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A Murder Moist Foul

Page 5

by Carol Durand


  Drying off and slipping into thick, pink flannel pajamas, Missy headed down the hall and gratefully cocooned herself in the pillowy depths of her fluffy down comforter, drifting off into the first heavy sleep she’d had in a very long time. Toffee snored softly from her plush doggie bed in the corner of the room, and all was peaceful for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 12

  Missy awoke with a start, dismayed to see sunlight streaming through the windows. She had to have overslept, at this time of year she was always up and baking before sunrise. She felt guilty, particularly because she knew that Ben would already be hard at work, waiting for her to come in. She took a quick shower, dried her hair in such a hurry that curly tufts sprang up in every direction, causing her to toss it on top of her head in a loose bun to contain it, and threw on the first sweater and clean pair of jeans that she could find. She brushed her teeth, grabbed her coat and keys and flew out the door, pausing only long enough to let Toffee come trotting out behind her. Once the dog was done with her morning relief, Missy let her back in the house, locked the door securely behind her and headed for her car.

  The shop was dark when its harried owner arrived, causing her to wonder what was going on. Ben was nowhere to be found, and Missy remembered that he had left her a voicemail last night. Hurriedly punching her code into her phone, after a brief pause she heard Ben’s voice. He sounded as though he had a cold.

  “Uh, hi Ms. G.,” he began haltingly. She heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m really sorry, but I might not be able to open the shop tomorrow,” his voice cracked with emotion and Missy’s heart dropped at the thought of what might be making him so upset. “When I, umm…came home tonight,” the clearly distraught youth choked out, “Rocky was really sick, so I took him to the vet…and they…they don’t know if he’s…” Ben’s voice cut out, he was overwhelmed. Missy had never heard him so upset. Another shuddering breath. “Anyhow, they’ll know more tomorrow…so…I’ll call or something. I’m really sorry.” Click. The message ended. Missy’s heart went out to the youth, and she hung up her phone sadly. It never rained but it poured, poor Ben. It was rough making it through the business day without her loyal assistant, but she understood how he felt. He was alone in the world and Rocky was his best friend. If something happened to the gentle cat, Ben wouldn’t get over it easily.

  So many times during the day, Missy reached for her phone to call, but she knew that Ben would update her when he knew something, and customers kept her busy pretty consistently, giving her little time to think about his awful circumstances. She had just turned off the bright neon pink “We’re Open” sign and locked the front door to the shop when her phone rang. Seeing Ben’s number on her screen, she answered immediately.

  “Ben, sweetheart, are you okay? How’s Rocky?” she asked tenderly, before he even had a chance to speak. When a small sound like a soft sob was his reply, she knew right away that the worst had happened.

  “Oh Ben, I’m so sorry, what can I do? What do you need? Have you eaten?” Missy went into nurturing mode, like she used to when Sherilyn used to cry for their parents in the night. Wishing she could give him a hug, she listened as he recounted the events of the evening before, his tears fading into faint hiccups.

  Ben was perplexed when Rocky didn’t greet him at the door by twining between his legs as was his custom. Their routine was like clockwork – he would pick up the snuggly feline and scratch him behind the ears, then it was time to go to the kitchen where he’d pour kibble into Rocky’s bowl. Rocky would wait patiently for Ben’s dinner to come out of the microwave (or for the pizza delivery man to arrive) and then when Ben sat down to eat, Rocky would attack his food like the mini-lion that he pretended to be. The two would eat in companionable silence, then retire to the living room for TV. It was more than strange that Rocky broke from routine, and Ben went through the house calling his name.

  He found the poor cat curled up on his side, on top of a heat register, in the corner of the bedroom, mewling miserably. His eyes were glazed and had a pained expression and the poor animal had white foam drizzling from the corners of his mouth. Ben gingerly picked him up and his dear friend felt almost rigid in his arms. He wrapped him in a blanket and drove him to the emergency veterinary hospital, where the doctor took one look and spirited the miserable cat to an examination room immediately. He told Ben that, at first glance, it looked as though Rocky had gotten into something poisonous, but that it would take some testing to be sure. In the meantime, they were going to keep Rocky overnight to give him fluids and keep him under observation, but the prognosis didn’t look good. At 4:30 a.m., Ben received a call requesting that he come in as soon as possible. Rocky wasn’t going to make it and breathed his last gasping breath cradled gently in the arms of his owner, while tears flowed freely down the stricken youth’s face.

  Ben had wrapped Rocky carefully in the blanket that he’d brought him to the vet in, and took him home, where he buried him under the winter-barren branches of a rose bush in a corner of the back yard. With no one around to hear or see, the grief-stricken young man leaned pitifully on the handle of his shovel sobbing with all his might.

  When Missy heard the terrible tale, her heart broke for Ben and she cried with him over the phone. She reassured him that he could take as much time as he needed for his grief, but he insisted on coming in the next day, knowing that work would help take his mind off of the incredibly untimely loss of his furry friend. She hung up the phone after murmuring words of comfort that most likely fell upon deaf ears, and wrapped her arms around her waist, aching with sorrow. She didn’t know if she could take another tragedy and hoped desperately that something good would happen, and soon.

  Chapter 13

  Nearly a week had passed since Missy had medicated herself with chamomile and lavender, and she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since. Being an animal lover herself, the news of Ben’s beloved cat, Rocky, dying had rocked her world. He seemed to be coping well, but who knew what pain he experienced every time he walked in his door. Once again desperate for a good night’s rest, as much as she loathed the idea, Missy took one of the sleeping pills that she had been prescribed, feeling that she wouldn’t make it through the work day tomorrow after yet another sleepless night.

  She was dreaming. It was a balmy summer evening and she was at the carnival. Brightly colored lights flashed around and around as the Ferris wheel took her higher and higher, then swooped toward the ground. She could hear the drumbeats of a band but not the music. The drumbeats got louder and louder, drowning out every other sound. Suddenly, someone was shouting above the staccato drumbeats, calling her name, beckoning her down from the Ferris wheel. There was danger. She needed to get off the Ferris wheel and couldn’t open the safety lock. She panicked.

  Sitting bolt upright in her bed, panting with fear, Missy saw the bright blue and red flashing lights of a squad car painting the walls of her bedroom in frightening rhythm. There was pounding at her front door and a deep male voice was calling out to her.

  “Ms. Gladstone? Ms. Gladstone, are you in there? Ms. Gladstone, can you hear me? This is Officer O’Leary, can you open the door Ms. Gladstone?” More pounding.

  Terrified, Missy snatched up her thick baby blue bathrobe, throwing it on over her pajamas, and slid her feet into her slippers, dashing out into the hall. She ran to the front door, nearly tripping over Toffee, who was cowering in the foyer, the fur on her scruff standing straight up. She opened the door to see Officer O’Leary standing on her front porch.

  “Are you all right ma’am?” he asked, concern coloring his words as he did a quick assessment of her physical state.

  “Yes, I’m fine, why? What’s happening?” she asked in alarm.

  “May I come in?” he inquired, peering past her, into the house.

  “Of course, please. Where are my manners?” she murmured, bewildered.

  “No worries, ma’am, I’m sure you’re understandably startled,” he followed her into t
he foyer, eyes darting methodically to every corner of the room.

  “What’s going on?” Missy asked, genuinely worried, noting the policeman’s vigilant behavior.

  “Mrs. Fielding, your next door neighbor, called us to report an intruder at your residence. She saw someone near your bay window.” Missy’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. “When our unmarked patrol car arrived on the scene, the intruder fled down the alley behind the Fielding’s, into the woods on the other side of the railroad tracks, and out of sight.”

  “So you didn’t catch him?” the terrified woman whimpered.

  “No ma’am, I’m sorry, we didn’t,” the officer admitted ruefully. “We have a team outside, looking for clues, so we’ll be here a while.”

  “I understand. Can I get you anything? Coffee?” the southern hostess in her took over automatically.

  “No thank you, ma’am. We’ll just get what we need and be on our way. The detective will be here in a few minutes to ask you some questions, and I’d like to check out your security systems and the rest of the house right quick if you don’t mind.”

  “No, please, go ahead – do whatever you need to do,” Missy replied, still stunned by the night’s events and desperately trying to shake off the numbing effects of the sleeping pill that she had taken. She heard another knock at the door and went to answer it while O’Leary inspected the house. Standing on her doorstep, looking somewhat chagrined and quite serious, was Detective Beckett.

  “Hi Missy,” he said softly. “May I come in?”

  “Of course, Detective,” she returned coolly, turning around and heading for the kitchen table. She pulled out a chair for herself and sat, indicating the chair across from her for Beckett. The look on her face spoke volumes, as she arched an “I told you so” eyebrow at him.

  “Look, I’m sorry I dismissed your concerns earlier. I promise you, we are going to make every effort to find out who was trespassing here tonight and bring them in for questioning,” he assured her earnestly.

  “Well, at least you believe me now,” she pointed out shakily, glad to finally be vindicated, at least in this regard.

  “Did you see or hear anything tonight?” Chas probed gently, noting that Missy was still shaking like a leaf. She shook her head vehemently.

  “No. Unfortunately, I was so exhausted tonight that I actually followed the doctor’s orders and took a sleeping pill so that I could finally sleep. The first thing I heard was Officer O’Leary pounding at the door,” she confessed, miserably.

  “Sorry about that,” Beckett apologized. “In cases like this, the first thing that we do is make certain that the resident is safe and sound.”

  “No apologies,” Missy dropped her head into her hands. “I was more than relieved to see a policeman at my door rather than a boogeyman.”

  Chas gazed sympathetically at the understandably overwrought woman and made his questioning brief, reassuring her that his team was thoroughly combing the grounds and surrounding area for any hint of a clue.

  “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” the detective seemed genuinely concerned.

  Missy shrugged, “No. Where would I go in the middle of the night? I have no idea what to do,” her lower lip trembled as tears threatened.

  Beckett took a deep breath. Seeming to come to a decision he offered, “I have a completely unused guest room if you’d like to stay somewhere safe for the night.”

  Knowing that she was completely safe under Chas Beckett’s roof for the night, Missy made sure that Toffee was settled into her puffy grey velour doggy bed in the corner of the guest room and, after an hour or so of tossing and turning, finally dropped into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 14

  She awoke in the morning, rested, but still very unsettled. As diligently as the handsome detective had been in trying to find new leads and exhaust every possible avenue for information, nothing constructive had been found. Not being one to sit around and let fate take its course, Missy vowed to get to the bottom of this case, her life might very well depend upon it, but before she could begin ferreting out elusive clues that would help solve the case, she had to open the shop. Ben had his annual physical this morning, so Missy’s sleuthing would have to wait until he came in at 11:00.

  Business was booming this morning, and Missy hardly had a spare moment to even think until the rush ended around 10:30. She had restocked the gleaming glass cases with delectable treats and was wiping down the tables which had recently been cleared, when she heard the tinkle of the chimes above the door. Expecting to see Ben coming in early, she turned and saw a harried-looking woman who appeared a bit younger than her, stride briskly over to the counter.

  “Hi! I’ll be with you in just a…” Missy began, only to be interrupted by the impatient woman.

  “I’d like a Strawberry Cheesecake cupcake, to go,” she ordered brusquely. Missy was nonplussed. Most of her customers were completely willing to take their time placing an order, chat for a bit, and maybe even sit down for a cup of coffee.

  “Certainly,” she agreed politely, wiping her hands on a towel behind the counter and slipping on a pair of plastic gloves. “Can I get you a cup of coffee with that?” she offered. “I can make it…”

  “No coffee,” the woman interrupted again, frowning.

  “…to go,” Missy finished, frustrated, but pasting what she hoped was a sufficiently pleasant smile on her face.

  Missy reached into the case, selecting the largest, most luscious looking Strawberry Cheesecake cupcake and placed it in a bag for the rude woman.

  “That’ll be $3.50,” she said with forced cheer, handing the woman the bag.

  “Keep the change,” the woman decreed abruptly, slapping four bills on the counter and rushing out the door.

  “Thank you,” Missy called after her. “Have a nice day,” her voice dripped with sarcasm after the woman was long gone. She shook her head and went back to wiping down the tables and thought about her plan for the afternoon, leaving as soon as Ben came in.

  Darryl Davis’ mother played bridge with Missy’s parent’s years ago, so Missy felt that she could drop in on the elderly woman without the fear of being rebuffed. It was a long shot, but Widow Davis might just know something useful. She parked in front of Mrs. Davis’ small but elegant cottage with its neatly manicured lawn and lovingly tended flower beds that were so well kept they looked presentable even despite the winter chill.

  Holding her breath and desperately hoping that the woman was still of sound mind and would recognize her, Missy rang the bell, hearing a lovely chime within the house when she did. Listening intently, she heard stirrings that sounded like Mrs. Davis might be shuffling toward the door. Sure enough, she opened it and smiled with delight at the sight of a visitor.

  “Well…Missy Gladstone, as I live and breathe!” she exclaimed with a grin. “Come on in, dear, I haven’t seen you in years, we have some catching up to do,” she beckoned Missy in with a gnarled but graceful hand.

  “Thank you Mrs. Davis, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Missy agreed, taking in the lovely antiques, polished floors and fine fabrics decorating the cottage.

  Leading Missy to a velvet wingback chair in the parlor, Mrs. Davis made her way to the kitchen and came back with a tray laden with tea, cream, sugar and a plate of homemade sugar cookies. Taking a cookie to be polite, and finding it utterly delicious, Missy indulged Darryl’s mother with lighthearted conversation about her work and how she had been, receiving a wealth of stories in return, related to Mrs. Davis’ bridge-playing exploits, who was seeing whom in her church congregation, and the current state of her garden. After nearly an hour, Missy felt that she could almost comfortably broach the subject of Darryl’s death, her actual reason for visiting with the widow.

  “You must miss Darryl terribly,” Missy observed sympathetically.

  A faraway look descended over the widow’s gentle face. “Oh I definitely do,” she agreed softly. “There were some things that we disagreed upon, but h
e was a good boy, my Darryl. He made some mistakes in this life, to be sure,” she gazed sadly at Missy, “but deep down, where it counts, he was a good boy.”

  “I’m sure he was, Mrs. Davis, I’m sure he was,” she patted the widow’s hand reassuringly. “Who’s running his shop now?” she asked with a “just-curious” expression.

  “His brother David,” she replied, seemingly lost in memories. “So many folks have come by the store to express their sympathies at his passing. It brings me comfort to know that he was so loved,” she smiled faintly. “There’s even someone who anonymously drops off a hydrangea blossom on the back stoop at his house every morning.” Missy’s ears perked up at this tidbit…it could mean something. “They were his favorite flowers you know, hydrangeas. The blue ones, specifically.” Widow Davis suddenly looked very tired and was beginning to ramble a bit, so Missy took her leave, eager to gather more information that might help Detective Beckett find the horrible person who killed Darryl. If she could help crack the case, she just might find out who had been lurking about outside her home and avoid being the next victim. She had a hunch to follow and drove with determination to her next stop.

 

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