Christmas Donut Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 31

by Susan Gillard

  Jennifer Hardbody paled to the color of off milk.

  “It’s none of your business why they’re here,” she said, at last, but that hue didn’t change. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Past time,” Heather agreed and checked her watch. “Have a good morning, Mrs. Hardbody. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 12

  Heather strode through her office and around to her side of the desk, plate in hand. Her Christmas donut bobbled on top of it and the red and green sprinkles cheered her up a little.

  Sure, Jennifer had been horrible at the mansion, but at least, Heather had a sweet treat to pass the time and a great family with which to spend Christmas.

  She sat down in her high-backed chair and swiveled from left to right, left to right, gaze on the tablet.

  Two tasks called to her.

  The case and the long list of online orders, which desperately needed some organization.

  Heather sighed, slapped her plate down on the corner of the desk, then flipped open her laptop lid. The computer whirred to action and Heather took a moment for a donut break.

  She bit into her creation and chewed. The soft doughnut practically melted in her mouth, apart from the chewy and oh-so-sweet cranberries. The white almond glaze crunched between her teeth and the sprinkles tumbled along her tongue.

  “Perfection,” she muttered, and shut her eyes. “If I do say so myself.”

  The laptop dinged its welcome tune, and Heather’s eyelids snapped open again. It was time to get to work.

  She clicked on the Excel icon, then opened her latest spreadsheet. She had to update it with the newer orders before Amy could enter them into their kitchen diary. Each order had to be checked and double-checked on the system.

  Heather refused to leave out an order because of sloppiness, or make double for the same reason.

  She minimized that task, then opened up her email client. The message box at the bottom of the screen ticked, and new mail poured in. Heather took another bite of the donut to pass the time.

  Emails dinged into her inbox. The one on top caught her gaze, immediately, and she dropped the donut to its plate again, then rubbed the sprinkles from her fingers with her thumb.

  Ryan had emailed, not two minutes ago.

  Heather clicked on the mail and opened it up.

  Check out the attachment. R.

  She clicked on the pdf document at the bottom of the page, and it opened. The cursor transformed into a blue circle and light swirled around its edge. Finally, the document flashed into view.

  The letterhead bore the insignia of the South Texas College of Law.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hardbody,

  We regret to inform you that your son, Victor Hardbody the Second, has failed another semester of his law degree. His failure to apply himself to his work and the complaints from both his teachers and his peers has led us to believe that he is no longer a fit for our school.

  He will not be welcome back at the South Texas College of Law, next semester. Please note, all fees paid up until this date are strictly non-refundable, and any fees in arrears for both semesters of the year, 2016, are payable upon receipt of this notice.

  With Kind Regards,

  Gordon L. Rouge

  Dean of the South Texas College of Law.

  Heather sat back and raised both eyebrows. “Ouch,” she said. “That’s got to hurt.”

  Her office door opened, and Amy poked her head around the corner. “What was that?”

  “I said, I never get any peace around here,” Heather replied, and stuck out her tongue. “Kidding. It’s this email. Come take a look.”

  Amy shuffled through and left the door open behind her. The chatter from the front of the store leaked through, but Heather didn’t mind one bit. It reminded her of the joy which inhabited her store and her life.

  Amy leaned on the back of Heather’s chair and scanned the notice. “Ouch,” she said. “I bet that didn’t make Junior’s mom and dad like him more.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Junior’s parents already disdained him. I wonder what they thought of him failing the subject his father had insisted he take,” Heather said.

  “What’s the date on the letter?” Amy asked.

  Heather scrolled to the top of the notice again. “The 15th of December. They had to know about this. Shoot, even Junior had to have known about this when I spoke to him. So, why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Maybe he wanted to hide it. Maybe he thought you’d view it as a motive for him to do the deed if you know what I mean,” Amy said.

  “Maybe,” Heather replied. “Either way. I think we’d better find out.”

  Amy straightened and brushed a stray sprinkle off her apron. “We’re going to have to take the umbrella,” she said. “It’s pouring outside.”

  Chapter 13

  Heather gripped the umbrella by the hooked handle and hammered her fist against the front door of the Hardbody mansion.

  “Maybe, they’re not home,” Amy said, and shivered. She rubbed her gloved hands up and down her puffy-coated arms.

  Heather shook her head. “I’m sure they’re home. They just can’t hear us over this rain.” She jammed her finger into the bronze button again and a doorbell clanged inside.

  “Come on, let’s just go back to the store and have a –”

  The front door opened and the dark-haired older brother stepped onto the porch. “What do you want?” He hissed, through gritted teeth.

  Amy’s eyes went as round as donut holes. She stumbled back a step. “Wha –?”

  The sight of the black bedecked young adult had shocked Heather’s bestie to the core. Junior, for his part, stared at her as if she’d dragged in something particularly smelly and left it on one of his artsy monster drawings.

  “Ames, this is Junior Hardbody,” she said. “Victor’s son.”

  “Hello,” Amy said. The shock had obviously robbed her of her witticisms.

  “Sup,” Junior replied, and bobbed his chin once. “What do you want?” He focused the question on Heather. “My mom told me you were here again, snooping around. Asking questions about my brother.”

  “I was,” Heather replied, and shrugged. It was no big deal to be accused of snooping, nowadays. She did it professionally.

  “What’s your problem?” Junior growled. “Like, don’t you understand that we are grieving right now?” The smooth voice transformed into a growl akin to Dave’s at the prospect of losing his weekly donut treat.

  “My problem is I have a murder to solve, and your family isn’t cooperating,” Heather said, coolly.

  “We are cooperating,” Junior replied. “Just not with you.” He swung the door shut behind him and it clanged against the doorjamb. He fixed his attention on Heather again. “My brother has been through enough. He doesn’t need you asking questions about him.”

  “Your brother didn’t seem all that concerned the last time we spoke,” Heather replied. “In fact, he seemed pretty relaxed about the fact that your father was gone. He mentioned you were the one who would take it worse.”

  Confusion flickered beneath the black fringe of hair. “What?”

  “He said that you and your father had a strained relationship because you weren’t what you father wanted you to be,” Heather replied. “And that you guys often argued.” So, she’d embellished a little.

  The insinuation that Junior’s brother had spoken about him behind his back had triggered a strange reaction.

  Heather leaned on that fact. “Is that true?” She asked.

  “Yeah, so? Everyone knows I’m the black sheep in the family.”

  The words rang right from his mother’s mouth. Poor kid. He’d probably heard that constantly, growing up.

  “Luckily, mom and Kenny are here for me when I need them,” Junior said. He folded his skinny arms across his chest.

  “How did your father react when he discovered that you were kicked out of college?” Heather asked, cold as the iciest milks
hake in Donut Delights.

  Junior’s façade crumbled. A brief moment of weakness – his eyes drooped at the corners and sadness emanated from within. He snapped up that angry wall again. “He screamed at me. Same old, same old. He’s always putting pressure on me to be better than my brother.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “How would it make you feel?” Junior asked. “Luckily, my bro and I are in the same boat. When he’s angry at Kenny, he likes me. When he’s angry at me, he likes Kenny. Lately, it’s been more of the angry at me part, but so what? I’m used to it. Big deal. Yawn.”

  Heather wiggled the umbrella overhead and a few droplets danced free from the canopy and splatted to the wooden boards of the porch.

  Junior stepped back to avoid them.

  The rain drizzled beyond the overhang, and thunder rolled in the distance.

  “Is that all you came here to ask me?” Junior asked, and tossed back his black fringe. “Seriously? You think I care that you know I failed my semester.”

  “Both semesters,” Amy said, then closed her mouth. She blushed. Amy wasn’t a cruel person, but she did have a serious case of ‘not-knowing-when-to-shut-up’ syndrome.

  “Right, yeah, whatever. So, I flunked out. My dad freaked out at me. That’s over. Get lost,” he said.

  He turned and opened the front door, then swept inside. He made to close it, but Heather jammed her foot between the edge of the door and the jamb. It bounced off her kitten heel.

  “Ouch,” Heather said. “Junior, wait. One last thing.”

  “No,” he replied. “I’m done with this conversation. And if you don’t get lost, I’m going to call the cops or –” He cut off and a slow smile spread across his face. A grin to rival a Cheshire cat who’d drank a bowl of cream.

  “That’s not creepy at all,” Amy muttered.

  A car door slammed behind them, and both Amy and Heather jerked around on the porch. They stared out into the rain.

  “Uh oh,” Heather muttered.

  “Who’s that?” Amy asked, and frowned at the black suit who strode up the path toward them.

  The rain dripped from the top of his head and the shoulders of his jacket, but he didn’t move to shield himself from it.

  “It’s Agent Orchard,” Heather replied, and her heart sank.

  “Busted,” Junior hissed, behind them, then clapped the front door shut.

  Chapter 14

  “This should be fun,” Heather muttered, and dropped her open umbrella to one side. She rested the pole in the crook of her arm and narrowed her eyes at the approaching agent.

  The wind picked up and fluttered a vane which poked out of the grass beside the path. Wind chimes tinkled and knocked beneath the eaves.

  Agent Orchard mounted the stairs to the backdrop of rain and emerged from the wetness, hale and ready for a fight, judging by the anger in his eyes.

  “Heather Shepherd,” he said. “How did I know I would find you here?”

  “Clairvoyance?” Amy suggested.

  He trained his gaze on her instead. “And who’s this? A partner in crime?”

  “A partner in investigation,” Heather replied, and twirled the umbrella’s pole against her coat. The cover flicked in circle and sprayed the last of its drops to the porch. “Amy is my assistant.”

  Amy nodded a greeting to the agent, but all words were lost to her, now. She’d paled and clammed her lips into a thin, white line.

  “I warned you about coming here again, Shepherd,” the agent said, and raised a single, tapered finger. He whipped it back and forth, and Heather flashed back to memories from one of her first teachers.

  She glanced askance at Amy. Her bestie’s stare had glazed over. Heather would’ve bet her last donut Ames’ had just endured the same recollection.

  “We were just talking to a suspect,” Heather replied. “Is that a problem? You didn’t tell me I had to stay away from –”

  “That’s exactly what I told you,” Orchard replied. “I’ve got important work to do here, and I don’t need you hanging around, messing with my evidence.”

  Heather sighed and knuckled her forehead. “Look, I’m good at what I do.”

  “Modest,” Orchard replied.

  “I don’t have time to be modest when you’re jumping on my back and breathing down my neck,” Heather snapped. She schooled her expression to calm.

  “Keep it professional,” Amy whispered.

  “I’m good at what I do,” Heather said, and kept her cool this time. “I can help you, since I know the people of Hillside better than you do. And I’ve got the inside edge on this case.”

  Agent Orchard fell silent and stared at her. His gaze chased across her face and measured the intent behind her words. He took a deep breath through his mouth and exhaled through his nose.

  Tension stretched between them. A thin cord which twanged in the growing wind. The rain roared on the roof above their heads.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t need your help.”

  “But –”

  “Much like yourself, I’m good at what I do. And one of the things I do really well,” he said and stepped up close, “is recognize a poser when I see one. And that’s what you are. A baker posing as an investigator.”

  The observation struck Heather in the center of her chest. She didn’t let it unwind the coil of serenity she’d twisted around her soul.

  He could judge her all he liked, but the ‘humble’ Agent Orchard would never know who she was or where she’d come from.

  Or what she’d endured for that matter.

  “Heather’s worth ten of you,” Amy said, and her cheeks flushed from pink to bright red. She balled her hands into fists at her sides. “You’re just a mean, hapless –”

  “Ames,” Heather whispered. “Don’t even bother.”

  “That’s right,” Agent Orchard replied. “Don’t bother. Now, get off this porch and back in your car, before I remove you myself.” He marched past them and pressed the doorbell beside the front door.

  Junior opened up a second later. “Hello, Agent Orchard. Please, come in.” All sweetness and flowers now that the FBI had arrived.

  The agent marched over the threshold, and the door slammed shut again a second later.

  “Heather, don’t listen to him,” Amy said. “You’re amazing. You’ve solved countless cases.”

  “Don’t worry, Ames. I don’t take orders from people like him. That’s a lie,” she said. “I don’t take orders from anyone at all. Come one, let’s get out of here. There’s a Christmas Donut with your name on it, back at the store.”

  “I thought you’d never say that.” Amy looped her arm through her friend’s.

  Heather raised her umbrella and held it above their heads. Together, they trudged down the stairs and onto the path.

  Chapter 15

  Heather marched down the paving stones of the front path in front of the Hardbody mansion, Ames at her side. The driving rain pattered on top of their umbrella. That patter turned into a roar, but Heather paused regardless and turned back.

  “What are you doing?” Amy asked.

  “Nothing, nothing,” she said. “I’m just furious at the gall of that man. He thinks he can push people around as much as he likes and there won’t be any consequences.”

  “Well, I hate to burst your bubble and everything,” Amy said, over the rush of water above their heads, “but he is an FBI agent.”

  Heather snorted. “Just because you’re in a position of power, doesn’t mean you get to act –”

  A gust of wind showered them with a side-swipe of rain. The droplets pattered against Amy’s puffy coat and sprayed Heather in the face.

  “Oh, wow, can we get out of here now?” Amy asked.

  Heather opened her mouth to answer, but another gust of wind grasped the hold of the umbrella. It swept beneath the curves of the ribs and filled the inside of with air. Heather clung to the curved, wooden handle for dear life.

  Her fingers
slipped, and the umbrella tumbled across the lawn toward the far line of trees and the neat flowerbeds at the edges of the Hardbody lawn.

  Amy shrieked and covered her head.

  “Shelter on the porch,” Heather yelled, above the driving rain. “I’ll get it.”

  Amy didn’t argue. She rushed toward the stairs as if she’d melt if she spent a second longer in the rain.

  Heather darted across the lawn, but the rain had already sunk through to the earth and waterlogged the grass. She circled one massive puddle and came to another. Water dripped down the bridge of her nose and she bowed her head to avoid blinking torrents of the stuff.

  Heather took another step and her kitten heel sank into the mud with a dissatisfying squelch. Cold water and dirt rose around her foot. She pulled it free and waggled it, and mud slopped off her shoe.

  She labored on.

  “No use stopping now, you’re already sopping wet.” On second thought, they probably could’ve rang the doorbell and asked that stuck up Agent Orchard to call them a taxi. Or Ryan.

  The thought of that turned her stomach. No, she’d rather not rely on the FBI agent for anything.

  The umbrella waved a greeting, caught between the trunks of two trees. Heather glanced back at the house and frowned. These trees were exactly in line with the locked door which led into the basement.

  “Curious,” she said, and water filtered into her mouth.

  She hurried to the umbrella and grabbed it by its hooked end. She lifted it carefully and angled it so another gust of wind wouldn’t steal it from her again. A bright red hand caught her gaze.

  She gelled to a halt. Anxiety crawled through her belly. A red hand? Ridiculous.

  That was a glove. But why would a glove be out here, in the garden? Unless it belonged to the Hardbody’s gardener.

  The rain went back to a patter on the canopy of her navy blue umbrella, but Heather didn’t pay it any attention. Instead, she bent and examined the glove.