by Carol Durand
Her phone chirped again and she pulled it out of her pocket with a sigh, prepared to threaten Penny Mathers with a cruel and untimely death if necessary. Seeing that the caller was one Melissa Gladstone, she clicked a button to send the call to voicemail, rose from the lounger and sauntered into her opulent mansion in search of her butler, Walter. The man’s massages were out of this world, and her neck could use a little work.
Chapter 12
Missy was furious when Francesca Childs ignored her call yet again, and decided that this time, she was going to leave a message. The snooty producer had no right to treat her like a social pariah, and she was going to give her a piece of her mind. She waited for the tone to signal that it was time to speak, and unleashed a torrent of emotion that had built to a fever pitch, particularly when she was cast out of the Bake House without so much as a second thought.
“How dare you ignore my attempts to contact you? I don’t know just who you think you are treating me like dirt after you lured me out here under false pretenses. You told me I’d be auditioning for a chance to host my own baking show, and that was a flat-out lie. I trusted you because you said that my friend Ian had told you about me, now I’m wondering if you just used the name of a dead man to fulfill your own selfish purposes. If so, I feel sorry for you because that’s just plain vile and disrespectful and you’re a horrible…” beeeeep…the voicemail clicked off. Missy jabbed at the End button on her phone in frustration, halfway tempted to call back and continue her chastisement, but thinking better of it. When she really thought about it, there was actually no point in lashing out at someone who apparently had no conscience.
**
Sitting back in the strictly utilitarian desk chair in her mid-grade hotel room, Missy ran over and over the events that had led up to Kelvin’s murder, wracking her brain for any possible explanation as to who would want to kill him and why. His fellow judges all seemed to respect him, even occasionally ribbing him about his grumpy disposition. The contestants all feared him, but knew that criticism was a natural part of both the process and his personality. She flashed back to the dressing down that he had given her after choking on his cupcake and something about that incident struck her as significant, but she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. She replayed the humiliating scene in her head again and again, finally thinking beyond the event to when Kelvin had addressed Penny Mathers.
He had finished choking, finished giving his cruel feedback to Missy, and finished his glass of water. Penny felt sorry for him, and perhaps trying to gain brownie points with the judge, had offered him a mint. A light bulb went off in Missy’s brain – that was it! The mint! Kelvin had snatched the tin from Penny’s hand and had eaten a few of them before giving the Minnesotan her feedback. What if the mints had been poisoned? What if Penny had been the killer?
Missy grew excited at the prospect of possibly having identified a real suspect, but then came back to reality and thought about the sweet, innocent former farm girl who had blushed so deeply when receiving her criticism. That woman clearly didn’t have a negative bone in her body, and had been nothing but kind to Missy, the other contestants and the judges. Feeling more than a bit guilty at having considered Penny, even briefly, as a suspect, she readjusted her thinking cap, and worked on figuring out a viable suspect.
It occurred to Missy that she had no earthly idea as to how Kelvin Michaels had died, and it might help her figure things out if she knew. She made a note in the notebook that she had in front of her, to try to find out what exactly had happened to Kelvin, which would hopefully steer her in the direction of the culprit. She had so often wished that Chas could come out and help her, but he was tied up in multiple cases in Louisiana, so the best he could do was talk with her over the phone every day.
**
It had been quite a while since Missy had felt safe. Her room at the Bake House had been violated, and the police, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, attributed the attack to a deranged and grieving fan of Kelvin Michaels, neglecting to pursue the matter any further. Evidence had been collected at the scene and was being slowly processed, but there was no expectation that the lab results would yield anything of significance.
Scanning her notes, trying to make some sort of sense out of nothing but speculation and random observations, Missy was startled when it sounded like something brushed against the stucco on the outside of her hotel room, between the front window and the door. Jumping up to make certain that the deadbolt was engaged, she stood on tiptoe and looked out of the peephole, seeing nothing. She heard another sound and saw a shadow fall briefly into view in front of her window.
Nearly jumping out of her skin when her phone rang, Missy picked up immediately and reflexively whispered hello.
“Ms. Gladstone, it’s Detective Fernandez. Are you at your hotel currently?” he asked in a clipped voice. When Missy said that she was, he told her he’d be there in fifteen minutes, and for once she was really looking forward to seeing a member of the LAPD. After hanging up, she realized her mistake. Although the voice on the other end of the phone had sounded like Detective Fernandez, she had no idea if it actually was him, and had just confirmed her location. If someone had called, intending to do her harm, she had unwittingly told them exactly where she could be found. Clutching her cell phone as though her life depended on it (and thinking that it just might), Missy extinguished every light in the hotel room, moving stealthily to the window to look out. She didn’t see anything, but wasn’t confident that her eyes had fully adjusted. Her heart pounded so profoundly within her chest that she wondered if whoever was lurking about outside could hear it. She consciously slowed her breathing, trying desperately to remain calm. Slumping to the floor, with her back against the wall, knees hugged to her chest, Missy stayed just to the side of the window for the entire fifteen minutes, sagging with relief when she recognized Detective Fernandez’s unmarked cruiser pulling into the parking lot. She flung open the door as the detective approached.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so glad to see you,” she exclaimed breathlessly.
“Melissa Gladstone, you are under arrest for the murders of Kelvin Michaels and Francesca Childs,” he stated flatly, and handcuffed her while reciting her rights.
Chapter 13
Missy sat on the chilly slab of cement that served as a bench in the corner of a holding cell, her feet tucked up underneath her, head down, arms criss-crossing her body protectively. Her cell mates were many and varied – women who’d been arrested for prostitution, shoplifting, public intoxication, and every other social ill that Missy could think of, and some that she’d never even heard of. Keeping to herself, she never made eye contact, her heart pounding with fear and adrenalin. She sat for hours while other offenders came and went, some staying only long enough to sober up. The smell in the overcrowded cell was staggering, and Missy tried to breathe through her mouth so that she could control the nausea that rose up within her when she caught of whiff of the powerful stench that surrounded her. Numb with fear and revulsion, but afraid to close her eyes, she stared at a spot on the floor for hours before hearing her name called.
“Gladstone!” a husky female guard with a frizzy perm and a bad attitude barked to get her attention.
Her mouth seemingly lined with cotton from dehydration, Missy raised her hand to indicate that she’d heard her name.
“Gladstone, get over here,” the guard ordered, frowning. “I ain’t got all day to mess with you.”
Feeling frail and overwhelmed, she went to the door of the cell, where the surly officer let her out into the hallway. “Follow me,” was the directive given, and, not having any other choice than to go back to the seventh circle of hell that awaited within the holding cell, Missy silently obeyed, shuffling along behind the mountain of a woman in front of her.
“Get in there,” the guard ordered, opening a door and stepping back to let her pass. Missy entered an interrogation room utterly defeated, with her head down, not raising it to acknowle
dge whoever awaited her.
“I’ll take it from here,” a familiar voice said with quiet authority.
Missy looked up, eyes wide. “Chas!” she screamed, throwing herself into the detective’s waiting arms and sobbing with relief. All her fears and concerns melted away as he held her, murmuring soothing words that were lost on her as she clung to him, wetting his sport-coat with her tears. He let her cry for a few minutes, then calmed her down little by little, until her sobs waned, becoming infrequent hiccups and gasps, then disappearing almost entirely. Leading her to a molded plastic chair, the detective sat her down and placed a steaming cup of coffee in her shaking hands.
“Chas, I’m so glad you’re here. These terrible people arrested me. They said I killed two people, but I didn’t – you know I didn’t,” she pleaded her case.
He nodded and squeezed her hand supportively. “I know, sweetie, I know. There have been some developments since they arrested you last night, and they’re not terrible people, they’re just trying to do their job. Detective Fernandez shared some of the details of the case with me, and it looks like we may be able to get you out of here in a few hours, once the autopsy report comes in,” he reassured her.
“Oh Chas, I’ve been so scared,” Missy whimpered, twisting her hands in her lap.
“I know, but there’s no reason to be scared any longer. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this mess,” the handsome detective brought her hand to his lips, capturing her gaze with blazing blue eyes. “Okay?” he asked.
She nodded, and jumped when the door to the interrogation room suddenly swung open. Detective Fernandez entered, carrying a thick file folder, nodded a greeting to Missy and focused on Chas, sitting down in a chair across the table from him.
“Okay, here’s what we’ve got,” he began, getting immediately to business. “Kelvin Michaels’ cause of death was drowning. The victim’s body was found in Francesca Childs’ pool, and the estimated time of death makes it impossible to implicate Ms. Gladstone because she has a verified alibi during that time period,” he explained, much to Missy’s relief.
“Good,” Detective Chas Beckett replied, scanning the autopsy results. “What else?”
“The heavy sedative that was found in the victim’s blood stream matched a prescription that was discovered in the bedside table of Francesca Childs, implicating her in his death. A household servant has come forward and claims to have seen Kelvin and Ms. Childs out by the pool, behaving in a manner consistent with having consumed vast quantities of alcohol, or a bit of the sedative in question,” Fernandez said, letting Chas and Missy connect the dots.
“So Francesca killed Kelvin? Why on earth would she do that?” Missy wondered aloud.
“As it turns out, there are a couple of reasons that Ms. Childs would have the motivation to kill Kelvin Michaels. We found a digital recording in Ms. Childs’ phone of a conversation between her and Penny Mathers. Francesca had apparently discovered that Ms. Mathers had paid off Kelvin Michaels to ensure that she would win the competition, collect the prize money and host her own baking show. She threatened to expose the deal between the unscrupulous judge and contestant, unless Penny agreed to split the winnings with her,” Fernandez explained.
Shaking his head in disgust, the LA detective continued. “Backed into a corner by the producer, Penny agreed to split the winnings, but Mr. Michaels changed his mind, backing out of the deal, keeping the money but refusing to allow Penny to win. Penny then threatened to go public with the news of the bribe, which would have created a scandal that effectively would ruin Francesca’s career. Knowing that she’d gotten in over her head, and that the indomitable Penny Mathers would not even consider backing down, Francesca concocted a plan to eliminate Kelvin in order to save her career and make it look as though either Missy or Simon had committed the crime. She wanted to frame the other contestants because disqualifying them would free up the money for the runner-up, Penny Mathers, who would then split the spoils with her. Francesca would go on to produce the baking show, Penny would finally have the fame that would give her the income she desired, and no one would be the wiser. As it turns out, the producer also had an extra incentive to kill the judge, because she knew that Kelvin was on the verge of going to the investors to have the show cancelled so that he wouldn’t have to deal with her scheming and drama, which also would have immediately ended her career.”
“So how did Francesca get killed then?” Chas asked.
“From what the butler overheard, she had a confrontation over the phone with Penny Mathers that didn’t end well. Her phone records back that up. Francesca acted like she was in a position of power and hinted that she might just consider cutting Penny Mathers out of the money altogether. Penny apparently took the producer’s threats seriously, thinking that she was going to lose out on all of the money as well as the chance of hosting her own show, and took matters into her own hands, literally, strangling Francesca last night as she slept. The security cameras which had mysteriously malfunctioned on the night of the dinner party were working just fine last night and captured the entire gruesome event on video. Fingerprints found at the scene matched hers, along with prints at the Bake House after the vandalism, and more recently, fingerprints found on the door frame at your hotel,” Fernandez grimaced.
Missy gasped. “Do you mean that she was going to try to…” she couldn’t bear to even finish her sentence.
“Come after you next? Yes, that’s exactly what I think was happening. I saw a figure darting into the shadows when I pulled up to arrest you, but by the time I sent an officer to investigate, there was no trace of anyone in sight. I hate to say it, but arresting you was probably the best thing that could have happened for your own safety,” he finished, sounding apologetic.
“Or, you could have believed her in the first place and provided protection,” Chas commented dryly, giving the detective a look.
“Granted,” Fernandez nodded. “Right now, we’re focusing on an intensive manhunt to track down Penny Mathers. When we ran her prints through the system, we got so many hits that it’ll take us quite a while to investigate every crime that she’s committed. She’s going to be headed to jail for a very long time when we finally catch up with her.”
“Any leads on that?” Chas asked.
Fernandez shrugged. “In this part of the country, when a killer goes missing, we send our guys to the border, hoping we can stop them before they get across.”
“Can she be extradited if she does make it?” Missy asked, trembling a bit.
“If she’s found…and once she makes it to the other side, that’s a big ‘if,’ the extradition process is very sticky. Usually if they get that far, they just disappear,” he replied. “But, the good news is that you have been entirely cleared of all charges.”
“I would certainly hope so,” Chas raised a disapproving eyebrow. While he knew that Fernandez and the LAPD had just been doing their jobs, he resented the fact that they’d allowed themselves to be duped by a shallow “Hollywood” type, and that his sweet Melissa had suffered because of it.
“So…I’m free to go?” Missy asked, looking from one handsome detective to the other.
“Absolutely,” was the quiet response from LAPD’s finest. Fernandez knew that he could have handled this case better, and had vowed not to make the same mistake in the future.
Missy turned to her beloved Chas and said simply, “Please take me home.”
Chapter 14
“Ben and I had a fight,” Cheryl Radigan, the manager of Missy’s Muffins and More confessed when Missy came in to the shop after her return to Louisiana.
“Really? That’s unusual,” Missy remarked, gingerly packing up cupcakes for delivery to a church social.
“Yeah, I know. I hate it. We get along so well almost every single second, but he just can’t see my point of view on this one particular thing,” the younger woman complained.
“Well, I can’t say that I know from ex
perience, but from what I hear, marriage works best when both partners are willing to compromise. Is there a middle ground that you two can agree upon?” she asked, trying not to pry, despite the fact that her curiosity was killing her.
“No, I don’t think so,” Cheryl shook her head miserably. “Here’s the thing…after I spent some time working as an extra on the set of Whispers of Blood, I realized that acting was something that comes really naturally to me, and I want to do more of it.”
“So what’s the problem?” Missy was puzzled. “I would think you’d have plenty of time to do community theatre productions while Ben is busy studying.”
Cheryl gave her a blank look. “I don’t want to do community theatre. I want to really act. Like, I want to give it a real shot by auditioning in California or New York or something. I really think that I could make it,” she said sincerely, stars in her eyes.
Missy sighed inwardly. She loved Ben and Cheryl like they were her very own kids, and she would feel bad if she didn’t at least try to inject a little bit of reality into the idealistic young woman’s world. Just the thought of most of the Hollywood types that she had met made her shudder, and she just knew that the lovely person in front of her would get eaten alive in that cutthroat environment.
“Oh, honey, I don’t think you realize how dark and cynical the movie and television industry can be. Success can often depend more upon who you know and what you’re willing to do rather than how talented you are. Besides, Ben still has at least another year of grad school left, doesn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but, just because he’s stuck here for another year doesn’t mean that I can’t go make a name for myself. Then, when he graduates, he can relocate to be with me,” she smiled as if the whole issue was solved.
“Does he want to do that?” Missy asked gently, trying to remind her that Ben’s feelings need to be considered too.