A Pinch of Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 2)

by Carol Durand

  Missy’s blood boiled at the thought of selling out her unique muffin boutique to a corporate machine that mass-produced hockey pucks of flavor for the non-discerning palate. She put down her fork carefully and took a sip of her lemon water in order to buy enough time to control her rising ire so that her voice wouldn’t shake when she responded.

  “Well, thank you for thinking of me,” she began carefully, not wanting to alienate a celebrity judge. “But I’m going to have to decline your kind offer. I already have plans for expansion, and I’d really like to maintain the independent feel of my shop.” She tried to summon a smile, but unable to produce one, she settled for a deeply sincere expression of utmost resolve.

  Marta raised her expertly waxed eyebrows in surprise laced with contempt. “I believe you misunderstand me, Melissa. Let me ask you something…just how important is this competition to you? Because I’d really hate to see you lose in the elimination round.” Her threat was subtle, but unmistakable. “There are two kinds of people in this world, Missy Gladstone…there are those who make the most of the opportunities offered to them, and those who unwisely turn up their noses, much to the detriment of future endeavors. Didn’t you ever stop to wonder how a little muffin peddler from LaChance got invited to this type of event? You wouldn’t even be here if I, out of the goodness of my heart, hadn’t wangled an invite for you. Think about it,” her voice was clipped, her southern drawl profound. Taking her ostrich leather wallet out of her expensive designer bag, she withdrew two one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the table, making Missy wonder how much their simple yet elegant lunch had cost. Marta stood to go, clearly leaving her to her own devices for returning to the hotel. “You’re a smart girl, Missy – choose wisely. I’ll check back with you tomorrow morning.”

  Missy was aghast. She couldn’t believe that Marta Cambridge had just threatened to have her eliminated from the competition if she didn’t agree to make Missy’s Muffins and More a part of the Cambridge Cupcakery franchise. Her heart pounded with indignation and she felt sick to her stomach as she sat staring at the linen tablecloth in disbelief. A server came by to refill her lemon water and she requested a cab, still stunned by Marta’s thinly veiled threat. She arrived back at the hotel with just enough time to try to collect her thoughts before round one of the competition. Walking into the test kitchen, Missy tried to control her shaking and wondered if she should even bother preparing anything.

  Chapter 5

  She was thankful that she didn’t cross paths with that horrible woman prior to preparing her first entry, and was soon lost in the comforting, familiar world of sifting, measuring, stirring and baking.

  Melissa Gladstone was poetry in motion when she went about the business of preparing her world-class cupcakes. Her movements were precise and efficient and she executed her special recipe with natural grace, producing cakes that were fluffy, moist and topped with creamy lusciousness. She tasted the still-warm Vegan Coco-Loco, and the perfect blend of flavors melted in her mouth. Under the unfortunate circumstances presented by her nemesis, the expert baker was only able to stomach a single bite, loving the taste, but fighting nerve-induced indigestion. The treats were spectacular – undoubtedly the best rendering of this particular recipe that she’d ever produced, and yet she was gripped by the lurching fear that she was doomed regardless of quality and content. Time would tell. She shrugged her shoulders bravely, took a deep breath and carried her beautifully staged tray to the panel of judges for evaluation. She wouldn’t know the results of the competition until tomorrow, when the participants faced the judges for feedback. In the meantime, she would try her best to relax, perhaps with the help of a glass of wine from the hotel bar.

  Despite having encountered Marta there the day before, Missy longed to make the most of the opportunity to catch some sun by the pool. She figured she’d have enough camouflage to hide behind if she brought along a book and her cell phone. She wanted to call Detective Beckett to check in on Toffee anyway, so if she saw the uber-famous baking maven approaching, she’d get on the phone so as not to be disturbed. Glancing somewhat furtively about, Missy walked into the pool area, bypassing the bar in favor of an ice-cold water bottle. The way her nerves were currently jangled, she had decided to opt for hydration rather than sedation. She chose a lounger that was close to the pool, but far enough away that she wouldn’t get splashed by exuberant guests. Trying to read, she eventually snapped her book shut in frustration, entirely unable to concentrate. Her encounter with Marta Cambridge circled round and round in her brain, causing her stomach to churn and her head to ache. She knew that having a conversation about her beloved Toffee would allow her to forget, at least momentarily, about franchises and contests and unjust threats from her hometown rival.

  “Hi Chas,” Missy said somewhat shyly, still a bit intimidated by the handsome and incredibly intelligent Detective Beckett. “How’s my girl?” she asked, smiling at the thought of her sweet and gentle golden retriever. Chas regaled her with stories of walking in the park, playing fetch with a favorite toy, and a misguided attempt to teach the refined lady how to catch a Frisbee. He admitted, rather sheepishly, that he allowed her to sit beside him on the couch for evening TV, and that he had put her bed in the corner of his room so that she wouldn’t be lonely in Missy’s absence. Tears filled Missy’s eyes, partly because she missed her furry friend, and partly because she longed for the normalcy of life that Chas had just described. She made it a rule to try to stay away from drama and unpleasant circumstances, and now she found herself squarely mired in the muck of both. Chas seemed to sense that something was up.

  “Hey, is everything okay out there?” he asked, the concern in his voice causing the tears that had been brimming to spill down Missy’s cheeks.

  “Not exactly,” she replied truthfully, too upset for pretense. She related what had happened between herself and Marta, with Chas making appropriately sympathetic responses. He had no answers as to how to handle the situation, but she felt better having discussed it with him anyway. They chatted briefly about the competition, and Chas assured her that when he had stopped by her store, Ben seemed to have things well in hand. She didn’t want to hang up the phone, finding strength in the simple joy of conversation about normal and familiar things, but she knew that Detective Beckett was a busy man, and she didn’t want to keep him too long, so they hung up a short while later. When the connection was broken, Missy felt empty and alone, so after taking a few sips from her water bottle, she adjusted the back of her lounger so that it was nearly flat and reclined, closing her eyes against the brilliant Nevada sun. After toasting her front for a while, she rolled over and let the warmth of the sun bake into her back, finally relaxing a bit, despite the emotional havoc wreaked upon her earlier. She dozed a bit, then was surprised to realize that she was actually hungry, and looking at her phone, realized that it was nearly 7:00. Completely unwilling to deal with conversation and reality, she decided to go to her room and order room service. She’d have a quiet evening to herself, with only the pay-per-view channel for company.

  Deciding to splurge, and knowing that she would only be able to eat if she ordered something exceptional, she opted for surf and turf – a petite filet steak topped with sautéed Portobello mushrooms, and tender sweet lobster tail with drawn butter. The hotel kitchen told her that her food would take about 45 minutes to arrive, so she took a long, hot shower and changed into her comfy yoga pants and a loose fitting t-shirt while she waited. She tipped the waiter generously, and had him set up her tray, along with a carafe of wine on the coffee table in front of the TV. She had a long list of chick flicks selected to keep her company until she fell asleep, and was looking forward to a very mellow evening. She tried her hardest not to think about Marta, but occasionally her mind wandered into thinking about what she was going to say to her in the morning. She finished her meal, managing to enjoy only a few bites of each item before covering her plate with the metal heat keeper that had been provided, and set th
e tray outside her door for pick-up. Tucking her legs under her, she concentrated on losing herself in the first of the many sappy love stories that she had chosen, and nodded off with just a few minutes left in the first movie.

  Chapter 6

  Missy woke up to a darkened room, with a crick in her neck from having fallen asleep in an awkward position on the couch. She rubbed a hand across her face and stretched, wincing at the needles of pain that accosted the leg that had fallen asleep from being tucked beneath her. After flexing her foot back and forth to restore feeling and use to her leg, she wandered sleepily over to the bed. She looked at her phone, saw that it was just after 1:30 in the morning, and crawled beneath the covers, falling asleep almost instantly. She hadn’t set the alarm on her phone because the morning session didn’t start until 10:00 a.m. and she knew that she would wake up with more than enough time to shower, dress, eat breakfast and make her way to the ballroom for feedback and competition results.

  Missy knew that filming began today, but was completely unprepared for the crushing crowd and tons of cameras in the ballroom when she got there. Looking around for where the list was supposed to be posted, she saw that there was an inexplicable number of police present, and the looks on their faces were strangely grim. A short, dark-haired woman dressed in a beige, ill-fitting suit appeared in front of Missy, seemingly out of nowhere, and flashed a badge in her face.

  “Melissa Gladstone?” she asked curtly.

  “Yes,” Missy frowned, put off by the woman’s manner.

  “I’m Detective Rosa Ramirez, LVPD, come with me please.” She gripped Missy’s upper arm in an attempt to steer her out of the room.

  Missy shrugged away from the detective, upset at the way she was being treated. “I’m sorry,” she began, doing her best to remain polite, “what exactly is this about?”

  “I have some questions for you,” Ramirez replied, stone-faced. “I can either speak with you here, or we can go to the station,” she raised an eyebrow, daring Missy to argue with her. The taciturn detective took her by the arm again, and confused, she followed mutely.

  “What’s going on? Can you at least tell me that?” Missy asked, after being ushered into a nearby conference room. Ramirez ignored her question and led her to a table, where a tall man, presumably another detective, wearing jeans and a light blue button down, sat, apparently waiting for them.

  “Melissa Gladstone,” Ramirez said to the man, who made a note on a clipboard.

  “Ms. Gladstone,” the man said, extending his hand. Missy shook it, baffled. “I’m Detective Thom Brasco,” he introduced himself with an easy smile. “Please have a seat.” He indicated the chair across from his. Ramirez roughly pulled out the chair next to Brasco’s and sat, staring suspiciously at Missy.

  She decided to completely ignore the rude woman glaring at her, and addressed Detective Brasco. “What’s happening?” Missy asked, beginning to worry.

  “We just have a few questions for you, Ms. Gladstone, shouldn’t take too long,” he smiled dismissively, clearly discouraging further inquiries from her. Without even pausing long enough to take a breath (or let Missy get a word in edgewise), he began questioning her.

  “Where were you last night?” he asked in a very pleasant, conversational tone.

  “I went to the pool, and then I came back to my room and stayed in for the night, why?” Missy frowned.

  “What time would you say you went to your room?” Brasco continued.

  “It was just before 7:00. I remember because I was hungry and when I looked at my watch, I was surprised to see that it was so late, but I don’t understand why you’re asking me about that.” Missy was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Did these people suspect her of something? She wanted to know what was going on.

  “Standard procedure,” Brasco supplied smoothly, moving on. “If you were hungry, why did you choose to go back to your room rather than getting something to eat?”

  “Standard procedure for what?” Missy demanded, fed up with being kept in the dark. “I’m not answering another question until you tell me what’s going on here.”

  Brasco looked pained. “I don’t want to upset you with any unnecessary details, but wouldn’t you want to help us out if someone was trying to pull some shenanigans with the judging process for this competition?”

  Missy’s eyes widened. “Someone is trying to tamper with the results of the competition?”

  Brasco shrugged and shook his head in mock dismay. “Like I said, we don’t want to get into all of that, but if you could help us out by answering a few questions, we’d really appreciate it. Trying to leave no stone unturned, ya know?” he replied earnestly.

  “Oh my, of course,” Missy nodded, still shocked and hoping that this didn’t have anything to do with the impropriety of the proposition that Marta Cambridge had presented her with yesterday.

  “So, just to clarify…why was it that you went back to your room rather than going to get something to eat?” the detective persisted.

  She still didn’t see the point of his question, but couldn’t see the harm in answering either. “I ordered room service because I was tired and didn’t want to dress for dinner.”

  Detective Brasco made some notes on his clipboard while Ramirez continued to stare at her. “I see,” he nodded. “And what did you do after you ate your meal from room service?”

  “I watched movies until I fell asleep.”

  They chatted for a few minutes about what kind of movies they both liked, with Ramirez looking bored and picking at a hangnail, and then he resumed his questioning. Missy was much more relaxed, seeing that the detective seemed to be just a nice guy doing a rather distasteful job.

  “Do you have a relationship with any of the judges?” Brasco asked casually.

  “A relationship? No, I wouldn’t say so,” she shook her head.

  “Are you acquainted with a Miss Marta Cambridge?” the detective inquired, seeming to consult a list of names on his clipboard.

  Missy’s heart pounded. Did they know about Marta’s offer? Did they think that she had tried to unduly influence Marta because they were from the same hometown? It could profoundly affect Missy’s reputation if she was dismissed from the competition because it appeared that she was trying to gain favor with a hometown girl, when in reality, the opposite was true. If anything, Marta was probably angry with her. Maybe she had called the police and made up allegations of trying to influence a judge because Missy had refused her offer. Was that even illegal?? Missy started to panic and couldn’t think straight. She would be giving Miss Marta Cambridge a piece of her mind when all of this nonsense was cleared up!

  “Ms. Gladstone?” Brasco prompted, snapping her out of her panic-induced reverie.

  “Oh…sorry. Umm…yes, I am acquainted with Marta Cambridge, we grew up in the same town” she replied carefully, hoping he would leave it at that.

  “So then, you do have a relationship with one of the judges,” he affirmed, jotting down a note.

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t call it a relationship,” Missy smiled nervously. “We were never really what you would call ‘friends’ or anything. We were actually rivals when it came to silly things like bake sales and such.”

  Brasco studied her for a moment and Ramirez leaned forward, her eyes narrowed.

  “But the two of you had lunch yesterday, is that correct?” he asked mildly.

  Missy sighed, her anxiety level ratcheting up ever higher. “Yes, we did. I didn’t particularly want to go; I was just being polite because Marta insisted.”

  “Really? Why do you suppose she did that?”

  Missy had a choice to make…she could either try to cover for Marta, so that the famous cooking show host’s reputation wouldn’t suffer, or she could be truthful with Detective Brasco and let Marta suffer the consequences, clearing her own name of any suspicion. Considering Marta’s high-handed and rude treatment of her, she decided to do the right thing and tell the truth.

  “I foun
d out after we got to the restaurant that Marta had asked me to lunch so that she could try to strong-arm me into converting my muffin shop back home into one of her franchises. She even said that she had specifically arranged to have me invited to the competition for that reason.”

  “I see,” Brasco nodded, while making copious notes on his clipboard. “Anything else?”

  Missy hesitated for a moment, uncertain as to whether or not she should throw her arch-rival entirely under the bus. In the interest of cooperating fully, she felt that she should tell the whole truth, but she still felt bad about the potential impact that this could have on Marta’s career.

  “Marta…sort of threatened me,” she admitted, feeling uncomfortable, but at the same time relieved at having everything out in the open.

  “Threatened you? How?” the detective’s eyes, just for a moment, mirrored the expression of his acerbic partner’s. Missy saw the split-second reaction and felt scared for a moment, but continued on with her account.

  “She basically told me that if I didn’t tell her by this morning that I’d agree to franchise with her, she’d have me eliminated from the competition,” she frowned sadly.

  “What was your response?” Ramirez startled her by asking curtly. Brasco shot her a look. Missy looked back and forth between the two of them, noting the change of mood in the room. Brasco smiled understandingly and took control of the conversation again.

  “That must’ve been tough for you to hear, coming from someone with whom you had hometown ties,” he said sympathetically.

  “Yes, it really surprised me,” Missy nodded, glad that he was so understanding, and wishing that Ramirez would just keep quiet. The woman’s cold manner made her uncomfortable.

  “So, did the thought of working with Miss Cambridge appeal to you?” he asked, seemingly curious.