Kel was halfway through his succulent lobster tail and melt-in-your-mouth filet when Francois approached Cal and discreetly handed him a slip of folded paper. Opening the message, Cal scanned it quickly, raised his eyebrows briefly, and curiously, held it up to his nose for a moment before tucking it into the inside pocket of his Italian blazer. Taking the last swallow of yet another Manhattan, he shook hands with each of the two gentlemen at the table and made his way to the foyer.
Kel was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to try to follow the young mogul to see where he went and what he was doing. On the other hand, he was in the midst of the most delectable meal he’d had in a while, and was reluctant to end the experience quite so soon. Deciding that vigilante justice wasn’t his cup of tea, he chose to stay and finish, even indulging in a lovely raspberry cheesecake tart with lemon and vanilla bean sauce for dessert, before heading for the concierge desk.
“I trust that your evening was satisfactory?” Francois smiled as the artist approached.
“As always, my good man,” he slipped the concierge another fifty. “I am curious about something though…”
“Yes? What is it Mr. Kellerman?”
Kel took a gamble and hoped that his many years of generous tipping were about to pay off. He thought that he could trust the ultra-polite Parisian, and didn’t want to even think about the consequences if Francois ratted him out.
“I noticed that Mr. Cramer seemed to leave in a hurry. I know the poor man must be grieving, and I was just hoping that everything was okay with him. I saw you give him a message and hoped it wasn’t more bad news,” the artist explained, hoping against hope that he hadn’t overplayed his hand.
Francois stared at him blankly for so long that Kel began to wonder if the concierge had pushed a hidden button and was merely waiting for security to come and spirit him away. Finally, he took a breath, let it out slowly and spoke.
“We all…handle our grief in different ways, Mr. Kellerman,” he said carefully, his expression revealing that there was more to the story.
“Indeed,” Kel nodded, pursing his lips. “For instance…when I’m grieving, I like to spend time with special people in my life,” he led the Frenchman.
“It seems that Mr. Cramer has a “special friend” with whom he likes to spend time…grieving, as well,” Francois raised an eyebrow.
“I have to wonder if Mr. Cramer and I might have any mutual “special friends?” the tap dance continued, the muscles at the back of the artist’s neck stiffening from tension.
“Perhaps. Is Miss Carolyn Latimer one of your special friends? Because I believe she is “consoling” Mr. Cramer as we speak. The night before that, it was Miss Marian Michago. Mr. Cramer seems to have no end of…special friends, Mr. Kellerman,” the Frenchman revealed in a low voice.
“So it would seem,” Kel agreed with a grim smile, handing him yet another fifty dollar bill. “It has been a great pleasure seeing you again, Francois,” he shook hands and went to the front door just as the valet pulled his car up.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Kellerman. Come back soon,” he bowed slightly.
Chapter 8
Spencer had been tasked with manning the front counter of Cupcakes in Paradise while Missy and Maggie discussed changes to the menu for the party with the catering manager. Never one to just sit and wait for a customer to walk in, the industrious and efficient Marine refilled the silverware containers, topped off the creams and sugars, wiped down every chair and table in the shop with a diluted bleach solution, arranged the plates, bowls and mugs behind the counter in a fashion that made them more accessible and easier to put away, and cleaned out any trash that he saw.
There was a brown paper shopping bag under the cash register that he pulled out, thinking it was trash, but when he looked inside, there was a well-worn brown teddy bear at the bottom. Closer examination of the stuffed animal revealed a split seam in the back. Spencer tucked the bear away inside the shopping bag and placed it in his backpack. He’d learned to sew when he was twelve, and being a man of action, he planned to take the bear to his place after he closed up shop. He’d repair the animal, then give it back to Missy to return to the rightful owner.
The afternoon passed quickly for the young veteran, with holiday shoppers coming in for a relaxing treat, and customers placing their holiday party orders. In no time at all, Spencer shouldered his backpack and headed for his apartment to do emergency surgery on someone’s beloved bear. He fixed himself a snack, having maintained the discipline required to stay out of the vast supply of cupcakes in the shop, turned the TV on for company, and grabbed his sewing kit out of a drawer in the kitchen.
Finding the brown thread and a needle heavy enough to punch through the furry fabric, he pulled the bear out of the backpack, and noticed that there were tufts of stuffing coming out of the split seam in the bear’s back. Tucking the stuffing back inside, his finger hit something that felt like hard plastic. Curious, he reached into the split with two fingers, wiggling them into the center of the bear and closing around a cylinder that was wedged inside. Carefully pulling his fingers out, he held, along with several puffs of fluffy white polyester, an amber plastic prescription pill bottle. He turned it around to read the label, and raised his eyebrows when he saw the name on it.
Spencer took all of the stuffing out of the bear to see if there were any other secrets hidden inside, but came up empty-handed. Setting the shell of the bear aside, he pulled his cell phone out of his pockets and dialed.
“Chas, there’s something down here that you might want to take a look at,” he said, when the detective answered the phone.
Chapter 9
“So, Cal Cramer is a playboy?” Missy asked, tearing a Coconut Dream cupcake in half so that she could bite it more easily.
“Apparently,” Kel nodded with a grimace.
“Well, that would explain why he might want to kill his wife and his mistress,” Echo made a wry face.
“It could explain that, yes.”
“Did you find out who the two men sitting with Cal at the Club were?” Missy asked, swallowing a bite of cupcake and washing it down with coffee.
“I looked them up in the Club directory. One was Cal’s lawyer, the other was his accountant.”
“Hmm…that seems a little bit fishy. A man whose wife just died, having dinner with his lawyer and accountant,” Missy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Not necessarily,” Echo chimed in practically. “They could have been going over Marcia’s will or something.”
“Or…they could have been discussing how to invest what I’m sure was a sizable insurance settlement,” Kel pointed out.
“But Cal is already wealthy…surely he wouldn’t have killed his wife for the insurance policy. And he wouldn’t benefit at all from killing his girlfriend, right?” Missy asked, thinking.
“Unless of course, she had threatened to expose him,” the artist guessed.
“What do you mean?” Echo asked, watching the two of them go back and forth like a tennis match.
“Melany, Cal’s lover, may have threatened to expose his philandering if he didn’t leave his wife.”
“But, Melany was already married, why would she ask her lover to leave his wife?”
“Perhaps so that the very wealthy father of her child could marry her and help her raise their son,” Kel shrugged. “Who knows? It’s all conjecture thus far.”
Missy’s eyes widened as realization struck.
“What?” Echo demanded, seeing her reaction. “What are you thinking?”
“Maybe one person didn’t do all of the killing,” she began slowly. “Maybe Melany killed Marcia to get her out of the picture, then Cal killed Melany so that she wouldn’t reveal his secret…and of course, then he’d have to kill Garret, so that there’d be no witnesses…” she suggested.
“Hmm…I can’t say that I could ever picture Melany Anderson ever even touching a gun, much less killing her best friend with one,” Kel shook his
head.
“Maybe Garret and Marcia conspired to kill Melany and Cal killed them for it,” Echo supplied.
“I can’t see Garret killing his wife. That would set him up for being a single parent, and to a child who might not even be his own. No, I can’t see that happening,” Kel shot the proposition down.
“So then, we’re back to Cal killing all of them,” Missy summed up. “We just need to figure out why.”
“Maybe he wanted the kid,” Echo guessed.
“Clearly you’ve never met Cal Cramer,” Kel said dryly. “I’ll be doing some checking around to see if I can figure out why the man who “had his cake and ate it too” would have a reason to slaughter three people, leaving a poor little girl orphaned.” He stood to go, pushing in his chair and taking his plate and mug to the kitchen. Saying goodbye to the ladies, he headed out the door in search of the truth, no matter how horrible it might end up being.
“So, what happened with the party over at the Inn?” Echo asked, after he left. “Is it still on, or did they end up canceling?”
“It’s still on, but on a slightly smaller scale, which means that we may have Cal Cramer right here in our midst,” Missy replied, looking slightly worried.
“Sounds like Kel and I need to make an appearance at the party,” Echo observed.
“My thoughts exactly.”
The bell over the door jangled, and a thirty-something, somewhat bedraggled man came in. His hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while, he had at least three days beard growth on his face, and his well-worn clothing hung loosely on his tall, thin frame. It was unusual to see a homeless person in this part of the Calgon beach community, but it happened from time to time. When they wandered in on occasion, Missy would give them a hot cup of coffee, a cupcake from the case, and a card for the shelter downtown. She often took leftover food from parties as well as day old baked goods to the shelter, and knew that that people who worked there were kind, genuine souls who would do everything that they could to help someone who was down and out.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, hoping that the man was harmless.
“Hello,” he replied softly, his eyes darting about nervously. “Are you Mrs. Beckett?”
Surprised that he knew her name, Missy nodded. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”
“Well, I don’t want to be a bother. Carla Mayhew sent me over here. I’m Brian Holman, Melany Anderson’s brother. I was planning to go visit my niece today, over at the foster place, and Ms. Mayhew said that you might have her teddy bear. I figured since I was going over there, I might as well take it with me…save you the trip,” he shrugged.
“Oh, how nice of you. Let me go get the bear. Carla dropped it off the other day,” she said, rummaging under the front counter where she had left the bear. “Hmm…that’s strange. It’s not here. I know I left it under the counter,” Missy stood perplexed, hands on hips.
“Maybe Chas took it over,” Echo suggested.
“Chas?” Brian was confused.
“My husband. He’s the detective working on your sister’s case. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Missy said, gazing at him with compassion.
“Oh. Well…uh, thanks for checking. I…uh…have to go now. Thanks again,” he said, seeming agitated and heading for the door.
“Hey, would you like a cup of coffee or a cupcake or anything? It’s on me,” Missy offered.
“No. I…have to…I just…no, thanks,” he stammered, backing out the door.
Echo and Missy looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“Poor guy, he looks like he’s been through a lot,” Echo observed.
“I know what it’s like to lose a sister,” Missy said, thinking of a painful time in her past. “It can really mess with your head,” she bit her lip.
“You okay?” Echo asked, frowning with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, seeming to shake it off. “Ghosts of days gone by.”
“Strange that he didn’t want coffee or a cupcake. I thought that he was homeless,” Echo changed the subject.
“Me too. Oh well, guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
Chapter 10
Detective Chas Beckett pulled up to the Cambridge Club and handed the keys to his non-descript beige police sedan to the uniformed valet, who looked at him curiously. He flashed his badge and the young man took care of the car without a word. Chas didn’t appreciate meeting on someone else’s turf and terms, but he didn’t want Cal Cramer to get away with not being interviewed, so he agreed to meet the busy executive at the Cambridge. Having been raised the eldest son of a multi-billionaire, and inheriting a massive fortune upon his father’s death, the detective wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the venue, but was confident that that had been Cal’s intention.
The concierge was expecting him, and led the detective to a quiet corner of the lounge.
“Mr. Cramer will be with you momentarily,” the tuxedoed man with the profound French accent assured him.
Now Chas was even more irritated. He glanced at his watch and noted that Cal was late. The detective hadn’t been born yesterday, and recognized a power play when he saw one. But, ultimately, the games didn’t matter. Cal Cramer might insist on calling all the shots when it came to where and when, and might be trying to flex some muscle by making Chas wait, but if he was guilty of a heinous crime, he would still be treated like a common criminal. His obnoxious behavior would just make seeing him in prison orange all the more palatable.
“Pardon my tardiness, Detective,” Cramer walked up briskly, pulling out a chair and seating himself, making sure that the knifelike creases in his trousers weren’t compromised by the action. “I was unavoidably detained.”
“By someone who wears a lovely shade of red, judging by the lipstick on your collar,” Chas observed, unsmiling.
Cramer’s eyes instantly became icy chips of grey flint. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was consoling a dear friend of my wife’s,” he said coldly. “Why exactly are we here?” the executive asked, flicking the cuff of his pinstriped sleeve back to glance at his watch. “My time is limited, so I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible.”
“Nice watch,” Chas observed, ignoring Cal’s questions and demands. “Is it new?”
“I have no idea. I pull out my watch drawer and select the model that compliments my suit for the day. Why are we wasting time chatting about time pieces, exactly?” he demanded.
“Rolex, right?”
“You have a good eye, Detective, but really…will you please get to the point? I don’t have time for games.”
“Well then, perhaps you’ll have time to explain to me why I found a receipt for a Rolex right outside the front door of a crime scene,” the detective sat forward, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“I have no idea,” he shrugged. “Rolexes are a dime a dozen around here,” the executive smirked. “Probably every third man in this club at any given time is wearing one. Just what precisely are you trying to imply, Beckett?”
“Where were you on the night that your wife was murdered, Mr. Cramer?”
“I was here. Lots of witnesses will be able to confirm that.”
“When time did you leave the club?”
“I don’t recall. I’d had a few drinks.”
“Did you drive after having had those few drinks?” Chas challenged.
“I’m a law-abiding citizen, Detective. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” Cramer oozed sarcasm.
“I wonder if the security tapes from that date will back up your story.”
“This is a private club, you don’t have access to those tapes and you know it,” Cal smirked.
“I can see how you would want that to be the case, but the fact of the matter is, I’ve already seen them,” Chas informed him casually.
Cal Cramer tented his fingers in front of his lips and took a breath, studying the hard as nails lawman in front of him.
“I think we’
re done here, Detective Beckett. If you require any further information, you can talk with my attorney.”
“Got something to hide, Cramer?”
“You can get up and walk out of this establishment right now, or I’ll summon security and have you thrown out,” the executive threatened. “Can I make myself any clearer than that, Beckett?”
“In time you will,” Chas promised, unfazed.
The detective stood slowly and tossed his business card in front of the silently fuming man in front of him. “Call me if you think you’d like to amend your story.”
Cramer snatched the card up from the table, viciously tore it to pieces and threw them on the floor.
Chapter 11
Missy sank gratefully into a warm bubble bath after a long day. She’d finally gotten all of her ducks in a row. The party for her guests was going to be much tamer and more intimate, with round tables and chairs set up in the ballroom. The DJ who had been originally scheduled was being replaced by an orchestral trio, to establish a mellower mood, and the good-hearted fellow had even agreed to return Steve Jeppson’s deposit when he heard what had precipitated the change in plans. The menu had been adjusted from just hot hors d’oeuvres to appetizers and dinner with dessert, and Spencer would be tending the bar.
The decorating was done, all arrangements had been finalized and paid for in full, so now, she could actually breathe for a moment. Chas brought home Chinese take-out for dinner, and they’d eaten the savory food sitting on the couch in front of the TV. He’d gone to Spencer’s basement apartment after receiving a text from the Marine, and Missy had poured herself a glass of crisp white wine, lit her vanilla scented candles and run her bath for a much needed respite from the holiday frenzy.
Peppermint Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 22 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Page 3