Free Maple Frosted Murder (Donut Hole 2) by Susan Gillard

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,