Strawberry Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 1 (5 page)

“Ms. Janke—”

“You can call me Heather,” she blurted.

“Heather, then,” he said.  “Just be careful.  Someone already killed one person; you don’t want him or her to go for two.”  He jogged down the porch steps to his car.

Heather and Amy got into Amy’s car.  Amy started it and turned on the headlights.  Shepherd’s car swerved out from behind theirs, and he gave a brief wave as he drove past.

Heather looked at Amy and found her friend staring at her.  “What?” she asked.

“He’s hot,” Amy said.

Heather rolled her eyes.  “Him, too?” 

“He may be even hotter than Todd.  Didn’t you notice those blue, blue eyes?  And that jaw line?  And those hunky shoulders?  And—and pretty much everything about him?”

Heather shook her head, smiling at her friend’s penchant for noticing good-looking men.  And Shepherd
was
good-looking, she realized. 

He certainly was.

When the alarm went off the next morning, Heather groaned and fumbled, eyes still closed, for the button that would silence it.  What with talking to Detective Shepherd, then going home and getting into bed, only to toss and turn because her thoughts wouldn’t stop whirling in her head, she hadn’t gotten to sleep until somewhere around 1 a.m.

She’d briefly considered sleeping in, but there was work to be done.  She had to get to Donut Delights and supervise Michelle making a batch of Ice Cream Sundae donuts.  Plus, she wanted to call Detective Shepherd again. 

A thump on the bed, and then a cold nose pushed up against her cheek, reminded her that even before leaving the house, there were things to be taken care of—starting with letting Dave out.

She padded to the door in her bare feet, opened it, and watched Dave scamper into the yard.  Closing the door, she yawned and headed for the coffee maker.  A good, strong cup of coffee would get her going.  Or at least help her keep her eyes open.

She sat down at the kitchen table to wait for the coffee to brew.  Just as it finished, Dave scratched at the back door.  She let him in, poured the coffee into a mug that read “Las Vegas,” and added a splash of milk and a packet of Splenda.

Leaving the cup on the counter to cool, she poured kibbles into Dave’s bowl, then headed to the bathroom for a quick shower.  At least this wasn’t hair-washing day.  Her long, curly red hair was already dry enough that if she washed it every day, she would start getting split ends.  Quick shower, throw on some clothes, and she’d be good to go.

She laid a pair of tailored slacks and a short-sleeved, fitted blouse on the bed to wait for her.  Ten minutes later, she was dressed and properly accessorized, and she headed for the kitchen to drink her coffee.

“Big day ahead,” she told Dave as she leaned up against the counter, sipping the strong brew.  Dave watched her intently, his large, brown eyes fixed on her face, his head tilted to one side.  “You know what?” she added.  “You’re always such a good listener.”

***

Donut Delights was bustling with customers as Heather breezed through the back door.  “Need help?” she called to Michelle, who was waiting on an elderly man at the counter.

Michelle tossed her a smile and waved her off.  Heather headed into the dining room with the coffee pot.  There was Eva in her usual spot.  They smiled at each other, and Heather refilled a few customers’ coffee cups as she made her way to Eva’s table.

“And how are you this morning?” Eva asked.

“Tired,” Heather said.  “But good.  I see you’re having a Banana Cream Pie donut today.”

“It’s delicious,” Eva said.  “I like it how the cream is sweet, but not too sweet.  Sometimes, the cream inside cream donuts is nothing but sugar.  If that’s what someone likes—” Eva shrugged.  “Who am I to tell them they can’t have that?  But I don’t like too much sugar.  I want to taste the ingredients that are in the cream, not just the sugar alone.”

“I know what you mean,” Heather said, smiling.  “And I don’t blame you.  I hate to run, but I have to make a phone call.”

“You run along,” Eva said, waving Heather off.  “I’ll just sit here and enjoy my morning cup of joe.” 

“See you tomorrow,” Heather said.

“Yes, you will,” Eva agreed.

Heather stashed her purse in the bottom drawer of the desk in her office and sat down in the chair.  It was 9:00.  She wouldn’t be surprised if Shepherd had been up working on the case for hours.  She reached for her landline, but before she could pick up the receiver, Maricela’s voice stopped her.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Heather swiveled in her chair and waved Maricela into the office.  “Sure.  What’s up?”

Maricela’s sweet face looked tense, but she smiled.  “I just—I was just wondering if you’ve thought about replacing Christa yet,” she said.

“Sit down,” Heather said, gesturing to the chair next to her desk.  “I know I should have replaced her already, but I just haven’t gotten it done.  We do need another employee, though, don’t we?”

“It gets pretty busy sometimes,” Maricela said, nodding.  “I don’t mind working hard, but there are times when I can’t keep up.  And I don’t want to let your customers down.”

A small smile lifted the corners of Heather’s mouth.  “Do you have a new employee in mind?”

“My cousin Angelica needs a job,” Maricela said.  “She’s never made donuts before.  But she’s a good worker and a fast learner.  She’d be great.  You wouldn’t regret it.”

“She sounds perfect.  Tell her to give me a call.  Give her my cell number.”

“Thank you so much,” Maricela said, standing.  “I’ll text her and tell her right away.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said as the first notes of “Here Comes the Sun” floated out from inside the desk.

She opened the drawer, snagged her cell phone from her purse, and slid her thumb across the screen to accept the call.  “Hello?”

“Heather?  This is Carolyn Fordyce,” came the voice on the other end, sounding slightly stronger than the day before.

“Good morning, Mrs. Fordyce,” she said.

“I just wanted to let you know that Christa’s funeral will be at St. Gregory’s at 2:00 on Friday,” she said.  “I thought you might want to know.”

“Yes, I certainly do,” she said.  “Thank you.  I appreciate your thinking of me at such a difficult time.”

“Yes, it’s terribly difficult when your family is destroyed,” Mrs. Fordyce said.

“I know it must be.  And I’m so sorry about Christa.”

“I was talking about Billy.”

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in.  “You mean—” Heather started to say, and couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence.

“Billy was doing so much better.  He was making progress.  Getting his life back together.  Or at least, he was, until Christa told William—my husband William, I mean—that Billy was using again.  But he wasn’t.  I’m his mother.  I would have known.”

“Is that why your husband changed his will?” Heather asked.

“He always was too hard on Billy.  And it was true, Billy had been to rehab three times.  But this time, he was clean!  But William sent him to rehab anyway.  Just on Christa’s word.”  Mrs. Fordyce sniffled.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be airing our dirty laundry like this.  And Christa was my child, too.  But nobody knew what she could be like.  Not even William.  He just didn’t see.  Billy and I were the only ones—” 

Silence fell, and then Heather heard Mrs. Fordyce say, as if from farther away, “Heather.  Christa’s former boss.  She wanted to know when the funeral was.”

Wait, what?
Heather thought. 

In a moment, Mrs. Fordyce’s voice came back on the line.  “Thank you so much for calling.  We’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up.

Heather sat staring at the phone.  Why had Mrs. Fordyce lied? 

Clearly, all was not well in the Fordyce household.  Mrs. Fordyce obviously blamed Christa for “ruining Billy’s life.”  Had she been angry?  Angry enough to punish Christa?  Maybe permanently?

“Heather?”  Michelle poked her head into the office.  “Do you still want me to make those Ice Cream Sundae donuts today?”

“Give me a minute, and I’ll be out to help you,” she said.  “I need to call Detective Shepherd.”

“What about?”

“Christa was murdered by ingesting cyanide,” Heather said.

“
What
?” Michelle asked.  “How do you know?”

“Shepherd told me last night.  They thought maybe it was in the donut that she was eating right before she died.  So they tested the remaining half of the donut, but it was clean.  No signs of cyanide found.”

“So how did Christa….”

“They don’t know,” she said.  “And I don’t have any idea, either.  I need to talk to him about some other things.”

“Don’t get too deep into this, Heather,” Michelle said.  “You should really let the police handle it.  What if the killer finds out you’re investigating and decides to come after you, too?”

“I know, I know,” she said.  “It’s technically a possibility.  But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“I sure hope not,” Michelle said.  “So there’s no way I can talk you into leaving this alone?”

“Sorry,” Heather said.  “You know me.  I rush in where angels fear to tread.  Is Maricela here?  I didn’t see her.”

“She was in the front when you came in,” Michelle said. 

“Okay.  Good.  Well, let me make this call, and then I’ll help you get the donuts started.”

When Michelle left, Heather sat staring at her phone for a moment longer, lost in thought.  Then she scrolled through her phone log until she found Shepherd’s number and called him.

“Shepherd,” came his voice.  At least, she thought that’s what he said.  It was kind of hard to hear with rock music playing at top volume in the background.  Almost instantly, the music went silent.

“Uh…Detective Shepherd?” she said.

“Speaking.”

“This is Heather Janke.  “I was just wondering if you had talked to Joey Gorham yet.”

“On my way to see him right now.”

“Oh.  Well, I also had something I thought you might want to know.”  She relayed her conversation with Carolyn Fordyce without hearing a word in response.  Either he was a really good listener, or he thought she had lost her mind.

“Curioser and curioser,” he said. 
Is he really quoting Lewis Carroll?
  “Ms. Janke—Heather—you seem to have a knack for getting people to tell you things.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said.

“In any case, you bring up an interesting point—that Mrs. Fordyce may not be the grieving mother she appears to be.  Or at least not over her daughter’s death.”  He paused.  “Look, I just got to where I’m supposed to meet Gorham.  Let me call you back after I talk to him.”

She hung up, dropped her phone back into her purse, and shut the drawer again.  Then, rethinking it, she retrieved her phone and stuck it in her back pocket.  She grabbed an elastic band from her top desk drawer, gathered her long hair into a ponytail, then stuffed it up under a plastic hair net.  “Okay, Michelle,” she said, finding her employee gathering ingredients at one of the long, stainless steel preparation counters.  “Ready to learn how to make Ice Cream Sundae donuts?”

“They sound scrumptious,” Michelle said.

“The donut part is about halfway between a cake donut base and a glazed donut base,” Heather said.  “Very light and fluffy.  And filled with a medium-weight vanilla cream, heavy on the vanilla.”

“Mmmmmm, yummo.”

“Not only that, but the donut part tastes like a sugar cone.”

Michelle rolled her eyes heavenward.  “I predict that this will be one of our biggest sellers ever.”

“I hope so,” Heather said, smiling.  “It’s really great.  Wait till you find out about the icing and the toppings.”

“I’m gaining weight just
thinking
about eating one,” Michelle said.

“They
are
delicious.  They were one of my grandmother’s favorites.”

“Your grandmother must have been a truly amazing chef.”

“Oh, she was.  I miss her.  I wish she were here to see this.”  Heather gestured to the shop.  “I think she’d be proud.”