Maple Frosted Murder (Donut Hole 2) (7 page)

It
was 39 degrees out when Heather stepped onto her back porch the next morning. 
But there was no wind blowing, and the forecast called for a high temperature
of 61, so she didn’t bother going back inside for a jacket.  Jackets were too
much trouble unless it was ridiculously cold or there was a cutting wind.

She
reached back inside, set her alarm, and then locked the door and jogged down
the porch steps to her car.  Today would be a busy day at Donut Delights, with
kids and their parents stopping by for a donut and a carton of milk before
school.  That’s why she had decided to get there at seven instead of her usual
8:00 or 8:30.

She
hadn’t done much more than back out of her driveway when her cell phone rang. 
She glanced at the screen, saw a number she didn’t recognize, and decided to
pick up anyway.  “Hello?”

“Heather? 
This is Sheila Dombrowski.”

“Hi,
Sheila,” Heather said.  Well, this was a surprise.  “What can I do for you?”

“I’m
at Stan’s shop, and I was going through some of his papers.  I hadn’t gotten
around to doing it until now.  And I discovered something I think you might
want to see.”

“In
Stan’s papers?”

“Yes,
in some of his financial papers.  I don’t know if you knew this, but Stan
always had a suspicion that Rob Gingrich—his accountant—was embezzling money.”

“And
you found proof?”

“Not
proof exactly.  Probably not enough to stand up in court.  But I thought you
might want to—hang on just a minute.  Someone’s here.”

Heather
waited, as she heard Sheila’s muffled yet somehow still rather imperious words,
“What are you doing here?  I didn’t ask you to—”  Suddenly, there was the sound
of the phone clattering to the hard floor.  “Rob, what—what in the world are
you—”  There came the sound of something slamming against the wall, of Sheila’s
scream.

“Sheila?”
Heather shouted.  “Sheila?”  But the call had ended.

Pressing
the gas pedal to the floor and fumbling to dial a different number, Heather
waited for the phone to be answered.  After what seemed like forever, a
familiar voice said, “Hello?”

“Ryan,
I’m on my way to Stan’s shop!” Heather blurted.  “Sheila called me from the
office.  Said she had papers to show me.  And then Rob attacked her!”

“Heather,
calm down.  What—”

“There’s
no time to calm down!  I have to get there and stop Rob!  So do you!”

“Heather,
wait!” Ryan shouted, his voice sounding frantic.  “Heather, don’t!”

She
hung up, tossed the phone towards her purse in the other front seat, and poured
on the speed.  Up ahead, a traffic light turned red.  She glanced both ways and
blasted safely through, hoping that a police officer would see her and try to
pull her over so that she could lead him to Stan’s shop.  The more help, the
better!

But
of course, since she wanted a police escort, she didn’t get one.  She made it
to the back of the shop, skidded more or less into a parking space, and burst
through the back door.  “Sheila!” she shouted.

“Watch
out!  He has a gun!” came a faint shout from the direction of the office.

Heather
crossed the kitchen in three strides and yanked open the office door.  And felt
something crash into the side of her head.  Staggering sideways, she fell to
her knees, one hand reaching up to just above her ear, where the blow had
fallen.

“I
must be losing my touch,” said a voice.  “It only took one blow to knock Stan
out.”

Heather
looked up, squinting through the blurriness and pain, to see that Sheila
Dombrowski stood over her, holding a heavy wooden rolling pin.  Sheila was the
only other person in the room.

“Where’s
Rob?” she asked, bewildered.

“Who
cares?” Sheila answered.  “He’s not here, and that’s all you need to know.”

Sheila
advanced on her, holding the rolling pin high above her head.  Heather backed
away and tried to stand.

“One
more blow should be all it’ll take,” Sheila said.

“You
killed Stan,” Heather said.

“Yes,
I killed Stan.  Oh, I didn’t mean to.  Not at first.  But didn’t it work out
nicely?”

“Why…how…”

“I
came here that evening to try one more time to convince Stan to sell.  Sell the
franchise and get out.  Or I was leaving him.”

“Why?”
Heather asked, stalling for time.  If only Ryan had taken her call seriously,
and was even now on his way…

“I
was in love with Gary,” she said simply.  “You didn’t really believe me when I
told you I wasn’t having an affair, did you?”

“Gary
Larkin?” 

“Of
course, Gary Larkin.  Who else?”  Sheila laughed, a dry, brittle sound.  “I
didn’t want to kill Stan.  He was my husband, after all.  I just wanted his
money.  So Gary and I could start a new life together.”

“Doesn’t
Gary have money of his own?”

“Of
course he does.  You don’t think I would fall in love with a poor man, do you? 
Of course, he has money.  But more is always better.  Besides, I deserved
Stan’s money, after everything I put up with from him.”

“But
why did you involve me?  Why lure me up here under false pretenses?”

“Oh,
you already involved yourself, honey.  Sticking your nose where it doesn’t
belong.  This was none of your business.”

As
they were talking, Sheila had lowered the rolling pin.  Heather launched
herself forward as Sheila swung.

Heather
just had time to throw her arm up in front of her face before the blow
connected, and a cracking sound came from the bone in her forearm.

“Don’t
try anything!” Sheila shrieked.  “We can do this the easy way, or we can do
this the hard way.  But we’re going to do it!”

“You’re
going to kill me?”

“Get
up.”  Sheila gestured with the rolling pin toward the kitchen.  “Move.”

Am
I really going to be killed by a rolling pin? Heather wondered crazily as she
forced herself to her feet, cradling her left arm against her body, and
shuffled toward the door.  Who ever heard of a rolling pin as a murder weapon?

“Now
get in the freezer,” Sheila commanded.

“The
freezer?”

“Oh,
don’t worry,” Sheila said in a sing-song voice.  “You’ll only be cold for a
little while.  After about 5 minutes, the carbon dioxide will build up and make
you very sleepy.  It’s not the lack of oxygen, you know, that kills you.  It’s
too much carbon dioxide.”

“Thank
you for the science lesson,” Heather murmured.  Where was Shepherd?  Shouldn’t
she be hearing sirens by now?

“Open
the freezer,” Sheila ordered.

Heather
took a risk to glance back at her.  She wore another artfully tailored business
suit, and her hair was once again coiffed into an elegant up-do.  Did she
consider this a special occasion to dress up for? Heather wondered.

Reluctantly,
she lifted the lid of the freezer, her mind whirling.  If Ryan wasn’t going to
rescue her, she would have to figure out a way to rescue herself.  Because once
she got in that freezer, it was all over.  In five minutes, anyway.  What could
she do?  What could she use for a weapon?

“Get
in!” Sheila screamed.

“I
can’t,” Heather said.  “My arm.” 

“I
don’t care about your arm!  I want you in that freezer!”

Heather
glanced inside and saw three boxes of sausages lying flat against the bottom. 
If she could somehow grab one of those, maybe she could wield it against
Sheila.

Heather
swung one leg over the edge of the freezer.  Sheila stood poised with the
rolling pin a few feet away.  Slowly, Heather brought her other leg inside and
began to crouch down, her good arm hanging down beside her, fingers reaching
for the box.

“Faster!” 
Sheila approached the freezer, rolling pin at the ready.  Off in the distance,
Heather thought she heard sirens.  If she got into the freezer and Sheila closed
the lid on her, would she last long enough for the police to get there?

She
couldn’t take the chance.  As she crouched lower into the freezer, her fingers
closed around the heavy box.  “Just—I can’t fit,” Heather protested.

With
a growl, Sheila came closer and reached for the open lid of the freezer.

In
one motion, Heather gripped the box tighter than she’d ever gripped anything
before and rose to her feet, swinging her arm up and out toward Sheila.

The
box made contact with Sheila’s face.  Sheila cried out and staggered backward,
dropping the rolling pin as the box of frozen sausages skittered across the
floor and came to rest against the leg of the prep counter.

Heather
leaped from the freezer and reached for the rolling pin.  But Sheila was faster. 
She grabbed it, swung it over her head, and gave a banshee-like shriek as she
charged toward Heather.

Bang! 

Heather
dodged Sheila’s blow, and both women spun toward the back door of the shop as
it flew open.  Ryan stood in the doorway, his gun pointed at the middle of
Sheila’s chest.

“Drop
it!” he shouted.  “Drop your weapon!”

For
a long, terrible moment, Heather was afraid that Sheila was going to charge
him, too, and that he would shoot her. 

“Drop
it, or I’ll shoot!”

Then,
suddenly, the rolling pin clattered to the floor, and Sheila’s hands went up. 
A haughty smile twisted her lips.  “So you finally figured it out.”

“Heather,
are you okay?” Ryan asked, never once taking his eyes off Sheila.

“I’m
fine,” she lied.

In
seconds, it was all over.  Heather stood leaning against the freezer and
shivering as she watched Ryan order Sheila to turn her back to him and place
her hands over her face.  “Now back up towards me,” he commanded, and she
backed up a few steps.  “Stop,” he said.  “Hands behind your back.”

The
smile never left Sheila’s face as she placed her hands behind her back and Ryan
snapped handcuffs on her.  Only when the sirens stopped did Heather realize
more officers had arrived.  Again, the door burst open, and two uniformed
officers entered, their guns drawn.

“Scene’s
secure,” Ryan said, and they holstered their weapons.  “Can you take this one
outside?  I need to talk to the victim.”

The
officer gripped Sheila’s arm and led her out as Ryan finally, mercifully came
towards her.  “You’re not okay,” he said, looking into her eyes.  “What
happened to your arm?”

Heather
didn’t know if her vision was blurred from the blow to her head or the tears
that had sprung to her eyes.  Then, suddenly, she was crying, too, and Ryan
carefully embraced her, avoiding her injured arm.

“Shh,”
he whispered.  “You’re safe now.  Everything’s okay.”

“Okay,
now that’s weird,” Amy said, leaning forward to snatch another grape from the
tray.  “She just kept smiling all the while she was being arrested and didn’t
say a word?”

“Until
she got put in the back of the patrol car,” Ryan said.  “I have it on good
authority that she resisted going in, and that she then tried to kick out the
windows.  All the while using distinctly un-ladylike language.”

“Knows
some four-letter words, does she?” Amy said.

“Plenty,
apparently.  I think even the patrol officers learned some new words.”

“Impressive,”
Amy said.

“Actually,
‘impressive’ was when you showed up at just the right time,” Heather piped up from
where she lay on the couch, propped up by pillows.  The ER doc had told her
that she had a mild concussion and only agreed to let her go home if she
promised to rest.

“I
tried to tell you not to go,” Ryan said.  “When you hung up on me…” he shrugged
and let the sentence trail away.

“You
tried to stop her?” Amy asked. 

“Yes,
he did,” Heather confirmed. 

“And
have you figured out why?” Ryan asked.

“I
assume because you didn’t want me to get into any danger.  You thought Rob was
there, and you didn’t want Rob to hurt me.”

“I
didn’t want Sheila to hurt you,” he corrected her.

“Wait,
what?”  The pain meds were making it hard for her to think clearly.  Or
quickly. 

“I
didn’t want Sheila to hurt you,” he repeated. 

Even
with the repetition, it took a moment for his words to sink in.  “You mean you
knew Rob wasn’t there?  You knew Sheila lied to lure me there?”  She paused as
another thought struck.  “Did you know Sheila had killed Stan?”

“I
knew.  I just couldn’t prove it.”

“So
that was whom you were referring to when you said you suspected somebody.”

He
nodded.

“Why
did you suspect her?”

“Because
the odds were that this murder had been committed by a woman.  And she was the
only female suspect.”

“What
do you mean, the odds were that a woman committed the murder?” Amy asked,
wrinkling her nose.  “What odds?”

“The
victim was struck from behind.  There was no plan to kill him, much less a plan
to kill him next to the freezer so the killer could dump his body into it.”

“So?”

“So
men who commit murder usually do so more violently.  More purposefully. 
They’re more straightforward.  They don’t strike from behind.”

“Oh,
really?” Amy challenged.  “They don’t?”

“I’m
just telling you what the odds are,” Ryan said.  “Obviously, men and women can
kill in the same ways.  But they usually don’t.”

“So
you knew Sheila was the killer,” Heather said.  “But how did you know that she
was lying about Rob’s being there?”

“Instinct,”
he said.  “I knew she was violent.  She was a murderer.  And that little phone
call of hers was just too opportune, too convenient.  Something just didn’t
feel right about it.”

“I’m
glad it didn’t,” Heather said fervently.  She paused, thoughts swirling in her
head, until one surfaced.  “Would you really have shot her?” she asked.

“Yes,”
he said, meeting her gaze straight on.  “If she had made one wrong move, I
would have shot her.”

Slowly,
she nodded.  He’d almost killed someone.  To save her.  “Thank you,” she
whispered.

Amy
let out a huge yawn and stretched her arms up above her head.  “Okay, ladies
and gentlemen,” she said, getting to her feet, “that’s it for me.  Some of us
have to work in the morning.”

“I’ll
see you to your car,” Ryan said, standing. 

“You’re
both leaving?” Heather asked.

“No,
I’ll see Amy to her car and be right back.”

“I’ll
have my cell phone on tonight in case you need anything,” Amy said to Heather. 
“You just lie there and be the Queen of Sheba.  Take it easy.  Call me when you
wake up in the morning.”

“I
will,” Heather promised.  Amy leaned down to hug her, carefully avoiding
Heather’s arm in its bright purple cast.

“Promise?”

“I
promise.”

“All
right, then,” Amy said.  “Get some sleep.”  She headed to the door with Ryan
following.

Ryan
stepped out onto the porch with her.  Heather heard them exchange a few words,
then heard Amy’s steps going down off the porch.  When a car started, and a
horn beeped twice, Ryan came back inside and shut and locked the door.

He
sat down in the chair next to her and looked at her with such a serious gaze
that it made her nervous.  “What?” she asked.  “What’s wrong?”

“I
should have told you,” he said.

“Told
me what?”

“Told
you that I suspected Sheila.”

“But
you couldn’t.  Look, I understand that you’re a police detective and I’m a
civilian and you can’t tell me everything.”

“My
not telling you meant that you went rushing into a dangerous situation you
could have avoided,” he said.

“I
think that was my lack of a caution gene that made me do that.  It wasn’t you.”

“And
your desire to help.”

“Yeah. 
That, too.”  Heather found it ironic that she had rushed to the aid of someone
who intended to kill her.  She started to shake her head, but the stabs of pain
convinced her that wasn’t a good idea.

“Are
you okay?” Ryan asked.

“I’m
fine,” she said.  “Just have to remember not to shake my head.”

“Speaking
of which,” he said, “despite getting conked on the head, you still managed to
reassess the situation, figure out what was going on, and come up with a plan. 
That’s what’s impressive.”

“You
really think so?”

His
right eyebrow rose.  “I really do.  If you dealt with some of the victims I
deal with, you would realize how rare it is for someone to think clearly and
purposefully when they’re under extreme pressure.  Especially if they also have
a concussion.”

“I
almost didn’t come up with a plan,” she said.  “In fact, I couldn’t think of a
thing except to stall her, until I saw those boxes of sausages in the
freezer.” 

“But
you came up with one when it counted,” he said.

“Yeah. 
Thank God for those sausages.”

“I
don’t know if you’ve realized this, but Crime Scene would have removed them
when they examined the freezer.”

“Then
how did they get back in there?”

“Crime
Scene must have put them back.  You’re lucky there wasn’t any evidence from
Stan’s murder on them, or they would have been confiscated.”

“Yikes,”
she said.

“You
know,” Ryan said thoughtfully, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard
of a potential victim defending herself with a box of Lil’ Smokies.”

“I
bet,” Heather said.

“Come
to think of it, it’s also the first time I almost had to shoot someone over a
rolling pin.”  Ryan chuckled.  “You should have heard what one of the Crime
Scene guys said.  He called me on my cell when I was up at the hospital.  He
says, ‘Are you kidding me?  A rolling pin and a box of sausages are the weapons
I’m supposed to process?’”

Heather
laughed, too.  It felt good to feel life returning to a semblance of normal. 

“I’m
going to let you get some rest,” Ryan said, slapping his palms against his
thighs.  “But, um…before I go, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

Ryan
hesitated.  Just then, Dave walked up to him, reached out a soft, pink tongue,
and licked his hand.  “Hey, buddy,” Ryan said.  Then, to Heather, “Would you
like me to take your dog out one last time?”

“Sure,”
she said.  “Please.  That would be nice.”

“Here,
Dave,” Ryan said, walking toward the back door.  Dave followed him eagerly and
darted outside the minute the door was open.  Ryan stood half in, half out of
the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, until Dave finished
his business and came back inside.

“Time
for me to go,” Ryan said.  “You need your rest.  Are you going to sleep there
on the couch, or do you need me to help you to your room?”

“I’ll
sleep right here.  It’s pretty comfortable.”

“All
right, then.  You take care of yourself.  I’ll check in with you in the
morning.”

“So
what were you going to ask me?  Was that it?  If I was going to sleep here or
if I wanted you to let Dave out?”

Ryan
sighed.  “No,” he said.  “That wasn’t it.”

He
sat back down, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands
together.  Unclasped them.  Leaned back.  Sat up a little bit.  “Heather…I’m
not very good at this,” he said.  “It’s been a long time.  But I need an honest
answer.  And if you say no, that’s okay.”

“An
honest answer about what?”

Ryan
took a deep breath.  “Would you like to go out with me?” he asked.

His
words hung in the air between them as a slow warmth started building in her
chest.  Did she want to go out with him?  Yes.  Yes, indeed.

“You
mean, like on a date?” she asked.

“Yes. 
On a date.”

As
a smile began to pull at the corners of her lips, she saw Ryan begin to relax. 
A smile twitched at his lips, too.

“Yes,
I’d like to go out with you,” she said. 

“Great,”
he said.  “Great.  How about I call you tomorrow and see how you’re feeling? 
If you’re feeling up to it, we can schedule—a date.”

“I’ll
be feeling up to going out with you by tomorrow evening,” she said.

“Are
you sure?”

“I’m
positive.  But I promise to be a good girl and rest all day long just to make
sure.”

“Do
you like Italian food?”

“Love
it.”

“Would
you like to go to Giovanni’s?”

“I’d
love to.”

“Great,”
he said again.  “Okay, I’ll call you in the morning.  And if you’re not feeling
up to it, we can always reschedule.”

“I
don’t want to reschedule,” she said.  “I want to go out tomorrow night.  With
you.”

“Then
I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Ryan said.  “But I’m going to call in the morning
and check on you anyway.”

“Thanks,”
she said.

He
smiled then, and Heather realized, not for the first time, how good looking he
was.  Wow.  Had she lucked out, or what?

“I’ll
let myself out,” he said.  “Can I lock the door behind me without your having
to get up?”

“Just
turn the little latch thingy.”

“Will
do,” he said.  “Good night.”