Cinnamon Crunch Murder (5 page)

“I brought Cheetos,” Foster replied.

Heather waved, then turned and walked out, still clutching the handkerchief in her fist. Another lead, another boiling day in Hillside.

She had to get back to Donut Delights and figure this out. Maybe over a donut or five.

Maricela and Heather stood side-by-side serving donuts, coffees, and milkshakes as quick as they could and with plenty of smiles.

Investigations aside, this was still Heather’s favorite part of the day. The customers in her store chatted and chomped on their favorite donuts. The variety in Donut Delights was huge, with Heather releasing a new variety every week or so.

Eva sat in the corner, reading a magazine and sipping on a black coffee. The air conditioning unit worked over time above the magazine stand against one wall.

“Maricela, will you go into the kitchen and ask Ken and Jung to whip up another batch of Cinnamon Crunches? It looks like we’ve almost run out again,” Heather said.

“Anything for you, boss. I promise I not feed them to Dave this time.” She winked, then showed her fingers were crossed, before hurrying towards the kitchen.

“Cheeky,” Heather called after her.

“Who’s cheeky? Surely, not me. I am positively angelic.” Amy grinned from the other side of the counter.

“Welcome to Donut Delights, how may I help you?” Heather replied, spreading her arms and gesturing to the donuts.

“Don’t tempt me,” Amy said, then traipsed around to Heather’s side of the counter and checked out the orders on the screen. She tapped a few buttons, nodded, then set to work making two double shot espressos.

“I should pay you for that,” Heather said.

Amy didn’t answer. Instead, she looked away and acted as if she hadn’t heard.

That was strange. Heather bit her bottom lip. Come to think of it, Amy hadn’t been at work for a long time. She’d taken to investigating with Heather instead, and spending a lot of time at Eva’s place.

“Ames, is everything okay at –”

“So, this is the lovely Heather Shepherd,” a man said, from behind the register.

Heather turned to face the front again, plastering up her customer smile. “Hi, how may I help you?”

The guy wore a fancy black suit, his blonde hair, streaked gray, was coiffed to one side. “I’d like to invest in your store,” he said, flashing a smile.

Heather blinked. Amy stopped making espressos. “At least by her dinner first.”

The businessman chuckled, switching his gaze to Amy, then back to Heather. “I’ve heard a lot about this little store. And I’ve heard that you’re looking to expand in a really big way. I have the capital to help you do that.”

“I don’t think this is the right place or time to discuss that,” Heather replied, still smiling, though her jaw hurt, now.

“Then perhaps we could discuss this over coffee,” the guy replied. “Here’s my card.” The slip of vellum appeared at his fingertips as if by magic.

Heather took it from him. “Thanks, I guess I’ll call you,” she said.

He gave a mock salute, then turned and hurried out of the store.

“That was weird,” Amy said, pumping out two lattes this time.

“Right? Let’s find out who he was,” Heather said, turning the card over to spy the name on the back. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Amy asked, pausing mid-latte creation.

“It’s Ethan Gold. That was Goldie’s father. He’s probably one of the richest guys in Hillside, right now. Big in real estate. I’ve heard of him before.”

“I haven’t,” Amy said, then shrugged. “He can’t be that important.”

“That’s because you’re terrible with reading the local news. He bought up a massive section of land for development. The papers said he’s building apartments. Expansion in Hillside and all that.”

“I’m going to miss the small town atmosphere,” Amy replied, finishing off the latte. “Besides, he seemed kind of sleazy to me. I don’t know if you can trust him. He might have an ulterior motive for coming in here.”

The front door opened, the bell above it tinkled, and Detective Davidson stepped into the store, readjusting his belt. His gaze slipped between the customers and landed on Heather.

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Heather said, then spoke the next sentence out of the corner of her mouth. “Bail me out, will you?”

“Don’t kid around about that,” Amy replied. “He looks serious.”

Davidson clomped up to the counter, placed his fists on the surface, somehow avoiding the allure of the donuts beneath it, and glared into her eyes. “Mrs. Shepherd. You and I need to have a talk, right now.”

“Of course, Detective. Feel free to come through to me office.”

“Not here.” Davidson leaned back, lips twitching into a tight smile. “You’re coming down to the station. Now.”

Maybe Heather would need bail money, after all.

Detective Davidson had lost a lot of weight. The pants that’d fit snugly just two days ago were a little loose now. He hitched them up, then lowered himself into the steel chair across from Heather.

She placed her forearms on the table, Goosebumps rising at the cool metal against her skin. “We couldn’t have had this discussion in my office? I told you I’m happy to cooperate, Detective. I don’t understand why we had to come all the way down here. It was unnecessary.”

“Because I know what you did to my daughter,” Davidson said, under his breath. He glanced up at the camera in the corner, then cleared his throat. “I need more information from you, and this area provides a sterile environment. No interferences.”

No interferences? If Ryan found out about this little sessions, he’d crash in here and cause a whole lot of trouble.

He’d been growing more and more frustrated with the strange practices in the department of late.

“That’s fine,” Heather replied, though getting into the back of a police car while her staff and customers looked on had been far from ‘fine’ in any sense of the word.

“You mentioned that you visited Flight Florists on the morning of the murder. Explain what happened while you were there.”

Heather sighed. This again? “I went with Amy and met up with Eva in the florists. We brought Cinnamon Crunch donuts because Eva wanted Tara to taste them.”

“Right. And then what happened?” Davidson asked, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead, just below the hairline.

“We chatted and had a few donuts.”

“Where did you go afterward, why did you leave?” Davidson asked, scraping his chair closer to the table.

Heather looked at the mirror – the window, actually – along the wall. “I needed to get back to Donut Delights to study for a test and to work. Geoff Lawless came in and made veiled threats towards me, so we left.”

“Geoff Lawless,” Davidson said, then dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

Heather frowned. She’d finally decided to tell the detective about the enemy baker, and he threw it aside that easily? This was worse than she’d feared.

“Excuse me, but isn’t that a lead you should check out? Geoff was in Flighty Florists and stayed there after we’d left. That puts him closer to the murder than it does me.”

“He has an alibi,” Davidson snapped. “We have footage of him withdrawing money from an ATM around the time of the murder.”

“And I have an alibi too,” Heather replied. “I was with two of my friends at the time of the murder. Walking through the streets. I’m pretty sure someone would’ve seen us on the way back to Eva’s house.”

“So, you went to Eva’s house prior to the store,” Davidson said, making a note on a pad, then shifting in his seat again.

“This is ridiculous,” Heather said, throwing her hands up. “Did you check out my alibi? Have you done any legitimate police work at all since the start of this case?”

“Don’t you challenge me,” Davidson growled.

“I will challenge you. This is totally unethical. You have no evidence linking me to the crime because I’m innocent, yet you’re wasting police time and money by bringing me in here.” Heather’s body had gone hot from the tips of her toes to her crown. A channel of anger flowed through her.

“Mrs. Shepherd, you’re free to go,” Davidson said, suddenly. “I’ve got all the information I need for now.”

Heather scraped the steel chair across the linoleum and stood straight as a pole. She’d studied long and hard enough to know that this man hadn’t followed proper protocol. “If you do this to me again, I will report you to your superiors.”

Davidson shrugged and folded his arms. “You’ll be behind bars before you get to do that.”

Heather’s jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of this man! She snapped it shut, ground her teeth, then turned and marched from the room.

She had to get to the bottom of this before Davidson gathered enough conjecture and fake evidence to put her behind bars.

Next stop, the offices of Ethan Gold.

Heather sat across from Mr. Ethan Gold in a gold-bedecked boardroom. Talk about branding. This guy was the Midas of Hillside and proud of it. He stood beside a gold-trimmed coffee machine and poured a latte into a porcelain cup rimmed with gold leaf.

“Can I get you anything there, little lady?” Gold asked, swishing his cup through the air – which, surprisingly, wasn’t speckled with gold dust or glitter.

“No, and you can call me Heather, not little lady.” If he thought she was little, she’d have to whip out her Taser and dignify her size.

“Right, Heather, I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” she replied, patting her tote and feeling the outline of her non-lethal weapon of choice.

“I’m glad you came,” Ethan replied, striding to his leather chair – the only item not colored gold in the entire room – then settling into it. “I was afraid my forward approach yesterday might have put you off.”

“I’m not here to discuss an investment, Mr. Gold. In fact, I’ll have to decline, politely, on that front.”

Ethan swiped his fingers over his blonde sideburn, scratched, and then frowned. The words ‘do not compute’ came to mind. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m here to talk about your daughter, Mr. Gold, and Tara Davidson, as well. I have it on good authority that you’re invested in several real estate opportunities.”

Ethan opened his mouth then shut it again. He reached for his coffee, touched the side, but didn’t pick up the cup.

“My research tells me that you owned the building which Tara stayed in. Is that correct?”

Ethan coughed. “Yes, that’s correct, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me. Or my daughter for that matter.”

“Your daughter had a fight with Tara Davidson an hour before she died.” Heather placed her tote on the gold carpeting at her feet and shifted to the edge of her chair. “I want to make sure that the right person is brought to justice.”

“My daughter wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“As I said, I want the right person brought to justice,” Heather replied. “Can you help me achieve that goal? I have a feeling that Detective Davidson is on a war path, and the minute he gets a whiff of that fight, Goldie’s going to be getting a lot of unwelcome visits from the Hillside police.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. His chest rose and fell, rapidly. “I own the building yes. And that’s how I know my daughter wasn’t as involved with Tara as you seem to think.”

“How so?” Heather asked, folding her hands on top of the table.

“Tara hung out with the wrong crowd. The, ahem, how do I put it politely, the disadvantaged crowd.”

“You mean poor,” Heather said, in a monotone. Ethan sure didn’t know how to endear her to him. The kind of man who though money, and nothing else, talked.

“Yes, those people. Tara would come home late and make loads of noise, and it irritated the other tenants. I had none stop complaints, some of which reached my ears. And you know it’s serious when it reaches the top of the chain, am I right?”

Heather stared out of the window at the buildings across the street. Cars cruised down the road. People walked along the sidewalk. Everyone was happy, going about their business.

“And Goldie didn’t hang out with the ‘wrong crowd,' you say?”

“No, my Jasmine wouldn’t go near those folks. She knew what was good for her. She owns a boutique, you see, and she had –”

“You’re aware that she was dating Foster Tombs?” Heather asked.

Ethan pulled a face. “Yeah, she was dating him. I never liked that kid. He was a terrible football player.”

“Foster wasn’t rich,” Heather replied. “In fact, he’d probably be classified as a member of the ‘wrong crowd’ as you put it.” Her barbed tongue was at it again.

Ethan Gold finally picked up his coffee mug and slurped liquid from it. “I didn’t approve of the association. He was her weakness. But other than that, Goldie hardly ever saw Tara. I know because she was mostly at home.”

“Goldie stayed at home?” The woman was past college age.

“Yes, and I prefer it that way. Especially now, with a murderer on the loose,” Ethan replied, then shuddered and put down his cup. “This is a morbid topic of conversation, perhaps we should move onto lighter business. Like the expansion of Donut Delights. I’d be happy to invest. As much money as you need.”