Lemon Chiffon Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 8 (7 page)

Heather stood in the kitchen, late at night, after it had finally closed and all the guests of the Saint James were asleep. Augustin had been a little more lenient after discovering that Angelica was innocent and had been sent back to the States.

He seemed uplifted now that the case was closed. His hotel could back to functioning normally, and that meant that he would allow the minor – great, according to him – inconvenience of Heather banging her American thumbs in his kitchen.

“The French have the strangest sayings,” Heather said, and mixed the icing for the Lemon Chiffon crueller donuts.

“
Oh, I don’
t know, it
’
s starting to grow on me.” Amy sat at one of the counters, watching Heather work her magic and fiddling with the small, white bottle of fake tears that Lori Lisalot had dropped at the memorial dinner.

“Don
’
t tell me you
’
re going to miss cheesy Augustin and the nosy Brodoteau.”

“Oh no, of course not, but Paris is beautiful and in between the case and Angelica
’
s arrest, we have managed to see a few things and enjoy ourselves to a certain extent.”

Heather chuckled and brandished a frosting-covered spoon. “You
’
re only saying that because of your rose-tinted, lovey dovey glasses. Which reminds me, is Kent coming back for the wedding?”

“Yes,” Amy said, with a happy sigh. “He
’
s coming to be my date and celebrate with you guys.”

“
Wonderful, we
’
ll be happy to have him.” Heather carried on working the icing, but her thoughts wouldn
’
t stay on the wedding and the donuts she desperately wanted to prepare herself. They were one of the most important parts of the ceremony, and she had to get them right.

All she could think of was Jane
’
s true murderer.

“You
’
re still obsessing, aren
’
t you?” Amy asked, twisting the cap on the fake tears opened and closed.

She
’
d taken to carrying them around and playing with the bottle. She said it helped her thought process. Because Amy was just as determined to get to the bottom of this murder as Heather was.

“You could say that. I just don
’
t want Jane
’
s murderer to get away with this, and I
’
m sure they
’
re still around.” Heather pushed the bowl to one side and eyed it out. “I mean, what
’
s to say they won
’
t try killing one of us next?”

“I thought about that too,” Amy said, nodding.

Heather picked up the scent of almonds and wrinkled her nose. “Right? We
’
re only lucky that Angelica didn
’
t try to taste the icing after the killer had poisoned it.” She shuddered, then rubbed her forearms.

The smell of the donuts was warm and welcoming, but she kept picking up that almond scent. Which was strange, since she
’
d only added nutmeg to the batter. Heather walked to the massive oven and peered through the glass, at her baking babies.

They looked crisp and perfect. The timer went off, so Heather slipped on some oven mitts, opened the door, then removed the trays and placed them on one of the counters.

They were golden brown, crinkled just as cruellers should be, and steaming lightly.

She inserted the next row of trays. There was nothing as rewarding and therapeutic as baking these donuts.

Sure, she couldn
’
t bake a chocolate cake to save her life, but donuts, oh boy, she was the master, if she did say so, or rather, think so herself.

“Do you want to go over the facts again?” Amy asked.

“Yes, let
’
s do that.” Heather said, walking back to her spot at the counter, because she couldn
’
t ice the donuts while they were hot.

“Bear was actually in love with Jane, but betrayed her after her death. He smoked, and we know the killer most likely smoked,” Amy said, ticking the facts off on her fingers, using the fake tear drop bottle as a pointer. “And he clearly wanted us to stop investigating, since he wanted us arrested.”

“Then there
’
s the letter from Lori, who also smoked, and who resented Jane, and did the whole fake tears thing,” Heather said, eying the bottle. “Not that we know those are actually eye drops. Have you used them?”

“No way, I just like fiddling with the bottle. Besides, it
’
s got a nice smell. Kinda like almonds, I like it,” Amy said, opening the bottle and sniffing at the cap. “I wonder if it
’
s some kind of calming medicine. Maybe I should take some.” She laughed as she said it and lifted the bottle higher.

“No!” Heather yelled.

Amy jerked and slapped the bottle down on the counter. She jumped off her chair and looked around. “What is it?”

“I know that smell,” Heather said, and rushed over to her friend. “Go wash your hands in that sink, right away.” She took the cap from between Amy
’
s fingers, sniffed it and grimaced.

She closed the bottle top.

Amy hurried to the sink and did as she was told. “What on earth has gotten into you?”

“These aren
’
t fake drops,” Heather said. She held the bottle aloft. “This is cyanide. I
’
d recognize the smell anywhere. Remember what happened to Christa Fordyce?”

Amy trembled. “I
’
ve been touching that all week. Oh my gosh.”
She sucked in deep breaths.

“Christa was poisoned with cyanide from a donut. One of my donuts.” Heather grasped her forehead and shook her head. “I should
’
ve known. I should
’
ve looked for the poison from the start.”

“You know what this means, don
’
t you?” Amy asked.

“It
’
s time we pay Lori Lisalot a visit.”

They had to wait until Lori Lisalot left her room, before they could go investigating.

“Remind me why we don
’
t just call the police and have her arrested right away?” Amy asked, peering up and down the corridor to check the coast was clear. Cheesy Augustin was tucked away in his office, but they didn
’
t trust that he wouldn
’
t pop up out of nowhere.

He seemed to have a nose for illegalities in the Saint James.

“Because we have no real link between Lori and the bottle.”

“But she dropped it outside the hotel, remember?” Amy tapped her temple.

Heather frowned at her. “And did you actually see her drop it?”

“No, but –”

“Then there
’
s no proof that she actually did drop it, given the fact that it
’
s highly unlikely she squirted cyanide on her face, now that we know it
’
s not a bottle of fake tears.” Heather had tucked the cyanide bottle into her pocket, and this time she
’
d managed to procure a pair of latex gloves from a drug store in the center of France.

She snapped them on and flexed her fingers. “I
’
m not going to break any chains of evidence, this time.”

“But we are breaking and entering.” Amy pointed out.

Heather ignored her, and they crept down the hall, towards Lori
’
s door. They stopped in front of it, and Heather tried the handle. No luck. It was locked tight, and they didn
’
t have the key this time.

“I bet I could ram it open,” Heather said, lowering her voice.

“You
’
re kidding.”

“Not even a little bit. You didn
’
t hear about what happened with Gary Larkin
’
s door? I turned it into fire wood.” Heather chuckled. “I
’
m good at two things, donuts and breaking down doors.”

“I suppose there are worse talents than that,” Amy replied.

“Stand back.”

Amy backed away and Heather took two measured steps from the door. She braced herself and ran at it, then slammed into it with her arm.

This door was remarkably sturdy in comparison to Gary Larkin
’
s. It still caved inwards.

“One more try,” Heather said, and backed up again. She ran at it and hit it broad side.

The door cracked inwards and bounced against the wall behind it.

“
Well, I
’
m pretty sure Lepeu heard that.”

“Yeah, we don
’
t have much time,” Heather said, and they hurried into the hotel room.

The same opulent decorations adorned this bedroom. Rich red sheets, white goose-feather stuffed pillows, and the lanterns on the wooden desk in the corner.

“I
’
ve got the bathroom,” Amy said, snapping on a pair of gloves.

Heather walked to the desk and wrenched the top drawer open, nothing but a few papers. She narrowed her eyes and checked the next drawer. A journal was tucked into the darkest corner, leather-bound and heavy with secrets.

Heather took it out and flipped it open to a recent date.

June 10, 2016 read: 

She
’
s taking everything that I love and I
’
ll make her pay for it. She
’
ll regret it.

Heather flipped further back in the book, the pages brushing against her gloved fingertips, and her jaw dropped.

Bear never sees me. Only her. He won
’
t love me, no matter how hard I try to get his attention. He only has eyes for Jane. I
’
ve told Jane that I
’
ll expose her relationship to her husband if she doesn
’
t break it off with him.

“No,” Heather whispered. She placed the spine of the book on the top of the desk and flicked forward again, to the morning of Jane
’
s death, June 12, 2016.

He still loves her. She did what I told her, but he still loves her. I
’
ll just have to take her right out of the way. Right out of his mind.

The entries stopped after that. Heather almost put her hand to her mouth, but managed to stop herself before it happened.

Amy stepped out of the bathroom, and lifted another bottle between her thumb and index finger. “Guess what I found. What is it? You look like you
’
ve seen a ghost.”

“I know why she did it, and it
’
s not what we thought.” Heather said, then beckoned to her bestie. “You have got to see this.”

“See what?” Augustin Pepe Lepeu strode into the hotel room, his lips puckered to express his permanent state of being: disdain.

“We
’
ve found Jane
’s killer, Monsieur Lepeu,
” Heather said, gesturing to the diary, and then to the cyanide bottle. “Would you call the police and ask them to come down and look at the evidence? I
’
m afraid they
’
ll have an arrest to make.”

Augustin eyed the broken door and grunted. “I should call them and have you both arrested for damaging my hotel.”

“Did you not just hear what she said? Lori is the killer. She needs to be arrested, right away.” Amy marched up to the cheesy fellow and looked him dead in the eye. “Or are you prepared to allow a murderer to prance around in your beloved Saint James?”

Augustin considered her, his beady eyes searching her face. “Bien, I will call the police, but I suggest you two leave this room at once. Miss Lisalot shall return shortly. She informed me she had only gone to get another pack of those disgusting cigarettes.”

The maî
tre d’
hôtel shuddered delicately, dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, then strode from the room.

“I thought he
’
d have us arrested for sure,” Heather said, then sighed. “You really won
’
t believe this, Ames.” She flicked through the pages of the diary. “We thought she wanted to get rid of Jane because she wanted her job, boy, were we wrong. It looks like she was in love with Bear Trapp, all along.”

“Uh, Heather.”

“Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but you should read some of this stuff.” Heather stopped on a page near the center and traced her finger across the pen marks on the page.

“Heather,” Amy said, and something in her tone trembled.

“What is it?” She turned to her bestie and froze.

Lori Lisalot stood in the doorway.