Peanut Brittle Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 25 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries)

by Summer Prescott

  “Yep, she’ll go in and talk to her about baking, do some of that feminine bonding crap,” Simon rolled his eyes.

  “She does this, she’s earned her spot,” the leader nodded. “She screws it up…”

  “She won’t.”

  “See that she doesn’t. We don’t need any liabilities.”

  “Her experience is valuable, she’ll be alright,” Simon answered quietly.

  “When do we move on the cupcake lady?” a younger man piped up.

  “When we have enough info,” the leader said gruffly, ending that line of conversation.

  What followed after that was a tedious back and forth about weapons, ammunition and hunting that signaled to Janssen that the important information had already been gleaned. He slipped out of the basement, replaced the boards and stones, and made his way back into the woods, a mere shadow.

  Chapter 5

  “Mornin, brother,” Janssen drawled from his chair in Spencer Bengal’s living room. He’d gotten past the Marine’s safety precautions and re-locked the front door once he was inside. Spencer’s cat, Moose, was purring contentedly on his lap.

  “You know, surprising me like this could be hazardous to your health,” Spencer replied mildly, re-sheathing his razor sharp knife in its calf holster.

  “You need a better guard dog,” the tough, war-hardened young man cracked a smile, scratching Moose under the chin.

  “Clearly. To what do I owe the pleasure? I’m assuming you didn’t come just to share your kill,” he remarked, picking up the gator tail wrapped in butcher paper. Janssen loved gator, and when he made a kill, he often brought some over, leaving it on the kitchen counter and disappearing again.

  “Toss me a cold one and I’ll tell you all about it, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” Spencer asked, going to the fridge for a craft beer. It didn’t matter that it was morning, time was irrelevant to his woods-roaming former team member.

  “Cuz it sounds like somebody’s got plans concerning your favorite cupcake lady,” Janssen said, setting Moose on the floor and opening his beer.

  Spencer stared at him with laser focus. “Who, what and when?” he asked, jaws clenched. “Tell me everything you know. These people are my family, man.”

  “Getting close is dangerous, brother. Thought you of all people would know that.”

  “I do, but it’s the only thing that makes life worth living. The only thing that gives me a reason to get up in the morning.”

  “Whatever works for you,” Janssen shrugged. He related what he’d seen and heard from his hiding place underneath the remote cabin, finishing his beer in short order.

  “I should’ve known when I saw Ginny Pascal leaving there yesterday,” Spencer shook his head.

  “Ginny Pascal? There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. She must be their scout.”

  “If she’s involved, we know that they have at least one skilled member, even if the rest seem like yokels,” the Marine commented grimly.

  “I don’t think they’re going to let her do much of anything, by the sounds of it,” Janssen replied.

  “Once she knows their plan, they won’t be able to stop her. And if you say that she’s trying to prove herself to gain access to their little tribe, that could mean bad news. We’re both going to need to stay on top of this. As wide-spread and active as they are in this area, the Feds may be on their tail already, but we can’t take any chances in case they’re not. Do you still have contacts?”

  Janssen pursed his lips. “I can do some checking around,” he nodded slowly. “I try to stay off of the radar, but I know some guys.”

  “Find out who these guys are and what they want. I’ll take care of securing this end. They’re not getting to Missy Beckett on my watch,” Spencer ground out.

  “You gonna tell the detective?”

  “Not yet. Let’s figure out what we’re dealing with first. If these guys are the real deal instead of just a handful of wannabe warriors, we may have to take care of it ourselves.”

  “I hear ya,” Janssen stood to go.

  “One for the road?” Spencer held out another beer.

  “Nope, got work to do. I’ll be back for it soon though,” he replied, heading for the door.

  “Keep me posted.”

  “You’ll know when I do, brother.”

  Chapter 6

  Missy loved going for walks on the beach with her dogs, Toffee, an aging golden retriever whom she’d had since she was a pup, and Bitsy, a spunky little malti-poo who had been quite literally thrown at her by a spoiled mayor’s daughter when she lived in Louisiana. The canine pals ran and chased each other, taking an occasional break to frolic in the temperate salt water. After she finished baking this morning, she’d had Spencer take over for her at Cupcakes in Paradise so that she could enjoy the beautiful day with her furry babies.

  “Hi!” Missy was so lost in watching and laughing at the “girls” as they played, that she hadn’t even seen the young woman approaching from behind her.

  “Oh, hello,” she returned the greeting.

  “I met you in your cupcake shop yesterday,” the mousy-haired woman reminded her. “That peanut brittle cupcake was delicious.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, I remember. Sorry, my mind was a million miles away,” Missy confessed with a smile.

  “I don’t blame you – what a beautiful day.” The woman was barefoot, and her skirt was long enough that she had to hold it in both hands so that the hem didn’t brush the sand.

  “Do you come out here often?” she asked innocently, moving to stand beside Missy as she watched the dogs.

  “Not often enough. I can’t believe I live on the beach and only seem to be able to enjoy it a few times a week. But, I guess I shouldn’t complain…most people would love to be able to spend a few days a year in a place like this,” she shrugged.

  “Wow, you must be really busy,” the young woman remarked. “Does someone else walk your dogs for you?”

  “No, I at least get out here every morning to do that before I open up the shop.”

  “I’m an early riser too. It seems like I’m usually up taking care of chickens and pigs and getting breakfast ready before the sun even peeks over the horizon.”

  “I know how that feels,” Missy agreed. “It’s so peaceful out here before the rest of the world is awake though. It’s like the girls and I have the whole beach to ourselves.”

  “Are your dogs friendly?”

  “Oh yes, they may bark fiercely when someone comes to the door, but if anything, all they’d do is lick them to death,” she chuckled.

  “I love sweet dogs like that,” the young woman replied, sounding a bit wistful. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, just thought I’d say hi. Oh…what time do you usually open your shop in the morning? I might want to pick up a few more cupcakes.”

  “Well, I officially open the doors at nine, but I’m often in there baking as early as six, and I have coffee with my friends around eight, so if you’re up early and want to drop by, there’s a good chance that I’ll be there, just come to the back door if it’s before hours.”

  “That’s great to know, thanks. Have a good day,” she smiled and turned away.

  “Thanks, you too,” Missy said, and followed the dogs down the beach.

  Chapter 7

  “Well, Kel, I hate to say it, but you were right. Chas has been asked to head up a multi-jurisdictional task force to try to crack down on the crime across the three counties where activity is really spiking,” Missy said, putting mugs of coffee down in front of Kel, Echo and herself.

  “Do they have any good leads?” the artist asked, reaching for a Mango Madness cupcake.

  “He’s been so busy the past few days, I really have no idea.”

  “Maybe it’s that one green furry guy in a Santa suit who hates Christmas,” Echo proposed with a mischievous grin.

  “Well, if I see any furry green guys in Santa suits, I’ll be sure
to call Chas,” Missy chuckled. “Oh, by the way, Echo, I met someone yesterday after you two left that I think you might find interesting.”

  “Oooo! Is he hot?” her friend teased, drawing an eye roll from Kel, who had made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t mind being more than friends with the carefree Californian.

  Missy shook her head at their antics. “First, it’s she, not he, and I think you two might be able to relate in some ways. She lives on some sort of farm, I think, and raises her own food, makes her own clothes, and says that she’s trying to get back to basics.”

  “Interesting,” Echo nodded. “I’m not nearly talented enough to even attempt to make my own clothes, but I always admire those types of skills.”

  “Did she happen to say anything about canning or drying her foods?” Kel asked thoughtfully.

  “Umm…yes, I think she did. Why? Do you know her?”

  “Maybe. What does she look like?”

  “Well, I think she’s about Spencer’s age. She had light brown hair, big green eyes, freckles…”

  “Rather lean and muscular looking?” Kel asked.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Missy nodded.

  “Dressed like a pioneer woman?”

  “Yes, that’s her. Who is she?”

  “Well, I don’t know the young woman personally, but I do know her family. Her name is Megan Sweeney, and her dad works at the lumber yard. I’ve gone to him for scraps of wood on several occasions to use in my art. Her mama plays the organ at the Methodist church. Nice family, but Megan has always been somewhat…difficult,” Kel explained.

  “Really? That’s odd. She seemed quite nice.”

  “I’m sure she is, but she certainly has a mind of her own,” he shook his head.

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Echo interjected.

  “See, I knew the two of you would get along,” Missy elbowed her playfully. “But, what makes you say that, Kel?’

  “Megan enlisted in the Marines right after she graduated. Her parents had scrimped and saved and wanted to send her to the local junior college for a couple of years and then have her transfer to a state school for her degree, but she refused. She actually went to Afghanistan, and when she came back, she wasn’t quite the same shy, quiet young lady that she’d once been. She fell in with bad company from what I hear. They split off from a group that Megan’s folks belong to, and say that they’re preparing for bad situations that might arise, but I think it’s more like they’re using that as an excuse to play war and cause trouble – I’m sure it’s been hard on her parents.”

  “Like, what kind of situations?” Missy was curious.

  “Natural disasters, governmental shut downs, disease epidemics, war on our soil, that kind of thing,” Kel explained.

  “Oh, I get it,” Echo nodded. “Yeah, there were groups like that in California too. They don’t really look for people like me. I may be vegan and choose organic foods, but I’m way too dependent upon Netflix and shopping,” she grinned.

  “Megan’s parents and their friends are just nice, normal folks who like to be prepared in the event of an emergency. They store up supplies, make emergency readiness plans, learn how to survive by working the land, and renew some of the lost survival skills that we haven’t needed for quite a while. It’s smart, really. Especially down here, where we’re vulnerable to hurricanes,” the artist shrugged. “They’ll be the ones feeding their neighbors long before the government assistance ever arrives.”

  “That’s a good point,” Missy nodded. “I should probably have Spencer put together some sort of plan for us, and we could stock up on non-perishables, just in case.”

  “Good, because if things fall apart, I’ll be over here with you and Chas anyhow,” Echo remarked.

  “Me too,” Kel agreed.

  “Well, it’s settled then, when disaster strikes, party at the inn,” Missy decreed.

  Chapter 8

  Grant Beecham was a tall man with a beer gut that hung well over his belt. He had a bushy black beard and unkempt hair to match, that was usually unceremoniously squashed under a ball cap with a tobacco logo on it. As the leader of the Freedom Coalition, he drove his men, and now one woman, to train hard, and render absolute loyalty to the cause. The FC had been part of a larger, rational and legitimately concerned group when they’d all met, but Grant wanted to put himself in a position of power so that he could escalate events in order to facilitate change. Drunk with the idea of leadership and control, and propelled by greed and arrogance, he decided that he’d let all the others sit passively by and await their fate, but he and his group would dictate their own destiny.

  They had to build a substantial war chest in advance of the moment when they’d be forced to defend their freedom against a world gone mad. There would be no submission from the FC, they would fight, to the death if necessary, to protect their band of brothers against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Grant had grown into a sadistic glutton for money and control, who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals, no matter how far-fetched they might seem to the outside world. The original group would have nothing to do with the odious man, fearing that they’d be unfairly associated with the single-minded sociopath.

  The leader had recruited judiciously from among people who had reason to fear the government, the military, the police, even their own families. Their movement was an extreme one, and if violence became necessary to protect their version of an ideal society, they wouldn’t hesitate. Some of the training that members endured included watching films of war atrocities, major disasters that caused many deaths, and even car, train and airline crashes, in order to desensitize them to blood, gore, agony and death. Members had spread out over several counties, committing the crimes that would add to their coffers, in order to be prepared for the worst. What the members didn’t know was that every bit of the money that they’d stolen, whether from banks, businesses or cookie jars, was lining their leader’s pockets, as he used them like pawns.

  Grant had managed to convince his followers that he was quite certain, having studied numerous reports and accounts of incidents on the internet, that the utter breakdown of society was imminent. His goal, when that time came, was for leaders like himself to rise up and create order. It wouldn’t be easy at first, any justice would be meted out strictly, and with enough force to make any who were considering the possibility of defiance think twice, but he knew, ultimately, he could create a working system for society that was far superior to anything that had come before.

  He hadn’t been keen on Simon’s introduction of a female into the group, but the chick was a former Marine who could outthink, outrun and outfight just about any of his other men, so Grant decided that he’d rather have her as an asset than a loose end, but for now, he downplayed the true nature and purpose of the group whenever she was around. He thought that she might still have some weak ideas that would need to be eradicated, but she had enough spunk to work with, and if she played her cards right, she might get closer to the leader than any of his men.

  The latest phase of his plan would provide more money than all of the other petty crime put together, and he needed Ginny to pave the way to earning the trust of the target before he could carry it out. The target’s husband was worth billions, and if the guy was like any of the other fat cats that Grant had encountered, he’d pay just about anything to get his precious wife back. The millions that he planned to get from Chas Beckett would allow the members of his group to quit their day jobs and build compounds all over the country where they could recruit and train new group members full-time. At least, that’s what he told them, all the while having visions of life on a very small and luxurious island dancing in his head. All the plans were in place and the members of his team were poised and ready to make it happen.

  Chapter 9

  “Brett Sweeney, just the man I wanted to see,” Kel bellowed cheerfully to the man atop a ladder, stringing Christmas lights above the lumber bays. Megan Sweeney’s father
loved the holidays, and just couldn’t stand not having a little bit of Christmas cheer hanging up in his lumberyard.

  “Hey, Kel,” Brett returned the greeting, looking down over his shoulder. “Gimme a minute, I’ll be right down.”

  “Take your time,” the artist said easily, walking back and forth between the racks, looking for good scraps.

  Brett finished hanging the lights and climbed nimbly down the ladder. He was roughly a decade younger than Kel, and in top physical condition.

  “Good to see you, my friend,” he offered his hand. Kel shook it heartily.

  “Likewise. It’s been far too long since I’ve been to the yard, so I thought I’d come out and see if there were any pieces that inspired me.”

  “I have some acacia that you just have to see. The grain in it is a thing of beauty,” Brett enthused, leading him through the yard.

  The two men looked over the wood pieces, with Kel selecting several, chatting like old friends.

  “How’s the family?” the artist asked.

  “Clara’s great. She’s still teaching third grade and loving it.”

  “How’s Megan?”

  Brett sighed and shook his head.

  “Well, since she came back from the war, she seems…different,” he shrugged. “She changed her name when she went into the Marines, and she’s been hanging out with some kinda mixed up boys – running into some strange ideas…”

  “She’s a good girl, she’ll come around,” Kel said sympathetically. “Who’s she hanging out with?”

  Brett made a disgusted face. “Some guy named Simon, which isn’t so bad all by itself, but we’ve heard that he’s buddies with Grant Meecham.”

  “Grant Meecham – the football guy?”

  “Yup, the very same. Made the all-star team in high school and has been doing nothing but causing trouble ever since he graduated. His daddy threw him out about twenty years ago and he’s been a good-for-nothin’ ever since. Run-ins with the law, drugs, you name it. Has a bunch of followers that he takes out into the woods. They cause a ruckus, shoot up people’s property and run around like they know what they’re doing. One of these days, somebody’s gonna get hurt badly if they keep it up,” the disheartened father shook his head.