Sugar Cookies and Murder

by Summer Prescott

  “Could be. Hard to say. He likes chicks in their forties, redheads mostly, creative types, which means our gal fits the bill. He just nailed one over in Semblas county that looks just like her, which could be good, could be bad,” Janssen finished his beer and Spencer handed him another.

  “Good because it means that with a fresh kill, he may be satisfied for a while, bad, because our girl may be his next target, and he’s in the area,” the Marine deduced.

  “Yup,” Janssen nodded. “We may have a day or two, but the kills have been getting closer and closer together, so it’s best not to risk it.”

  “Do we have any intel on who he might be?”

  “Nothin’ other than some educated guesses. He’s obviously well-off enough to travel around. Sometimes he even kills ‘em in one state and dumps ‘em in another. He’s picky about the way he does the stuff, and it’s practically government-worthy torture, so I’d say someone with some dexterity…doctor, architect, something responsible that takes talent and know-how. I’d look for someone who got burned in his divorce by an ex-wife who’s artsy and has red hair. Never leaves evidence, ever. Not a drop of blood, piece of hair, speck of lint…nothin,” Janssen shook his head.

  “Those ones rarely get caught, but I’ll find him, I always find them,” Spencer nodded grimly.

  “Thought so,” the young veteran eyed him speculatively. “You never said so, but I suspected. I’ve heard of you…glad we’re on the same side,” he said respectfully.

  “Likewise. Anything else I can use?”

  “He takes trophies, in advance.”

  “Trophies? What? Fingers? Ears? What are we dealing with here?”

  “It’s a weird one. He takes clothes. One set, then extra panties,” Janssen explained.

  “We know why?” Spencer asked, frowning.

  “Nope, but if I was huntin’ him, I’d be looking for a stash of ladies’ clothes stored somewhere nice and private. You gonna tell the detective?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t know who or what we are, and it keeps him safe, so I’d like to keep it that way. If I tell him now, he’ll want to know where I got my info. We’ll just stay on this, and when I have evidence, I’ll bring him in.”

  “Your call, man. I don’t communicate with the outside world too much, so it’s all you. Mind if I take one of them beers for the road?”

  “Take the rest of the six pack, dude,” Spencer handed it over. “You brought gold tonight, you deserve it. Keep your eyes open, and let me know if you get anything else.”

  “You got it, Bengal. You gonna make that guy talk?”

  “If he doesn’t talk, he’ll scream…his choice.”

  Chapter 10

  Now that Carla had planted the suggestion in Echo’s mind that Kel might be the one terrorizing the two of them, she couldn’t relax when she was around him. As she prepared for dinner with him and Robert, she sincerely hoped that she’d be able to eat and carry on normal conversation. She was glad for the buffer that the collector would provide. If nothing else, they could talk about art.

  When she really stopped to think about it, although she’d been having coffee with him nearly every morning for the past several months, and working as his Gallery Manager, Echo really didn’t know very much about Kel personally. He traveled a lot, and always seemed ready to go out of town to investigate a mystery, but she didn’t know anything about his past, or his family, or even where he was from originally. Kel, the mystery lover, was quite the mystery himself.

  When the taxi dropped Echo off at the entrance to the Cambridge Club, a uniformed valet opened her door and held out a gloved hand to assist her from the vehicle. He held a massive mahogany door open for her, and she was greeted by a smiling concierge named Francois, who directed her to Kel and Robert’s table. Both men stood as Francois pulled out her chair and seated her, unfolding her napkin and placing in delicately in her lap.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, a bit overwhelmed at the level of service and the somewhat intimidating surroundings.

  The French concierge gestured to Kel. “The monsieur has taken the liberty of selecting a wine for mademoiselle, I hope it is to your liking,” he smiled and poured Echo a glass of some of the most delicious wine she’d ever tasted.

  “Oh my, it’s delightful, thank you.”

  “It is my pleasure. My name is Francois, please don’t hesitate to call upon me for whatever you may need,” he bowed and returned to the concierge desk.

  “Wow,” she commented when he was out of earshot. “It’s hard to believe they let you in this place, Kel,” she teased.

  “I’ve been behaving myself thus far, so they haven’t thrown me out yet,” he smiled mischievously.

  “Well, the night is young, we’ll see how it goes,” Robert chimed in with a chuckle.

  “So, what have you two been up to today?” Echo asked, taking another glorious sip of wine.

  “Well, I’ve been slaving away at the studio, working on one of the many pieces that Robert has requested,” Kel joked.

  “When I know what I want, I make it happen, Kel. What can I say? I took the opportunity to sleep in. I’ve been wrestling with insomnia, so when I had the chance for a good, long, nap, I took it,” Robert shrugged.

  “Sleep has been eluding me lately too,” Echo confessed.

  “Working too hard?” Robert asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Echo was able to squash down into the dark recesses of her mind the thought that Kel might be stalking her, and coped quite well with handling her end of the conversation with the two gentlemen in the elegant club, hoping against hope that none of the swanky patrons thought that she was just a homeless person that the men had pity upon and brought inside to feed. She was self-conscious about her clothing, her hair, and the fact that she ordered only vegetable dishes, when the club prided itself on their select cuts of steak and vast selection of fresh seafood. A couple of society women passed by their table and cast interested glances at Robert, seeming puzzled when they saw Echo at the same table.

  After a delightful meal, complete with dessert and after-dinner scotch, the trio rose to go, saying their goodbyes out in front of the elegant building.

  “Did you drive?” Robert asked, not realizing that, in the interest of creating the smallest carbon footprint possible, Echo did not have a car.

  “Umm…no. I took a cab.”

  “Well, there’s certainly no need to take one home, share the limo with us,” he insisted. “Kel, how could you let this lovely lady take a cab? We could have picked her up on the way.”

  The artist looked at him strangely. “Yes…I suppose we could have. The thought never crossed my mind, how ungentlemanly of me. By all means, please join us,” he offered, giving her a strange look as well. Something about Kel’s manner and expression set her on edge, and the thought of being trapped in a limo with the two men made her chafe.

  “Oh, umm…I’m sorry, I have other plans. My ride will be here shortly,” she lied with a bright smile. “You two go ahead.”

  “If you’re sure…” Robert said, touching her elbow. Perhaps he had also picked up on Kel’s strange behavior.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks,” she gave another smile. Her face was beginning to hurt from the effort.

  “Alright then,” he said finally. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “You too,” Echo waved as the two piled into the back of the limo, relieved that they were gone at last.

  “Shall I call a cab, mademoiselle?” Francois asked quietly from behind her.

  “Yes, please,” she replied, numb. Something in her gut told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong, and she desperately hoped that Kel wasn’t the criminal that she thought he might be.

  Chapter 11

  Phillip “Kel” Kellerman swam into consciousness and was briefly aware of a searing pain in his head before succumbing once again to the heavy darkness that beckoned. He drifted
in and out of reality in this manner any number of times before ultimately realizing that he was indeed alive, but had most likely encountered some sort of foul circumstance that had put him in a strange predicament. His head ached abominably, and if he moved it too quickly, or too far to one side or the other, a fiery bolt of pain, accompanied by a blinding shower of stars obscured his vision and made him feel as though he might slip from consciousness yet again.

  He was outdoors, that much he knew, and his body hurt…everywhere. Not the dull, achy hurt that comes from a bad flu, or an overzealous workout, but a deeper, more profound hurt, much like that which is felt after being hit by a truck perhaps, or thrown from a bucking bronco. Kel felt battered, bruised, abused. He knew that if he were ultimately, somehow, going to get back to his well-appointed home and cozy bed, he’d have to take an inventory of his injuries, and figure out ways to compensate for the pain and disability that they rendered.

  He started at the bottom, wiggling his toes. All seemed fully operational. Trying his ankles next, he discovered that his right was sore, but fine, and his left sent a scorching hot arrow of pain through his leg and foot when he attempted to move it. His right knee was fine, and his left knee sore, but both were covered with a sticky wetness that he hoped had something to do with grass stains, the alternative being far too distasteful to contemplate. His legs were abraded and sore, but fine, as was his torso. Both shoulders felt bruised, scraped and sticky, and his left arm was most certainly broken. He had all of his teeth, but he ran his tongue around his mouth twice to be sure, and his head hurt more than nearly every other body part.

  His throat was dry and his tongue felt swollen, but all the artist could focus on was his joy in the ability to move his right hand. If all other things failed, aside from his eyesight, he could still sculpt, paint and express the joy of his soul, because his hand hadn’t failed him. The thought made him smile and gave him the encouragement that he needed to try to sit up. He proceeded slowly, freezing in place several times when he started to grey out.

  Eventually Kel rose to a seated position, the effort of that feat so taxing that he had to catch his breath. When he recovered from the monumental effort, it finally occurred to him to wonder how he’d gotten where he was, and where exactly that might be. He sat looking about, trying to see something, anything in the darkness that surrounded him. He knew that he must be somewhere rather remote, because of the complete absence of light. He heard no cars, planes or humming of machinery that would indicate the presence of civilization, and tried hard not to despair when he considered what he should do, where he should go, and how on earth he was going to get there.

  It was as he sat, contemplating his options, that he felt the cold steel tip of a deadly instrument suddenly against his throbbing temple, and he wondered if this was how he would meet his bitter end. Out here, wherever that may be, in the middle of nowhere, with only the starlight to shine upon him – was this to be place of his demise?

  “Don’t move, old man,” a rough voice ordered.

  “No worries. I’m actually not certain that I’m capable of locomotion at this point,” Kel winced at the pain that pulsed through his brain, just from the simple act of speaking.

  “What are you doing out here?” the voice demanded, still holding the steel tip against his temple.

  “Of that, I have no clue,” the artist sighed.

  “What’s the last thing that you remember?”

  “I had dinner. After that, everything goes dark.”

  “You hurt?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “Where?”

  “My ankle and my arm are the worst. My shoulders and legs feel a bit like I imagine hamburger must feel, but it’s bearable, and my head feels like decapitation would bring sweet relief.”

  “Don’t move,” the voice ordered again, as the steel tip eased off of his temple.

  “Didn’t we cover that already?”

  Kel heard the sound of a zipper, followed by a soft thunk as something hit the ground. Some metallic sounds followed, and he hoped desperately that, if whoever had found him planned to kill him, perhaps he wasn’t a fan of torturing his victims prior to death.

  “I’m going to put a cloth over your eyes, hold still,” the voice ordered.

  Kel silently complied, thinking that, at least if he were going to die, he wouldn’t have to see the face of his killer. He heard more metallic noises, the tearing of paper, and the sound of tape being unwound from a roll.

  “Broke that arm pretty good,” the voice commented.

  “Well, I suppose if one is going to do something, one should endeavor to do it well.”

  “Take a deep breath and let it out slow, this is gonna hurt.”

  Kel followed the instructions as best he could, trying not to panic, while the man in the dark splinted his arm, then fashioned a tourniquet out of fabric that he cut from Kel’s sport coat.

  “Dressed pretty fancy for being out here,” the voice remarked, still working on his arm.

  “So it would seem,” Kel replied. “Where is here, exactly?” No response.

  “I ain’t gonna take care of the cuts and scrapes, you’ll survive those, but I’m gonna work on this ankle, and that’s gonna hurt,” the voice warned, grasping Kel’s ankle and causing him to cry out in pain.

  “Yep, hang tough, we’re almost there.”

  In a matter of minutes, the man in the darkness had bound Kel’s ankle, and while it still throbbed, the pain was far more bearable than it had been.

  “Thank you, that feels much better,” the artist said hesitantly, still not sure of the man’s motives or intent. There was no response, and eventually, the sounds of the man packing up his first aid kit ceased, and there was silence.

  “Are you still there?” he asked the darkness, on the verge of panic. “I don’t know what to do…can you help me please? Sir?”

  When he realized that the man had gone and left him alone in the wilderness, he lowered himself to the ground and miserably curled up in the fetal position, prepared to meet death.

  Chapter 12

  “So how was your evening with Kel and Robert?” Missy asked, folding a piece of wrapping paper over a watch in its case that she had purchased for Chas’s Christmas gift. She had strips of tape stuck on the back of her hand, and was wrapping, ribboning and decorating packages like a pro.

  “It was strange. I tried to act completely normal, and I managed it pretty well, I think, but in the back of my mind was this constant thought that Kel might be a criminal. I was so disillusioned by that thought, that it was hard to be charming,” Echo sighed, holding her finger to the intersection of ribbon while Missy tied it off.

  “I find that impossible to believe. You’re always charming,” Missy grinned at her best friend.

  “I just don’t know what to think.”

  “I don’t either after what Chas said last night,” she looked troubled.

  “Why? What did he say?” Echo sat up, a bit alarmed.

  “He asked me to tell you to never go anywhere alone, and to not trust anyone outside of him, me, Maggie or Spencer.”

  “Wow…sounds like he thinks that Kel may be our guy too. What about Carla?”

  “I spoke to her this morning. She’s had her alarm system updated, and keeps her car in the garage so that she’s never even outside by herself unless she’s walking into a client’s house.”

  “Should she still be seeing clients at this point?” Echo asked, wide-eyed.

  “Well look who’s all worried about big, bad Carla now,” Missy teased.

  “This isn’t funny. She could be in danger.” Echo gave her friend a reproving glance.

  “I know, sweetie, lighten up a little bit, I’m just messing with you. Carla will be fine, she’s taking extra precautions, and anyone that she’s feeling uncertain about, she’s just postponing their appointments.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so defensive, I’m just so on edge right now.”

  �
��No worries, darlin, I’ve been there myself. I just wish you’d stay here until it’s all over,” Missy said, asking without asking.

  “Maybe I should,” Echo nodded. “I’d probably sleep much better, and it’s almost Christmas, so I’d be over here for all of those festivities anyway, and I can help you and Maggie do some prep if I’m hanging out in the evenings…okay, you win, I’ll impose upon you and Chas yet again,” she agreed.

  “Girl, you know better than that. You’re never an imposition, you’re a joy,” Missy hugged her friend hard.

  “Does that mean that I can be in charge of the TV remote?” she asked slyly.

  “Not on your life. Good try though,” Missy grinned.

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.

  **

  Spencer gave Echo a ride back to her house later in the evening, so that she could pack a bag and take some things to make her stay at Missy’s more comfortable. She insisted that she wouldn’t take long and that the Marine should stay in the car. He reluctantly agreed, but let her know that he would be watching every second, and if she was in the house for longer than ten minutes, he was coming in to get her.

  Echo fumbled with her keys, trying to isolate the key to the front door, as she made her way up the front walk. Her porch light wasn’t on because it had been light out when she left the cottage earlier in the day. Finding the right key, she made her way up the steps and had almost gotten the key into the lock when a form stepped out of the shadows.

  “Hey, little lady,” her neighbor Steve staggered toward her, clearly drunk.

  “Oh geez,” Echo dropped the keys. “You startled me, Steve,” she accused. “What the heck are you doing out here at this hour anyway?”

  “Waitin’ for you,” he breathed through his mouth, moving toward her.

  “Stop it. Stay back, don’t you move any closer, I mean it,” she ordered, not knowing what his intentions were.

  “Hey now, why you gotta be so mean?” he slurred, lurching toward her.

  She started to scream, but suddenly Steve slumped to the porch floor, unconscious, revealing Spencer standing behind him.