Raspberry Coulis Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy - Book 38 (Donut Hole Cozy Mystery)

by Susan Gillard

  They needed concrete evidence.

  She resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose and dispel the beginnings of a headache. This was important to Amy and she wouldn’t put a damper on the evening.

  “Look,” Amy said, and pinched the back of Heather’s arm.

  She jolted and rubbed the sore spot. “Ouch. Is everyone out to get me today?”

  “Ryan, look,” Amy whispered, then pointed toward the back of the restaurant, just passed the dance floor.

  In the corner, at a small square table, sat two familiar people.

  “No way,” Heather said. “Is that?”

  “Yeah,” Amy said. “It’s Carla Guidi.”

  “Guidi.” Jamie crunched on nachos. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “Read any papers lately?” Ryan asked.

  “No, not really. I don’t like reading newspapers. They make every story sensational just to sell, sell, sell.” Jamie dragged the nacho plate a little closer.

  “I like him,” Heather said to Amy. “He seems smart.”

  “She’s with that guy,” Amy hissed, barely audible above the jiving music and the laughter from the table behind theirs. “That guy from the picture.”

  “Gene Clemens,” Heather said. What on earth would Carla want with him? It made sense that they’d know each other, given that Clemens had been Guidi’s business partner back in Houston.

  The waiter halted in front of their table and blocked her view. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Who’s Gene Clemens?” Jamie asked.

  “Nobody,” Amy said, and tapped the side of the sharing plate. “Eat your nachos.”

  Jamie dove right back in to the delicious food.

  “Could you move over?” Heather asked, the waiter. “I can’t see.”

  The waiter shifted to one side and afforded her a view of Clemens and Carla together. Carla wore heavy makeup and a revealing dress. This didn’t look like a business meeting.

  “Are you ready to order?” The waiter asked, voice strained above the music.

  “Yeah,” Jamie said.

  “No,” the other three replied, in unison.

  The waiter blinked and looked from Ryan to Heather and then to Amy. “Uh –”

  “Please come back in five minutes,” Ryan said, and smiled at the poor guy.

  The waiter meandered off, still blinking as if he’d been smacked with a wet fish.

  “What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

  “Nothing,” they said, in unison, again.

  “You don’t think it could be a business deal?” Amy asked.

  “Look,” Ryan said, “he’s touching her arm, now. That’s not professional. No, this looks personal and darn intriguing.”

  Jamie clamped his mouth shut and focused on his nachos. Perhaps he’d realized this was an official case discussion. He had to know that Amy wanted to be an assistant P.I. and that Ryan worked as a murder detective.

  “This opens things up again,” Heather said.

  “How so?” Amy picked up another nacho chip and dragged it through the salsa in its tiny, ceramic bowl.

  “Because Clemens might have an alibi for the time of the murder,” Heather said, “but Carla doesn’t.”

  “You think –?”

  “I don’t know, yet. But you can bet your bottom donut I’m going to find out.” Heather dipped a nacho in the sauce too, then topped it with a bit of guacamole.

  Ryan craned his neck and peered at the kitchen doors. “For heaven’s sake. Where’s the waiter? I’m starving.”

  “Is it always like this?” Jamie asked.

  Amy patted her boyfriend on the arm. “Only on the good days, darlin’.”

  Chapter 13

  Arlo Orlando’s living room held a single, mottled sofa and an armchair, positioned across from a small TV. Books and newspapers flowed over the edge of a distressed bookshelf in the corner, and the lampshade sat skew against the bulb.

  “I’m sorry to drop by without calling first, Mr. Orlando,” Heather said.

  Amy unzipped her coat, then stripped it off and bundled it into her lap. She’d been enthusiastic about coming along after they’d spotted Carla at the restaurant the night before.

  Arlo trudged back into the room, juggling three cups. He placed them on the coffee table then took one and plonked down in his armchair. “It’s all right,” he said. “Listen, before you ask me any questions, I just wanted to apologize for what my sister did yesterday. She was out of line.”

  “You can say that again,” Amy replied.

  Arlo tightened the scarf around his neck. “People deal with grief in different ways, but it was no excuse.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Orlando. I understand,” Heather replied. The last time she’d been slapped she’d been in High School and Amy had been the culprit. She couldn’t for the life of her remember why.

  “How did you know we wanted to ask you questions?” Amy picked up her chipped mug and took a sip of coffee.

  “I figured you’d come by soon enough. Carla told me you asked her questions too and that she’d been in the restaurant before it happened,” Arlo said. He drank from his Garfield cup, then placed it on the coffee table.

  “And you’d be happy to answer a few questions?” Heather asked. She opened her tote and reached inside. Cool plastic brushed against her fingertips. She hauled the Lenovo tablet out and placed it on her lap.

  “Sure. Why not? Anything I can do to help.”

  Heather didn’t buy that Carla had slapped her because she’d been distraught after Filippo’s death. If that was the case, why had she turned up at Dos Chicos on a date hours later?

  “Let’s talk about your brother-in-law,” Heather said. “Was he a good man?”

  “Good is relative term,” Arlo said. “He was good when it suited him and bad most of the time.”

  “What do you mean by bad?” Heather asked.

  Arlo puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. He put down his mug, then loosened his scarf and let it hang free.

  Heather’s eyes widened, but she relaxed them immediately to hide the reaction. Arlo had a huge bruise on his neck. “What happened there?” She asked.

  “An argument,” he replied. “With my brother-in-law. He tried to strangle me last week.”

  “So, that’s what he meant by bad,” Amy said.

  “Yeah. We got into a fight about Carla the night this happened. I didn’t press charges for my sister’s sake.” Arlo stroked his neck once. “This is nothing. Guidi had a major attitude problem and I didn’t take kindly to the way he treated my sister.”

  “He didn’t –?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. He treated her like dirt, though. Talked down to her constantly. Acted like she was less than him. I didn’t like it and I never will,” Arlo said. “Luckily, Carla’s a strong woman and she’s raised those kids to be strong too.”

  But was Carla strong enough to murder her husband and get away with it?

  “Carla and Filippo were unhappy,” Heather stated.

  Arlo sniffed. “Yeah, Carla was unhappy. Filippo didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was money and himself. Carla could’ve asked for a divorce and he wouldn’t even have registered the problem.”

  Heather typed notes on her tablet on the touchscreen keyboard. It stalled and she hissed under her breath. Gosh, she despised it when that happen. The app caught up and letters fanned out on the white background.

  She deleted the last garbled entry and tried again. “Did Filippo have an affair?”

  “Not that I know of,” Arlo replied, and shrugged.

  “What about Carla?”

  Arlo hesitated. He dropped his gaze to a damp patch on his carpet and exhaled. “She’s had affairs, yes. She’s not proud of them, I think, but she was trapped in a loveless marriage.”

  One which had ended in murder. And Carla appeared to be the sole inheritor to Filippo’s estate.

  Heather nodded toward her bestie and Ames slid the
picture of Gene Clemens out of her handbag. She handed it to Arlo.

  “Do you recognize this man?” Amy asked.

  Arlo’s brow wrinkled. “No, not at all. Who is he?”

  “He was your brother-in-law’s ex-business partner. He came to Hillside looking for Filippo,” Heather said. “Apparently, Guidi stole a lot of money from Mr. Clemens.”

  “I can’t attest to what my sister and her family did in Houston. I’ve lived in Hillside all my life,” he said.

  “You don’t know whether Clemens and Carla might have been involved?” Amy asked.

  “Romantically involved?” Arlo asked. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. It’s possible. He’s not a bad looking guy.” The joke went down as well as stale cupcakes.

  Heather tapped the keys on her tablet. Carla Guidi had been unhappy, they had her at the crime scene fighting with her husband, Chef Guidi had been verbally abusive and had enough money to support Carla should he die.

  It all added up to a suspicious soup of motivations.

  Heather had to get to the women and ask her about this.

  “Carla’s a good mom,” Arlo said. “She’s done a lot for those kids and I don’t want to be the reason you believe ill of her. Let me just put that on the table.”

  The front door cracked open behind them and a young girl trooped into the room, a backpack slung over her shoulder by one strap.

  “Hey, honey,” Arlo said, and smiled at her.

  “Hi dad,” she replied, then glanced at Heather and Ames. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Shepherd, Ms. Givens, this is my daughter, Francesca,” he said. “Come over and say hello Fran.”

  Orlando’s daughter traipsed to her father’s chair and grabbed hold of the straps of pack. She ran her thumbs underneath the fabric. “Hi,” she said, again.

  Heather offered her a bright smile, but the girl didn’t return it. This had to be the Francesca she’d heard mentioned before the slap at the memorial service.

  Could that conversation have been innocent? A family discussion unrelated to the murder?

  Heather focused on her tablet instead of conjecture and read over the notes – Carla’s name burned her retinas. She didn’t care that the woman had slapped her, only that she’d colluded with the same man who’d traveled from Houston seeking money and revenge on her husband.

  “I think we’re done here,” Heather said, and looked up. Arlo’s daughter had disappeared and the man himself sat on the edge of his seat, palms pressed together. “Thank you for your time Mr. Orlando.”

  Chapter 14

  The screams which echoed from the Guidi house reminded Heather of a horror movie she’d watched with Ryan. They’d turned if off a quarter of the way through because Ryan hated horror and Heather hadn’t realized that it wasn’t a regular old thriller before she’d rented it.

  “Wow,” Amy said, and moved a little closer to Heather. “It’s like they can smell the fear.”

  Heather didn’t laugh, even though it sat in her throat along with a bundle of nerves she couldn’t swallow. Her cheek stung again, even though it’d been a day since Carla had slapped her.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Amy asked.

  “I want to get her side of the story. If I’ve got all the facts I can get a clearer picture of what happened,” Heather said.

  “But what if she slaps you again? Ugh, what if she slaps me?” Amy asked. “I have fair skin, Heather, I know I’ll bruise like a peach.”

  “The sacrifices you make,” Heather said, and rubbed her bestie’s arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a donut when we get back to the store.”

  “Consider me placated.”

  Heather rapped her knuckles on the gloss front door then grabbed the straps of her tote bag. She’d brought her pepper spray, just in case Carla became violent. Honestly, the last thing she needed was another confrontation, but if it came to that she’d…

  “Heather, maybe this is a mistake,” Amy whispered. “Shouldn’t Ryan be here? Is it okay that you’re approaching this woman after what happened with –?”

  The latch drew back and the door swung inward.

  The howls and shrieks from the kids inside intensified. Carla Guidi stood on the threshold of her home, dark circles under either eye and her black hair frizzed in a halo around her head.

  A ketchup stain ran down the right side of her robe, beside a blob of yellow that smelled a lot like egg.

  They’d interrupted breakfast.

  “You didn’t get enough yesterday?” Carla asked, and sneered at Heather. “I told you to get lost.”

  Amy might’ve been right on this one. Heather’s eagerness to get this case done and avoid further heat from the press as a result had only driven her right into another confrontation.

  The series of bad decisions continued. Goodness, was the newspaper article from the beginning of the week a self-fulfilling article.

  “Why is she just staring at me? She having a stroke or something?” Carla asked.

  “She’ll be with you in a moment,” Amy said, and her tone cracked. She didn’t like this.

  Heather refocused on the moment and Mrs. Guidi, herself. “Ma’am, I’ve come to talk to you about the case.”

  “Have you lost your darn mind? I told you I won’t talk to an unethical –”

  “We know about Gene Clemens,” Amy said, and squared her shoulders beneath her puffy blue coat. “You were on a date with him last night.”

  Carla sucked in a breath and did a double take. “How on earth do you know that? Are you stalking me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Ames said.

  “Amy.” Irritating Carla wouldn’t make this any easier.

  “No, it sounds like your lapdog has something to say to me. What is it, girl, spit it out.”

  “I am literally older than you. How are you calling me a girl, right now? The only girl I see around here is you. You’re the one who slaps people at memorial services, claims to be distraught, then rushes off on a date with your dead husband’s worst enemy later that night,” Amy replied. She’d kept her sharp tongue on a leash for the past couple weeks and, now, the vitriol spilled over.

  “Amy, stop,” Heather said, and grasped her bestie’s shoulder. She shook her lately. “This isn’t helping.”

  “You horrible cow.” Carla lurched forward and Heather pushed Ames back, then stepped into the widow’s path.

  “Stop.” Heather held out both palms and didn’t touch Carla.

  The woman halted inches from her, breathing as if she’d run a marathon.

  “I understand you’re upset, Mrs. Guidi, but there are questions that need answering. If you don’t answer them here, you’re going to have to answer them later on, most likely in an interrogation room.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  It was as if everything she said came out garbled and out of context.

  “Of course not,” Heather replied. “I’m warning you that you shouldn’t take my investigation lightly. I am here on behalf of the police department.”

  “Then I know who to call to complain about this,” Carla spat. “How dare you come here the day after my husband’s service and ask me questions about another man?”

  “How dare you say that after you went on a date with another man the night of your husband’s service?” Amy’s voice carried from a few paces back, too loud.

  Carla’s complexion purpled. “Why, I ought to –”

  “That’s enough,” Heather said. “It’s enough. We’ll leave. Carla, we’ll leave.” Things had gotten way out of hand.

  “Good. And just so you know, I will call the Hillside Reporter about this. Everything they said about you is right. You’re a buffoon.” Carla backed off to her front door.

  Another shriek rang out and the widow disappeared into her house. She slammed the door shut and the noise muffled.

  “I’m sorry,” Amy said, right away. “I got carried away. She just made me so angry. She was so arrogant. She believed she
was totally right about you with any of the facts and –”

  “I understand, Ames. It didn’t help our investigation, though,” Heather said, and sighed. “Look, we’ll just have to try to keep our cool from now on. Come on, let’s head back to the store. I have to check how the installation of the new filing system is going.”

  “Right,” Amy said, and gave her a thumbs up.

  They walked back to Heather’s car in silence. They’d had a lead and dashed it on the sidewalk in front of their feet.

  This week couldn’t get any worse, could it?

  Chapter 15

  “So we just have to type in the information?” Amy asked. “Order number and date, and amount.”

  “And then when it was delivered,” Heather replied, and pointed to the new computer screen in her office. She’d gotten a desktop because the laptop could be used at home, too.

  It wouldn’t do to cart around her filing system everywhere she went.

  “This is pretty cool,” Amy said.

  “Okay, so we’ve just had another one of these computers installed beside the register,” Heather said. “Every time we get a new order, and it doesn’t matter what it is, even a coffee or a single donut, we enter it into the computer and it’s going to register that on the filing system once the order has been paid for and completed.”

  “Cool!” Amy grinned.

  “We’re going to need to explain this to everyone over the next few weeks,” Heather said. If she didn’t collapse from the pressure of negative press and unsolved murder case first.

  “This is exciting,” Amy said, and marched around to the other side of the desk. She sat down in the chair and shifted it closer. “Don’t you think?”

  “Uh-huh.” She couldn’t shake off her doubts about Carla and the case. She needed more information and she didn’t have a source to get it. That was what troubled her the most.

  Question marks drifted through the air. The murder weapon had never been found. Gene had an alibi. Carla had been on the scene, but none of her DNA had been found anywhere near Chef Guidi.