Sugar Cookies and Murder

by Summer Prescott

  His long hair and tattoo sleeves were similar to Spencer’s, but that’s where the resemblance ended. His face looked like it had been carved by a dull hatchet, and was criss-crossed with scars. His eyes were dark and hooded, missing nothing, and he was lean and muscular, a formidable human being.

  Spencer had encountered this fellow veteran when he’d followed a killer to this very cabin. His former brother-in-arms lived off of the land out here, unable, and more to the point, unwilling, to assimilate back into the civilian world after multiple grueling tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.

  “I’m assuming you’re looking for me,” Janssen stated the obvious.

  Spencer sat up and offered his hand, Janssen shook it.

  “I’ve got a friend who’s being harassed,” the Marine began, taking a few minutes to fill Janssen in on what had happened with Echo.

  “What do you need?” he leaned his crossbow against the porch rail and placing one booted foot on the porch steps with a thunk.

  Spencer spent the next several minutes outlining precisely how this hard-bitten young man could be of assistance. When he finished, Janssen stared out over the swamp and nodded.

  “Alright,” he said, picking up his crossbow. “I’ll find ya when I’ve got somethin,” he promised, disappearing back into the brush.

  Spencer knew nothing about this young veteran, other than the fact that they’d both been through some of the same training and experiences, and he didn’t want to know. They were like-minded - committed to the same cause of defending freedom and protecting the innocent, by whatever means necessary, and that was enough.

  While Spencer was talking with Janssen, back in Calgon, Detective Chas Beckett received a phone call from a neighboring county. There had been a homicide, and they needed his help.

  Chapter 7

  Missy pulled into Carla Mayhew’s driveway, intending to have a little chat with the decorator, whom no one, outside of the police, had heard from in days. Since her embarrassing episode at the party, she had avoided all of Missy’s calls and texts, so Missy had decided to take matters into her own hands and confront her friend directly. Even if she hadn’t been the one terrorizing Echo, she needed to get help, her life was spinning out of control, and as her only friend, it was apparently Missy’s job to tell her that.

  On her way to Carla’s front door, Missy rehearsed how she would interact with the decorator in order to put her at ease and keep her talking. When she stepped up onto the stoop, however, all thoughts of what she might say fled from her mind. Carla’s door was ajar, and Missy stood transfixed, not knowing whether she should knock on the door, or turn around and leave in case there was someone dangerous inside. Shakily convincing herself that she was being silly, rationalizing that Carla had probably just gone out to get the mail and hadn’t shut the door carefully behind herself, Missy worked up the courage and knocked tentatively on the door.

  “Carla?” she called out, her voice squeaking a bit.

  Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Carla?” No answer.

  She pushed on the door, opening it slowly, and winced at the loud creak that the heavy mahogany beast made when it swung open.

  “Carla, are you here, honey?” she called, walking slowly through the house. It seemed as though nothing had been disturbed until she got to the bedroom.

  Every piece of clothing that the decorator owned was thrown on the floor. The closet was thrashed, and the bureau drawers had been emptied. Her room looked much like Echo’s had, and Missy had to wonder whether she had staged it that way to throw off the investigation. Carla hadn’t been thinking rationally, she might have even just had a temper tantrum and did to her own room what she had done to Echo’s in a fit of rage.

  Hands trembling, she stood in the ransacked bedroom and called her husband.

  **

  Echo’s head still felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, and she swam to consciousness, awoken by the sound of a relentless pounding. Regaining her awareness after a nap that hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, she realized that someone was knocking on her door. Heart thumping, she lay there for a moment, paralyzed by fear, wanting to pull the covers over her head and hide. She considered staying in her room until whoever it was went away, but then thought that perhaps, if she didn’t come out, they would think that she wasn’t home and would come in. She asked herself how bad it would be to open the door in broad daylight, deciding that she was being unrealistically paranoid, and hauled herself out of bed, throwing on a robe before going to the door.

  She unlocked the knob, took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

  “Are you kidding me?” she gasped, when she saw who was standing on her porch.

  “Look, don’t shut the door,” Carla said quietly, putting her foot in the jamb to prevent Echo from doing precisely that.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Echo demanded. “You have a lot of nerve, coming here like this.”

  “I know what you must be thinking, but I had to come over here to let you know that I had nothing to do with what happened at your house. I know that you might find that hard to believe, but it’s true. I’m single. I absolutely know what it’s like to be alone and afraid, and I would never do that to anyone, you’ve got to believe that,” Carla insisted.

  “Why should I?” Echo shot back. “Your behavior toward me thus far hasn’t exactly given me confidence that I should trust you at all.”

  “I know, but you need to, because I believe that we might both be in danger. Can I come in?” she asked, looking around behind her, as though she were being followed.

  Echo stared at her, too numb and tired to think.

  “Please?” Carla looked around again.

  Echo sighed loudly, and unable to think of an excuse, opened the door further, letting the decorator in.

  “I’m impressed…for someone who isn’t a pro, you’ve done a lot with this place,” Carla remarked. “Sorry, occupational hazard, I notice décor wherever I go,” she shrugged.

  “Wow, you look like the last rose of summer,” she observed, actually really looking at Echo for the first time. “How did you get that nasty bruise on your head?”

  Echo’s hands went to her forehead, where Carla was staring.

  “What bruise?” she winced when her hands found it. “Ouch…I have no idea.”

  “I’ve had nights like that too,” the decorator murmured, looking down.

  “So why do you think I might be in danger?” Echo prompted, eager to bring this conversation to an end.

  “Because I’ve been followed while I was driving, and I’ve heard strange noises around my house that make me nervous,” she admitted, twisting her hands in her lap.

  “You could very well be hallucinating, you know,” Echo pointed out wearily.

  “I’m not hallucinating. I’m in perfect control of my faculties. That night at the party was the first time I’d had alcohol in months, and I haven’t had any since,” Carla insisted, frowning. “Look, I definitely wouldn’t have come over here if I didn’t think you might be at risk.”

  “Have you told Chas?”

  “No. I’m afraid that he won’t believe me. I’m not exactly known as a credible source,” she replied, morose. “I thought maybe that…”

  “What?” Echo demanded, impatient.

  “I don’t want to say, because I think you’ll freak out…” the decorator hedged.

  “Oh for goodness sake, just spit it out, I’m too tired to draw it out of you,” she sighed.

  “Well…what if it’s…Kel?” Carla asked, bracing herself for the expected vehement response.

  “That’s utter nonsense,” Echo rolled her eyes. “What possible motive could Kel have for scaring the daylights out of us?”

  “Maybe his motive was different for each of us. Maybe he wasn’t trying to scare you, maybe he was just trying to get your attention, because, face it, we both know that he’s had the hots for you ever since he met you,” she began.

  “Implausible,” Ec
ho interrupted. “But go on.”

  “And as far as why he would try to freak me out…it could be that he’s just tired of me playing games with him and trying to seduce him and failing miserably every time,” she admitted, her lower lip trembling.

  “I get so lonely, and Kel is always so polite, and such a gentleman, even when I’m a pain in the tuckus,” Carla murmured. “Maybe he just doesn’t want me bothering him and doesn’t know how to say it.”

  “Kel’s pretty straightforward,” Echo shook her head. “I really don’t think that he’d do any of those things for any of those reasons, but if strange stuff is happening to you too, maybe it’s somehow connected to what’s going on with me. We have to tell Chas.”

  Carla’s phone rang before she could respond to Echo’s assertion, and she looked down at it.

  “He saved us the trouble of calling him,” she remarked, answering the phone.

  “Detective Beckett, what can I do for you?”

  Carla listened, her face growing alarmed. “What? When?” Pause.

  “Uh no, I’m at Echo’s house, actually. Yes, I will. Okay. Bye,” she hung up, looking dazed.

  “What was that all about?” Echo asked.

  “It looks like we have a common stalker. Chas was calling from my house. Apparently the bedroom is trashed. He wants me to stay put until he gets here. I hope that’s okay with you,” she said, trembling.

  “I’ll make tea,” Echo sighed.

  **

  Janssen watched Echo let Carla into her house, and when Chas arrived some time later, he knew that his work for the day was done. Nothing bad would happen to the women with the detective in their midst, so he could retreat to his untamed world and return after dark.

  Chapter 8

  “Do you think it’s possible?” Echo whispered to Missy at the cupcake shop the next day. “Could Kel actually be the stalker?”

  Missy was about to answer when the object of their concern walked in the door, forestalling further conversation.

  “Good morning, beautiful ladies,” Kel boomed, coming over for hugs. “And how are you, my lovely?” he asked Echo, concern coloring his features.

  “I’m fine,” she smiled, feeling uncomfortable and tossing her hair back.

  “Good heavens, what happened to you?” he demanded when he saw her bruise.

  “I have no idea, so I’m not going to worry about it,” Echo shrugged pragmatically.

  “Come…sit down,” he tried to lead her to the table.

  “Kel, I’ll make the coffee like I always do and then I’ll sit,” she replied firmly. “I told you, I’m fine.”

  “Does Chas have any idea who might be doing these dastardly things to you?” he asked, taking a seat while she made the coffee.

  “Not that I know of. He’s still investigating.”

  “Well, I certainly hope that he comes up with something soon. It seems that all of your ex-boyfriend’s known associates are in jail as well, so I doubt that he has anything to do with your current circumstances,” the artist sighed.

  “Another dead end,” Missy observed.

  “Well, I’m sure that Chas has everything under control,” Echo replied lightly, clearly uncomfortable.

  “I took the liberty of cleaning up the mess that was left in your office, so your things will be just as you like them when you come back,” Kel told Echo, treating her like a delicate flower.

  “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that,” she smiled faintly.

  “Oh but I did, I wanted you to feel that you had a safe and organized space to work in upon your return.”

  “I may take another day or two off.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Kel asked. “If you’re in the gallery, you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure that you’re safe.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be safe at home?” she asked carefully, watching his eyes.

  “Because there could be a madman out there on the loose, terrorizing you. Two of your private spaces have been violated…who knows when he might strike again?” the artist worried.

  “That kind of thing doesn’t happen very often, Kel. It was probably just a weird coincidence,” she continued to lead him.

  “Have you lost your mind, dearest? Having your home and then your office ransacked in the space of two days most certainly cannot be a coincidence. There is trouble afoot, clearly, and if you’re not careful, you may get hurt,” he insisted. “Missy, back me up on this.”

  Missy considered the two of them carefully. “I don’t know what to think,” she said honestly.

  “Has something else happened? Something that you’re not telling me? What is it?” Kel asked.

  Echo stared at him for a long moment. “Nope, nothing new. I think whoever it was has moved on.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” the artist replied. “Are you still planning on coming to dinner with me and Robert Crump this evening? I can certainly understand if you feel that a social occasion might be too taxing.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there,” Echo nodded. “It’ll be nice to see Robert again.”

  “Again?” Kel was confused. He looked from Echo to Missy and back again. Both women avoided his gaze. “Oh…I see. Well then, I’ll see you at the Club at seven,” he said, standing to go.

  “You haven’t finished your cupcake,” Missy reminded him.

  “Suddenly, I’m not so hungry,” he said, without turning around.

  Chapter 9

  Detective Chas Beckett did a double-take when he saw the murder victim in Semblas County. The homicide detective over there had just retired, and they hadn’t had a chance to fill his vacancy, when the girlfriend of a county judge was brutally murdered. The 47-year old female, who had curly, flame-red hair and a slim build had been tortured in so many different and heinous ways, that it looked like it must’ve taken the killer hours before he finally killed her by nicking an artery with one of his many instruments.

  The judge knew Chas by reputation, and requested him specifically when his beloved Jessica’s body was found lying in a shallow grave, not too far from a well-traveled road. Chas was immediately intrigued, and agreed to help. When he saw the victim’s body for the first time, he had to look again to make certain that he hadn’t just seen Echo on the coroner’s table.

  There were a few things that he knew for certain, with nothing more than a cursory glance at the remains and a bare minimum of background info. This killer had almost certainly killed before. His work was too clinical, too deliberate for him not to have practiced before, and judging by the number of precise wounds, murder appealed to him. Whatever his motives might be, he reveled in the process of torture and death.

  Finding the body so close to civilization meant that he was either brazen or sloppy, and based upon what Chas saw of the victim, the killer was not sloppy. Quite the opposite actually, he seemed to be meticulous, which meant that he deliberately left the body where it could be found, which would make his act all the more exciting.

  Chas had run into these types before, gleeful murderers, who took great pleasure in killing, and felt no remorse whatsoever. They were dangerous, not only because they would never stop killing, but because they almost always felt the need to escalate their game, killing more frequently, torturing more intensely, dumping the bodies in more and more obvious places. This kind of killer liked to live on the razor’s edge of being caught, and typically, when found, surprised everyone. By all appearances, these dark souls were kind and personable folks who were active in their communities and were extremely likable. They just had a very, very bad hobby.

  “What do we know about the lady?” Chas asked Officer Carl Perkus, who had been heading up the investigation until Beckett showed up.

  “Clean as a whistle. No enemies, lots of friends. She wrote kid’s books, went to church, volunteered at the food bank…most innocent victim you’ve ever seen. She was Judge Gambrell’s significant other, as you know, and the last time he saw her was around seven o’clock, night before last. Her hou
se had been vandalized a couple of days before she disappeared, the thief only took a set of clothes and some underwear – strangest thing – but there was no indication that she was in any danger,” Perkus summed up.

  Chas’s heart dropped to his knees, but nothing showed on his face.

  “Anything found at the scene?”

  “Coupla things. I can show you when we get down to the station. You wanna head down there now?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got my car here, so I’ll meet you over there. I need to make a phone call.”

  **

  Spencer Bengal heard a single, soft knock on the door of his apartment, and instantly knew who had come calling. He opened the door to admit Janssen, and knew that the veteran wouldn’t have ventured out of the wilderness if he didn’t have news.

  “What’s the word?” he asked, handing Janssen an ice cold beer.

  “Man, I oughta think up excuses to visit you just so I can have one of these every once in a while,” he said with relish, the condensation from the bottle wetting his palm. “Well, I hate to say it, brother, but the news ain’t good.”

  “What gives?” Spencer prompted, leaning forward in his chair while his huge grey and white cat, Moose, twined around his ankles, purring.

  “Seems there’s been some disappearances in this region…Florida, Georgia, Alabama. In the past year, there’ve been lotsa ladies either dying or going missing. The cops ain’t put two and two together yet, but we both know that there’s folks who recognized this kinda pattern, and let’s just say…the data’s out there if ya know where to look,” Janssen stopped for a long pull on his beer.

  “It’s happening out west too, California, Nevada, Arizona…but they can’t tell if it’s the same dude out there or not. The victims are younger.”

  “So, what do we know about the guy around here? Is what’s going on fitting his profile?” Spencer asked.