Cinnamon Crunch Murder (6 page)

Heather stroked her forehead to smooth the wrinkles from her stern frown. Ethan Gold really thought he could bribe her into staying out of the way by investing in her store.

“I already told you, Mr. Gold, I’m not interested in your investment. Thank you for the offer, though.” Heather rose from her seat and walked towards the door. “And thank you for your time. I think I’ve got all the information I need for now.”

Which was not that much information at all. She’d have to call her bestie and do a thorough research session on the mysterious Goldie Gold.

“Mrs. Shepherd,” Ethan said.

Heather paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at him.

“Be careful where you stick your nose, it might get broken.”

Heather shrugged, even though her insides had twisted at the threat. “I guess it’s true what they say. Not all that glitters is gold.” And then she opened the door and walked into the hall, determination forming a solid ball in the center of her brain.

She’d get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing she did.

“Thanks for coming over on such short notice,” Heather said, holding the door for her bestie.

Amy rolled her eyes and pranced into the house, grasping a box of donuts. “Oh yeah, it was a major imposition. How dare you call me when I have nothing to do at home?”

Heather chuckled, but a sliver of worry wormed through her mind. Why was Amy home so often? She’d meant to ask her the other day, but then they’d been interrupted by Ethan Gold and his money bags.

“So, what’s the story? We’re going to sleuth up a storm, I’m sure, but who’s the target?” Amy asked.

Heather shut the front door and locked it. “Goldie Gold. I need to know more about the prodigal daughter. Her story didn’t add up. She purposely left out the apart about Foster dumping her just before Tara’s murder.”

“Oh boy, the evidence is sure stacking up against the Queen of Gold. Ugh, not my usual caliber of joke, I apologize,” Amy said.

Dave hurried around the corner from the living room and barked a circle around Amy’s legs. She bent and scratched between his ears, holding the donut box high overhead in case he got any smart ideas.

“I figured we could do a standard Google Search, just check her out, you know?” Heather said, then led the way into the living room. She’d brought her laptop home from Donut Delights and set it up on the coffee table.

Two sofa cushions sat beside the stalking station, and two cups of steaming coffee on coasters either side.

Heather’s front window had been replaced the previous day, so the cool, evening breeze wormed through the window she’d cracked open earlier.

“This looks like the lap of luxury,” Amy said, popping the donut box on the table and opening it immediately. An array of Donut Delights donuts rubbed their sugary sides against each other within. Cream topped, Choc Revolution, Strawberry-flavored, and the perfect range. Heather couldn’t have chosen them better herself.

“Shall we get started? Ryan’s working late tonight, so we have hours of research time ahead of us.”

Amy nodded and sank to one of the cushions, without taking a donut. She didn’t take up her coffee mug, either. “Heather? Why did you need my help for this?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I know that you can do this kind of research on your own. So why did you really call me over?”

Shoot, she couldn’t get a thing past her bestie. The woman was sharp as a tack.

“Honestly?” Heather sat down as well, then placed a palm on the rug to brace herself. “I’m worried about you. You haven’t worked in weeks, Ames. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are you and Kent okay?”

“We’re fine. Kent and I are taking things slow,” Amy replied, and squared her shoulders. “As for work, well, here’s the truth: I was fired.”

“What?! When? How did I not hear about this?”

“I’ve been keeping it quiet. Kent’s the only one who knows, and he’ll never tell a soul. I just, after the whole breakdown with Honey and my fight with you, things took a turn for the worse. I got snappy. I said the wrong thing and yeah, they let me go. I don’t blame them. I needed time off.” Amy slid the coffee off the table and drank deeply. “It’s really okay. I’ve been taking time for me, and I’ve got some savings to dip into.”

“I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so involved with my own stuff that I didn’t think to ask sooner,” Heather said.

“No ways, don’t worry about it,” Amy replied, waving it off. “Let’s focus on the case, instead. That really gets my creative juices flowing.”

Heather gazed at her best friend. She’d always thought of Amy as a strong woman, but she’d never realized just how strong she was. She’d been through a lot . Lately, they both had, and Amy had risen to the challenge admirably, with her usual sense of style and humor.

“C’mon, you’re freaking me out here,” Amy said, then tapped on the mouse pad. She pulled the laptop closer, then keyed in Goldie’s name. “Wait, what’s her full name?”

“Jasmine Gold. Jasmine ‘Goldie’ Gold, I guess, would probably bring up the best results,” Heather replied, then squished closer to the screen.

The besties rubbed shoulders, both wearing frowns of concentration.

“Would you look at that,” Amy said.

“She’s a co-owner of Tara’s building. What’s the name?” Heather squinted at the screen. She’d need to get reading glasses at this rate.

“Paradise Villas.”

“Murder in Paradise? Huh, she co-owns, she lives at home and has her own store. So she’d pretty much look after, money wise,” Heather said. “That couldn’t be a motivation for her.”

“But wait, you said there were loads of complaints about Tara making noise in her apartment?”

“Yeah, that’s what Ethan said. And Ryan mentioned the guys got called out to the disturbance the week before, but when they got there, it was all quiet.”

Amy wriggled her eyebrows up and down. “Intriguing. What if Goldie got angry with Tara because her constant noise threatened her investment in the company?”

“That’s a possible motive, I guess, but I think the whole 'Foster dumping her' seems like a stronger lead. After all, Goldie did have a fight with Tara right before it happened,” Heather replied.

The fact that Goldie was an integral part of the Gold finances could be relevant, or maybe it wasn’t.

“It’s suspicious,” Amy said and reached for a Strawberry Crème donut.

“Right you are. I guess, I know who I’m paying a visit to first thing tomorrow morning. Ugh, but I’ve got so many orders to fill at the bakery, and the website contact list is growing and –”

“You take care of Goldie, I’ll head to Donut Delights and help out while you’re busy,” Amy said, then bit off some donut.

“Are you sure?” Heather asked.

“Of course. It’s not like I have anything better to do.” Amy sighed and gazed at the pink glaze on her donut. “Besides, I do love donuts.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Heather replied.

“You may call me ‘the champ’, or you may call me nothing at all,” Amy replied.

Goldie’s Boutique was empty of customers. That might’ve had something to do with the early hour, or with the rumors that Goldie had been involved in Tara’s murder in some capacity.

Hillside was a notorious gossip town.

Heather opened the glass front door, the handle was gold, of course, and stepped into the interior of the boutique.

“Hello?” Heather called out. “Is anyone there?”

“Just a minute,” Goldie said, from the back room. She didn’t sound particularly excited at the prospect of a new customer.

Heather checked her phone for the time. It was just past 7 am. Ryan had a late shift today, and he’d decided to snore it up in the bedroom, rather than come sleuthin’ with her. She didn’t blame him.

He’d get in huge trouble if he was connected with the case, even though association with her off the record investigation. And he’d dissolved into a grump of late because Davidson had effectively tied his hands.

Heather walked to the front counter and rested her palms on the glass surface. The Hermes scarves peered up at her, including the one Goldie had used to wipe her face the other day.

“What do you need?” Goldie asked, backing out of the other room, arms piled high with designer boxes. She plopped them into a nearby armchair, then turned to the counter. “Oh. It’s you. What do you want?”

“Answers,” Heather replied, simply.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you. I know you spoke to my dad,” Goldie said and folded her arms. She gripped at her skin with those golden fingernails. “I know all about your investigation.”

“I thought you had nothing to say to me,” Heather replied, stifling a smirk. “Goldie, I know that Foster dumped you the morning of Tara’s murder. Why didn’t you tell me that? Help me out here. I want to believe that you didn’t hurt your friend, but –”

“You’ve got some nerve walking in here, talking like you’re a cop. Well, you’re not, and I don’t have to say anything to you.” Goldie clicked her fingers and waggled her head from side-to-side.

The whimsical chimes above the door tinkled, and Heather turned to see who’d entered.

“Goldie,” Foster said, stepping a foot into the store and no further. His elbow brushed against a short, summery dress. He flinched from the cotton and rubbed at the spot it’d touched him. “Mrs. Shepherd?”

“Hi, Foster, fancy meeting you here.” Heather tilted her head to one side to observe.

Foster was pale, sweating, he shook all over, but he stood his ground. “Goldie, I need your help.”

“I have no reason to help you,” Goldie replied, then glanced askance at Heather. “And I’m not talking in front of her.”

“He’s coming for me. They found the black gloves you gave me for Christmas last year. They think I hurt Tara. You’ve got to help me.” Foster twitched toward them, then halted. “Please, he’s coming for me.”

“Who’s coming for you?” Heather asked, she hurried to his side and grabbed him by the arm. He was clammy and cold. “Foster, it’s going to be okay. Who’s coming for you?”

The young man turned wild eyes on her. “Davidson. Tara’s dad. Someone called him about the gloves and said that I had them. He turned up at my dad’s house with a search warrant. They’re coming for me. I have to run. I have to go.”

“Don’t,” Heather replied, and tightened her grip. “You know that’s not a good idea. It will look suspicious.”

“You should leave,” Goldie called out. “I think that would be the best move for you, Foster. You’re going to wind up in jail if you don’t.”

“Are you crazy?” Heather turned back to the girl. “If he leaves, they’re going to think he did it.”

“Goldie’s right,” Foster said.

Heather snapped her attention back to him and gasped. Three police cruisers had pulled up in front of the store.

Davidson got out of the first, dwarfed by his loose shirt, and strode up to the boutique. He opened the door, then stepped inside.

“Looks like we’re having a party in here,” Davidson said. “My three favorite suspects all gathered together. That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Foster erupted, the raised his hands in prayer position. “Please, please, don’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything.”

The poor guy was ready to keel over from fear. “Good morning, Detective Davidson,” Heather said. “I would say it’s lovely to see you, but I don’t want to be charged with perjury.” Not that she was under oath.

“Perjury is going to be the least of your problems, Shepherd.” Davidson smirked, breaking eye contact with her and honing in on Foster instead. “I’m not here for you, anyway. But for him.”

“No, I didn’t. Those gloves were a gift. There’s two of them. Not one! I didn’t hurt Tara. I love Tara.”

“What!” Goldie shrieked from the counter. “You loved her?”

Oh boy, the scene had reached telenovela proportions of drama.

Detective Davidson blinked at the woman behind the counter. “Please, keep it down, ma’am. You’re interrupting a police investigation, and if you continue, I’ll have to take you in.”

“You can’t do that,” Heather said. “That’s not legal.” Talk about a power trip.

“Don’t even get me started on you,” Davidson hissed.

“You loved her!? How dare you say that? You’re, like, such a scumbag Foster Tombs. A scumbag! I thought we were going to get married. You’re a nobody,” Goldie shrieked, her golden locks swishing with each head movement.

Detective Davidson ignored her this time and brought out a pair of cuffs. “Foster Tombs, you’re under arrest for the murder of Tara Davidson.” He choked on the last part. His daughter’s name.

The afternoon wasn’t a scorcher for a change. The sun cast mellow sunlight on their backs, and the trees stood silent, untouched by the wind. Squirrels scurried around in their branches, disturbing leaves.

Dave barked and perked up at the motion, but settled quickly after. Chasing squirrels was not his M.O. If the squirrels had been donut shaped and made from confectioner’s sugar, flour, and vanilla bean, then they’d have caught his attention.