“Hey, what are you doing? Get your foot out of my house!” Lionel yelled. He pulled the door back and slammed it toward Heather.
She slapped her palm against the wood and sucked in another yoga-breath. “Look, I’m not trying to upset you, Lionel, but I just witnessed Samantha James leaving your humble abode, and I’d like you to talk to me about it.”
“Why should I?” He growled and narrowed his eyes. “I’m allowed to talk to anyone I like.”
“Even if they do frequent graveyards,” Amy muttered, then shuddered and hugged Dave tighter.
“Samantha James was Cheeky’s –”
“Cousin, I know. We were friends. She came over to talk to me about her cousin. That’s it. That’s all. What’s the big deal?” Lionel’s gaze danced past Heather’s shoulder and to the dim hall beyond. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Samantha is sad about the loss of her cousin? Were they close?”
“I don’t know; why don’t you ask her?” Lionel snapped, then pressed his lips together. “Actually, don’t. Get out of here. Leave me alone. Leave Samantha alone. Just go away.”
Heather chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Lionel. I’m an investigator and –”
“You’re not a qualified investigator,” Lionel replied. Whatever shy attitude he’d put up in South Bosque Bait and Tackle had mysteriously disappeared. “I know all about you, Heather Shepherd.”
Heather snuck her foot back across the threshold and to the side of safety – and sanity.
“What do you mean?”
“I know about your shady investigations and your weird donut flavor combinations,” Lionel replied.
“You’ve clearly never tasted a Choc Pomegranate Glazed donut before.” Amy pursed her lips.
“Shady investigations?” Heather folded her arms. That was a blow to the gut if nothing else. She’d tried her best to keep everything above board. Sure, she’d made a mistake here or there, but nothing that could’ve been classified as ‘shady’.
“That’s right. I wonder if you’re benefitting from the murders in Hillside,” Lionel said and tapped his chin. “Maybe you were the one who murdered Cheeky. Some kind of sick, I dunno, some sick method of getting another case.”
“What?!” Amy and Heather yelped in unison. Dave let out a long howl of disdain.
Lionel grimaced at the dog, then speared Heather with another gaze. “I hear you’re obsessed with investigating. What were you doing at Cheeky’s Nail Salon, anyway? Huh?”
“Delivering donuts,” Heather replied, then snapped her mouth shut. She wasn’t accustomed to answering questions.
“Uh huh, that’s what they all say.”
“Dude, you’re terrible at this,” Amy said, then waved her finger in front of his nose. “You can’t just accuse people of murder.”
“Tell that to her. How many people have you wrongfully accused, Shepherd?”
She didn’t need this. Not three days before her final exam. Not when she’d already doubted herself about that very same fact. And especially, not from a dropout college student living in a borrowed apartment.
“All right,” Amy said. “We’re done here.” She clamped her hand on Heather’s upper arm and steered her toward the stairs.
“That’s right. You get out of here and don’t come back. I know who you are, Heather Shepherd. Everyone in Hillside will know soon enough.” Lionel’s hiss followed them down the hall.
The door slammed a couple seconds later.
Heather grabbed the railing and clung to it for dear life. The hallway hazed in and out of existence.
“Heather?!” Amy grasped her by the shoulders and gazed into her face. “Are you okay?”
She blinked sweat, then swiped at her eyes to get rid of it. “Ugh,” she said and worked her jaw. The Sahara Desert had taken up residence in her mouth. “I’m fine. I will be fine. Let’s just get out of here.”
Dave nudged Heather’s ankle with his broadside and whined. She picked up his leash from the beige carpeted stairs, then trudged down to the landing.
She’d let a college kid get to her. A college kid.
Man, this had to be because she was stressed.
Heather hummed Lady D’Arbanville by Cat Stevens. She pushed out of the front door of the apartment building and strode down the stairs. She reached the sidewalk, then stopped dead.
Amy followed her lead. “I hope you’re not worried about what he said. No one thinks badly of you, Heather. You’re friends with most people in this town.”
“Excluding Lionel Janis,” Heather replied, then shook her head to clear it. “I’m not letting him get to me.”
And she repeated that over and over in her head, all the way back to Donut Delights.
Chapter 9
Heather walked the long road from her house to Donut Delights, alone. The early morning Texas sun, shone on the sidewalk, illuminating her path and her soul with its sunny disposition.
“Focus,” she whispered. “Only two days left until it happens. Today is about focus on donuts, focus on the test, and focus on the leads.”
Three things to juggle during this particular week. Three things. She could do that.
Ryan had work to attend to, and Lilly was at school. Everything was fine.
“Fine.” Heather readjusted her tote bag on her shoulder. “Lionel doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” The kid obviously had something to hide. Why else would he have changed his attitude? A complete 180 from the day they’d met up with him in South Bosque.
And Samantha hanging around with him and then stopping in the graveyard – what was that about?
Heather rounded the corner, and a soft breeze brushed her hair from her cheeks.
A solitary figure waxed in the distance. The golden rays of light splayed across her shoulders, and the long locks gathered there.
Heather’s stomach tightened. The store was closed to the public. And this woman wasn’t a Donut Delights employee. She raised her hand in a greeting, and Heather returned the gesture.
She strode toward the store, and realization dawned. “Julia,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you here, this morning.” Or any other morning.
“I hoped to pick up a few more of your donuts,” Julia replied and gave Heather her dazzling pageant smile. “But I see your store is closed.”
A crew of workers streamed out of the door of the adjacent store. One of them lifted a construction hat to Heather, in greeting.
“Yeah, we’re renovating, but you can order online or by telephone,” Heather said, and pride swelled in her chest. She’d worked darn hard to get where she was with Donut Delights, with the help of her bestie and her other friends.
“I guess I could go home,” Julia said, then glanced down the street. “I just can’t –” She broke off and sniffed.
“It’s okay. I’ll get your order boxed up for you and bring it out. How does that sound?”
“No, I don’t want donuts anymore,” Julia said, then shuffled closer. “I didn’t come for the donuts. I came for you.”
Ominous.
“For me?” Heather asked.
“Yeah. I got a strange call last night, from a man. I don’t know who he was or what he wanted, but he said my name and then just kind of, breathed into the telephone. I – oh, now I sound crazy. I haven’t cracked. I swear,” Julia said, then laughed and fanned her face.
Heather caught her hand. “What happened?” She asked.
“Oh, these old things?” Julia gestured to her French manicure. Her pinky nail was entirely clean. “They fall off all the time. I found an old bottle of nail glue in Samantha’s room, and it didn’t do the job.”
“I see,” Heather said. She didn’t see, though. Not even a little bit.
Samantha had nail glue, but her nails were a mess, and she hung out in graveyards and fraternized with another main suspect. Julia had treated her daughter with disrespect and had clearly been jealous of her. And Lionel, ugh, he
had motivations of his own – pranks gone wrong and… something was amiss.
Confused. Too much butter in the frosting.
“I called the police about the phone call, but they didn’t find anything,” Julia said.
“Do you need my help, Mrs. James?” Heather asked.
“Yeah, I would appreciate that. I know you’re already looking into what happened to Cheeky. But maybe this is related,” Julia said, then flipped back her hair. “Maybe it’s the killer coming after me.”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Heather replied. She still hadn’t figured out the motivation for Cheeky’s murder yet.
The door to Donut Delights opened, the bell tinkled within, and Amy walked out. Her broad smile waned at the sight of Julia James.
“Hello,” Julia said, and she snapped her arms to her sides and formed her hands into fists. Clearly, Amy’s quips from the other day hadn’t gone unheard or forgotten.
“Good morning, Mrs. James. Can I get you –”
“I was just leaving,” Julia said, then turned to Heather. “Think about what I said. There’s something strange going on. It was a man who did this. And I know only one man who had reason enough to hate Cheeky.”
She clopped off down the sidewalk, her high heels slapping the ‘crete. Cars rushed by – the beginnings of the morning traffic – and the wind whistled down the road.
Amy whistled and shook her head. “She’s something else. She’s trying to lead you toward an early conclusion. Everybody is.”
“Lionel confronted me and threw me off, and Julia is pointing the finger at him in turn. This is strange. Usually, at least some of the suspects act innocent.”
“Act innocent?” Amy asked.
“Yeah. They don’t point fingers at other people or act confrontational. Remember Plum? She didn’t accuse anyone. Geoff didn’t either when he was a suspect.”
“Not that Geoff’s behavior is every predictable,” Amy said, then chuckled. “And hello by the way. Maricela and Ang have filled out like three orders this morning already. They’re pouring in from everywhere.”
Heather inhaled through her nose. “Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked out here.”
“Models will do that to you. You know, vapid, airy, conceited.”
“Pretty sure those words mean the same things,” Heather said. “And don’t be so bitter. Not all models are that way.”
“True,” Amy replied, and shrugged her shoulders. “I just don’t like that one.”
They stared at Julia’s back. Her long mane of hair swished with each step. She glanced back at them once, flinched, then hurried off. Yeah, Mrs. James was up to something.
“But what?” Heather whispered. She scratched her chin, then turned to Ames. “I need more evidence for this. Way more. I mean, I’ve got Ryan’s information about the ballistics report and the gunpowder on the victim, but there’s something missing here. Cheeky couldn’t have fired a gun and then miraculously lost it.”
Amy’s gaze darted past Heather’s and down the road. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“I think so.” Heather squared her shoulders. “We’ve got to investigate Cheeky’s Nails. Are you with me?”
Amy hooked her arm through her bestie’s and snorted. “Do donuts have holes?”
Chapter 10
Heather and Amy stared at the back door of Cheeky’s Nails. It was the usual kind. Sturdy, wooden, framed by a jamb that’d withstand the harshest shine and rain in Hillside, ensconced in the bricks of a regular building.
Except it was ajar.
“Well, that’s not what you want,” Amy muttered.
“Someone’s been in here since the murder. I mean, I’m sure there have been plenty of detectives in and out of the building, but –”
“But none of them would’ve left it open.” Amy bent over and examined the burnished, metal door handle. “The lock’s broken. Someone forced it.”
“Oh boy.” Heather ran her fingers through her hair, then glanced back at the empty alley behind them. The hum of traffic in the distance would’ve lulled her into serenity, but not today.
Amy stood straight and still on the spot. “We’re still going in, right?”
“Do donuts have holes?”
“You’re always stealing my lines, Shepherd,” Amy replied.
Heather pressed her fist to the wood. The door creaked open to reveal the tiled hall beyond. Light from the windows at the front of the building scattered across the floor and illuminated the chairs and nail stations.
“Looks normal,” Heather whispered. She dug in her tote, then brought out her sleek, black Taser. “But you can never be too careful.”
Amy gulped.
They crept into the short hall, then tiptoed to the front. The store hadn’t been touched since they’d been there a few days prior – apart from the removal of evidence by the cops.
“When are they going to hand over ownership of the building?” Amy whispered. “Or sell it? Who does it go to?”
“I have no idea,” Heather replied. “I haven’t heard anything about a will. Maybe Cheeky didn’t have one.”
She changed direction and stalked to the office door instead, then halted in her tracks. “This lock’s broken too,” Heather hissed.
“The killer trying to cover their tracks.”
Heather clicked the safety on her Taser off and narrowed her eyes. The door might’ve been open for hours, if not days. Or the killer could be on the other side.
She unhooked her arm from Amy’s, then placed her palm on the handle. “Stay behind me,” she whispered.
Amy didn’t hesitate to follow that particular order.
Heather tightened her grip on the doorknob. Her palm slipped on the metal. She raised the Taser and pointed it forward. She opened the door and –
“Nothing,” Heather said.
Amy sagged behind her. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
Heather laughed, and nerves bubbled through the mirth. Her gaze flicked around the room. Papers scattered across the desk; drawers open on the filing cabinet in the corner of the office – Heather’s laughter cut off. “Someone’s been in here.”
Amy stepped past her and into the office. She stood in the center of the room and placed her fists on her hips. “So,” she announced. “It looks like whoever was in here only had a mind for one thing.”
“And what’s that?” Heather slipped the Taser back into her bag.
“Paperwork.”
The files lay open on the floor and documents flicked gently in the breeze from the open window. Bank statements and printed emails, random notes and measurements for the salon, scattered across the desk.
“So, the killer, or whoever was here, wanted to find something important. Something related to Cheeky’s Nails. Or to cover their tracks,” Heather said.
Amy paced around the room and examined the ‘evidence’. “Hey, what’s this?” She asked and pointed to a small hole in the wall.
“Impact hole. That’s where the killing shot ended up,” Heather replied.
Amy gagged and snatched her arm back to her side.
“And that,” she said, and gestured to a similar hole in the roof, “is where the killer fired a warning shot.”
“Why would they fire a warning shot? To make it look like self-defense?” Amy circled the desk and walked to the filing cabinet at the other end of the room. “Then why run in the first place?”
“That’s what I don’t get. Ryan said that Cheeky had gun powder on her palms. Enough of the stuff to indicate that she’d fired a weapon too,” Heather said. She spun in a circle on the spot, stepping slowly and examining the walls, the floors, everywhere.
“Hey, wait a second,” Amy said, behind her. “How many times did you say the killer fired that gun?”
“Twice.”
“Then how come there’s a third bullet hole down here?” Amy asked.
Heather spun to face her bestie. Amy pointed at a small hole just below
the line of the filing cabinet, directly opposite the spot the killer might’ve stood during the altercation.
“That makes sense,” Heather hissed, then rushed to Amy’s side. She bent and glared at the bullet hole. “I can’t believe they didn’t pick up on that. Boy, Hillside’s forensic team is slacking.”
“Can you blame them? It’s sort of hidden by the shadow of the cabinet. But why does it make sense?”
Heather rose and brushed off her knees. She strode to the middle of the room and position herself. “Okay, bear with me here.”
“Bearing.”
“Right, so Cheeky’s body was found behind the desk,” Heather gestured. “But she might’ve been moved there. So, let’s just say that Cheeky had the gun at first. Her attacker is in the room, and she fires the gun to fend them off.”
“Not before she fired the warning shot,” Amy said and pointed to the ceiling.
“Or – no, wait. Cheeky fires the gun but misses. Or maybe she misses on purpose because she’s not prepared to kill someone, even if they mean her harm. Then the attacker uses that opportunity to rush at her.” Heather shut her eyes and flashes of her fight with Christa swept through her mind. “There’s a struggled. The gun fires and the bullet hits the ceiling. The killer manages to wrest the gun from Cheeky’s grip and –”
“The rest is cold, bloodied history?” Amy asked. She rose too and pressed her palms to her stomach. “Kinda creeps me out being in here.”
“I have to tell Ryan about this,” Heather said. “This is huge.”
“Why?”
“Because Cheeky knew her killer. She hesitated. She missed the shot, and it ended up costing her.” Heather stared at the bullet hole in the wall. The impact was large – it was incredible that the cops had missed it during their sweep of the room. Unless they hadn’t finished investigating yet.
Heather had too many questions, and none of them had clear answers.
Chapter 11
Heather sat behind the counter in Donut Delights and stared at the open book in front of her. The words danced across the page, and she squinted to get them back into focus.
Chocolate Pomegranate Glaze Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 18 Page 4