Cinnamon Crunch Murder Read Free Page A

convo.
    “Intriguing,” Heather muttered.
    “What did you say?” The nosy woman asked.
    “Nothing, nothing,” Heather said and readjusted the purse she’d chosen from the glass shelf. A Prada she had no intention of paying for.
    The line shortened, and the nerves bubbled around in the back of her brain. One step closer to her first interview of the case, and the stakes had never been higher.
    Cop cars stuck out like sore thumbs to her, now and she’d nearly run into one on her way out of Donut Delights. Apparently, Davidson was determined to follow through on his threats.
    The nosy woman in front of her stepped up to the counter. “Hi, Goldie, how are you?” She gushed, simpering in a flowery tone she sure hadn’t used while talking to Heather.
    “Oh, hello, Patricia, how are you?” Goldie’s voice could’ve iced a ball of molten fudge.
    “I’m great, just great. Happy to see you in a better mood. I heard –”
    Goldie snatched the blouse from Patricia and checked the tag. “That will be two hundred dollars. Cash or credit?”
    Patricia fish-mouthed for a second. “Uh, credit.” She brought out a flashy silver card from the depths of her purse and placed the sliver of plastic on top of the counter.
    “Uh huh,” Goldie said, then picked it up and rang up the purchase. Clearly, she wasn’t in the talking mood. That didn’t bode well for Heather.
    Then again, Heather Shepherd didn’t usually take no for an answer.
    If this was Goldie’s ‘better mood’ according to Patricia, then she’d hate to see her on a bad day. Goldie was young and beautiful, but those were the extent of her gifts, so far.
    Patricia tapped her fuchsia nails on the counter top.
    Goldie gave her another of her ice ball looks.
    The tapping stopped. Patricia accepted a gold-embossed shopping bag from Goldie, grabbed her credit card and dashed out the front door without a goodbye.
    Heather watched her disappear into the depths of a fancy sports car and zoom off down the road, a second later.
    Goldie cleared her throat. “Uh, hello? I don’t have all day, here.”
    Heather turned to the younger woman with a straight face. “Are you upset about your friend’s death?”
    Goldie froze, fingers still reaching for the purse in Heather’s arms. “What did you just say?”
    “I asked you if you’re upset about Tara Davidson’s death,” Heather replied. “I have it on good authority that you visited her shortly before it happened.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Goldie replied, through a clenched jaw.
    Heather had a gift: judging characters, reading how to talk to them and figure out what made them tick. At least, that was what she liked to believe. And Goldie was the typical spoiled rich kid.
    She kinda reminded Heather of her late high school buddy, Cherry.
    “Get out of here,” Goldie hissed.
    “No. I’m conducting a private investigation.” Heather sighed and tossed the purse aside.
    Goldie gasped as if she’d been struck.
    “Let me explain something, Goldie. You don’t have to answer my questions, but it would be a lot better for you if you did. My husband is a detective at Hillside PD.” A name drop she probably couldn’t afford.
    Davidson would find out about that.
    Goldie stared at her, expression a blank page. She hardly breathed for a moment. Then her face crumpled into an image of grief. Tears dropped from her lids and splatted onto the glass counter, displaying Hermes scarves below.
    “I would never hurt her. I didn’t mean to fight with her. She just made me so angry.”
    “What happened?” Heather asked, readjusting her handbag.
    “She was always flirting with him!” Goldie exploded, then grabbed one of the scarves under the counter and dabbed beneath her eyes to stem the flow of mascara and tears.
    “With who?”
    Goldie sobbed a while, then cleared her throat and focused on Heather again. “Foster. My boyfriend. They were always flirting and hanging out behind my