Peppermint Glazed Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 28

by Susan Gillard

  Heather whipped out her notepad and pen. She scribbled Kiki’s name along the first line, then drew in a few question marks for good measure.

  “If anything happened to that parachute, it didn’t happen on the ground,” Joe replied. “What I don’t get is, why didn’t her reserve parachute deploy? The minute she ran into trouble, she would’ve tried that too.”

  “Both parachutes had been tampered with,” Ryan replied. “But it’s interesting you mention the K’s. The parachute Kiki had on did not have any sort of markings on it.”

  “I can’t explain that,” Joe Gankin replied, and scratched his nose.

  “Were you on the plane with Kiki?” Ryan asked.

  Heather poised her pen above the page.

  “Nope. I don’t go up there anymore. Back in the good old days, sure, but not anymore. I had an accident,” he replied.

  “A skydiving incident?” Heather asked.

  “No, I crashed my car,” Joe said. “It gave me a new respect for life.”

  Wow, so he’d happily let others skydive, but he wouldn’t? Interesting.

  “Who was on the plane with Kiki?” Ryan asked.

  “Well, there was her father, Henry Folger,” Gankin replied, and a muscle in his cheek twitched. “He piloted the plane. Then there was her mother, Helena. Real nice lady.”

  “Anyone else?” Ryan wrote notes too.

  “My top instructor, Vaughn, went up to oversee everything went smoothly,” Joe said.

  “But I thought you said this was an unassisted jump,” Heather put in.

  “Yeah, she didn’t have an instructor strapped to her back. This was supposed to be her first jump alone. Pulling her own cord,” Gankin said.

  Heather glanced at the empty coffee pot in the corner. She’d forgotten to down a cup on her way out of the store.

  “All right, so the instructor was up there. Anyone else?”

  “Yeah, Lollipop went with.”

  “Lollipop,” Heather said. “She took an animal up there?”

  “No ways. We don’t do that kind of thing,” Joe replied and put up his palms. “Not a chance. Lollipop is Kiki’s sister. Her real name is Laura Folger, but she’s sweet as sugar, so everybody calls her Lollipop.”

  “She skydived too?” Heather asked.

  “No, she doesn’t like it. She’s eighteen years old, anyway. I think she went along to give her sister moral support,” Mr. Gankin said. He squeaked around in his chair. “I don’t know much about what happened up there, but you’re welcome to take a look at the plane or wherever else you need.”

  Ryan nodded once. He probably already had a warrant for that.

  Joe Gankin wedged his bulk out of the chair and waddled to the filing cabinet in the corner. “I’ve got Kiki’s registration forms, and the same for Helena and Henry, if you need them,” he said.

  He whipped them out and plopped them on his desk.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gankin,” Ryan replied, and collected the evidence. “I think that will be all for now.”

  Chapter 4

  The rain stalled and pattered instead of poured, but the grass on the side of the long runway held moisture. Ryan and Heather slushed over it and onto the concrete, then strode toward the hanger at the far end.

  “It must take a lot of upkeep to maintain a business like this,” Heather said and lowered her voice.

  Wind swept past them and tugged at Heather’s hair in its bun.

  Ryan’s gaze remained focused on the hanger, and the grouping of officers in front of it. One of them grasped a yellow roll of tape and examined the end.

  “I mean, planes are high maintenance. And then there’s the skydiving equipment,” Heather whispered.

  “You think he was lax with his upkeep?” Ryan asked.

  “Maybe,” Heather replied. “But then he did say that Kiki checked her parachute herself. If there’d been anything wrong with it, I doubt she’d have gone through with the jump.”

  “Unless she was over eager,” Ryan said, then shook his head. “No, the damage to the cords on the parachute was obvious. There was no way anyone in their right mind would have gone up there and gone through with the jump after seeing that.”

  “No way it could’ve been damaged by the fall?” Heather asked.

  “No, they were cut,” Ryan said, and the certainty in his voice didn’t leave room for much doubt.

  Hoskins leaned out of the hangar and whistled at them. “You going to take all day? It’s cold. I want to get back to the station.”

  A few of the other officers grumbled under their breaths. They gave Heather dark looks, as usual. None of the cops in Hillside liked her, apart from Ryan, of course.

  “Ugh,” Heather muttered. “I hoped to start this week off nicely.”

  “Don’t worry about them, love. They’re just grumpy because you do their jobs better than them and you don’t wear a uniform while doing it.” Ryan smiled at her and warmth spread through her chest.

  Ryan halted in front of the unsinkable jelly-stained Hoskins and placed his fists on his hips. “What do we go?” He asked.

  Hoskins took a bite of his sandwich. “A plane,” he said, around a mouthful of PB&J.

  “Stop eating around the evidence,” Ryan said and flapped his hands at the other detective. “You should know better than that.”

  Hoskins rolled his eyes and wandered off to the other side of the entrance.

  Heather stepped under the arch and gasped. “Wow, this place is huge,” she said, and her voice echoed inside. The raindrops hit the tin roof, and the rush of water emulated an audience’s applause.

  A sleek machine with a single propeller on the front and orange stripes down the side sat in the center of the hangar.

  Heather stared at it, and it stared right back. “What is it?” She asked. “What make and model, I mean?”

  Ryan whipped his notepad out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. “A Cessna 208A, otherwise known as a Caravan,” he replied. “Seats twenty-one passengers.”

  “Weird,” Heather said. “Why would they take such a big plane up for four people?”

  “Maybe Gankin doesn’t have anything smaller,” Ryan replied. He walked to the side door of the plane and opened it. “Let’s take a look inside.” Ryan clambered into the plane, then turned and offered Heather a hand.

  She took it, and he heaved her up. Heather dusted off her jeans and scanned the cabin. “Wow,” she said. “It’s huge in here.”

  “Only the best for crazy folk who want to jump out of planes.”

  “Better not let Amy hear you say that,” Heather replied, and squished past her husband.

  “Oh please, she already knows she’s crazy.” He walked to the front and sat down in the pilot’s seat. He clicked and rattled through the cockpit, opened and closed things.

  Heather focused on the back of the plane. She could almost hear the roar of the engine and shut her eyes for a second to rid herself of the image. She was safe, on the ground, in the middle of an investigation.

  “So, they all sat in here on their way up. They had their parachutes, ready,” Heather said, to herself. She frowned at the seats. “But where did they put them? Surely, they didn’t keep them on their laps. That’d be uncomfortable.”

  “What did you say?” Ryan called out.

  “Do skydivers wear their parachutes on the way up?” Heather asked. “Or do they put them on when they’re on the plane?”

  “Yeah, they wear them on their backs, and they kneel on the way up,” he said. “But you know what, we should get an expert on this kind of thing down here. I feel like we might miss something because of it.”

  “I agree,” Heather said, then continued past the side door, where the jumpers would’ve exited the plane.

  She hit the back of the plane where several hooks lined the wall and frowned. “What’s this?” She whispered, and grasped one of them. She tugged it, and a door opened. “What on earth?”

  Ryan heaved himself out of the pilot’
s seat and hurried down the center of the cabin. “What is it?”

  “It’s like a secret compartment or something,” Heather said. The tiny door in the side of the plane opened a cupboard space, barely big enough for anything except… “A parachute.”

  The two pink K’s on its back stood out against the stark black fabric.

  “It’s the missing parachute,” Ryan said and leaned in. “This is a custom made compartment. Why is it even here?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve found our next clue. Someone convinced Kiki to take off her parachute and swap it for this one,” Heather said. “We just have to find out who. And why.”

  Chapter 5

  “Have a holly jolly Christmas,” Heather said and sang along to the Michael Buble song which tinkled through the speakers behind the counter in Donut Delights.

  “It’s weeks away,” Amy said and fiddled with a strip of tinsel from the box. She twirled the fluffy red decoration around her neck and did a little dance. “But I guess it’s never too soon to celebrate.”

  They probably wouldn’t get snow this year, but it didn’t matter. It was still Christmas, and the folks in Hillside knew how to celebrate it.

  Sharon Janis sat in the corner of the room, gossiping around a mouthful of Peppermint Glazed Donut. A Christmas hat sat askew atop her permed hairdo.

  Laughter trickled through the room. Eva Schneider paged through the newspaper in her favorite spot at the front of the store, and cold sunlight bathed the glass top of her table and highlighted the donut on her plate.

  Heather’s mind wandered to the dossier in her office, and she wriggled her nose.

  Christmas around the corner. Her birthday at the end of the week.

  And all she could really think about was poor Kiki Folger, who’d fallen to her death.

  Heather shuddered.

  “What’s the matter?” Amy asked, and picked up a string of lights. “Is it the skydiving?”

  “Let’s just say, I won’t be going on any long distance plane trips anytime soon,” she replied.

  “That bad?” Amy asked.

  Heather hopped off her stool and beckoned to Angelica. The young woman hurried over and touched her fingertip to a green and red ribbon pinned to her apron.

  “You like, boss? It’s for Christmas.”

  “It’s awesome,” Heather said and patted Ange on the shoulder. “Would you mind manning the front of the counter for a while? I’ve got some work to do in the office.”

  “No problem,” her assistant replied, and gave her a thumbs up. She immediately plunked down in the chair Heather had vacated.

  Heather hurried to her office door, then paused and glanced back at Ames. “Are you coming?”

  “Oh, what?” Amy turned in a circle, and the string of lights twisted around her torso. “I’ve become a human Christmas tree,” she said. “But yeah, sure.” She hobbled across the room, dragging lights across the golden boards.

  Heather tracked across her office and to her desk. The dossier sat beside her closed laptop, brown and insistent. The case file. Oh boy, this would be interesting.

  It was thicker than usual

  Heather eased herself into her high-backed swivel chair and grasped the armrests. How many times had she sat in this chair and pored over her laptop whether it was over evidence or donut orders?

  She’d planned her creations here and solved crimes here. Hopefully, that would never change.

  “Phew, I’m feeling a little nostalgic, today.”

  Amy bumped the door closed with her butt. “It’s only because of the Christmas music,” she replied and rattled the Christmas lights. “And possibly because you’re getting older every year.”

  “Such a comforting thought,” Heather replied, and flipped open the dossier.

  “You know what I mean,” Amy said, and shuffled to the desk, tinkling her lights with every step.

  “What’s this?” Heather asked, and lifted a flash drive. “Wow, this is exciting.” She scanned the notes on the page in front of her. “Oh my gosh, we actually have video surveillance from inside Just Jump It Skydiving.”

  Ames made her way around to Heather’s side and tugged at the lights strapped across her chest. “I’ll get these off, eventually. Thanks for offering to help.”

  “Hush,” Heather said, and flipped open the silver lid of her laptop. The computer hummed and took its usual eternity to start up.

  Amy spent the time untwisting the lights and grumbling under her breath.

  Finally, the screen sang its welcome, and Heather inserted the flash drive into the port.

  “Hasty,” Amy said and untangled the final row of lights. She dumped them on the floor, then dusted off her palms and hunched over beside Heather. “I wonder what it is.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Heather replied.

  The Autoplay appeared on the screen, and she clicked the Window Media Player button.

  The video opened on the screen. A black and white image of the reception area danced into view.

  “Who’s that?” Amy asked.

  “That is,” Heather said and grappled with her dossier. She slipped several photos out of the file. “The blonde girl is Kiki Folger.” Heather lifted the picture of the fresh-faced girl, and her heart panged for the loss.

  “And the brunette?” Amy asked and jabbed her finger to the screen.

  “Easy,” Heather said. “That’s Kiki’s sister. Laura. Lollipop.”

  “You’re kidding. Lollipop?” Amy asked.

  “I know. You can’t write this stuff,” Heather replied, and focused on the screen.

  The two women stood at opposite ends of the front desk. Joe Gankin sat behind it and brushed his palm across his baldpate.

  “He looks uncomfortable.”

  Heather bobbed her head up and down. “Uh-huh. And the women look on the verge of something.”

  Kiki stormed across the room and screeched at her sister.

  “No sound?” Amy asked.

  “I think they spent the money on the plane,” Heather replied, and didn’t shift her gaze.

  Kiki Folger didn’t take any prisoners in an argument. She drew her hand back and slapped her sister across the face. Laura grasped her cheek and stumbled back a step. Gankin lowered his head and didn’t say a word.

  “Weird,” Heather whispered.

  “What?”

  “Look at him, just sitting there. Kiki’s clearly lost control, and he doesn’t step in. What’s that about?” Heather paused the video and glanced up at her light-free friend. “And why did Kiki slap her sister in the first place. Was she provoked? Or was she just a bully?”

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Amy replied.

  Chapter 6

  “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” Amy sang and twirled in a circle behind the counter.

  The candy cane, peppermint flavored donuts jostled for attention beneath the down lights.

  “I’m going to know every lyric to every Christmas song by heart by next week,” her bestie said and eyed the treats beneath the glass. “Boy, you’re sure making it difficult to maintain a diet this year.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what that word means. What is this diet thing you speak of?” Heather asked, and checked her filigree watch. The swirls of silver and the pearl face sent her back to the night Ryan had given it to her.

  A warm blanket of comfort settled around her shoulders, but it slipped off a second later. “She’s late,” Heather said.

  “The suspect?” Amy asked, and lowered her voice a second too late.

  The table of kids and their moms turned and stared at her, half-eaten donuts clasped in their hands, or with coffee cups halfway to their mouths.

  Heather nudged her bestie in the ribs. “You’re so tactful. Yeah, the suspect,” she whispered.

  Laura Folger’s number had been on the top of the pile in the dossier. She’d phone immediately, and, surprisingly, the woman seemed more than happy to chat.
She’d even offered to come all the way down to Donut Delights.

  “Maybe she’s one of the helpful kinds,” Heather muttered.

  “What’s that now?” Amy asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just going senile.”

  The bell above the door to the store tinkled, and a gust of cool air swept through the interior and chased the warm coffee smells around. Heather shivered and stroked her arms.

  Laura Folger walked across the golden boards. Her sling-back heels clicked on them, just above the chatter in the room and Michael Buble’s sonorous crooning.

  Her silken brown hair flowed to her shoulders and rested on the fine knit cardigan. She halted in front of the counter and offered Heather a smile, which dripped confidence and not a hint of sorrow.

  “Miss Folger?” Heather asked.

  “Do you hear that?” Amy asked, and cupped her hand to her ear. “Trumpets just sounded.”

  “Please, call my Lollipop,” she replied.

  “I – uh, can we call you Laura instead?” Amy asked.

  Folger’s crystal-blue gaze danced to Heather’s bestie.

  “We spoke on the phone, Miss Folger,” Heather said and extended her hand across the counter. “I’m a private investigator. Heather Shepherd.”

  “I remember. It was only an hour ago,” she replied, and her too-sweet tone gave Heather a toothache.

  “Shall we sit down?” Heather asked, and gestured to a nearby table. “Or would you prefer to talk in my office.”

  “Here’s fine,” Laura replied and shrugged her shoulders. That silky hair bobbed in time with the movement.

  For an eighteen-year-old, Laura emitted a level of class Heather hadn’t expected. The girl’s calm demeanor spoke of wisdom. Old beyond her years. Or was it all an act?

  “I’ll bring you two some donuts,” Amy said and bent behind the counter.

  “None for me, thanks,” Laura said. “I’m on a no-carb diet.”

  “A no-carb diet?” Amy asked and blinked her mascara-laden lashes. “But you’ll die.”