Kiwi Lime Surprise Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 40 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery)

by Susan Gillard

  “Call me Heather,” she said.

  “What can I help you with today?” Exotic Eric asked, and finally released her from the death grip. He ruffled his green fringe and waddled around to the other side of his counter. “You got an exotic animal you’re interested in selling? Or buying?”

  “You trade in animals?” Amy asked. “Don’t you need a license for that kind of thing?”

  “So, you want to see our pythons? I got an alligator out back.” Exotic Eric’s eyes shifted from side to side. Amy’s question had hit a nerve.

  Heather’s skin crawled. Each minute presented another wave of ‘gross out.’ She’d have to deal with the disgust later.

  “Come on,” Eric said. “Come take a look at that ‘gator.” He strolled down the aisle toward the back. His wife, Brittney had vanished in the last two minutes, and Heather hadn’t noticed her absence until now.

  “So, uh, do you keep cool water animals here?” Heather asked, and hurried after the guy.

  “Water animals? Like fish?”

  “Sure. Octopi, squid, uh, jellyfish?”

  “Not anymore. My jelly tank was stolen a couple of days ago. Well, not technically the jelly tank. These were Man O’War. You know those blue bottle things that’ll sting you til’ you die? They got a lot of bad rep in the press,” Exotic Eric said.

  Heather couldn’t fathom how he could speak in the growing poop scent. Perhaps the prolonged exposure had cauterized his nasal passages.

  “Your tank was stolen?” Amy asked.

  “Sure was. I reported it to the police. They still haven’t come by to check it out, though,” Exotic Eric said.

  A slam from the front of the store stalled him in his tracks. “Oh, looks like we got another cust – guest. Gator is right through there, ladies,” he said and gestured toward the back door, glass panes also coated in a layer of grime.

  “Eric Richards?” A man yelled from the front of the store. “This is Detective Smith.”

  “Ooh, it’s the pigs too.” Exotic Eric smoothed his sweaty palm over his green fringe then bundled down the aisle toward the front.

  “Shoot,” Heather whispered. “If that detective sees me here he’s going to put two and two together. I told you this was a bad idea.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day where you complained about a little subterfuge,” Ames replied. “C’mon.”

  They hurried out of the back door and into open area which held several cages, dirt, and a large enclosure centered on a water-filled pit. A log floated at its center.

  “That doesn’t look like an alligator,” Amy said.

  Heather didn’t say a word. She’d switched into investigator mode the minute Eric had mentioned the tank. Whoever had murdered Daphne had gotten the tank from the shelter. Where else would they have gotten access to three Man ‘O War without sustaining stings?

  “Heather,” Amy whispered. “You’re blanking out again.”

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll investigate the case.”

  “Wow, that’s such a news flash. No offense already, but you kinda already were, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise.” Amy prodded her elbow. “And that’s not why I’m calling you.”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s a guy over there by the log-alligator thing. Look,” Amy said.

  And indeed, a young man sat with his back to the enclosure and a faded plastic bucket between his knees. He stared off into space, shaking his head.

  “He doesn’t look so good.” Amy chewed the corner of her lip.

  Chapter 7

  “Are you okay?” Heather asked. She stood directly in front of the downtrodden bucket dude. She couldn’t help the concern in her tone. The guy looked emotionally destitute – even his fringe drooped.

  “She’s dead,” he said.

  “The alligator?” Heather asked. American alligators were endangered, and that would be a real tragedy.

  “What? No,” the guy said. He was in his early twenties. “That’s a fake gator. He’s had that thing out here for weeks. The other one escaped.”

  “It escaped?” Amy’s eyes widened, and she scanned the scantily clad bushes on the fringes of the property.

  “Yep. Plowed through the fence down there. Poor thing. I’m glad it got out.” He swiped his fringe upward, but it flopped back into place. “This is an evil place.”

  “And he really thinks a fake alligator will fool visitors?” Amy asked.

  “Then who died?” Heather’s question came on the back of Amy’s.

  “No,” Amy said. “No. Answer her question first. It’s better.”

  The guy clicked his teeth and didn’t answer either.

  “I’m Heather,” she said and dropped into a crouch in front of the bucket. Inside, a pile of what looked like shredded, red rubber made a bid for escape out the top.

  “Jared,” he said, after a second. He kicked the bucket, and the rubber pieces flopped out into the dirt. “This is his fake gator feeding meat. He expects me to toss it in there. Make a show of having food for the plastic gator-log.”

  “Who died?” Heather asked, and looked back at the dusty windows and door of the building. The tail end of police car stuck out in front of the building, visible through the chain-link fence.

  “Daphne,” he said, at last.

  Heather’s sleuthin’ gene practically imploded.

  “Serendipity,” Amy muttered.

  “If you don’t stop it, I’m going to rent that movie, Givens,” Heather said.

  That shut her bestie right up.

  “Daphne Wilder?” Heather asked.

  Jared’s met her gaze. “You knew her?”

  “This is going to sound crazy, but I was the one who – uh, how do I put this lightly? I found her after it happened.”

  “What did she look like?” He asked. “Did she suffer?”

  Heather champed down on the reply. It wouldn’t help him to give the details. “She’s in a better place now, Jared. I’m sorry that you’ve lost someone close to you. Was she your friend?”

  “Girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend if you want to get technical,” he said and wiped the back of his gloved hand over his forehead. He dropped it to the top of his knee again.

  “I’m sorry, Jared. That’s horrible.”

  “We broke up because she couldn’t handle the living situation. That means she didn’t like being broke. And then she moved out of the house,” he said and clenched his fists. The gloves squeaked. “One second she was there, and the next she was gone, and all her stuff had been moved out. She didn’t have that much stuff, though.”

  “She moved out,” Heather said. She had him on a roll now. She’d peeled back the plaster on his pain – unwittingly, to be fair – and all the hurt had to find a way out, somehow.

  Jared didn’t look like the type of guy who used tears instead of talking. “She was supposed to be the one. And then she left, and now she’s gone forever. Gone forever. She can’t come back from the dead. I’m alone.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “Like I said, living conditions. She thought she deserved better than me. Funny, though, since she ended up living in one of the rooms at that stupid hotel.”

  “She could afford a room?” Amy asked.

  “Heck no,” Jared replied and unclenched his fists at last. “Her manager allowed her to stay on. I bet she was having an affair with him the entire time.” The guy fluctuated between sadness and anger at a rate which gave Heather whiplash.

  “You don’t know that,” Heather said. Words were the only comfort she could afford him.

  He met her gaze again, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I shouldn’t be –”

  “Jared!” Exotic Eric crooned from inside the building. “Jared, get your butt in here. There’s an officer that wants to talk to you.”

  Heather stiffened. They had to make their escape before Detective Smith caught wind of their interference. “Hey, uh, if you ev
er need to talk just give me a call. I’m staying at the hotel.”

  “Daphne’s? The Palm Beach Horizon Hotel?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s why I found her. I’m staying there. Seriously, if there’s anything you need to talk about, anything at all, I’m –”

  “Thanks. I think I’m good.” Jared scrambled to his feet and strode toward the back door, scratching the back of his neck, reddened from hours in the sun.

  “Shoot,” Heather said. “I bet we would’ve gotten more out of him.”

  “Now, who wants to investigate?” Amy grinned.

  “Shush you. We need to find a way out of this place before Smith comes back here to find out whether Eric has an endangered species in captivity.” Heather vacillated in place.

  “Gator hole!” Amy cried.

  “I’m too afraid to ask what you mean,” Heather replied.

  “No, the escaped alligator. There’s got to be a hole in the fence somewhere around here, and I’m pretty sure that Exotic Eric wouldn’t waste money on fixing it.”

  “You’re a genius,” Heather said.

  Ames dragged her toward the outlying fence. “You know, I never get tired of hearing that.”

  Chapter 8

  Heather parked the rental van outside the garden entrance to the hotel and took the keys out of the ignition. She slipped them into her pocket while Amy fanned her muddied face. She’d managed to fall during their daring escape from Exotic Eric’s Animal Non-Shelter.

  The Donut Delights crew slid the back door open and bundled out of the warming car with takeaway boxes clasped in their hands. The scent of freshly baked cakes lingered in their absence.

  Ken waved and slid the door shut with a clack.

  “I’m going to call the cops on that guy,” Heather said. “What he’s doing amounts to animal torture.”

  “I’m pretty sure that Detective Smith has that handled,” Amy replied. “He’s – whoa.”

  “What?” Heather asked, and unclipped her seatbelt.

  “That guy.” Amy nodded toward the front of the car. “He’s just staring at us. Gosh, he’s creepy.”

  Heather looked over at him. Cold recognition washed over her.

  It was the shovel guy. The overall shovel guy she’d told Detective Smith about.

  “Don’t look at him,” Heather said. “Let’s just go inside.”

  “That’s the rule with creepers. Don’t make eye contact. Ew, he’s waving now.”

  Heather met shovel man’s gaze and flinched.

  He beckoned, then lifted the shovel and waved.

  “What are we going to do?” Amy asked. “This is so weird.”

  “Let’s find out what he wants,” Heather replied.

  “Are you crazy? He’s got a shovel!”

  “And I’ve got a Taser. Listen, this I saw this same guy outside the hotel the afternoon of the murder. You keep going on about serendipity. Maybe this is it.”

  “I said serendipity, not stupidity.”

  Amy’s complaint fell on deaf ears. Heather clunked her door open and got out. The minute her feet hit the hot tarmac, she regretted it. Gosh, if this was what winter in Florida was like, she didn’t want to come down during summer.

  “You there,” the shovel guy rasped. “You there with the mud on your face.”

  Apparently, Amy hadn’t been the only one to get dirty during their alligator-style escape.

  Heather marched up to Mr. Overalls then halted, fists on her hips. “I saw you the day of Daphne Wilder’s murder. Why is that?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, lady,” the man replied and tipped his shovel toward her. The edge was caked with all kinds of muck Heather didn’t care to identify.

  “Who are you?” Heather asked.

  Amy’s footsteps charged up the sidewalk behind her. “Yeah,” she echoed.

  “Name’s Rodney Roadkill,” he replied. “You can call me Roadkill.”

  “Uh –”

  “I got my name on account of I clean the roads. Lots of animals in this area. Wild and domesticated,” he said. “Sometimes I gotta scoop the critters after they’ve been squashed.”

  “This conversation isn’t going in a direction I can appreciate,” Heather said.

  “Oh yeah? You think you’re too good to scoop roadkill?” Rodney asked. “Or maybe you’re too good to hear what I saw the night you saw what I saw.”

  “Uh –”

  “If you know what I mean,” Rodney said, and clunked the blunt edge of his shovel on the sidewalk.

  “No idea,” Heather said. “But it’s got something to do with the murder, hasn’t it? Why were you here that afternoon?”

  “I work this street. Been working it for a while and I smelled something rotten.”

  “More roadkill?” Amy asked.

  “No,” Rodney replied. “This was a different kinda rotten. It was the people rotten.”

  “Another corpse?” Amy pulled a face.

  “No, girl, darn it you’re trying to act thicker than tar out here. I’m trying to tell you two I seen this coming.” Rodney’s pale white eyebrows knitted together. “I seen it coming ‘cos I work the road and there’s been strangers around here. Not the kinda folk I appreciate.”

  This guy might be the lead Heather needed. After all, she couldn’t exactly waltz into the police station and ask Detective Smith about the case. She didn’t have any inside information.

  No clue about trace DNA or evidence. No fingerprints. No wonderfully thick, brown dossier delivered to her office at Donut Delights.

  Gosh, she’d gotten complacent since she’d received her P.I. license.

  “What did you see?” Heather asked.

  “Now, you’re asking the questions I can answer, lady,” Rodney Roadkill said. “Oh yeah. I seen some strange folk around here. Strange cars too.”

  “Which folks? Can you describe them for me?” Heather asked. “No, wait. Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?” Free information didn’t exist. There was always a hidden agenda.

  “Nothing except doing the right thing. What, you think ‘cos I scoop roadkill I can’t –”

  “What did you see?” Heather asked. She’d decide whether she could trust the information after she’d heard it.

  “The folks I saw? One of them was a guy with blond hair. Young guy. He came around a lot, even saw him talking to Daphne once or twice,” he said.

  “You knew Daphne?”

  “Yeah. She was good to my mom. Used to bring her free food she took from the hotel kitchen. Don’t tell that uppity manager that,” he said, and tipped the shovel toward Heather again.

  “I won’t,” Heather said. It sounded as if he’d spotted Jared there. “What else did you see?”

  “A silver Kia.” Rodney’s reply came out like a kneejerk reaction. “I got a message from Daphne. She said she was afraid. She wanted me to look out for her.”

  “Did she say who she was afraid of?” Heather asked.

  “No, only that she thought someone was following. She mentioned a silver car. Everywhere she went there was this silver car that followed her,” Rodney said. “I decided to keep a lookout.”

  “And that silver car was out here on the night she was attacked?” Heather asked.

  “That’s right. I came around the corner in time to see it hightail it outta here,” Rodney replied. “I went to check on the hotel, and I saw you standing over her body. You handled it well.”

  “Thanks,” Heather said. “It’s not my first dead body.”

  Rodney’s eyebrows jumped. Gosh, she had to find a better way to put that.

  “I’m a private investigator,” she said.

  “Good, then I’ll call ya again if I see anything else,” Rodney Roadkill said. “Listen, lady. Daphne was a good kid. She was an angel to my momma before she passed. I don’t want whoever did this to get away with it.”

  “Trust me,” Heather replied. “I’m on it.”

  And she was. The empathy which Daphne�
��s kindness evoked in her brought the importance of the case crashing home. She owed this to the girl who’d been plucked from life years too early.

  Chapter 9

  Heather and Ames stood side by side in their kitchenette with the sliding door firmly shut and locked. Amy kept hurrying up to it to check they’d locked it – the run-in with Rodney Roadkill had both of them on edge.

  The first batch of donuts sat on the cooling rack they’d brought with them from Hillside. Heather leaned in and inhaled the zesty scent, then sighed.

  “I feel like he’s out there watching us,” Amy said and circled the counter again. She closed the drapes on the purple dusk which’d settled over the pool and the ever-present police line, still and drooping since that afternoon.

  “You’re honestly afraid of Rodney?”

  “His name is Rodney Roadkill, and he carries a shovel around. Fear is baked right into that recipe,” Amy said and hurried back to the counter. She sat down on the bar stool across from it. “You think he was telling the truth about the Kia?”

  “I don’t know,” Heather said. “What choice do I have but to follow through on that lead? I mean, I don’t have any solid evidence in this one. No help at all.”

  “We could speak to Detective Smith about –”

  “No,” Heather said. “I got the impression he wouldn’t appreciate interference when we spoke. He seems like he’s got a level head on his shoulders and he’s certainly not accustomed to my style of investigation.” Or interference.

  “I just didn’t like him,” Amy said.

  “Why not?” Heather asked.

  “I mentioned the shovel, right?”

  Heather opened the mini-fridge and brought out two bowls of glaze. One pale, creamy cheesecake dip and the sharp, green kiwi-line glaze for after. “You of all people should know better than to judge a book by its cover.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ames said and grabbed a spoon from the counter top. “I guess the weirdness of this place has me on edge. It looks so gorgeous on the surface, but underneath…”

  “I know what you mean,” Heather said. She leaned her elbows on the counter and stared into the kiwi-lime glaze. “Let’s go over it.”