Coffee Treacle Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 24

by Gillard, Susan

  “Enchante.” Amy gave a decorative bow.

  “What are you doing, Brooke?” Laura asked, and grasped the long blonde braid which hung over her shoulder. “What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

  “I don’t know,” Brooke said.

  A car drove past, speakers blaring and the bass thrummed down the road. The windows in the Bolde house rattled.

  “I told you not to open the door to strange folk, girl,” Laura said and switched her gaze from Brooke to Heather. She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know where the attacker might be hiding.”

  “Oh snap,” Amy said and glanced over her shoulder. “She has a point, Heather.” Dave barked his support, as he always did when Amy or Lilly had anything to say.

  “I’m here on behalf of the Hillside Police,” Heather said, firmly. “I’m on the case of the attacker, ma’am. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

  “I sure would,” Laura said, and grasped the door. She swung it shut, but Brooke blocked it with her foot.

  “Don’t be rude, sissy,” she replied. “I’m sorry, officer, she’s got – some –” Brooke stifled a yawn.

  “Are you all right?” Heather asked.

  “She’s exhausted,” Laura snapped. “She hasn’t slept since it happened if you must know.”

  “But it happened this morning,” Amy whispered, and scratched her temple. “Does she usually sleep during the day?”

  “Enough!” Laura slammed the door shut in their faces.

  The wood shuddered in its frame, and Heather stared at it. She shook her head, then turned and walked down the cracked paving stones to the sidewalk.

  That’d been an education in suspicious behavior.

  “Now, I’m not saying she seemed crazy,” Amy said and trotted up beside Heather. “But she seemed crazy.”

  “They were both defensive. The conversation wasn’t in the least bit enlightening.”

  “That’s not true,” Amy replied. “We know they’re both pretty shady. As is that car on the corner. Can we go now?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, relax.” But she stuck her hand in her handbag and grasped the cold plastic of her Taser, just in case.

  Chapter 4

  “Dave, don’t do that,” Lilly said and pointed her finger at the doggy dearest.

  He paused, mid-excavation, and looked up at her, his nose coated with a thin layer of brown dirt.

  Birds twittered in the half-naked trees, and golden leaves fluttered from the branches which still had leaves. The afternoon sun hazed above the horizon and cast warm, orange light on their cheeks. Hillside park was beautiful at this time of the day – the perfect after-school outing.

  “He’ll never learn,” Amy said. “Ask my yellow-stained carpets. They were white shag, once. I’m going to have to replace them, soon. Kent thinks they’re gross.”

  “Who’s Kent?” Lilly asked.

  Heather and Amy shared a glance.

  “He’s my boyfriend,” Amy said.

  Lilly stopped and tugged on the end of Dave’s leash. The dog stopped digging but chewed at the bit of leash he could reach. “You have a boyfriend? How come I’ve never met him?”

  “He’s been out of town for a while,” Amy replied. “A very long while, actually. He had a case in Dallas, and then that spiraled into another work opportunity.”

  “You never spoke to me about it,” Heather said.

  “I didn’t want to whine.” Amy shrugged and grasped at the sleeves of her warm coat and adjusted them. “You’ve got your own stuff do deal with, Heather.”

  Dave jerked at the end of the leash again, and Lilly stumbled forward a step. “Ugh, Davey!”

  The dog barked, then turned in a circle and dragged Lilly forward again.

  “Dave,” Heather said. “Stop it right this minute.”

  But Dave was beyond control, he wriggled and wrangled. Lilly grabbed the leash with both hands, but it slipped from her grasp and snaked to the ground. Dave took off running and sped toward the stretch of trees on the other side of the walkway.

  “Dave!” Amy and Heather yelled, in unison.

  Lilly gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Au-Heather, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, honey,” Heather said. “Let’s get him.”

  They raced after the dog on the loose, and toward the stretch of trees. Dave disappeared between them, and Heather’s insides twisted. She’d never lost her dog before, and she refused to allow today to be the first time it happened.

  Dave barked in the distance, and they quickened their pace.

  Heather grabbed Lilly by the hand, and they darted through the trees. They erupted from the trees and pulled up short.

  Dave stood a few feet from them, his stocky feet planted on the ground beside a pond. He barked at a man just ahead of him.

  The guy held a rock-hard fudge ball in one hand and stared at Dave, wide-eyed.

  “Throw that at my dog, and you’ll regret it,” Heather said, and let go of Lilly’s hand.

  The young girl hurried to Dave and grabbed his leash again, then bent beside him and stroked his fur. Dave huffed and stopped his incessant barking, at last. Lilly lifted him in her arms and tucked him against her chest.

  “Who are you?” The guy asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” Heather said.

  “And just as a corollary to that,” Amy put in, “why do you have a ball of fudge in your hand?”

  “Corollary?” The guy asked, and ruffled his thick brown hair. He had expressive eyes and a strong jawline. Grey specked his stubble.

  “It’s a word,” Amy replied, and narrowed her eyes.

  Heather stepped toward the guy, but alarm thrilled through her core. This could be the killer. Although, what were the chances?

  “I’m Jamie,” he said and lowered the fudge ball. “Jamie Purdue.”

  “Shaken not stirred?” Amy stuck out her tongue.

  “Heather Shepherd,” she said and didn’t put out her hand for a shake. “Why do you have one of Geoff Lawless’ rock hard fudge balls in the park?”

  “This is like the weirdest game of Cluedo in history,” Amy said.

  Jamie looked at Amy back to Heather, then down at the fudge ball. “I don’t know. I found it here. I saw this kid about to throw it into the pond at one of the ducks, and I yelled at him to stop. He dropped it and ran.”

  “So, you picked it up?”

  “Yeah,” Jamie replied, then gestured to the green spiked, metal trash can nearby. “I was about to throw it away when your dog rushed me. What’s up with that?”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Heather said, but her mind clicked through possibilities. “Say, you don’t know a guy by the name of Billy Bolde, do you?”

  Jamie’s expression changed. His lips drew into a thin line, and he sniffed. “Nope,” he said, then walked to the trash can and dropped the rock hard fudge ball into its depths. He turned once, waved, then walked off.

  “Wait a second,” Heather said.

  But Jamie Purdue didn’t turn back. He motored out of the park, turned the corner and disappeared.

  “Well,” Amy said. “That went just fine.”

  “Did you see his face?” Heather whispered and stepped closer to her bestie.

  Lilly frolicked with Dave by the edge of the pond and showed him the ducks. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but Heather didn’t want to go into too much detail with her around.

  “I didn’t like it,” Amy said. “Not his facial features. He wasn’t bad looking. I just mean I didn’t like the way he reacted.”

  Heather arched an eyebrow at Amy. “I know what you meant.”

  “Right,” she replied, and clicked her fingers. “I bet he’s up to something.”

  “Maybe so,” Heather said, “but there’s not much I can do until I have evidence which says so.” She checked her watch, then crooked a finger at Lilly. “C’mon, Lils, it’s time to get home. We’ve got to work on your
project, tonight.”

  “What project?” Amy asked.

  “It’s on Mount Vesuvius,” Heather replied. “We’re making an actual volcano.”

  “Oh, can I get in on that? It sounds fun.”

  “Sure!” Heather linked her arm through her bestie’s then smiled at Lilly and naughty Dave.

  Everything in her life was perfect. Except, she couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that Jamie Purdue had something to do with the attack.

  Her gaze flickered to the trash can. “Curious,” she whispered.

  Chapter 5

  Heather stood beside Emily and pointed to the whipping cream. “It’s very simple, but it’s super important to use freshly brewed espresso. It gives the coffee cream an extra kick.”

  “Got it,” Emily said and made a small note on a pad. The newest assistant at Donut Delights always brought it to work to take notes on technique and the recipes.

  Heather liked that about her. Maybe that was because she took loads of notes herself, though they were for mysteries rather than her grandmother’s donut recipes.

  Ugh, she couldn’t think about the mystery now. Too many unsolved leads and frustrating interviews.

  “And we add a pinch of powdered chocolate to give it an extra sweetness and even out the bitter of the coffee.” Heather adjusted her apron and grinned at Angelica across the room.

  Angelica smiled back and piped donut mixture into an oven tray.

  “Powdered chocolate,” Emily said, and her pen nib scratched across her page. “Got it!”

  “Right, and then –”

  The back door which led into the kitchen swung open, and Ken stepped into the room. He’d disappeared through it a few minutes earlier, to take out the trash.

  “Heather?” He said. He stepped forward and the camera which hung from the strap around his neck flapped against his chest.

  “What’s up?”

  Ken’s eyes were as wide as that camera lens.

  “Ken, what’s wrong?” She asked.

  He shook his head, and the dark hair on his head flopped in the self-made breeze. “You’d better come have a look for yourself. It’s, well, it’s just plain weird.”

  Heather glanced at Emily and shrugged. “I’ll be right back, Ems. Angelica can teach you more about the treacle.”

  “Sure,” Emily replied, and gathered up her notepad and pen. She hurried to Angelica’s side, then flipped over a page and scribbled something at the top.

  Heather walked to the back door and fell in step with Ken. “You look spooked.”

  “It’s just so weird,” he said. “Boss, I’m not one to get creeped out, but this is just… wow. You’ll see for yourself.”

  He opened the back door and held it for her, and Heather walked down the two steps and into the alley behind her store.

  Her jaw dropped. She shook her head once, then blinked.

  “Told you it was weird.”

  Heather rubbed her eyes to clear them, but that didn’t take away the mess on the concrete in the alley.

  Her dumpsters had been emptied out. Empty packets and donut crumbs drifted through the alley, pushed along by the fall breeze. An empty icing bag lay beside the dumpster.

  Trash everywhere, except for one obvious item.

  “Where are all the boxes?” Heather asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The donut boxes. Our Donut Delights boxes. There are usually some in the dumpsters. Where are they?” Heather asked, but it was a question for herself, not for Ken.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I brought some out yesterday. I swear I don’t know what happened out here. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Heather tapped her bottom lip with her thumb.

  “Do you think it was a raccoon?”

  “Only if raccoons have learned how to lift heavy dumpster lids.” Or if that raccoon was bald and owned its own donut store.

  So, this was where Geoff had stolen the Donut Delights boxes.

  The week before, she’d met a kid who’d had a Donut Delight box filled with Geoff’s stale cast off donuts.

  Either Lawless wanted to bring down her store, or he’d run out of money for packaging.

  “Heather?”

  “Huh?” She turned back to Ken.

  “Sorry, it’s just you’ve been staring at the dumpster for three minutes in total silence,” he replied, and fiddled with a dial on his camera.

  “Hey Ken, do me a favor and snap a couple of pics of this, will ya?”

  “No problem,” he replied. “That’s what I love to do.” He raised his camera, and Heather backed out of the shot.

  This had only one possible explanation. Geoff had come to Donut Delights and stolen the boxes.

  But that wasn’t a full explanation. Why did he want them? Especially now that he’d disappeared.

  “Whoa,” Amy said and stepped out of the back door. “Did something explode?”

  Ken clicked another picture then circled to the other dumpster. “We figure it’s a raccoon.”

  “What kind of raccoon does this?” Amy asked.

  Heather met her bestie’s gaze. “A bald one.”

  “I don’t get it,” Ken said.

  “I do.” Amy stepped down beside Heather and placed her fists on her hips. She narrowed her eyes at the crumbs and mess, then turned to the donut maker. “No boxes. You think –”

  “Yeah. This is where he’s getting them, but why? Why would he come back here after he’s mysteriously disappeared? It wasn’t like this yesterday.”

  Amy wriggled her lips from side to side, then shook her head. “You’ve got me.”

  Geoff Lawless, murder suspect, had come to the store and stolen from it.

  Heather huffed out a sigh and copied her best friend’s stance. “I need to know more,” she whispered. “More about Billy Bolde and more about the case.”

  “I’m with you, captain,” Amy replied.

  Ken put the lens cap back on his camera and looked up. “All done. I’ll email these to you, Heather.”

  “Thanks a billion,” she replied. “Ugh, now to clean up this mess.”

  “Maricela and I will do it,” he replied, and smiled at them.

  Amy raised both eyebrows. “Maricela, eh? Why her?”

  Ken’s cheeks flushed the color of strawberry coulis. He cleared his throat twice. “No reason,” he replied. “Just she likes to help. That’s all. I – uh, excuse me,” he said and darted into the kitchen.

  The back door swung shut behind him.

  “Now, was that really necessary?” Heather asked. “You made the poor guy blush.”

  “Love is in the air,” Amy said and twirled her wrists. “Then again, that could be the scent of stale donuts. Not much difference is there?”

  Chapter 6

  Billy Bolde’s offices sat on the bottom floor of a dingy building in the business district in Hillside.

  Heather sniffed and shifted her feet in her boots.

  “We’ve got a search warrant,” Ryan said. “It’s ours to investigate for now.”

  Heather nodded, but she couldn’t help but glance around. She half-expected Geoff Lawless to pop out of a trash can, flashlight and Donut Delights box in hand.

  Ugh, that was plain paranoia. She’d taken a leaf out of Amy’s book, apparently.

  “Let’s check it out,” Heather said.

  They walked toward the entrance together, and Ryan led the way through the glass plate door and into the lobby of the building.

  A chubby receptionist sat behind the desk and picked her teeth. She didn’t look up from her magazine, but licked her thumb and flipped the page.

  “Good morning,” Ryan said.

  She finally deigned to raise her gaze. She looked at them for a moment, her lids hung low over her bright green eyes. “Uh huh,” she said, then returned to her magazine.

  Ryan scratched at his temple.

  Maybe he hadn’t as much experience with rude receptionists as Heather had. Sh
e linked her arm through his, then led the way down the hall.

  The woman behind the desk, devoid of a nametag, didn’t try to stop them.

  “Should be around here somewhere,” Ryan said and checked his notes.

  “There,” Heather said and pointed to the nameplate on the door at the end of the hall.

  The tarnished bronze plate hung skew but blared the title: Private Investigator Bolde.

  “Wow,” Heather said. “I didn’t know this was what he did.”

  “I found out this morning,” Ryan replied. “Apparently, he wasn’t so much an investigator as he was a teacher.”

  “He taught a course in this?” Heather asked.

  “That’s correct.” Ryan slipped a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. He turned it, and the door clicked, then swung inward. “His wife had the key.”

  “She had the key,” Heather repeated. That set off alarm bells in her mind.

  Why would Brooke Bolde have had the keys to her husband’s office? Unless she worked with him.

  But no, she certainly wasn’t a receptionist. Heather’s Intel, that was to say, the loudmouth Sharon Janis, had been very clear about Brooke’s occupation.

  Housewife.

  Sharon had mocked Brooke for that until Heather stepped in and told her to cool it. Being a housewife certainly wasn’t easy.

  “I wonder,” Heather said, and stepped into the beige carpeted room.

  She walked to the small desk in front of an even smaller window and pressed her finger to her nose.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that our list of suspects has broadened,” she said and slid open a desk drawer. Papers erupted upward and scattered to the floor. “Shoot.”

  “Just how many papers did that guy have in his desk?”

  Heather bent and picked on up, then examined it. “Many. And they’re all bills.” She paged through the notes and frowned.

  They were tied together by a common thread. Debt.

  “Our victim owed a lot of money to a lot of people, just like his wife indicated,” Heather said. She collected a handful of papers, stood and placed them on the desk.

  The desk held nothing but a single picture of Brooke and Billy Bolde together, their house in the background.