Read Maple Frosted Murder (Donut Hole 2) for Free Online Page B

how angry people can get over false accusations.  I
was pretty angry myself.  But angry enough to kill him?  No.  But somebody
was.”
     
    The
pedicurist returned with a towel over her arm and another pedicurist in tow. 
Each woman spread a towel in front of her customer at foot level.  “You put
your feet here,” she said. 
     
    Heather
and Amy obeyed, and each had her feet gently blotted dry.  “Ahh, this is the
life,” Amy sighed.  “I could get used to this.”
     
    They
fell silent as the pedicurists began work on their feet.  “Ha!  That tickles!”
Amy cried out a moment later, trying to stifle a giggle.
     
    Her
pedicurist smiled.  “Lots of people say that.”
     
    Amy
relaxed back into the chair.  “I’m going with you,” she said.
     
    “Going
with me where?”
     
    “To
the funeral.”
     
    “Who
said I was going to the funeral?”
     
    “You
didn’t have to say it.  I know you.  You’ll want to be there to see who else is
there.  Especially your suspects.”
     
    “Okay,
you’re right,” Heather agreed.  “You do know me too well.  Yes, I’m going. 
I’ll pick you up at 9:30 tomorrow morning.”
     
     
    ***
     
    That
evening, with her dog, Dave, snoring contentedly on the rug at her newly
pedicured feet, Heather laid a pad of paper and a pencil on the coffee table in
front of her.  Maybe if she could get her thoughts in order, she’d be able to
make heads or tails of Stan’s murder.
     
    She
picked up the pen, twiddled it in her fingers, and wondered if Ryan Shepherd
was having any more luck figuring things out than she was.  Hopefully, he was. 
After all, he was the professional, and she merely the amateur with an
overactive tenacity gene that wouldn’t let her walk away from an unsolved
mystery.
     
    STAN,
she wrote at the top of the paper in capital letters, and underlined it twice
for good measure.  What did she know about Stan?
     
    When
“Here Comes the Sun” began to play from her cell phone, she picked it up, saw
Shepherd’s number, and accepted the call.  “Hello?”
     
    “Heather? 
This is Ryan.  Ryan Shepherd.  I hope I’m not disrupting your evening.”
     
    “I’m
sitting on the couch with my dog,” she said.  “Not much to disrupt tonight.”
     
    “Did
you get my message?” he asked.
     
    “Yes,
I did.  What was going on in the background?  Sounded like Animal House or
something.”
     
    “That
was more or less it.  Minus the drinking.”
     
    “That’s
good to know,” she said.  “So, yes, I got your message.  And, yes, I stopped by
the station earlier today.  But they said you weren’t there.  So I came to
work, and there you were.”
     
    “You
didn’t leave your name?  At the station, I mean.”
     
    “No,
I don’t think I did.”  She paused.  “So how did you know I was the one who
stopped by?”
     
    “Oh,
I figured it out,” he said, suddenly sounding evasive.  What in the world?
     
    “So…you
just wanted to know if I was the one who stopped by?”
     
    “Pretty
much.  I figure since we talked afterward, you got whatever answers you
needed.”
     
    “You
don’t give me many answers,” she said.
     
    “I
give you what I can.”
    “Yeah,
I know.”  Heather crunched the phone between her chin and shoulder as she
attempted to adjust the clip holding her long, curly hair up in a twist. 
Drat.  Crooked.  “I guess I’m just frustrated that I can’t figure out what’s
going on.  The suspects just keep piling up.  Oh, and I ran into Sheila
Dombrowski today.”
     
    She
related the conversation between her and Sheila, including Sheila’s mention of
Stan’s accusations against both her and Gary Larkin.  Shepherd listened
quietly.
     
    “Thanks
for telling me,” he said when she finished.  “Unfortunately, I don’t have much
I can tell you in return.”
     
    “Tell
me who you think did it,” she said.
     
    For
a moment, there was silence.  “You do have a suspect,” she said,