Strawberry Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 1 (4 page)

The curtains on Christa’s office window didn’t do much for keeping out the light, but Heather made sure they were closed anyway. 

“Do you want to just use your flashlight app?” Amy asked from her seat at Christa’s computer.

“No.  I think that would be just as suspicious if somebody saw it.  Maybe even more so.”  Heather pulled the visitor’s chair around to where she could sit in it and look over Amy’s shoulder.

“Well, what do you know?” Amy said as the screen came to life.  “She didn’t even have it password-protected.  I didn’t even get to hack in.” 

“Good.  I can take it from here, then,” Heather said.

They stood up and switched chairs.  Heather clicked on the “search” box in the bottom left corner and typed in “Joey Gorham.”  No results appeared, just a line of text asking her if she wanted to search the web.

She also typed in every variation of Billy’s name she could think of, but again, there were no results on Christa’s computer.

“She probably keeps personal documents at home,” Amy offered.

“I’ll try her email,” Heather said.  She clicked on the internet browser icon, and Christa’s home page appeared.  “I think she uses Yahoo.”

Entering Yahoo.com brought her directly to Christa’s account.  “Didn’t she believe in passwords?” Amy asked.

This time, searching for Billy’s name brought a lengthy list of results.  They seemed to be between Christa and a sender identified as Dunham, Locke, and Hart.  “The family lawyers,” Heather said to Amy, her eyes still focused on the screen.

Amy leaned in closer as Heather opened the first email.  “’It is our privilege to have had the opportunity to assist you and your family,’ blah, blah, blah,” Heather read out loud.  “Assist her with what?”

She scrolled down into the message history and stopped at an email dated two weeks ago.  “’As per our discussion of this afternoon, your father has asked that I forward you a copy of the relevant section of his will,’” she read.  “His
will
?  What the….”

“Open the attachment,” Amy pleaded, jabbing with her finger at the screen.

Heather clicked on it, confirmed that yes, she wanted to open it in Microsoft Word, and waited a few seconds for it to load.  “’I do hereby give, devise, and bequeath the entire contents of my estate to my wife, Carolyn Virginia Fordyce.  Should she predecease me, I give, devise, and bequeath my entire estate to my daughter, Christa Virginia Fordyce,’” she read.  “So he filed a new will naming Christa as his only heir?  He must have disinherited Billy.”

Amy whistled.  “Wow.  That’s a pretty good motive for murder, right there.”

“Yeah, if Billy knew.  Maybe
that
was what he meant by Christa screwing him over.  But how would she have gotten him cut out of the will?  Why did he think it was her fault?”

“Keep looking,” Amy suggested, gesturing to the computer screen.

“This first email about the will is dated two months ago,” Heather said slowly.  “That’s right about the time Billy went to rehab.”

“So he got cut out of the will because he went to rehab?”

“That has to be it,” Heather said.  “Christa mentioned once that if he didn’t stay out of rehab, her parents were going to disinherit him.  Looks like they made good on their promise.”

“So Billy found out, and he blamed Christa,” Amy said.

“Looks like it.  Now we just have to figure out where Joey Gorham comes in.  I mean, we know he’s Billy’s drug connection, but why is he here?  And why now?”

“And why did Christa
date
him?” Amy said, wrinkling her nose.  “You think
I’m
not picky?”

The sound of one car door slamming, then another, caused both of them to fall silent.  In a few seconds, loud pounding sounded at the back door, and a male voice called, “Hillside PD.  Open up.”

“Uh-oh,” Amy whispered.

“We have every right to be here,” Heather said.  She stood up, marched to the back door and opened it.  “Can I help you?” she asked the two uniformed officers, one male and one female, who were standing outside.

“We’ve been keeping an eye on this place since last night,” the male officer said.  “No one’s supposed to be in here.”

“I have every right to be here,” she said, as Amy came up behind her.

“Who are you?” the officer asked.

“My name is Heather Janke,” she said.  “This is Amy Givens.  We’re here because I have a key from the family.”

The officer frowned.  “Mind if we come in and check things out?” the female officer asked.

“Why?” Heather asked.

The female officer’s eyes grew hard.  “Because this was the scene of an unexpected death last night,” she said.  “How about we make sure there aren’t any more bodies lying around?”

Heather decided it wouldn’t be prudent to argue, so she stepped aside and allowed both officers into the shop.  She turned on the lights for them as they gave it the once-over, then glanced into the office.

“What are you doing on the computer?” the female officer asked.

“Family business,” Heather said. 
Close enough
.  “Do you want to see my key?”  She got it out of her purse and held it out to the two officers. 

“I’m going to make a phone call,” the male officer said, and he stepped back outside.

“Do you want to sit down?” Heather asked the female officer.

“No, thank you,” she said.  The three women stood in awkward silence until the officer added, “I’ve been sitting in a patrol car too long.”

The door opened, and the male officer came back inside.  “Shepherd’s on the way,” he said to the other officer, then looked directly at Heather.  “He says he knows you.”

“We’ve met,” she said.

“He wants you to stay here until he gets here.  Says he’s almost here.”

“Officer, I have things to do tonight,” she said.  “Are you saying I’m not free to go?”

The two officers looked at each other.  “No, Ms. Janke, I—“  He stopped as the door opened again and Detective Shepherd entered the kitchen.

“Good evening,” he said affably to Heather.  “A few minutes ago, I was notified that one of our patrol units—these two officers—had noticed a light on and were going to investigate.  Why am I not surprised to find that this involves you?”

“Because I care about solving this crime, maybe?” Heather said.

“You think a crime has been committed?” Shepherd asked.  “You don’t think this was just an accidental death?”

She met his gaze without flinching.  “No, I don’t,” she said.  “And neither do you.”

Shepherd held her gaze for a long moment.  “All right,” he said finally.  “Let’s sit down.”

***

Shepherd let the two uniformed officers go back to their patrol.  He, Heather, and Amy sat down at one of the rectangular formica tables in the front of the shop.  The women took two seats on the same side of the table and let Shepherd sit across from them.

For a moment, there was silence.  Then, “The autopsy results and the blood work came back,” he said.  “Ms. Fordyce died of cyanide poisoning.”

Heather’s mouth dropped open.  “What—I—I thought the autopsy results weren’t going to be back until later,” she finished lamely.

“They’re usually not,” Shepherd said.  “But an autopsy for cyanide poisoning has to be done in a much shorter time frame.”

“You must have suspected cyanide, then,” she said.

Shepherd nodded.  “The victim was slightly pinkish,” he said.  “I asked for a fast autopsy.”

“So did the cyanide come from that donut she ate?”

“No,” Shepherd said.  “That’s the thing.  The only thing she had in her stomach was a donut, apparently the same kind as the donut found next to her body.  But that donut didn’t have cyanide in it.”

“So ingesting cyanide killed her, and the only thing she had ingested recently was a strawberry cream donut, but the donut didn’t have cyanide in it?” Amy broke in.

“That’s the long and the short of it,” Shepherd said.

“Could Christa have eaten the donut after she had ingested the cyanide?  Or ingested the cyanide after she ate the donut?”

“Not likely,” he said.  “The amount of cyanide found in her blood and in her stomach contents would have killed her within minutes.”

“How
many
minutes?” Heather asked.

“Maybe five.”

“So she didn’t ingest the cyanide with the donut, but  she didn’t eat anything else, either.  Did she take it in its pure form?”

“That much cyanide?  Not without knowing it.”

Heather frowned.  Something wasn’t adding up.

“So in your sleuthing, did you uncover any potential suspects?” he asked.

She noted that the corner of his mouth was crooked upward again and wondered if he was toying with her.  But surely, he wouldn’t be sitting here talking with them if he was.

“There are a couple of people I’m suspicious of,” she admitted.  “But I don’t want to make any accusations.  It’s just—well, they had motive and opportunity.”

“Who?”

“Billy Fordyce, for one,” she said.  “Christa’s brother.”

“Why do you suspect him?”

“Because he got cut out of the will a couple weeks ago.  All the Fordyces’ money is going—
was
going—to be left to Christa.  Even half of that estate is an awful lot of money.”

Shepherd raised an eyebrow and appeared to consider her words.  “Didn’t you know that?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Shepherd said.  “Mr. and Mrs. Fordyce left that part out when I talked to them.”

“They’ve always been protective of him,” she said.  “I’m kind of surprised they made good on their threat to cut him out if he went to rehab again.”

“Do you have reason to think Billy knew he was out?”

“Every reason,” she said.  “For one thing, I can’t imagine the Fordyces’ not telling him.  But for another thing, when I ran into him earlier this morning, Billy made a comment about Christa screwing him over.”  She hesitated, then said, “I think he blamed her for his getting cut out of the will.”

“Maybe so,” Shepherd said.

“Have you talked any more to Joey Gorham?” she asked.

“Not since last night,” he said.  “But it turns out that Joey was Billy’s supplier.  For his cocaine.”

“I know,” she said.  “I know they were even arrested together once.”

Again, Shepherd’s eyebrow rose.  “Seems like you know plenty,” he said.  “Anything else you know that I should know?”

“Just that I can’t imagine why Christa would date him,” she said.  “I know anybody can date anybody, but I just can’t see the two of them together.”

“I’m going to be talking to him again in the morning,” he said.  He opened his mouth as if to say more, hesitated, then closed it.  Pushing back from the table, he stood up.  “I’ll escort you ladies to your car.”

Heather and Amy stood up, too.  “Are we leaving?” Amy asked.

“Any reason you need to stay?” he asked.

“I guess not,” Heather said.  “Just let me shut Christa’s computer down.”

When she had done that, and both women had picked up their purses, Shepherd ushered them out the back door.  Heather used the key Billy had given her to lock up.  “Thank you for your help,” she said.