Strawberry Cream Murder: A Donut Hole Cozy Mystery - Book 1 by Susan Gillard Page A

something?”
    “Do you have an office where we can talk?” he asked, glancing toward the back of the shop.
     
    “Right this way,” Heather said, turning toward the kitchen.  “Michelle, can you take over the counter?”
     
    As Michelle hurried forward, wiping her hands on a dish towel, Heather led the detective toward her little office that was tucked in the back corner of her shop.  She opened her office door and stood aside so he could enter, but he gestured her forward.
     
    Heather stepped inside and took a seat in her desk chair.  “May I close the door?” the detective asked.  Heather nodded, and he closed the door and sat down in the only other chair in the office, a decorative faux-wrought iron chair she’d pulled in from one of the tables up front. 
     
    “Ms. Janke, I’m Detective Ryan Shepherd of the Hillside Police Department,” he began.  “I’m investigating an incident that took place last night.  Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
     
    “I guess not,” Heather said, reaching for a strand of her long, curly red hair and twisting it around her finger.  “Am I a suspect or something?”
     
    “Have you done anything illegal lately?” Shepherd asked.
     
    “Noooooo,” Heather said slowly.  Did he think he was being funny?
     
    “Then you have nothing to worry about,” he said.  “First question.  Did you know Christa Fordyce?”
     
    “Of course I know Christa,” Heather said, feeling the urge to clench her teeth again.  “She worked here until last week.”  She paused, waiting for a niggling detail to catch up with her.  “Wait a minute, did you say ‘ Did I know her?’  As in, past tense?”
     
    “Christa Fordyce was found dead last night around 9:30 in her shop,” Shepherd said.
     
    It took a few seconds for his words to sink in.  “Dead?” Heather repeated.  “ Dead ?  Are you sure?”
     
    “Quite sure,” Shepherd said.  “I hear there was no love lost between the two of you.”
     
    “Where did you hear that?” Heather demanded.
     
    “How about I ask the questions?” the detective suggested.
     
    “Okay, fine,” Heather admitted, throwing her hands up.  “I trained Christa in the donut business.  I taught her everything I know.  I even shared my proprietary recipes with her.  Secret family recipes , I might add.  And she took everything she learned and went behind my back and set up her own shop, which was supposed to open tomorrow.”  Heather paused and took a deep breath.  “I guess you probably already know all that.”
     
    He nodded.  “Second question: Do you know whether or not Ms. Fordyce had any allergies?”
     
    “Not that I know of,” Heather answered.  “Why?”
     
    “When Ms. Fordyce was found, there was a half-eaten strawberry cream donut next to her.  She had what looked like donut crumbs in one corner of her lips.  There were no obvious signs of violence.”
     
    “Christa wouldn’t have donut crumbs on her lips,” Heather said.  “She was too neat.  Almost fastidious.”
     
    Shepherd raised an eyebrow.  Heather noticed a tiny scar just below it and wondered how he got it.
     
    “Actually, she did,” Shepherd said, pointing to the left corner of his mouth.  “Right here.”
    Heather sighed and forced herself not to roll her eyes.  “Where was she found?  Can you tell me that, at least?”
     
    “Next to one of the tables in the front of the shop.”
    “Christa would never carry a donut she was eating into the customer area,” Heather said.  “That’s not her .”
     
    The detective flipped open a small notebook and glanced at it, apparently deciding not to argue the point.  Or maybe simply dismissing her.
     
    “Who found her?” Heather asked.
     
    “Her assistant, a guy named Joey—“ Shepherd flipped a page in the notebook.  “Joey Gorham.”
     
    Heather shook her head.  “I don’t know him.”
     
    “No reason you should,” Shepherd said.  “He hasn’t