Butterscotch Dream Killer

by Summer Prescott

  Because of the deeper new powder snow, slogging through on the snowshoes was a bit more difficult, but he still made good progress, and barring any other unusual weather events, he’d most likely reach the broken wing just after sunrise. His compass was in the front pocket of his parka, but he preferred to select landmarks in the distance to walk toward, only checking the compass occasionally to make certain that he was on track. This technique would seem more difficult in the dark, but he merely chose clumps of trees that were within the scope of his headlamp, then moved on to the next.

  The sun rose, turning the blinding white landscape into a field of diamonds, glittering with an intensity that made him glad he’d brought goggles with extra UV protection. Plodding along, hearing only the sounds of his shushing snowshoes, his heartbeat, and the steady, even sound of his own breath, Spencer saw a spot of blue in the snow ahead, just outside a huge swath of trees, and his heart leaped, spurring him to move faster. He’d found the wing. The rest of the plane had to be nearby.

  **

  To say that Kel had found himself in the midst of a painful dilemma was a fierce understatement. He’d stood staring, horrified and saddened, at the blank eyes of the deceased pilot, for an undetermined amount of time, but finally shook himself mentally, realizing that if he didn’t get on the ball and do something about his situation, he could end up staring sightlessly for eternity as well.

  Not knowing where he was, or how long it might be before help found him, he knew he had to make some preparations for his survival. Jim had briefed him on the contents of the survival bag which was stored underneath the plane, but he had no idea if he could even exit the plane safely, much less retrieve the bag, particularly with only one good arm. Who knew whether the survival bag had even stayed with the plane? It could easily have been flung into the Swiss wilderness after the small plane collided with the first tree, which broke the wing off.

  One thing was certain…if he continued to stay inside the plane, without food, water and warmth, he would die. That thought motivated him to climb carefully toward the exit door, which was still tightly shut. He read the diagram beside the door, which gave instructions as to how to open it, and realized that if his efforts were successful, he’d be exposed to the elements.

  “Gotta get my gloves,” he mumbled to himself.

  Fortunately, he’d worn his parka on the flight, and only had to zip it up, which took some doing, but with the help of his teeth, he managed. The gloves and scarf that his wife had made him bring along were tucked into the front pocket of his suitcase, which was now behind his seat. He made his way over to it, and unzipped the pocket containing his gloves and scarf, only then realizing just how painful it was going to be to put a glove on his right hand, with his arm still throbbing in pain.

  Kel’s teeth chattered as he lurched over to the suitcase, hoping against hope that he didn’t go into shock. The air was getting colder, and the altitude made it even more difficult to breathe, but he persisted, slowly and surely dragging the suitcase zipper down and finding his gloves and scarf. The scarf he wrapped around his head, and then he braced himself for putting on his glove. He secured his left one first, holding the down-filled, waterproof glove in his teeth and wiggling his hand into it, then he stared down at his right hand with trepidation.

  Kel flexed the fingers of his right hand, and the small movement didn’t send waves of pain shooting up his arm as he’d feared it might. Emboldened, he moved his entire hand back and forth slowly, bending it at the wrist. This too was done successfully. He knew better than to try and move his lower arm. He could tell by the intense pain in both his upper and lower arm that he most likely had more than one break.

  Holding the glove in his left hand, he raised it to where his right hand was tucked against his chest, and slipped the ends of it onto the fingers of his right hand. Pulling with his left hand and wiggling only the fingers of his right, he managed to get the glove most of the way on, then he moved his wrist slightly and pulled it on the rest of the way, jarring his arm and causing him to nearly black out again. He cried out in surprise, then gritted his teeth and waited for the moment to pass.

  Panting with exertion after the small task, Kel opened his eyes and willed himself forward. With his beloved wife and family foremost in his mind, he refused to give up, despite the pain, hunger and weakness in his body. He went back to the door, flipped up the handle, just like it showed in the picture, and, with his left shoulder braced against it, he lifted up with his left hand. The door didn’t move, and he pounded his fist on it in frustration. Hearing a crackle, he surmised the door was frozen shut, and at present, there was no way that he had the strength or the balance to force it open.

  Refusing to give up, he crawled toward the tail of the plane, which was a bit elevated, and saw that there was what looked like a hatch in the rear of the plane on the floor, with a ring set into it to pull up the cover. Sinking to his knees as gently as he could, still not knowing whether the plane was perched precariously in a tree or whether it had made it to the ground, he tried to get his gloved finger underneath the ring to pull on it. He couldn’t, so he took the fingertips of the glove in between his teeth, thankful that he didn’t have dentures, and pulled off the glove. The metal ring was so cold that it hurt his bare fingers, but he got the first two underneath it and pulled with all his might.

  The hatch swung open and Kel could’ve cried with relief. It was an additional access port to the survival bag, which contained food, water, flares, blankets, a sleeping bag and a first aid kit. He was too weak to pull it up out of the cargo hold, so instead, he lay down on his side, his cheek pressed to the ice-cold floorboards, and fished inside the bag with his left hand until he located a pouch of ready-to-eat foods. His stomach gurgled, despite his pain and weakness, and he scooped a handful of pouches up, flopping them up onto the floor like frozen fish.

  After a small, hastily consumed meal, Kel felt a bit stronger and tried to plan out his next course of action. He had to stabilize his hurt arm so that it didn’t send jolts of pain through his body whenever he moved, so he reached down into the survival bag and pulled up the first aid kit. Undoing the buckles on it with his left hand, he found a sling, wrapped in plastic. Tearing the plastic open with his teeth, he knew that putting his arm in the sling was going to hurt like crazy, but it had to be done so that he could function without making his injuries worse.

  After Kel looped the nylon strap over his head and across his shoulder, he slipped the corner of the black canvas sling under his right elbow, moaning at the resulting pain, but continuing anyway, then snugged the fabric carefully up under his lower arm, teeth gritted, breath coming out in pained gasps. He held the loose end of the adjustment strap in his teeth, and pulled upward on it while his left hand worked the buckle to tighten the sling to support the weight of his arm. His eyes watered and his head throbbed as he fought wave after wave of nauseating pain, but once the sling was in place, he relaxed his injured arm and felt a bit of relief as the cloth supported it.

  The wind kicked up briefly and the plane creaked. Kel froze in place, wondering if he was about to tumble through the trees, but the plane merely swayed a bit, then stilled. Heart thumping, he got carefully to his feet, determined to survive.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  Melinda Jeffries was beside herself when Chas visited with her at her humble home. The widow, who was very active in the community, was visibly shaken by the death of her fellow judge at the chili cook-off.

  “Ms. Jeffries, did you know Belle Fitzhugh?” Chas asked the perfectly coiffed matron.

  “Oh my, yes,” Melinda nodded. “We’ve been on committees together, and my Milton used to work for her husband, Don.”

  “Had you ever had any disagreements with her?” Chas asked carefully.

  “Not of any importance,” Melinda’s lower lip trembled and she reached for a tissue from the box on her scarred coffee table. “I mean, Belle had quite the temper, but she a
nd I were usually on the same side of things. I feel so bad that I had to step in between her and that chili contestant. I’ve kicked myself ever since, knowing that I would’ve treated her with more care if I knew that it would be the last time I’d be able to speak to her,” she sniffled.

  “There’s no way that you could’ve known. What did your husband do for work?”

  “He was in charge of shipping and transportation for Don’s rental business.”

  “Rental business?”

  Melinda nodded. “Yes. They rented furniture, tents, decorations, and various equipment for parties, weddings, things like that. My Milton took care of getting special orders in on time and making sure that everything went smoothly on deliveries and setups.”

  “I see,” Chas nodded. “Did you ever socialize with the Fitzhughs?”

  “Only at company parties and things like that, or if we ran into them at charity events. I do a lot of volunteer work in the community, and they attended many of the same events that I dragged Milt to every year,” Melinda smiled faintly. “He’s been gone for almost a year now. I still miss him every day,” she twisted the tissue in her hands. “I’m sorry, it still gets to me sometimes,” she waved her hands at her eyes to try to stave off the tears that were welling there.

  “I understand. The loss of a spouse can’t be an easy thing. Was your husband still working for the Fitzhughs when he passed, or had he already retired?”

  “He retired,” Melinda said softly, blinking back tears. “Toward the end, he was so sick he could hardly lift his head, but he was so brave. He didn’t want to be in the hospital, so I took care of him here.”

  “Cancer?”

  Melinda nodded, unable to speak, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Beckett, I need a cup of tea. Can I get you anything?” she asked, rising to go to the kitchen.

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” He waited for her to come back with her cup of tea, and when she did, she was much more composed. “What time did you get to the festival on the morning that Mrs. Fitzhugh died?” he asked.

  “Let’s see…I had taken my early morning yoga class, and it lasted until eight, then I came home and had some toast because I didn’t want to taste chili on an empty stomach – some of them are so hot – and after a quick shower, I headed to the Chili Center,” she thought aloud. “So, I want to say that I probably got there around ten.”

  “What did you do for the two hours prior to the cook-off?”

  “When I first got there, I walked the entire route, visiting with vendors and such, then I went back to the Chili Center around eleven, because the moderator wanted to go over a few last-minute things with us. After he finished with his instructions, we all took our seats at the tasting table,” Melinda recalled, sipping her tea.

  “Tell me about the incident with the chili contestant.”

  “Well, it was really strange, Belle is usually very sweet to everyone, but this poor elderly woman came up to the judges’ table, all in a tizzy because she didn’t have a ladle – she’d forgotten to pack it or something – and Belle was just nasty to her. I overheard their disagreement, and I stepped in when Belle started getting rude.”

  “Did Mrs. Fitzhugh say anything to you after the disagreement?”

  Melinda shook her head. “No, I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she brushed me off and went to the ladies’ room to freshen up.”

  “What did the elderly woman do after the disagreement?” Chas asked.

  “She kind of muttered and stomped around for a bit, and the nice young lady next to her offered a spare ladle, so she was fine.”

  “Did you talk with the young woman who gave her the ladle at all?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did you notice if she was behaving strangely?”

  “She seemed a little nervous, but that’s not unusual. These contestants take the competition way too seriously sometimes.”

  “Did the young woman who offered the ladle interact with Mrs. Fitzhugh?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She gave her a look that would peel wallpaper after she overheard what Belle said to the older woman, but I don’t think she spoke to her,” Melinda shook her head.

  “By the time Mrs. Fitzhugh collapsed, every judge had sampled each of the chili dishes, is that correct?”

  “Yes, we were done tasting, and had already given our scorecards to the moderator.”

  “To your knowledge, did anyone else have any symptoms of illness after the tasting?”

  “Not that I know of. I’m sorry if I’m not being much help, Mr. Beckett. I really hope you find whoever did this to poor Belle,” Melinda sniffled again.

  “I hope so too, Ms. Jeffries,” Chas replied, rising to go.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Chas actually slept in after a long day and night of interviewing witnesses and persons of interest in the Fitzhugh murder. He yawned, stretched, and realized that his beloved wife wasn’t beside him. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, drawn to the light coming from the huge walk-in master closet.

  “There you are,” he slipped in behind Missy, nuzzling her neck with his lips. “Whatcha doing?” he asked, noting that she had a half-packed suitcase in front of her.

  “With all of the madness that’s going on right now, I just feel like I need some time away,” she didn’t look at him.

  “Hey,” he frowned, concerned, and turned her around to face him. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Did I do something?” he caressed her cheek.

  “No, of course not, you’re wonderful,” Missy buried her head in his chest. “I just need some time away from all of the drama.”

  “What about Echo?” he asked her gently. “She probably really needs you right now,” he reminded her, holding her tight.

  “I know, but I can’t very well be a good friend if I’m all uptight and stressed out myself, right?” she murmured, her chest tight with shame.

  “I guess that’s for you to decide,” Chas kissed the top of her head. “But…shouldn’t we talk about this a little bit? Tell me what’s bothering you, maybe we can work through it together,” he tilted her chin up with his finger so that she had to look at him.

  “I just…I just need to be by myself,” she muttered, looking away. “Talking about things would only make me dwell on them more.”

  “Are you sure that we’re okay? You don’t usually shut me out like this, sweetie,” Chas searched her face, worried.

  Missy sighed. “We’re fine. I love you. I just…need some time. I’ll be back soon, good as new.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To a spa retreat in the Poconos.”

  Chas frowned. “It’s pretty cold up there this time of year,” he commented.

  “I don’t plan to leave the lodge,” Missy turned away and resumed packing.

  “Okay,” he sounded defeated, worried. “How can I help? Do you need a ride to the airport?”

  “No, I know that you have to work today. I’ll just take a cab.”

  “What time are you leaving? Maybe we could have lunch before you go.”

  Missy shook her head, her stomach doing flip-flops. “I’ll be gone before lunch. I have to leave in about ten minutes,” she looked at her watch.

  Toffee, the golden retriever came into the closet with her leash in her mouth, and bumped her silky head against Missy’s knee.

  “I’m sorry, mama has to go bye-bye,” she whispered to the dog, hugging her around the neck. “Can you take the girls for their walk?” she asked Chas, as Bitsy came prancing into the closet.

  The baffled detective ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah, sure. Of course. You just go ahead and do what you need to do. I’ll take care of everything here.”

  She lifted her face for a kiss, lingered for a moment, her hand on his stubble-covered cheek, and then she was gone.

  **

  Something wasn’t right. Chas Beckett felt it in his bones. The first thing that he did when he ar
rived at his Private Investigation firm was to go see his resident hacker, a rather slovenly young man named Ringo. He gave Ringo some tasks, including finding out which resort that Missy had gone to, since she hadn’t mentioned the name of it, and apparently wasn’t responding to text messages. His phone rang, and he picked it up, recognizing the coroner, Timothy Eckels’ number.

  **

  “Lab results are in,” Fiona McCamish breezed into Tim’s office, tossing the file folder for the Fitzhugh case on his desk.

  Tim opened the file and read the results, nodding. “I was correct,” he said, without the least bit of satisfaction.

  “About what?” Fiona tried to peer over his shoulder at the results, and, giving her a reproving look, he shut it and put it back on the desk.

  “The fact that she was poisoned, and how.”

  “And?”

  “Mrs. Fitzhugh was a victim of solanine poisoning.”

  “What’s solanine poisoning?”

  “It’s in the Nightshade family. My guess would be that she ingested tomatoes used in the chili which had a high concentration of solanine.”

  “Wait, that stuff is found in tomatoes? But, I love tomatoes,” Fiona’s eyes went wide.

  “The research is inconclusive, but the symptoms fit, according to what I found during the autopsy. The deceased had scratch marks, which indicate itching, there was vomiting, and cardiac arrest, all symptoms of solanine poisoning.”

  “Oh how awful. But doesn’t that mean that the person who made the chili might not know that their tomatoes were poisonous?”