by Carol Durand
“Pleasure to meet you,” the detective’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Likewise,” Drew responded and turned to Missy. “I didn’t realize you were here with someone.”
Before Missy could answer, Chas jumped in, not wanting her to spill the beans about him being a detective. “Purely coincidental. We’re friends from way back who just happened to bump into each other,” he supplied smoothly.
“That’s cool,” Drew commented, not quite believing him, but not wanting to challenge him either. “So why are you supposed to be keeping a low profile?” he addressed Missy again.
Chas intervened once more. “That was just a joke. When I first bumped into Missy she said she just wanted to get away from it all and relax, you know…low key, low profile.”
Andrew nodded amiably. “I hear you,” he agreed, looking at Beckett with an unreadable expression. “So, hey, Missy, I’m headed off to the next casino, care to tag along?” he invited.
“I think I’m going to quit while I’m ahead,” she grinned and waved her ticket happily.
“Good call,” he smiled back. “Chas, nice to meet you, man,” he extended his hand and shook with a power grip.
“Likewise,” Beckett responded, matching his grip.
Once Andrew Benson was out of earshot, the detective turned to Missy and let her know that he was returning to his room, and that she should stay in the casino for a few minutes before heading upstairs so that it wouldn’t look like they were leaving together. Missy nodded and headed for the cashier’s box to cash in her ticket.
Chapter 12
“Pretty crazy that Drew showed up at this particular casino today, isn’t it?” Chas asked casually as he and Missy ate their room service lunch on his balcony.
“Not really,” she replied, savoring a bite of her Caesar salad. “He said he was casino hopping today. This hotel was like number three on his list or something.”
“Hmm…” the detective kept his doubts to himself, wondering what was wrong with him. Was he inherently suspicious because of his profession, or was it that seeing Missy talking with a fit and handsome man made his hackles rise a bit? He’d like to think that the instincts which served him so well in his line of work were the driving force behind his suspicion, but this was an unusual situation for him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his thinking seemed to be more than a bit skewed toward being over-protective when it came to the lovely Melissa Gladstone.
“So, have you found out anything from the franchisees that you were calling this morning?” Missy asked, blissfully unaware of the dark thoughts that Beckett was having regarding Andrew Benson.
“Yes, actually, and as I suspected, Marta Cambridge used her assistant, Taylor Whitcombe as her franchise liaison. Every owner that I spoke with said that he was tasked with helping them start-up their franchise and would drop in for assessments and support once they were established. He also received pretty hefty commissions for procuring new franchisees, from what a couple of the owners said. Which means, since Marta contacted you directly, if you had signed, he would have been left out of the process, losing at the very least, tens of thousands of dollars. Also, if Marta had intended to oversee your franchise herself since you’re conveniently located in her former hometown, he’d lose out on that money as well, which gives more credence to the theory that Taylor should be the prime suspect.”
Missy frowned. “But…that doesn’t sound like a huge amount of money. Why would someone as well-off as Taylor risk losing everything for such a relatively small amount?”
Chas shrugged. “Maybe on principle. Maybe he derived his self-worth from being Marta’s right-hand man, and when she cut him out of the loop, assuming that she did, he just snapped. I’ve seen people do worse things for worse reasons.”
“It’s just hard to conceive of someone doing something so heinous for any reason. I mean, Marta may not have been the nicest person in the world, but thinking that someone would kill her just seems crazy,” Missy shook her head sadly.
“The world is a crazy place sometimes, kiddo.”
“So, now what?”
“Now, I keep digging,” Beckett, replied with determination.
Missy’s phone rang and the caller’s number was blocked. She answered and heard Detective Brasco’s voice on the line. Chas couldn’t tell what the conversation was about just from listening to Missy’s side of things, but could tell by the expression on her face that she was concerned.
“That was Detective Brasco…he wants me to come down to the station for questioning,” she murmured, wide-eyed and trembling slightly.
Beckett frowned. “Did he say why?”
Missy shook her head. “He just said that I need to be here within half an hour or he’ll send a squad car to come get me. What do I do now, Chas?” she asked plaintively.
“Grab a taxi,” he said pragmatically. “I’ll do everything I can to find out what actually happened to Marta Cambridge. Don’t worry, Missy, we’ll get to the bottom of this.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
Chapter 13
Detective Brasco seated Missy in a very sterile-looking interrogation room with non-see-through windows on two sides and a card table with three chairs in the middle. His manner, while courteous, was far less genial than it was last time they met.
“I’m going to be very straightforward with you Ms. Gladstone,” he said without preamble after they were seated across from one another at the low-budget, Formica-topped table. “Things don’t look very good for you right now.”
“I…What? What do you mean?” Missy asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice, her hands folded tightly together in her lap to keep from fidgeting.
“You were the last person seen with Marta Cambridge while she was still alive, and the wait staff at the restaurant has characterized your interaction with her as being, ‘uncomfortable, awkward and tense’. You’ve already admitted that there was a serious rivalry between the two of you, and that you perceived her as a threat. Less than 24 hours later, her body is found. I don’t know how things work for you down south, but here in the big ‘V’, when we add two and two together, we get four.”
“Detective Brasco, you are absolutely mistaken! First, I certainly wouldn’t consider my relationship with Marta to be a ‘serious rivalry.’ We competed in bake sales and at county fairs as teenagers; there was nothing sinister about it. As far as rivalry goes now, we’re not even in the same league, she’s internationally known, and I’m content to have a business in my hometown that stays profitable enough for me to make a comfortable living. Besides, I told you, after the competition that afternoon, I was in my room the entire rest of the evening.” Missy’s voice wasn’t shaking at all now; the strength of her convictions came through clearly, giving the detective pause.
“Believe me, Ms. Gladstone, we checked your story out. I know precisely when the server brought food to your room, and I’m aware of the exact time that you ordered your pay-per-view chick-flick, and before you protest, I’m also well aware that you didn’t leave your room for the rest of the evening,” Brasco paused, presumably for dramatic effect. “But I also have it on good authority from the coroner that, based upon the time and method of death, you were the only one who had access to the victim.”
Missy’s stomach dropped. This couldn’t be happening! She didn’t do this, how on earth could there be evidence to suggest that she had?
“That’s impossible,” she shook her head in disbelief. “I could never… What about her assistant? He had 24/7 access to Marta!” She hated tipping her hand while Chas was still in the process of investigating, but she felt that she had no choice in order to turn Detective Brasco’s scrutiny in the proper direction.
“Nice try,” he drawled sardonically, “but Mr. Whitcombe has an airtight alibi.”
The detective’s attitude lit a fire under Missy. Her future was on the line and she didn’t appreciate his cavalier treatment of her at all. “Don’t patronize me, De
tective. I didn’t do this, and whatever evidence you may think you have is going to be seen in an entirely different light when the real criminal is found, you can be certain of that.” Her eyes narrowed with determination and her mouth was set in a thin line. “We’re done here,” she announced, standing to go.
“Don’t even think about leaving town Ms. Gladstone,” Brasco warned, raising an eyebrow. “We’re waiting for some lab results to come in before we charge you formally.”
Missy glared at the smug detective, furious. “Don’t you worry, Brasco, I’m not going anywhere and you’re going to be embarrassed as hell when those lab results prove that I couldn’t possibly have been involved in this tragedy.” She flounced from the room without looking back.
Missy was still trembling with a potent combination of anger and fear when she returned to the hotel. She filled Chas in on what had happened, his face grim at her recounting.
“Look, it’s getting to be dinner time,” he said, his voice soft with compassion. “Why don’t you go back to your room, take a nice warm shower and put on something pretty. It’ll make you feel better. I’m working on a few things that I can get finished up while you get ready, then we can have a nice quiet dinner and try to relax for a bit, sound good?” he asked gently, brushing her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.
She nodded bravely and turned to go. When she got to the door, she turned, hand on the knob. “Chas…thank you,” she whispered, her throat tightening.
“Anytime, pretty lady,” he smiled reassuringly.
Chapter 14
Missy lathered up her golden locks twice, not because they needed it, but because the unlimited warm water cascading down her back felt so comforting. She scrubbed her skin with the loofah she had brought for exfoliating, trying to lose herself in the fresh, clean sensation. If she could only scrub away the ugliness of the past few days. She tried to push away thoughts of Brasco’s threats and trust that Chas would dig something up to exonerate her, but the surety of the detective’s posture when he faced her at the station was more than disconcerting.
She took care with her appearance, knowing that there was indeed some truth to Chas’s assertion that looking her best would help boost her spirits, and if she was being entirely truthful, she looked forward to capturing his attention. She had admitted to herself that she was beginning to develop feelings for the handsome detective, but she had no idea how he felt. Slipping into a casually elegant pink polka-dotted sundress with matching pink sandals, she checked her look in the mirror and, after adding white summer accessories and a dab of perfume, she was ready to enjoy her evening with the complex and adorable Detective Chas Beckett.
Pulling the door snugly closed behind her, Missy glanced across the hall, noting that Chas’s door was slightly ajar.
She knocked lightly. “Chas?” she called out, somewhat alarmed when there was no answer. She pushed the door open and slowly walked into the room. She nearly screamed when she saw one of his loafer clad feet sticking out between the wall and the bed. She ran to his side, knelt down beside him and saw that he was bleeding profusely from a wound in the back of his head, but was still breathing, despite his pallor. Dialing 911 with trembling fingers, she called for an ambulance, then ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to try to stanch the flow of blood. The sight of the growing crimson stain seeping into the snowy white towel filled her with dread, but she continued to put pressure on the wound, waiting impatiently for the ambulance to arrive.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. The EMT’s had arrived almost immediately and had taken Chas, with Missy riding beside him in the ambulance, to the emergency room. Once there, he had been rushed to a treatment room and she’d had nothing to do but wait and worry, sipping stale, acrid coffee from a vending machine. Curled up in the corner of a vinyl loveseat in the waiting room, Missy was startled and not at all happy to see Detectives Brasco and Ramirez approaching her, looking grim.
Ignoring Ramirez, she looked at Brasco, trying to hide her reaction. “What are you doing here, Detective?” she asked coolly.
“Were you aware, Ms. Gladstone, that when one gives their name to a 911 operator, that it’s recorded as part of the daily services log for fire, police and ambulance calls?” he asked, too casually.
“So?” Missy shot back defiantly, too tired and stressed to be nice.
“So,” Ramirez interrupted rudely. “We find it very interesting that the victim who was just picked up from your hotel, across from the very room that you’re staying in, is a Detective from your home town. Small world, huh Gladstone?” she finished nastily.
Missy raised an eyebrow, choosing once again to ignore Rude Ramirez and addressed Brasco. “Coincidences happen,” she shrugged, staring down the detective. Worry about Chas Beckett’s condition removed any fear that she may have had in regard to standing up to the LVPD. They could take a flying leap as far as she was concerned, she wasn’t moving from this spot until she knew that Chas was going to be okay.
“Indeed they do, Ms. Gladstone,” Brasco’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve been looking into your association with Detective Beckett, and what a coincidence, we found out that not too long ago he was investigating you as…oh wait, what was it again, Ramirez?”
“A murder suspect,” Ramirez snarled, playing his game with spiteful relish.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he nodded. “A murder suspect. I knew it was something familiar,” he drilled Missy with a glare. “We’re going to be spending our evening doing some digging, and you can bet your bottom dollar, Miss Melissa Gladstone, you’ll be seeing us again real soon,” he growled, no longer ‘Mr. Nice Guy’, and this time it’ll be with a warrant.
Missy stared at him blankly, simply waiting for them to leave so that she could go back to actively worrying about Chas. Frustrated at her lack of response, Brasco turned on his heel and strode from the room, Ramirez following after shooting daggers at Missy. Relieved that they were gone, she took a gulp of the now cold and rancid coffee, hoping it would keep her awake until she heard from the doctors.
She had begun what was perhaps her 300th round of pacing around the tiny waiting room, when a dignified-looking doctor with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing grey scrubs and a white coat, came in to talk with her. Taking her to a room off of the main lounge, he explained that Chas had suffered a blunt force traumatic injury (in layman’s terms that meant he’d been hit really hard with an inanimate object), that had given him a concussion and had needed over 50 stitches, but that should heal up perfectly well in time. Missy let out a huge sigh of relief and spontaneously hugged the doctor, asking when she could see him.
“He’ll be staying here a while for observation,” the doctors said, “but you won’t be able to see him other than during normal visiting hours, due to security concerns based upon the nature of his injuries and profession.”
Missy nodded numbly, suddenly very tired after a long, turbulent day, and made her way to the front entrance, where a handful of cabs lingered 24 hours a day. When she got back to the hotel, she dreaded going up to her floor, not wanting to face the grim scene of Chas’s injury. Her mind turned in circles trying to figure out who could possibly have done such a thing. She was so entirely absorbed in her thoughts as she walked through the casino to get to the elevators, that she didn’t realize that someone had fallen into step with her and was moving oddly closer.
“Missy, hey! Imagine seeing you here again,” Andrew Benson said with a somewhat nervous grin.
“Oh, hi Drew,” Missy gave him a wan smile, exhaustion setting in.
“Wow, you look really beat,” he observed, glancing around as though he was looking for someone. “Rough day?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Missy agreed wryly. “I’m headed straight to bed,” she yawned hugely, rubbing a hand over her eyes.
“Aww…poor thing,” Andrew intoned with seemingly ersatz sympathy. “Look, there’s something that I really want to show you, it’s in my car and it won’t take long.”
He leaned in closer, still glancing in every direction and whispered, “I think it may be a clue that will help the police figure out who killed Marta Cambridge.” His eyes were wide, innocent.
Suddenly Missy was fully alert. “Really?” she asked excitedly.
“Seriously, you won’t believe it,” Drew nodded earnestly.
“Let’s go then,” Missy grabbed his arm and followed him to the bank of elevators that led to the parking garage. He punched the button for the basement level and led her to a white paneled van with no windows in the back or sides. Opening the back doors, he pointed to a cardboard box that was snugged up against the panel behind the driver’s seat.
“It’s in there,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and sour. “I don’t want to move it, you’ll see why. Here let me help you up, but brace yourself, it’s pretty gruesome.”
Missy carefully placed her sandaled foot on the back bumper of the van, and stomach in knots, took Drew’s hand as he helped boost her inside. It was too small for her to stand up inside the van, so she inched forward on her knees, moving closer to the box.
“I’m going to close the doors and turn the flashlight on so you can see better,” Drew advised her as she hesitated. Something inside of her turned to jelly, and an animal instinct within her screamed that she was in danger. Thinking that her reaction was merely fear of what she might see in the box, she bravely ventured a little further and reached out to move the cardboard flap on the top out of the way.
Missy gasped as she was suddenly seized from behind, one of Drew’s strongly muscled arms pinning her against his massive chest with both arms to her sides, his other hand slapping a piece of duct tape over her mouth. She struggled against him, but was no match for the man who practiced bodybuilding in his spare time, and was forced to the musty-smelling floor of the van. She couldn’t scream because of the duct tape covering her mouth, and Drew yanked her hands viciously behind her back, securing her wrists together with duct tape as well, his knee firmly planted in her back.