't sleep because of this." Rodney marched out of the store and once again, that despair followed him in the set of his shoulders and the length of his stride.
"Uh, Heather?"
"What is it?" She asked.
"It's time for our meeting in the park with Ryan," Ames said and ticked a finger on the glass of her watch. "Let's get a move on, sister."
Heather undid her apron and waved to Emily to take over. They spoke, though the words dissolved the minute they hit her ears. Which ex had Norma referred to? The crazy ex-husband or the hard-working ex-boyfriend?
Chapter 9
Judy Walker sat on the park bench and allowed her two pint-sized pooches to snuffle around at her feet. It had to be a nice change from entrapment in a designer bag, shuttled on errands all over Hillside.
“Miss Walker,” Ryan said and removed his badge from his pocket. He flipped up the leather along the fold and they glimpsed silver underneath. “Just in case there’s any complaint about identification.”
“Thank you,” Judy said. Her blond tufty hair was under control today, but rings darkened the skin under her eyes, shielded slightly by a liberal application of concealer.
“These two women are consultants to the Hillside Police Department,” he said. “You can answer any of their questions related to the murder of Norma Young.”
“I’d prefer to answer questions from a handsome police officer such as yourself,” Judy said and fluttered her lashes.
“My wife, Heather,” Ryan said, and laid a hand on her shoulder, “is in charge of interviewing friends and family. Does that suit you?”
Judy had the decency to look embarrassed. Ryan had been as tactful about that as possible without actually telling her to back off outright. Professionalism was key in any investigation.
“Miss Walker,” Heather said, “do you mind if I take a seat?” She’d blow right past the awkward flirting thing. The woman hadn’t known and she didn’t blame her for admiring Ryan. He was dapper in uniform.
“By all means.” Judy picked up one of her Chihuahuas and settled it in her lap. She stroked the soft fur which hung in front of its pointy little face, then twirled the excess into a ponytail and retrieved a bow clip from her purse. “Poor Fifi can’t see a thing under all this hair. There you are, girl.”
“Miss Walker, please tell me about your relationship with Norma Young.”
“Only if you stop calling me by my last name,” Judy replied. “It’s a sore reminder of the fact that I’m still single after all these years. It’s just me, Fifi, and Pablo.”
Amy snorted. “Sorry,” she said. “I just didn’t expect Pablo after Fifi.”
“Oh yes, he’s very masculine for a puppy his size. All bark and bite too. He nipped our mailman the other day. Gave him quite a scare.” Judy tittered as if it was the funniest thing in the world that the dog had fulfilled his stereotype.
Ryan remained a few feet from them, observing but adding nothing to the conversation. He’d remain in case Judy got antsy about talking to them instead of an officer. She didn’t seem that bad now that she’d calmed down about the identification thing.
Then again, Heather didn’t blame her. After all, they’d been through, she certainly wouldn’t trust anyone asking her questions and claiming to be an ally to the cops.<
br />
“Norma, you see,” Judy said, at last, “she was different. She was the woman who attracted men. They adored her. It was her personality. It certainly couldn’t have been her looks. You saw her, all pink-cheeked and chubby. Like a massive cherub without the wings.” Judy paused to pick up Pablo. “Actually, she had wings. She was lovely.”
“I thought you two lost touch?”
“We did. We had an argument a few years back. I was exceptionally jealous of her back then. We come from different walks of life, you see,” Judy said, cupping the snout of a pup in either palm. “I was from the right side of the tracks. Wealthy, beautiful, everything a man should’ve wanted and she was plain. Plain and pink-cheeked and ugh, I’ve called her pink-cheeked twice haven’t I? I think she had burst blood vessels from smiling at people too much. Friendly, sweet. Oh so lovable.”
Amy’s eyebrows jounced up with each adjective.
“Maybe that’s why I’m alone now. Because I was too bitter back then. I was so furious she drew them all in. We fought and I told her I never wanted to see her again,” she whispered. A single tear dangled from her a row of lashes, stiff and blackened with mascara.
Heather would have to blow past the drama of the moment too. “Did you speak to Norma in the last week?”
Amy was mesmerized by the tear. She watched it bobbled on the verge of splattering onto the tip of Pablo’s button nose.
“No,” Judy said. “And now I won’t have the chance to apologize for behaving like a total idiot.” The floodgates burst and tears flowed, washing away the first in the deluge. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can continue. Can we stop for now?”
“Yes, of course.” Heather rose and nodded to her husband. “Thank you for your time, Judy. We’ll talk again, soon.”
Amy got up too. She patted the woman’s back. “It’s better to be alone than to be with the wrong person.”
“What would you know about it?” Judy sniffled.
Ames didn’t answer, but Heather had witnessed her bestie’s broken heart more than once. If anyone had the authority to talk about failed relationships and loneliness it was Amy.
Vanilla Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 44 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery) Page 3