Cinnamon Crunch Murder (2 page)

“Tara Davidson’s been murdered. And the good Detective thinks I’m the one who killed his daughter. Ryan said we have to get to Donut Delights before he does.”

Eva shuffled out from behind Amy, clutching a pair of silver keys. She held them up, and they tinkled between her fingertips, rotating on their ring. “Here you are, dear, take my car. It’s in the garage.”

“You have a car?” Amy asked.

“Not important,” Heather replied, taking the keys from Eva with a quick smile. “Thanks, Eva; I’ll return her in the same condition.”

“That’s fine, dear. You just be safe out there. Don’t run any red lights.”

Heather pecked Eva on her rose-scented cheek and dashed out of the house. She fumbled down the front stairs, then round to the garage. She clicked the button on the remote, and the garage door swung upward with a mechanical hum.

“Is that a Mustang?” Amy asked.

The yellow muscle car stared back at them, covered in a thin layer of dust, but otherwise pristine. “No time for questions, now.” Heather hurried to the driver’s side, unlocked and got in, then opened for Amy.

“There is always time for questions when it comes to a pensioner owning a Mustang. Can you picture her riding around in this?”

“Not even a little,” Heather said. She started the engine, and it purred to life. “But I get the feeling that we’re going to make it back to Donut Delights before the detective does.”

The car roared out of the garage and into the street. Heather took up another tune under her breath. Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.

Heather rearranged her hair, cursing the long do for this time of year under her breath. The detective hadn’t arrived yet, and Amy had taken the liberty of driving the ‘Stang back to Eva’s – possibly to enjoy the ride in the old muscle car, but probably to give Eva the third degree on why she had it in the first place.

A knock rattled the wood of her office door.

Heather swallowed. “Come in,” she said, then grasped at the edges of her laptop and drew it towards her. Her fingertips brushed the mouse pad, and the screen flashed to life, displaying her course notes.

Ugh, she had a lot of work to get through before the test.

Detective Davidson slammed open her office door and marched into the room, sweaty around the collar and red in the face.

“Detective Davidson,” Heather said, rising from her seat. She extended a hand to shake, but he didn’t take it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You already know why I’m here, Shepherd,” Davidson snapped. His pocked brow existed in a permanent state of creased.

Heather didn’t have children – excluding Dave. She couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to lose one.  The man shouldn’t be working; much less interviewing potential suspects this soon after a murder had been committed.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Heather lied, and then gestured to the chair in front of her desk. She’d gotten a new leather one, because the old chair had squeaked its last pneumatic breaths a couple of days prior. “Please take a seat and tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh no, this is my interview to lead, not yours.” Davidson folded his arms, and then dropped them to his sides. He held his pen in one hand and clicked the ballpoint at a furious rate.

“Right. An interview?”

“My daughter was murdered. Stabbed while taking her break at the florist store. But you already know that,” Davidson replied.

“I didn’t,” Heather said, and the blood drained from her limbs. Ice ran down her spine. Stabbed? That was a horrible way to go. And Tara had seemed like a nice girl.

Davidson narrowed his eyes at her, reading her reaction and finding it wanting, judging by the sneer.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Detective,” Heather whispered. “I met Tara this morning, and she was so sweet. She was nice to my friends and me.”

“Ah, so you admit you saw my daughter this morning,” Davidson replied, spittle flying from his lips. He paused, scratched his brow using the end of his ballpoint. “Wait, what did you just say? Your friends?”

“Yes,” Heather said. “Amy and I went down to Flighty Florists after we got a call from Eva Schneider. We brought donuts and met Tara.”

Davidson worked his jaw, clicked the pen.

“I’ll cooperate in whatever way possible, Detective. This must be very difficult for you.” So difficult that he shouldn’t have been on the case. What kind of pull did Davidson have with the Captain down at the police station that he could work on his own daughter’s murder case?

Wasn’t that the kind of thing cops were expected to recuse themselves from?

“Why were you at Flight Florists?” Davidson asked.

“I received a call from my friend, Eva, who asked me to bring some donuts to the store. I happily obliged,” Heather replied, exercising every ounce of her patience. This rude kinda approach didn’t endear the cop to her.

“Why was Eva Schneider with Tara?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask Mrs. Schneider, Detective Davidson. I can’t answer for her. I can only give the facts as I’m aware of them,” Heather replied, coolly. Those law and psych books had taught her a few tricks of her own.

“The facts or the truth?”

“They’re the same thing,” Heather replied. Was that a trick question?

Davidson loosened his collar with his index finger and inhaled. “Don’t play coy with me,” he said, voice shaking with intensity. “I know what you did to my daughter. It’s only a matter of time before I prove it.”

Heather sighed and forced down the lid on her bubbling pot of anger. “I understand you’re distressed, but it’s highly unprofessional and inappropriate to make accusations without any evidence. Do you have a warrant for my arrest?”

“No, but –”

“Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Detective. That or lay a charge against you for harassment.” Heather grasped her phone from beside her laptop and lifted it. She swiped her thumb across the screen, and then hovered her index above it, as if to dial.

She met Davidson’s gaze, head on.

“This isn’t over, Mrs. Shepherd. Not by a long shot.” And then Davidson barged out of her office as quickly as he’d come in.

Heather breathed slowly, in and out, in and out, practicing some of the yoga breathing exercises Amy had taught her.

Angelica stuck her head around the corner. “You okay, boss? Want a donut? Milkshake?”

“A strong coffee and a Cinnamon Crunch, please, Angelica. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do,” Heather said. She settled back into her chair and rested her fingertips on her forehead.

This was another case which was unavoidable. She hadn’t bothered telling Davidson about Geoff Lawless’ appearance in Flighty Florist. Davidson had already made his mind up about her, and if it was true that Ryan was off the case, then nothing stood in his path.

He’d find whatever evidence was relevant and lock her up before she could say, “Buttercream is better than fondant.”

Nope, this was up to her. Regardless of what Davidson thought, his daughter’s killer was still out there, and the longer they were, the more likely it was that they’d strike again.

“One coffee for the boss,” Angelica said, sweeping through the doorway and depositing the latte on the desk, then placing a donut beside it on a plain white napkin.

“Thanks, Ange. You’d better keep ‘em coming. It’s going to be a long night,” Heather said, staring at the screen of her laptop.

“Her name is Goldie Gold,” the woman said, behind her hand.

Heather jumped and turned to her, clutching the purse to her chest. The boutique was the most exclusive in Hillside, stocking only the best in designer fashion.

“Goldie Gold?” Heather asked.

“Her first name is something like Jasmine or the other, but her nickname is Goldie,” the woman replied, flicking her red hair back. “Isn’t she fabulous?”

Goldie was fabulous. Long, honey-colored hair and bright red lipstick perfectly applied makeup which was subtle and accented with gold highlights. She was the reason Heather had come to the store in the first place.

Amy had called her from Eva’s and given her the scoop of the Mustang and the potential murderess, Goldie herself.

Amy had recognized Eva’s description of her immediately, and as for the ‘Stang, that was a tale ‘too long’ for a phone convo.

“Intriguing,” Heather muttered.

“What did you say?” The nosy woman asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Heather said and readjusted the purse she’d chosen from the glass shelf. A Prada she had no intention of paying for.

The line shortened, and the nerves bubbled around in the back of her brain. One step closer to her first interview of the case, and the stakes had never been higher.

Cop cars stuck out like sore thumbs to her, now and she’d nearly run into one on her way out of Donut Delights. Apparently, Davidson was determined to follow through on his threats.

The nosy woman in front of her stepped up to the counter. “Hi, Goldie, how are you?” She gushed, simpering in a flowery tone she sure hadn’t used while talking to Heather.

“Oh, hello, Patricia, how are you?” Goldie’s voice could’ve iced a ball of molten fudge.

“I’m great, just great. Happy to see you in a better mood. I heard –”

Goldie snatched the blouse from Patricia and checked the tag. “That will be two hundred dollars. Cash or credit?”

Patricia fish-mouthed for a second. “Uh, credit.” She brought out a flashy silver card from the depths of her purse and placed the sliver of plastic on top of the counter.

“Uh huh,” Goldie said, then picked it up and rang up the purchase. Clearly, she wasn’t in the talking mood. That didn’t bode well for Heather.

Then again, Heather Shepherd didn’t usually take no for an answer.

If this was Goldie’s ‘better mood’ according to Patricia, then she’d hate to see her on a bad day. Goldie was young and beautiful, but those were the extent of her gifts, so far.

Patricia tapped her fuchsia nails on the counter top.

Goldie gave her another of her ice ball looks.

The tapping stopped. Patricia accepted a gold-embossed shopping bag from Goldie, grabbed her credit card and dashed out the front door without a goodbye.

Heather watched her disappear into the depths of a fancy sports car and zoom off down the road, a second later.

Goldie cleared her throat. “Uh, hello? I don’t have all day, here.”

Heather turned to the younger woman with a straight face. “Are you upset about your friend’s death?”

Goldie froze, fingers still reaching for the purse in Heather’s arms. “What did you just say?”

“I asked you if you’re upset about Tara Davidson’s death,” Heather replied. “I have it on good authority that you visited her shortly before it happened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Goldie replied, through a clenched jaw.

Heather had a gift: judging characters, reading how to talk to them and figure out what made them tick. At least, that was what she liked to believe. And Goldie was the typical spoiled rich kid.

She kinda reminded Heather of her late high school buddy, Cherry.

“Get out of here,” Goldie hissed.

“No. I’m conducting a private investigation.” Heather sighed and tossed the purse aside.

Goldie gasped as if she’d been struck.

“Let me explain something, Goldie. You don’t have to answer my questions, but it would be a lot better for you if you did. My husband is a detective at Hillside PD.” A name drop she probably couldn’t afford.

Davidson would find out about that.

Goldie stared at her, expression a blank page. She hardly breathed for a moment. Then her face crumpled into an image of grief. Tears dropped from her lids and splatted onto the glass counter, displaying Hermes scarves below.

“I would never hurt her. I didn’t mean to fight with her. She just made me so angry.”

“What happened?” Heather asked, readjusting her handbag.

“She was always flirting with him!” Goldie exploded, then grabbed one of the scarves under the counter and dabbed beneath her eyes to stem the flow of mascara and tears.

“With who?”

Goldie sobbed a while, then cleared her throat and focused on Heather again. “Foster. My boyfriend. They were always flirting and hanging out behind my back.”

“And that made you angry,” Heather said.

“Yeah, duh, it made me angry. But that doesn’t mean I’d ever hurt Tara. She was, like, my best friend in the entire world.” Goldie chewed the corner of her lip and sniffed. “But Foster, I haven’t heard from him since yesterday morning right before it, before Tara –”

“You haven’t heard from him?”

“No. I even went to his place this morning, and he wasn’t there. Like at all. Hold on a sec,” Goldie said, then swished a finger through the air, and then disappeared into a back room.

She returned a few seconds later, clutching a piece of paper. She placed it on the glass counter, and then folded her arms.