Heather should’ve kept a cool head about it, but goodness she couldn’t be perfect all the darn time.
“Then I’ll give you this once chance to go back on that. One chance,” Kate said and raised her bright red fingernail. She waved it underneath Heather’s nose. “One chance only.”
“Or what?” Heather asked, and closed her fist on that black dial.
“Or I’ll sabotage your little event. I’ll ruin it. Embarrass you in front of the entire town and everyone who comes to visit,” Kate said, and a muscle hopped in her jaw.
“Oh, I see. So you’re threatening me,” Heather replied. “You do realize threats don’t make me want to work with you, right?”
“I don’t care what they make you want to do. The choice is yours. Bring in my cupcakes, or you’re done, Shepherd. Done like a – like a –”
“Turkey?” Heather asked. “Donut? Silverside beef roast? I don’t mean to be critical here, but the options are endless.”
“Whatever. Make your choice. Me or you’re over.”
Heather didn’t consider it for a second. No amount of threats or bullying would stop her from following through with the fair. She sighed.
“Well?” Kate crossed her bony arms across her chest and tapped her heel on the golden painted boards.
“I only have one thing to say to you, Miss Laverne,” Heather said.
But she didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned on the milk frothing machine and frothed the milk in her beaker.
Kate went pink as a plum. She threw her arms up in the air, spun on the spot and stomped off toward the exit.
Heather let the machine buzz a little longer to block out the tinkle and slam of Laverne’s exit. At last, she switched off the machine and lifted the beaker. “The perfect foam,” she said, “for the perfect cup of coffee.”
She created her cappuccino and added a decorative swirl just for fun. On days like these, the little things counted. They added up to happy moments which she’d examine at the end of her evening.
Kate might have a plan to sabotage the fair, or she might be bluffing. It was something Heather couldn’t control, right now.
Neither were the odd facts in this case – and that bothered her more than Miss Laverne’s temper tantrums ever could.
Chapter 13
“Just the cat this time,” Amy said and stared at Cupcake’s furry, white tail in front of them. “Not Dave?”
“Lilly, Dave, and Eva went to the shelter to visit the kids,” Heather said. “Just because Cupcake can’t go, doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a walk.”
Amy harrumphed and kept her opinion to herself. It was better that way. The last time she’d commented on the kitty’s presence on their walks, she’d ended up with scratches.
“Hey, that reminds me,” Amy said. “Whatever happened to Ryan’s cat? Didn’t he have a cat from his past marriage?”
Heather nodded. “Yeah, he did.” She didn’t like to think of the past much. “He had the kitty before I’d opened my eyes to how awesome they could be. I’ll admit I was pretty biased at the time. I still feel ashamed about it.”
“Oh gosh, what did you do to the cat?” Amy asked.
“Nothing,” Heather replied and whipped her bestie’s arm with the end of the leash. “Ryan gave the cat to one of his aunts. She lives over in Temple. He calls in to check on the kitty every now and again. Apparently, the two of them get on like a house on fire.”
“Oh, well that’s good. At least they’re happy.”
Heather still got a case of the guilt over that cat. She’d never asked Ryan to give it away, but he’d likely assumed she wouldn’t want the cat in her house because she’d made it pretty clear she was a ‘dog person’ at the time.
“So where are we headed after the park? Krakowski’s?” Amy asked.
“It’s a little late for that. I just want to hang out for now. Gather my thoughts about the case. I’ve got to piece together the bits and pieces we’ve got, so I know which lead to follow next.”
They paced down the sidewalk, the sun at their backs, and the park within their sights. The trees reared tall in the distance. A car rushed by and a man with a black Mohawk strolled down the sidewalk toward them.
Amy’s eyes went round. “Heather.”
“I know.”
“Heather,” she repeated.
“Act natural.”
Amy swung her arms back and forth, a little too wildly for a natural walking stance.
“That’s acting natural?” Heather hissed.
The Mohawk bearer ignored them completely. He kept his gaze on the space of ‘crete between his feet and trundled along, the tips of his black hair undisturbed by the rush of air his passage created.
Mohawk man drew closer. Then he was beside them, passing and gone.
Heather turned her head to one side and eyed him out of her peripheral vision. Mohawk man didn’t quicken his pace – why would he? He had no idea that Heather Shepherd had just honed in on her next interview target.
She bent and swept Cupcake into her arms.
“You’re not going to –” Amy cut off and finally quit swinging her arms around like Coco, the gorilla.
“That’s exactly what we’re going to.” Heather pretended to examine something on the ground and Cupcake meowed impatiently in her arms.
Mohawk man rounded the corner.
“He’s gone left,” Heather said and rushed down the street after him. “Quick Ames. Quick and quiet.”
Amy didn’t huff and complain for once.
They dashed toward the corner, then slowed and peered around the slatted wooden fence which bisected it.
The mystery man’s Mohawk disappeared around the next corner.
“Left again,” Heather said. “He’s heading into the suburbs.”
They followed him. Cupcake dug her claws into Heather’s forearm and clung to her, but she didn’t bother prying the kitty free. Her tail had formed a bottlebrush. Cupcake wasn’t used to high-speed foot chases.
Heather peered around the next corner and caught sight of their target again. He walked up the short driveway to a low-slung home. No fence or gate and the garden was ill-kempt.
Abandoned? No. There were curtains in the windows.
He entered and shut the door behind himself.
“Well, that’s where he lives,” Amy said. “Are we done now?”
“Not even close,” Heather said. “Hold my cat.” She handed Cupcake and her magenta leash over and ignored Amy’s moan of fear. Heather dug around in her bag and brought out her cell and her Taser.
“Oh boy,” Amy said. Cupcake hadn’t started scratching yet, at least.
“Let’s do this,” Heather replied.
The fading light didn’t do much to hide them from view, and the mystery man’s front garden didn’t hold a tree or a bush for cover. They’d just have to confront him head on if it came down to that.
Failing that, she’d call Ryan to come check the guy out.
They jogged across the road, down the sidewalk, and up the garden path. Heather halted in front of one of the windows, just off the side of the porch.
Mystery Mohawk stood in the center of the room, beneath the ceiling light. He held a golden pocket watch in one hand, and a magnifying glass in the other.
Heather took another step forward and peeked at the coffee table below his knees.
Diamond tennis bracelets, necklaces, watches. The loot from the jewelry store heist.
The thief turned toward the window.
“Get down,” Heather hissed and ducked beneath the sill. Amy followed her lead. Cupcake had the good sense to keep silent and claws away.
They’d just found the jewelry thief. The light from the window above her head cut out and Heather tilted her head back.
He’d just drawn the curtains. That had to mean he’d be in there, admiring his stash for a little while longer.
“I knew the diamonds were relevant,” she whispered. They’d found a connectio
n between the diamonds and the victim. But why?
Heather unlocked her cell phone. It was high time she called in the professionals on this one. And she could think of no better professional than Detective Ryan Shepherd with the Hillside Police Department.
Chapter 14
Amy had already taken Cupcake back to the house, to wait for Lilly, Dave and Eva’s return, and the purple dusk settled across the remnants of the grass in front of Mohawk man’s house.
Ryan strolled down the sidewalk. He’d parked his car down the road to avoid unnecessary attention.
Heather stepped out from the neighbor’s yard and walked beside him. “Just you? No backup? This is a jewelry thief, Ryan. Surely he’ll have some means of defending himself.”
“I doubt he’s got anything,” Ryan said. “This guy didn’t burst into the store during broad daylight. He pulled off a calculated late night stealth job. Blazing guns and anger don’t fit the profile.”
“Fit the profile?” Heather asked. “Maybe you’re right. But should you really risk that?” She couldn’t quash the bubbling nerves or the parade of butterflies in her stomach. They’d diversified into a marching band and a choir, now.
A whole town of butterflies to drive her into anxiety.
“Okay, Mrs. Smarty Pants. I’ve got backup on the way, already. They’ll be here in five.”
“But you’re going to go in before that, aren’t you?” Heather asked, and the choir performed another flappy winged chorus.
“I learned from the best,” he said and winked at her.
She had to relax. After all, Ryan was a paid police officer. This was what he did for a living. If he thought for a second he couldn’t handle the situation. He wouldn’t go in there.
“Wait here, please,” he said, in his commanding cop tone. “I’ll call you when it’s safe to come in.”
She’d get to come in? Perhaps, Ryan thought it’d be best to interview the guy now, while he was on the back foot.
Her husband strode down the garden path, past the withered grass and empty flower beds, and up the front stairs. He knocked twice on the front door. He didn’t announce himself as she’d witnessed in countless cop shows and movies.
The Knock and Announce Rule only applied if the officer had an actual search warrant for the premises. Ryan didn’t, as far as she knew.
A minute passed.
The door opened inward and Mohawk guy appeared in the doorway. He let out a girlish scream and raised his palms above his head. “Don’t shoot,” he yelped. “I didn’t do anything. Don’t shoot, okay?”
Ryan lifted his hand off his holster. “Turn around please, sir. Keep your hands in the air.” Ryan patted the guy down for weapons. “All right, now put your hands behind your back. Just like that.” He cuffed the suspect and escorted him into the building.
“I didn’t do anything. Okay, look, those aren’t mine. I just found them here,” the man said.
“You can come in, Heather,” Ryan called.
Heather’s insides reformed themselves. She hurried up the path on jellied legs. Nothing had happened, but it may well have. Luckily, Detective Shepherd always had control.
She entered the house and wrinkled her nose at the scent of burnt food and layers upon layer of dust like unpolished antique knockoffs in a back alley store.
“In here,” Ryan said.
She took a right and entered the living room she’d spied on ten minutes before. The diamond items, the jewelry, lay piled on the stained wooden coffee table, and Mohawk man, pale even in the yellow light, swayed in the armchair.
“Police brutality. Why am I being detained?”
“You’re being detained because you present a threat to myself and this woman,” Ryan replied. “It’s my obligation to ensure this situation doesn’t escalate.”
“So I’m not under arrest,” the guy said and eyed the diamonds.
“Don’t count your chickens, buddy.”
“That some kind of small town saying?” Mohawk asked.
“No, that’s just a regular saying,” Heather replied. Ah, she’d found her voice, at last. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t have the right –”
“She works for the police department, son,” Ryan said, though Mohawk couldn’t have been more than ten years younger. “Answer the question.”
The suspect writhed against authority. He stomped his big black boots. “Mordecai Dyson,” he replied. Mordecai was much better than the name Mohawk.
“You knew Helena Chadwick,” she stated.
Mordecai froze. He gulped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “What’s this about?” He asked.
“Did you know Helena Chadwick?” Heather asked.
“Yes,” he hissed.
“You know she passed,” she replied.
“Yeah,” he said.
“You know she was murdered.”
“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions,” Mordecai said and glanced from left to right. Shifty-eyed. Oh boy – could they rely on anything he told them?
“Jump to conclusions?” Ryan asked, and unbuttoned his holster. “She was crushed by a bookcase, Mordecai, the conclusion has already come and gone. We’re just looking for the why.”
A bit blunt, but Heather could work with that.
“Why were you at the library on the morning of Helena’s murder?” Heather asked.
Mordecai’s temperament withered beneath her gaze. His bad boy punk rocker look failed beneath questioning. “I – look, I didn’t hurt her, all right?”
“Answer the question,” Ryan said, coolly.
“I came to find her, all right?” Mordecai replied. “She was my girlfriend before she – before she ran away. I wanted to find her. I loved her. I loved her with everything, but she kept running from me.”
“Why did you follow?” Heather asked.
“I just told you,” Mordecai replied. “I loved her.” He moved to the edge of the armchair, his eyes as bright as the diamonds on the coffee table. “I would’ve done anything to keep her safe.”
“Start from the beginning, Mordecai. Why would she run away from you, in the first place? And where did she run from?” Heather asked.
A siren whooped outside. The backup had arrived. The minute those cops busted through, murder investigation time would be over. They’d book Mordecai for the theft, instead and keep him in their interrogation room.
Heather needed to feel this guy out before they swept him off to a cell.
“Dallas,” Mordecai said. “We lived in Dallas. I think she was scared. We got into some trouble up there, and she ran.”
“Diamond trouble?” Heather asked, and gestured to the coffee table.
“Uh-huh. She told me she was sick of the life. She wanted to start new,” he said, and a slow smile crept onto his face. “But I followed her. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist another gift.”
“A gift?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah. The best gift. But she still ignored me. She told me to leave. I couldn’t leave, man. I loved her. I still love her. I –”
Hoskins strolled into the living room, larger than life and the average man. “Well, well, welly, well-o. What have we here?”
Heather sighed and retreated to the living room window. She’d hardly gotten the chance to interview the kid, and all she’d felt was anger and fear, and an overwhelming sense of need.
Mordecai had definitely stolen the diamonds. And he’d definitely loved Helena Chadwick.
But had it been the obsessive kind of love? The deathly kind.
Chapter 15
Heather rearranged her fluffy robe and tied it tight around her waist. She dragged the laptop toward her on the top of her dressing table.
She stretched her fingers across the keyboard but didn’t type anything just yet.
“Diamonds,” she said.
The connection was there. She had to figure it out, somehow. Ryan was still down at the station, interrogating the suspect. He’d call her if
he found out anything new.
“A gift,” she said.
What had Mordecai Dyson meant by that? He’d given Helena a gift. One she couldn’t resist.
Heather shuddered. That in itself sounded ominous, but the man had genuinely seemed to love her.
Helena had a checkered past, all right. Heather grabbed the dossier beside her laptop and flipped it open. She rifled through the information and brought out Helena’s rap sheet.
“Petty theft, armed burglary, aggravated assault,” Heather said, out loud.
Krakowski had been right about her, as had Martha Rizzo.
“A gift,” Heather repeated. “Come on, woman, think.”
She stared at Helena’s mugshot and exhaled, slowly.
“Mordecai stole the diamonds from Krakowski’s jewelry store. He gave Helena a gift. One she couldn’t resist,” Heather said and tapped her thumb on the picture. “The gift could’ve been the tennis bracelet. That would make sense.”
Or was it the removed engagement ring? No, that had to have been worn for quite a while to create tan lines. Then had Helena and Mordecai been married?
Heather put the dossier aside. “Helena Dyson,” she said, as she typed the woman’s name into the google search bar.
The results came up with a few Facebook profiles and Twitter accounts, but nothing else of use.
“Shoot,” she said. “Okay, so Mordecai gave her a gift. He hung out in the library and he – he –” Heather raised her palms to her eyes and rubbed them, furiously.
For the first time in a long time, the lack of evidence, the leads, all of it, had her stumped.
She might not be able to solve this one. Where was Amy when she needed a sounding board? Sheesh.
Heather picked up her cell. She unlocked it and scrolled through to Amy’s number, then dialed. She put the phone to her ear.
“It should be a crime to call past 9 pm, you know,” Amy said.
Heather grinned in spite of the situation. “Then lock me up. Are you busy? I need to talk about the case.”
“I was just making a cup of tea, actually.”
“You? Tea?”
Pecan Nut Crunch Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 35 Page 5