Creamy Pumpkin Killer

by Summer Prescott

  “What about the contents of the safe? Do we know what was in there?”

  “The only thing that she knew for sure were the mortgage documents to the house, birth certificates, social security cards, and a life insurance policy on the husband.”

  “The wife didn’t have a life insurance policy?” Chas asked.

  “Apparently, she didn’t bring any money into the marriage, so there wasn’t much to insure.”

  “I wonder if she has any idea how guilty she’s looking right now,” Chas mused.

  “I wonder how long it’ll take us to get the evidence we need to convict her,” Spencer added.

  “One way to find out,” Chas rose. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  ***

  “What do you mean it’s none of my business?” Alison Edmunds shrieked so loudly that Chas and Spencer paused on the front porch of the rental cottage where the widow was staying. They decided to listen before they rang the bell.

  “I’m his wife, for crying out loud!”

  “Yes, you are. And I’m the executor of his estate,” a male voice replied, firmly but not stridently. “I don’t know why he selected me, rather than you, but he did, so I will deal with all of this and cut you a check when the estate is settled.”

  “Well, how very nice of you,” was Alison’s sarcastic retort. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? How am I supposed to pay the bills?”

  “You know as well as I do that you have more than enough money in your mutual account to pay whatever bills that you need to for quite some time.”

  “Our mutual account? What other accounts are there? Did Dale have his own account? He’s my husband, I should have access to all his accounts. What’s going on here?”

  “Sounds to me like my brother was a prudent man,” the male voice growled. “You’ll be hearing from his attorney.”

  “Don’t you walk out on me, Andrew!” Alison’s voice was shrill, sounding nearly hysterical. “I want answers and I want them now,” she demanded.

  “You seem to want a lot of things, Alison.”

  The front door flew open and a tall man in a well-cut suit came barreling out, his face like stone.

  “Excuse me,” he said, brushing past the two men on the porch.

  “No problem,” Chas replied, studying the man.

  “Remembering the description of the intruder?” Spencer asked in a low tone.

  “Exactly,” Chas nodded, watching the man get into his brand-new sports car and drive away.

  “Maybe she is a grieving widow,” Spencer mused.

  “Yeah, it’d be heartbreaking to have one’s meal ticket die suddenly,” Chas had a sour look on his face and Spencer looked at him quizzically, never having heard something like that come out of his boss. “Sorry,” Chas shook it off. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  Spencer rang the bell and Alison came to the door in short order, hair messy, face flushed, and looking as though she hadn’t slept in a week. She sighed when she saw the two investigators and ran a shaky hand through her unkempt locks.

  “Look, I really don’t have time for…” she began, but Chas cut her off.

  “That gentleman looks familiar. Is he a relative?” he asked abruptly, drawing a look of surprise from the woman in front of him.

  “Sort of, he’s my husband’s brother,” she answered reflexively.

  “Hmm… maybe I’ve seen him around town or something. Do you mind if we come in? We just want to ask you a few questions, it won’t take long.”

  Alison sighed again, closing her eyes briefly. “Why not? I might as well get it over with now. Come on in,” she turned and led them into the pastel-colored cottage.

  “My house is off limits because the investigation is still going on, but I suppose you know that already, since you found me here,” she flopped down onto a linen sofa and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Gathering evidence takes time,” Chas replied, sitting down in a rattan chair across from her. “How are you holding up?”

  “I can’t eat, can’t sleep, I’m jumping at shadows and I’m afraid to go anywhere. Aside from that, I suppose I’m just dandy,” she snapped.

  “Understandable,” Chas nodded. “Mrs. Edmunds, did your husband have any enemies that you know of?”

  “No. He pretty much just kept to himself and left the running of the company to his managers.”

  “And he owned how many car dealerships?”

  “Four.”

  “Were there any employees that stood out to you? Maybe someone had a disagreement with your husband?”

  Alison frowned and tried to think, but shook her head. “No, I really can’t think of anyone. Although there was an embarrassing incident at the company’s Fourth of July party,” she bit her lip.

  “Embarrassing incident?” Chas prodded.

  “It was nothing really. I mean, Dale was a little bit upset by it, but I’m sure it was quite harmless,” she blushed.

  “Go on,” Chas encouraged.

  “There was an employee… a guy from the sales department, probably a few years younger than me, maybe in his late twenties… Anyway, he came up to me during the picnic to give me a compliment, but it was a weird one.”

  “What was the compliment?”

  “He said that I had great legs. Dale overheard it, and started to say something, but I stopped him because I didn’t want something silly like that to ruin the party. He was really upset, both that the guy had said it, and that I hadn’t let him defend my honor. He was so irrational about it that he even accused me of enjoying what the guy had said.”

  “Did you?” Chas asked, without judgment.

  “No, of course not,” Alison frowned, coloring. “It was inappropriate.”

  “What was the guy’s name?”

  “People called him Gene, but I think his name is actually Eugene.”

  “You don’t know his last name?”

  “No. I didn’t speak to him after that. I spent the rest of the party avoiding him, and clinging to Dale’s arm so that he couldn’t go talk to him.”

  “How long were you and your husband married?”

  “Nine years in June.”

  “Was it typical of him to be jealous of other men?”

  “No. I mean, I know he was a little bit insecure because of our age difference—he was eight years older than me—but he wasn’t the jealous type.”

  “And the gentleman who left just as we were walking up this morning…” Chas prompted her.

  A cloud passed over Alison’s features, a fleeting but definite sign of displeasure.

  “As I said, that was Andrew, Dale’s older brother. Apparently he’s the executor of Dale’s estate.”

  “You didn’t know that was the case?”

  “No. I just figured that if either of us died, everything we owned went to the one left behind,” she shrugged.

  “That may still be the case. Your husband may not have wanted you to have the burden of settling his affairs while you were still grieving,” Chas suggested. “That sort of thing happens all the time.”

  “It does? I didn’t realize that,” Alison murmured. “I just thought that Andy might be jealous of Dale’s accomplishments and might want a part of the estate.”

  “How is his financial situation?”

  “I honestly don’t know. He does some sort of real estate thing up north.”

  “So he doesn’t live here in Calgon?”

  “No. He says Florida is only for newlyweds and nearly-deads,” she made a face. “I happen to love it here.”

  “Are you acquainted with a Mr. Thomas Cosgrove?”

  Alison shook her head. “No, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Do you have any pets?”

  “Definitely not. Dale was allergic to anything with fur. I asked about getting one of those hairless cats, but he wouldn’t even think about it.”

  “Is there anyone who might have reason to lash out against you?”

  “No. I don’t inter
act much. I shop and travel and read, but I mostly stick to solitary pursuits.”

  “Introvert?” Chas asked.

  “Definitely. All the talking I’ve had to do in the past couple of days is wearing me out,” Alison sighed.

  “I understand. We won’t keep you, but if you think of anything else that might be relevant to the case, please give me a call. We want to find the person who did this to your husband as soon as possible,” Chas handed her a business card.

  “Thank you,” she replied in a small, childlike voice.

  Spencer waited until they were inside the car before commenting. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think that Alison Edmunds isn’t telling us everything,” Chas said grimly.

  “Time to hit the streets?” Spencer guessed.

  “Yep, you can try to track down people in their social circle, while I find the brother-in-law. I want to know how long he’s been in town. I’ll also check in on Eugene from the dealership. Let’s see if he’s tall and has a smoker’s voice.”

  “What about Thomas?” Spencer asked.

  “That’s really a long shot. He probably doesn’t have the stomach for something like this; he’s tall, but his build isn’t terribly intimidating.”

  “Well, you don’t really have to be a big guy if you know how to wield a weapon,” Spencer pointed out.

  “True. We can talk to him, I just happen to think that he’s a dead end as far as this case goes.”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t seem like a likely suspect, but then, sometimes it’s the ones that we least expect.”

  “Exactly. Let me know what you find out, and get Ringo started on a cyber trail.”

  “I’ll need to stop at the taco shack to make that happen,” Spencer chuckled.

  Their resident hacker, Ringo, lived on caffeine and fast food. He often worked into the early morning hours, napping in the office’s technology center in the afternoon.

  “Whatever works,” Chas rolled his eyes.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  “Good morning, Thomas,” Missy greeted the pale young man when he came in the front door of Cupcakes in Paradise. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so,” the young man sank into a chair, seeming dazed.

  “What’s wrong?” Missy asked, reaching into the display case for a Vanilla Hazelnut cupcake.

  There were few situations in life which couldn’t be at least improved a bit by a good cupcake and a bracing cup of coffee… or milk, in this particular case.

  “Mr. Beckett called and asked if he could talk to me again, and… I don’t know, he sounded, like… angry or something,” the young man’s eyes were wide.

  Missy chuckled. “I think you’re mistaken about that, Thomas. Chas doesn’t allow his emotions to cloud his professional perspective, and he’s rarely angry. Don’t worry about it, just talk to him. He’s very nice and entirely fair.”

  “There’s this thing that happens to me sometimes though…” Thomas bit his lip and his eyes pleaded for understanding.

  The hairs on the back of Missy’s neck stood up as she placed the cupcake and glass of milk in front of him.

  “Thing?” she asked, trying her best to sound casually interested and supportive.

  “Yeah. Whenever someone confronts me about something, I get all nervous and stuff. So it kinda looks like I’m guilty, even when I’m not. I don’t want Mr. Beckett to be suspicious of me just because I’m nervous.”

  Missy was relieved. “Don’t worry, Thomas. That happens to more people than you might think, and Chas is quite skilled at being able to determine who is actually guilty and who is just nervous. Just be yourself and tell the truth and you’ll be fine,” she assured him.

  “You think so?”

  “If you have nothing to hide, there’s no reason to worry, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Thomas sighed.

  “Eat your cupcake. A little sugar always makes things seem brighter,” Missy smiled, heading back to the kitchen.

  “Thanks. Oh hey, Mrs. Beckett?”

  Missy turned around. “Yes?”

  “Can I still walk your dogs after all this stuff blows over?”

  “Of course.”

  “Cool,” Thomas finally seemed a bit relieved, and took a huge bite out of his cupcake.

  Missy faced the wrath of Beulah when she returned to the kitchen. The round woman was standing, hands on hips, tapping her foot.

  “I’m telling you, that boy ain’t up to no good,” she stared at Missy sternly.

  “He’s just a kid, Beulah.”

  “Serial killers start out as kids, you know.”

  “Did you see that on one of your true crime shows?” Missy teased.

  “No ma’am, I read that on the internet, so it’s true,” Beulah insisted, while Missy stifled a giggle.

  “Well, Chas is going to talk to him, and he has great instincts, so we’ll find out the truth, one way or another,” Missy assured her.

  “That’s another thing… why did he come to you when he’s worried about talking to that man of yours? That ain’t right. Folks shouldn’t be talking to the wife when they’re worried about the husband. Mm... mm... mm,” she shook her head.

  “If you were a young man who had come upon the scene of a murder, wouldn’t you be nervous about talking to Chas? He can be pretty intimidating.”

  “If I was a criminal I’d be nervous,” Beulah shot back, eyebrows raised.

  “I hear you,” Missy nodded, eager to change the subject so that the older woman could settle her ruffled feathers. “How’s the order for the hospital awards dinner coming?”

  Beulah stared hard at her, knowing what she was up to, but decided to let it go.

  “They’re all frosted. They just need to have the candy corn placed on top and then we can box them up.”

  “Wow, you’ve been busy back here,” Missy nodded her approval.

  “That’s cuz I ain’t been feeding cupcakes to serial killers,” Beulah muttered, turning to complete her task, while Missy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into laughter.

  Her mirth was short-lived however, when the bells over the front door jangled again, and a familiar voice cried out, “Mrs. Beckett… help!”

  Missy and Beulah rushed to the front and found Thomas lying on the black and white checkered floor, blood oozing from his face and head.

  “Beulah, get some towels from the back, then call 911,” Missy ordered, dropping down beside the injured young man.

  “Thomas, what happened?” Missy asked, alarmed when she saw that he was fighting to remain conscious.

  “Hit… my… bike,” he gasped, holding his midsection as though it hurt.

  “Oh dear,” Missy exclaimed. “Keep your eyes open, sweetie. We’re going to get you some help.”

  Beulah was like a woman possessed. She swabbed away the blood from Thomas’s head to assess the nature of his injuries, showing Missy where to place pressure with the towel, elevated his feet by placing rolled-up towels underneath them, and held his eyelids open so that she could look into his eyes.

  “Ambulance is on its way,” she murmured to Missy, who looked at her questioningly.

  The way that Beulah took in a breath and shook her head wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  “I can’t believe that whoever did this didn’t even stop to see if Thomas was okay,” Missy fumed, after the ambulance left.

  “Maybe it wasn’t an accident,” Beulah gave her a look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe he went and got himself injured so that he didn’t have to talk to Mr. Chas later,” the older woman speculated.

  “Beulah! What an awful thing to say,” Missy chided her.

  “Or…” she continued, “maybe someone thinks he might’ve seen too much and wanted to eliminate him as a witness.”

  Missy stared at her.

  “Do you really think someone wou
ld do that?” she whispered.

  “Happens all the time on the true crime shows,” Beulah shrugged. “And if whoever it was thinks that you’re connected to Thomas, they may be coming after you next,” she warned.

  Missy shivered. “Poor Thomas. He was just walking my dogs and now he’s mixed up in a murder investigation.”

  “I’d be careful if I was you, Miss Missy,” Beulah shook her head. “I surely would.”

  ***

  “Did you see the car that hit you?” Chas asked, standing beside Thomas’s hospital bed.

  “No, it all happened so fast.”

  “So, you didn’t see a flash of color or anything?”

  “It was dark-colored, I think. Black, maybe blue.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “No, sorry,” Thomas moved his head a bit and winced.

  “Do you know anyone who might be upset with you?”

  “No. I pretty much get along with everybody. You don’t think that someone did this on purpose, do you?” Thomas’s eyes went wide.

  “It’s a possibility,” Chas answered noncommittally. “But don’t worry about that. You’re in a secure facility. You’ll be fine. Just concentrate on recovering.”

  “They said that I’ll probably be able to go home tomorrow. They just wanted to watch me because of the concussion.”

  “Things could have been much worse,” Chas nodded. “I’ll check back with you tomorrow to see if you remember anything else about the accident.”

  Art Solinsky nearly ran into Chas as he left Thomas’s room.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Solinsky grumbled, clearly upset that Chas had gotten to Thomas before he had.

  “I think we should put a detail on this floor, watching the kid’s door so that whoever did this can’t get to him.”

  “First of all, it’s not ‘we’ who make that decision, it’s ME. Secondly, I am not going to tie up the resources of the Calgon PD to babysit some kid who either fell off of his bike or took a dive so that he wouldn’t be questioned in a murder investigation. I gotta hand it to him, being rushed to the hospital was quite a diversion,” Solinsky sneered.