Clearly, that wasn’t true. Heather frowned. “You can tell me the truth, Soupy. I don’t think you hit her.”
“I don’t care what you think!” Soupy snapped, and turned his back to her. He stared out the window, and pulled the thin blankets up to his chin. He stuck his lips out in a pout.
Dave barked again and hustled out from under the bed, holding a half-eaten donut in his mouth. A donut that looked a lot like an American Pie she’d created in her shop.
“What the –?” Heather reached for it.
Dave gobbled it up before she got the chance. Trust Dave to eat the evidence.
“Soupy,” Heather said.
“Get outta here,” Soupy snapped, and pulled the blankets even higher, brushing them past his ears to cover the tufty grey hair above them.
Heather gave it up for a bad job.
She rose and strode out of the room, then glanced both ways. There weren’t any caretakers or nurses in sight. Not a one. She needed to double check whether Eva had actually come to visit Soupy or not.
And find out why he’d lie if she had.
A commotion at the end of the hall drew her attention, and she patted her thigh for Dave to follow. They hurried towards the noise, then paused at the intersection. Heather peered around the corner, then snapped back out of sight.
Ryan was here!
He’d come to question suspects and if he saw her he’d be furious. She wasn’t supposed to investigate, after all, he’d made that amply clear on several occasions.
Guilt beset her, but she pushed it down. For heaven’s sakes, what could she do?
This was Eva. She couldn’t let this lie.
Heather hurried in the opposite direction, back the way she’d come. Perhaps she could ask Soupy’s neighbor if they’d seen Eva around. The numbers on the doors around his looked familiar.
Warm light spilled from a room two doors down from Soupy’s, and a familiar fragrance. A comforting scent.
Heather knocked once and entered. “Leila,” she said.
The elderly woman, Heather’s grandmother’s oldest friend, sat up and smiled. “Heather, dear, what a wonderful surprise. I only expected you to visit again on Friday.”
“This is not social call, I’m afraid,” Heather replied. “I assume you’ve heard about Eva?”
Leila nodded gravely. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Leila, you didn’t by chance see Eva around here yesterday, did you?”
Leila tapped her bottom lip with a gnarled index finger. Her eyes lit up. “As a matter of fact I did. I believe she came to visit Soupy Petraski.”
Chapter 4
Heather stood behind the counter, with Angelica at her side, serving customers with a smile. She tried her best to be genuine, but today was difficult.
“You okay, boss?” Angelica asked.
“What’s this boss, business?” Heather rolled her eyes. “I’m Heather, remember?” Her assistants loved to tease her about her insistence on not being referred to as the boss. But then, they loved her for it at the same time and Heather was never truly irritated with them for the joke.
“Heatherrrr,” Angelica said, rolling out the ‘r’ and winking. “You distracted today?”
“I won’t lie, I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Heather bent to get a box for a woman’s order of American Dream donuts, the red, white and blue sprinkle kind. She clipped the box into the right shape, then placed three of the treats inside and handed it over.
“Why?” Angelica asked, after the front of the counter had cleared. She peered down at the array of donuts, and counted on her fingers.
They’d need to restock before lunch, which was their most popular hour.
“Because I can’t get Eva off my mind,” Heather replied, and pointed to the empty spot by the front window. Sun streamed through and landed on the back of the wrought iron chair. That was Eva’s place.
She could almost picture her sitting there, drinking her coffee and munching on a American Dream Donut.
“You should take the day off, go do your investigate.” Angelica said, in halting English.
“I’m tempted,” Heather replied, then scratched the backs of her arms. “But I need to think this over first. Once again, the truth is not as easy to find as it should be.”
Soupy’s lie had set her off kilter. He seemed a nice man, a little bit eccentric, but then which resident of Hillside Manor wasn’t?
Someone tapped Heather on the shoulder, and she jumped. She turned and was met with Ken’s concerned face, his brows drawn down at the sides.
“Ken?” Heather asked.
“May I speak to you for a second? In the office?” He bit his lip and looked past her, at Eva’s empty table. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course not, no trouble at all. You’ve got this, right Angie?”
“If you trust me with donuts, yes,” she said, then gave a mock evil laugh and stroked the surface of the glass counter.
Heather chuckled. Ken was deadpan.
Whoops, she’d better have a chat with him before he burst into tears.
Heather walked Ken through to the office, and eyed Dave on his portable doggy bed in the corner. He was fast asleep, snoring as he was wont to do, with all four of his paws in the air.
No one could say her dog didn’t have character.
Somber Ken actually cracked a smile at the sight of him.
Heather shut the door and directed Ken to the poufy chair in front of her desk. She valued comfort above everything else. The French décor was gorgeous, but would count for nothing if people’s butts got sore just lookin’ at it.
She circled to her side of the desk, sat down, and then laid her forearms on the dark wood. “What can I do for you, Ken?”
Ken gulped. “I had to talk to you about this, before you found out another way.”
Dave flicked his paws in the air, gave a small yowl in his sleep.
“Talk to me about what?” Heather could barely stand the anticipation.
“It’s about Eva,” Ken said.
“What about her?”
“I visited her yesterday afternoon, you know, to deliver her usual donuts. I think I was the last person to see her before the attack. I’m scared,” Ken said, blinking profusely, “I’m scared that the cops will find out I was there and think I had something to do with it.”
Heather studied her employee, trying to read him like an open book. And one could never judge a book by its cover. What if this conversation was Ken’s cover?
No, no, she refused to think that Ken, her employee, the faithful assistant and kind soul, would have anything to do with Eva’s attack.
“Ken, if you had nothing to do with the attack, then there’s nothing to fear. After all, the police only go on evidence and if there’s no evidence that you hurt anybody, then there’s no reason to worry.”
Her assistant fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. “I just –”
Knuckles rapped against the office door. They both jumped this time, and Dave flipped onto his belly in a quick-as-lightning move to rival a Kung Fu fighter. He yapped once, then settled back into the cushion.
“Come in,” Heather called out.
Ryan Shepherd poked his head around the door. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Well, actually –”
Ken shook his head to stop her, suddenly white as fine ground flour.
“I guess not,” she said, instead. “How can I help you?” She used her professional tone, because she was still a little angry with him for questioning her.
“Actually, I didn’t come to speak with you,” Ryan replied, and had the grace to look sheepish about it. He’d tried calling her last night during her dinner with Amy at Dos Chicos, but she’d ignored the call.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I came to question Ken.” Ryan tapped his shirt pocket, where his notepad and pen rested against his heart.
Ken went from flour to colorless
fondant white. “I – uh – I. Okay,” he managed, at last.
“You two can chat in my office,” Heather said, rising from her seat. “Just don’t touch anything, and for heaven’s sake, nobody give Dave a donut. He’s gained far too much weight, snapping at scraps.”
Ryan nodded and gave Dave a warm smile, but Ken was about as responsive as a fish gone belly up. Or Dave gone belly up for that matter, paws waggling in the air.
Heather walked from the office, a new sense of determination brewing in her belly. It was sleuthin’ time.
Chapter 5
Eva’s house was more of a quaint cottage than a house, it poked from the concrete in the quiet suburb, where the grass was kept neat and no dogs were allowed.
Dave was the current exception. He stood beside Heather, sniffing at the sidewalk in search of crumbs.
“There are no donuts here, Dave. And that’s a terrible habit, by the way. I refuse to endorse it,” Heather scolded, wiggling his leash, lightly.
Her dog wasn’t used to wearing leashes, but when he did, he always took it with aplomb.
“You’d better behave yourself,” Heather whispered. She eyed the house next to Eva’s, where another retiree watered his plants with his lips pursed, eyes narrowed and gaze focused on snuffling Dave.
Heather squared her shoulders and marched up the short gravel path which led to Eva’s front door. Years ago, when Eva had first become her good friend, she’d given Heather a key for her house, in case of an emergency.
Heather slipped it out of her pocket, inserted it into the door and it opened up.
She was bathed in a musky scent of rose petals. It was the same perfume Eva wore, though Eva insisted it was a powder rather than a perfume. A blusher she’d had from before the Great War, as she put it.
Heather hurried inside and through to the living room. She let go of Dave’s leash and began the search.
The paisley sofa was clear of blood spots or a mess, but then Eva might not have been attacked in the living room. Ryan hadn’t mentioned where the attack had been. Surely, the police would’ve cordoned off the house if the crime had occurred inside.
Heather scratched her temple and walked through to the kitchen. It was empty of evidence too. No threatening notes, no angry messages on the answering machine, nothing.
“Oh boy,” Heather murmured. She scanned the kitchen again and something itched at the back of her mind. A missing item? She couldn’t quite place it.
She’d been to Eva’s house before, but it wasn’t as if she’d memorized the interior.
Heather’s phone vibrated in her pocket – on silent in case anyone was around to hear it during sleuthin’ time. She brought it out and answered.
“This is Heather from Donut Delights.”
“And this is Amy from your best friend. We’re calling with regards to the lack of contact you've had with us of late. Do you have a complaint to lodge?” Amy was cheeky at the best of times, and a little snarky at the worst.
“Oh poo, what nonsense are you talking this time, Ames.”
“I’m talking me, you, dinner tonight. But let’s do my place so we can munch on popcorn and watch Beaches.”
“I take it I’ll be bringing the tissues.” Heather and Amy watched beaches together at least once a year, as a reminder of many things, including the value of their friendship. And because crying was cathartic.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I haven’t heard from Ryan since the start of the case. I kind of understand, but it’s difficult to plan a wedding without him in the mix,” Heather said. It came out in a blurt of emotion, because she’d been holding it in for quite a while.
“Where are you?” Amy asked. “You’re breaking up.”
Heather pulled the phone from her ear and checked the signal. Only one bar. “Ames, I’ll meet you at your house tonight, we’ll talk then, all right?”
“Right! Love ya byeeeeee,” Amy sang, then clicked off.
Heather chuckled and slipped the phone back into the front pocket of her jeans. At least she had that to look forward to. She strode down the short hall, cream walls of course, and entered Eva’s pristine bedroom.
Eva was a total neat freak in the best way. A picture of her late husband hung on the wall opposite the foot of the bed, probably so Eva could wake up to his face each morning, and the bedspread was white decorated with curling pink roses.
Heather smiled softly, but it faded a second later. Nothing here either. No glaring anomalies or clues. She checked under the bed and found an empty suitcase, covered in a thin layer of dust.
A bark rang out from the front porch.
Shoot! She’d totally forgotten about Dave.
Heather barged out of the bedroom and rattled down the hall to the front door. She hurried onto the front porch, just as Dave’s cute hiney wiggled out of sight around the corner of the cottage.
“Dave!” Heather hissed, shutting the front door behind her, and sticking the key back in her pocket. “Dave, come back here.”
The neighbor next door had increased the level of disdain and the angle of his eyebrows by at least 45 degrees.
Oh boy, she had to get out of here quick. It wouldn’t do to have Ryan called in for her snooping around.
Heather dashed down the front steps and around the side of the house.
A cat sat atop the trash cans, arranged neatly beside the back door. It meowed, rose onto its tippy-paws and flicked its tail at Dave.
This, in turn, drove Dave crazy. He barked and hopped up and down on the spot, turned in a circle, then made a mad dash for the cans.
The cat realized its time was up. It leapt off the cans and scooted towards a tree at the end of the yard.
Dave couldn’t change direction quick enough, he skidded into the trash cans and knocked them flat. The lids burst open and garbage spilled onto the grass.
“Oh no,” Heather groaned, then froze.
What was that?
She hurried over to the cans, ignoring Dave’s barking at the base of the tree at the end of the yard. She stepped over an empty pie dish and gasped.
A scrunched up Donut Delights box lay before her, half open, spilling American Pie donuts all over the grass.
What did this mean?
Chapter 6
“So the donuts were in the trash,” Amy said, “what’s the big deal?” She had her feet up on the sofa, a donut in one hand and popcorn in the other.
When they did a junk food night it was always a debauchery.
“Firstly, my donuts never deserve to be in the trash,” Heather side, licking icing off the tip of her finger. “And secondly, because Ken was supposed to deliver those donuts. I don’t get it. If he’d delivered them as he said he did, without any problems, then why weren’t they in Eva’s kitchen? Why were they in the trash?”
“Maybe the attacker saw the donuts and –” Amy trailed off and wriggled her nose, then munched down some popcorn.
“And what? Trashed them because he didn’t like donuts? It doesn’t add up. Besides,” Heather said, with a laden sigh, “there was absolutely no evidence of a break-in. I couldn’t even tell where the attack happened.”
“You’d think the cops would’ve checked the trash cans for evidence,” Amy replied, gesturing with her donut. “That’s shoddy police work, I tell you.”
“I don’t know, I just don’t know.”
“Speaking of the police,” Amy said.
Heather sighed and shifted the plate on her lap. She grabbed her glass of diet soda and slurped some down, in an effort to prepare for Amy’s questions.
“What about them?”
“What’s going on with Ryan?” Amy asked. She siphoned down the last of the popcorn and placed the donut on her own plate, which she’d positioned on the coffee table. She readjusted herself, in the typical ‘I’m about to get the gossip’ manner.
Bright eyed and bushy tailed.
“I don’t know what’s going on with him, either. He’s so d
istant lately.” Heather rubbed her hands together. “I know I should be understanding, but I’ve got our wedding to plan and he seems disinterested in it.”
“Married to the job?”
“Maybe,” Heather replied. “Or maybe he’s avoiding me because I’m a suspect in the case and he’s afraid they’ll take him off it if he gets too close.”
“A suspect? That’s ridiculous. Wouldn’t they automatically take him off it if you were involved, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Heather replied, eyeing the credits from their movies. They’d definitely had a good old cry fest. Tissues littered the sofas. “I just wish he’d call and let me know what’s going on.”
Her phone rang as if she’d activated it by telepathy. They both stared at it, wide-eyed.
Heather chuckled and picked it up, then answered. “Heather Janke, donut maker extraordinaire.”
“Miss Janke, I’m calling from Hillside Manor,” a woman said, in nasal tones.
“Oh? How can I help?” This was strange. The last place she’d expect to hear from on a relaxed Friday night.
“One of our residents is having a bit of trouble. He’s asked for you directly.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Petraski. He’s been yelling all night about being followed and keeps trying to leave his room. It’s past visiting hours, but we really think a visit from a family member or a friend would help him right now.”
“Of course,” Heather replied. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She hung up and hopped off the couch.
“What’s happened?”
Heather wriggled her eyebrows at Amy. “The plot has thickened. You coming?”
“You bet your bakery I am.”
*
Soupy sat straight as a rod in his bed. The nurses had left after Heather arrived, but even her presence – which he’d requested – did nothing to calm the old man.
“Soupy, what’s going on?” Heather asked.
Amy hovered by the door, trying and failing to look insignificant. Her beautiful blond friend was anything but insignificant.
Red, White and Blueberry Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 7 Page 2