Chasing down Missy was all too easy, all they needed to do was follow the fire. The red hair was like a beacon, calling out from down the road. The car screamed out of the lot, turned onto the main road, spotted the blaze and was on top of them a second later. Detective Rogers, more than able behind the wheel, spun the car out in front of the fleeing Missy, and cut her off entirely. She slammed into the hood of the car, coming to a complete stop as the team of redheads cut her off from behind.
"Missy Trudeau, you have the right to remain silent," Detective Rogers said through the open car window.
"Hey, I was going to say that," Beatrice joked, crossing her arms in jest as she did.
"You know what, you can say it next time."
A next time? Beatrice really hoped not.
21
It turned out that Beatrice was right on the money when it came to Missy's intentions. Matthew had a very sizeable life insurance policy and with no wife, it was scheduled to go to his next in line; that being his eldest daughter. Fortunately, the act of murdering him negated Missy of getting her hands on the funds and instead the money was split between his remaining daughters; all twenty-three of them.
It was an oddly satisfying end to the case, but was still in a personal dilemma. Once Missy was behind bars, Beatrice still found herself smack dab in the middle of a love triangle. Now usually with a love triangle, the cause of the lust had her eye on one of, if not both the men. This is what made the triangle so deadly, but Beatrice, for all Rogers’ and Fred's crooning and advances, couldn’t imagine herself with either.
"In these situations, I cut the cord with a sharp knife," Stella advised when Beatrice told her of the problem. The three ladies were having coffee at a new café in town; The Rustic Table.
It wasn't actually that new, but neither of the three women had ever actually been there, always choosing the Mon Chere for their place of beverage, but Beatrice had promised to never go back there again and was staying strong to this oath. And besides, The Rustic Table possessed that same small town vibe that the Mon Chere used to have. She could see herself making this a regular spot.
"With a sharp knife? And how does one do that?" Beatrice asked, genuinely curious. She hoped that an actual knife wasn't needed, but knowing Stella, anything was possible.
"Oh, there are so many ways darling. I usually tell them that I'm seeing someone else. Which is usually the case anyway. Or I tell them I can't stand the sight of them. Or I tell them that I've chosen a life of chastity. Really, anything that gets them as far away as possible." She took a casual sip of her coffee; not a hint of sarcasm or remorse in her words.
"I don't know if that's for me," Beatrice said, unable to imagine how either man would react if she told them that she had chosen a life of chastity.
"I like to pretend that I've forgotten who they are. That way I can't date them," Sophie said as she admired her new hair color in the reflection of a spoon. Her hair was now purple. She claimed that it was in celebration of their victory. Whatever that meant.
Beatrice stared at her friend, unable to tell if she was being serious or not. Sophie didn't give any indication that she wasn't being serious, so Beatrice suddenly cracked up laughing, unable to control herself. Perhaps Sophie was the sanest of them all.
"No, I think that I need to just be an adult about it and tell them that I'm not interested. I'm sixty...ish. I'm past playing these games."
“Unless…” Stella started, smirking as she took a sip of her coffee.
Beatrice didn’t like the look on her face one bit, knowing it was going to lead somewhere she didn’t like. The last time she had seen that face, she had ended up on a date with a man whose idea of a good time was literally blowing fish out of the water “Unless what?” She asked.
“Well you say that you don’t like either of them, yet somehow you always seem to end up spending time with Detective Rogers.”
“What? How can you even… it’s because of the case!” Beatrice protested.
“I’m sure it is darling, it always is.” She was still smirking, looking particularly smug with herself.
“Every time we have had to meet up has been case related,” Beatrice continued, getting a little mad now. It was just like Stella to try and turn something like this around. “Every time.”
“And the motorbike? I suppose you just had to call him? And when you needed help tracking down the waitress? All a coincidence?”
“I didn’t know who else to call!”
“And that’s my point exactly,” she finished, crossing her arms, as if daring Beatrice to counter.
“What’s your point?”
“All I’m saying is think about it. He’s a nice guy, with a decent job who doesn’t get into arguments with waiters for free drinks. Oh, and he’s pretty easy on the eyes too.”
Beatrice didn’t respond, scowling at Stella as she took a long sip of her coffee. She hated the point that Stella was trying to make, but really, she hated that she was kind of right. It had been crossing her mind a lot lately, thoughts of Detective Rogers that is. She didn’t know why, but she always wanted to see him. She told herself it was because of the case, but now she wasn’t so sure.
The first thing she had to do though was deal with Fred. Despite her mixed feelings toward Detective Rogers, she knew that she had none for Fred. He was and always would be her dead husband’s brother.
"So that's the way it's going to be?" Fred asked, despondent.
"I'm afraid so."
They were on the deck of his yacht. It was late afternoon and the sun was slowly setting over the water. When she had arrived, unannounced, he was over the moon with joy. He announced that he would crack a bottle of champagne and ‘get the celebrations underway.’
"And if I hadn't faked my death?" He asked, as if this was the deal breaker.
"My answer would still be the same." She felt bad of course, after all he had done for her. She was also surprised that he was so shocked by her response. How could he possibly think that such an act would have her falling over herself to be with him? The only real consolation she would be able to give him was that he wasn’t the worst date she had been on in the last week.
He was sitting off the edge of the deck now, his feet dangling over the water. He was still wearing that stupid hat, only now it looked a little more pathetic than pompous. Beatrice chose to remain standing; symbolically separating herself from him.
"OK. I'll go for now," he finally said after a few moments of silence. "But just know, this doesn't mean that I give up. Just that I need to regroup and come up with another plan."
Beatrice couldn’t help but smile. Apart from how flattering it was, it was also just a little charming and cute.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," she offered. It was a hollow sentiment, but she sensed that it gave him the boost he needed. Beatrice still cared for the man, just not in that way. She didn't want to see him hurt.
Fred left the next day, sailing off into the distance, disappearing from her life as if he had never been there. Beatrice knew that she hadn't seen the last of him. She just wondered in what context she would see him next time. Hopefully not one as odd as this.
Then again, this was her life after all. It seemed that whenever trouble came to her small town, it managed to find Beatrice one way or the other. Perhaps it was time she embrace it. It had been suggested that she become a private detective. With her intuition and baking ability there was really nothing she couldn't solve.
--
By pure coincidence Beatrice ran into Detective Rogers, some thirty minutes later.
After her conversation with Rogers, she drove home in a vacant state. The whole time her head spun with thoughts of Rogers and what she was going to do.
She knew she had some sort of feelings for him, she just didn’t know what they were. Was he just a friend? Someone that she could see herself having a Sunday lunch with and nothing more? Or was it more than that? Did she see herself having dinner with him, a few
drinks and maybe inviting him back to her home for a night cap?
It was her naturally stubborn nature that was holding her back of course. Even if she did know the answer, she wouldn’t let herself admit it. To some degree she was still hurting from the death of her husband, and knowing what that pain felt like was keeping her from wanting to experience it again.
When she parked her car, her head was still in a daze, so she decided to go for a little stroll. It was either this or bake something. And oddly enough, she didn’t even feel like baking right now. That was how dire this situation was.
She walked for several minutes, and several minutes more, not sure in which direction she was going… and not really paying attention either.
It was after what must have been at least thirty minutes that she heard a voice call out to her. Spinning on the spot, taking in her surroundings for the first time, she spotted none other than Detective Rogers.
He was across the road from her, standing in his driveway by his parked car. The hood was popped up and judging by his dirty white shirt and greasy shorts, he was fixing the engine.
“Beatrice, hey!” He waved her over. “What are you doing? You look like a zombie.”
Beatrice, shaking her head clear, made her way towards him. As she did she was surprised by how strapping he looked, as he always did. Again, in that plain white shirt, his broad shoulders stood out. And those shorts were tight across his muscular legs. He was an all-around good looking man and Beatrice was forced to question just what was wrong with her.
“Hey,” she said timidly as she reached him. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing really. Just filling in time -- Oh, you’ll be happy to know that Missy, or Jen or whatever she is calling herself, is locked up tight. It didn't take much to get a confession out of her either.”
“Oh… that’s great,” she said despairingly. Really, she should have been over the moon, but again, her mind was elsewhere.
“I thought you would have been a little happier? It was after all, entirely thanks to you that we caught her,” he offered, leaning against the car as he wiped his hands on a dirty rag.
“Oh, yeah I am. I’m just, my mind is a little foggy.”
“Let me guess,” he began. “You’re love struck over Mr. Dirty-Fork and can’t get him out of your head?”
Beatrice, unable to control herself, burst out laughing at the unexpectedness of the comment. “How did you know?” She managed to ask once she had calmed down.
“Stella told me all about it. Well, first she told me that you ruined her favorite black dress. And then she told me how; climbing through a window. Very impressive, but I’m just glad I never got that treatment,” he joked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the car.
“Well there was no window in the bathroom when we had our date,” she countered.
“Ah, of course.”
“And, truth be told, the date with you wasn’t anywhere near as bad.”
“I’m sorry for that. If I had known that that’s what you were into, I would have tried a little harder.” Although his tone was joking, Beatrice sensed that there was more to his words than he was letting on. Well, she knew that there was.
Detective Rogers had made it no secret as to how he felt about Beatrice, not even a little bit. And although he was all fun and games now, she had a feeling that he was just a little bit hurt.
“What are you doing now? Did you want to… maybe come in for a cup of coffee?” There was trepidation in his voice. It wasn’t a friend asking for a drink. It was a potential lover asking her out on a date. He must have sensed her hesitation as he quickly said, “If you want I can yell at the furniture and my dog, if that makes it a little easier on you?”
Beatrice couldn’t not smile at how adorable he was being. “Sure, a coffee would be nice.”
She followed him into the house, wondering to herself where this coffee was going to lead. If it was a week ago it would have been just a coffee and nothing more. She would have made sure of that, but considering everything that had happened recently, she wasn’t sure that she wanted just a coffee. In fact, she was almost sure now that she wanted more.
She decided that for now she would play it safe and act coy. She would let him earn another date with her, one that she was sure she was going to say yes to. She had after all been through hell and back over the last week, with the one constant ray of light being Detective Rogers.
It was time for Beatrice to finally get over her dead husband and give herself a chance at being happy. She had, after all, earned that at the very least.
THE END
Books in the Cookie Club Mystery Series:
Strawberry Cream Stabbing - GET IT!
Sugar Cream Shooting - GET IT!
Passion Fruit Poisoning
Case of the Passion Fruit Poisoning Page 11