Caramel Pretzel Killer

by Summer Prescott

  Gathering her keys, which she now kept in her pants pocket so that they didn’t end up in the dumpster somehow, Missy turned out the lights and opened the back door, excited about the gala, but weary from working a very busy weekend, with no help. Stepping outside, she was immediately aware of a strange sensation underfoot. Something was squishy and slippery, and she was horrified, wondering what it might be.

  “Well, how on earth did that get there?” she wondered aloud, mystified when she saw a jug of caramel topping on its side, with the cover nowhere to be seen, the sticky morass of its contents spilled onto her back stoop and teeming with ants, which quickly made their way up her shoes, headed for her ankles and beyond.

  “Oh, yuck!” Missy exclaimed, bending down to slap the ants away from her shoes and ankles. In her frenzy, she slid in the mess and almost ended up sitting in it, catching herself at the last minute. She glanced at her watch, stress hardening the back of her neck.

  “Why today, of all days?” she muttered, trying to step away from the caramel that had puddled all along the door jamb.

  Knowing that she couldn’t leave the mess, because it would draw all sorts of insects and other creatures, she considered her options, finally deciding to squirt the goo with dishwashing liquid and hose it down. Her shoes were a loss at this point, so after she got the mess cleaned up, squirting the hose at it until it ran into the gutter behind the parking lot, she wrapped her feet, still encased in the sticky shoes, with plastic grocery sacks, taking them off once she got in her car. With a heavy sigh and one last look at the shop, she pulled out of the parking lot, never noticing the downspout from the rain gutter that had detached from the outside of the building.

  ***

  “How was your day?” Echo asked Missy, while she zipped up the back of the pale blue chiffon gown that her friend wore so well. “You look stressed.”

  “Oh gosh, does it really show?” Missy glanced in the mirror, looking for new worry lines.

  “No, I can just tell,” Echo smiled over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “I’m just still overwhelmed with all of the new orders that are coming in. If I was just doing deliveries, I’d be fine, but keeping up with them and running the shop at the same time is taking its toll on me,” Missy admitted.

  “No new applicants, huh?”

  “No qualified ones. And then I keep having these weird little things that happen. I wouldn’t mind if it was just one thing, but it’s like the universe is conspiring against me or something. I lost my keys and they were stuck inside the dumpster, covered in bubble gum; I found a jug of caramel sauce tonight just as I was leaving. It had tipped over just outside the back door and I stepped in it. There were ants everywhere and it was awful. I mean, I know it’s no big deal, but when I’m forgetting things and doing silly stuff like leaving caramel outside, it’s time to get some help… fast,” Missy sighed.

  “I have an idea,” Echo murmured, thinking.

  Missy put blue topaz tear drop earrings on. “I’m listening.”

  “I need to introduce you to Aunt Beulah.”

  “Joyce’s aunt? Why?”

  “Because she’s smart and no-nonsense and from what I’ve heard, she can bake like nobody’s business. She could help you out at the shop.”

  “No way, I’d feel awful asking an elderly woman who is on vacation to help me out,” Missy shook her head.

  “Okay, first of all, she’s not on vacation, she moved out here and is just staying with Joyce until she finds a little place of her own, and secondly, this ‘elderly’ woman has more energy and feistiness than women half her age. I think the two of you would get along well. The money that she makes working with you would help her get settled into a new place faster, and your stress level would be greatly reduced. Everybody’s happy,” Echo grinned triumphantly.

  “Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, I suppose,” Missy nodded.

  “She’s hilarious too, she’ll definitely keep you entertained. Hey, can you do the clasp on this necklace?” Echo asked. “It’s so tiny that I can’t quite make it happen.”

  Missy secured the lovely necklace that Kel had given Echo the day their daughter was born, and the two friends were ready to head out the door.

  “Is Chas meeting us there?” Echo asked, as they slipped into the waiting limousine.

  “Yep, he went to the gallery a little while ago because Kel had some questions about security.”

  “Well then, away we go,” Echo’s eyes sparkled.

  This was Kel’s big night, and art collectors from all over the world had converged on Calgon for the event. The caterers had flown in from New York, and Missy had made very special miniature chocolate orange cupcakes for the occasion. The tiny morsels were made from dark chocolate cake, stuffed with gooey fudge, then topped with dreamy chocolate frosting and the most exquisite touch of orange zest.

  The press was out in full force for the event, and Missy and Echo felt like royalty when flashbulbs popped as their limo pulled up to the front of the ultra-contemporary gallery, and they stepped out onto a red carpet. Kel and Chas were there to escort them inside after they’d posed for pictures, and they were handed glasses of French wine the moment they walked in the door.

  “Wow!” Missy mouthed to Echo.

  “I know!” she mouthed back, astonished at the turnout and the atmosphere.

  The displays of Kel’s work were stunning, and each piece was perfectly lit, bringing out every subtle nuance. There were glass sculptures; pieces made from found items; paintings; kinetic exhibits with moving parts; sculptures with water features; and more. Collectors paused in front of spectacular pieces, making notes in their catalogs to keep track of which items they’d be bidding on later in the evening.

  A thin blond man who looked to be in his mid-forties and who was dressed impeccably, moved through the crowd with practiced ease, answering questions, directing traffic through the exhibits and generally overseeing the entire evening. He approached the foursome with a friendly smile.

  “Carlton,” Kel greeted him with a warm handshake. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’d like you to meet the most important people in the room,” the artist grinned.

  “May I present my lovely wife, Echo, and two of our very dearest friends, Melissa and Chas Beckett. Darling, Missy, Chas, this is Carlton Aimes, my Gallery Director, otherwise known as the man who made all of this possible.”

  “I’d argue that it was your talent that made all of this possible,” the soft-spoken director replied smoothly, greeting Kel’s special guests. “It’s so wonderful to meet all of you. Kel speaks so fondly of you.”

  “Thank you for making our lives much easier,” Echo embraced the surprised man.

  “I couldn’t be more pleased. Working with such talent is an honor and a privilege.”

  Missy stared at Carlton for a moment, stretching her hand out with a smile. “Have we met before? You look so familiar,” she mused.

  “I hear that so often,” the Director chuckled. “I think I just have one of those faces that looks slightly familiar to everyone. Such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Beckett.”

  Chas and Carlton shook hands, then a patron approached, tapping the director on the shoulder to ask a question, and he took his leave.

  “What a nice guy,” Echo commented.

  “He’s very good at his job. The best,” Kel remarked. “It’s going to be so nice to not worry about the business side of things.”

  “Here’s to artistic freedom,” Chas raised his glass.

  “Artistic freedom, hear, hear,” they clinked their glasses and sipped Champagne, nearly choking when the gallery was suddenly plunged into darkness.

  There were a few nervous titters as the guests froze in place, then suddenly, a startled exclamation from Missy sent a ripple of fear through the building.

  “Oh no! Help! We need light over here,” she cried out in fear.

  Chas whipped out his cellphone and shone the light around their immed
iate area, as did others in the gallery.

  “No one move,” he commanded, and the lights came on as suddenly as they’d gone out.

  Missy’s beautiful gown was spattered with blood, and a woman lay prone at her feet, dying from a wound in her back. The silence in the room was shattered by screaming and the stampeding of feet as patrons headed for the exits, giving the body lying in a pool of blood a wide berth. Chas dropped to his knees to administer aid, but he was too late… the woman had died, right there in front of their eyes. Echo took a stunned and horrified Missy into her arms, leading her away from the carnage.

  “What… why…?” Missy murmured incoherently, her eyes wide.

  Echo patted her arm over and over, trying to soothe herself as well as her friend. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay,” she assured her, in a daze.

  The sounds of sirens in the distance were a welcome relief, but unfortunately signaled the arrival of homicide detective Art Solinsky. Solinsky was a second-rate hack who had taken Chas’s position when Chas had opened his investigation agency. Solinsky had made no effort whatsoever to hide his contempt for Chas, who had been Calgon’s best homicide detective.

  “How is it that you always seem to get to crime scenes before I do, Beckett?” Solinsky made a face at Chas, who stood near the body, keeping onlookers a safe distance away.

  “I was here attending a function,” Chas replied tersely. There was clearly no love lost between the two.

  “How convenient.” Solinsky squatted to look at the body, and Chas’s cell rang.

  “Beckett here,” he answered. “Yes, Chief, I’m on the scene. Will do,” he nodded. “Roger that,” he said, then hung up.

  Solinsky looked away from the body to stare up at him, shaking his head.

  “You don’t need to be here,” he snapped.

  “As someone who was on the scene when the crime happened, not only do I have to be interviewed, but the chief also asked me to help you out with the investigation,” Chas replied grimly.

  “That’s a conflict of interest,” Solinsky groused.

  “Take it up with him, I’ve got work to do.” Chas saw Timothy Eckels, Calgon County Coroner and the owner of Memorial Mortuary, arrive with his spunky assistant, Fiona, and headed toward the pair to bring them up to speed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  Fiona McCamish heard a loud rapping at her front door, and instinctively grabbed a large butcher knife from the wooden block in the kitchen before going to answer it.

  “Who is it?” she barked, using her fiercest voice.

  “Timothy Eckels,” came the tired reply from the other side of the door.

  Fiona peeked out of the peephole and verified that it was indeed her boss, who was also her next-door neighbor, standing on the porch of her cozy rental home.

  “Timmy?” she mumbled, fumbling with the lock.

  “Don’t call me that,” was the automatic muffled response.

  Glancing at her watch, she opened the door.

  “We got a stiff?” she asked.

  “Indeed. We’ll need to stop by the mortuary to pick up the hearse,” Tim replied, absently pushing his coke-bottle lensed glasses up with a forefinger.

  The thinning hair atop his head was ruffled, as if he’d been asleep when the call came in, and Fiona thought that the pudgy, pasty undertaker looked adorable.

  She loved her job, and had more than positive feelings about the enigmatic man that she’d badgered to hire her. When the two first met, Fiona had been sporting an all-black wardrobe, along with a multi-colored mohawk and multiple piercings. While Tim didn’t find these things offensive at all, he hoped that by insisting she undergo an image transformation, he might dissuade her. But Missy and Echo took the sassy young woman clothes shopping, and found a hair stylist to give her a much more professional look; the results were stunning. Fiona’d called Tim’s bluff, and he’d felt obliged to hire her, but it had been one of the best decisions of his career.

  Fiona McCamish was as smart as a whip, eager to learn, and had an analytical mind that was a definite plus in the body biz. Add to that a fearless personality and an extreme tolerance for gore, and you had the perfect combination for funerary work. If only she didn’t look at him like she saw right through him at times….

  Fiona grabbed her lab coat from a hook by the front door, checked the pocket for her keys and headed out. Tim was halfway to his car by the time she locked all of her deadbolts, but she passed him and climbed in the passenger seat, eager to see what sort of mystery they’d unravel by listening to the story that the body had to tell.

  The pair proceeded directly to the mortuary, picked up Tim’s bag and the camera, and took the hearse to the art gallery.

  “Wow, someone died here?” Fiona whistled softly. “If ya gotta go, go in style.”

  Tim didn’t look at her, pulling the car up in front of the main entrance. “It wasn’t natural causes.”

  “A murder? At an art gallery? Wow. Sounds like something in a movie.”

  “Death happens,” the mortician commented, turning off the ignition.

  “No, a blockbuster would have to have a bolder name,” Fiona mused.

  Tim shot her a look.

  “Just saying,” she muttered, climbing out of the car, camera in hand.

  Despite the fact that the Calgon forensics team routinely took pictures of crime scenes, Tim always made certain that he had his own photos of the body in situ, before it was moved. Those photos had come in handy more than once and had helped solve countless crimes.

  The coroner was not looking forward to assessing the scene as much as he typically would. He and the new homicide detective didn’t get along at all. Life was so much simpler when Chas Beckett had been in charge.

  “Eckels, good to see you,” Chas greeted him when he came in the door of the gallery, as if Tim’s thoughts had conjured the former detective.

  “Likewise,” Tim nodded, as Fiona took a long look at the private investigator. Her nickname for Chas, when he’d been on the force, had been Detective Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

  Chas gave Tim a rundown of the events of the evening leading up to the murder, and the coroner nodded thoughtfully.

  “Is your wife still here?” he asked.

  “Yes, Missy is still in the main gallery.”

  “Has forensics spoken with her yet?”

  “Briefly.”

  “I’d like to see her for a moment before I assess the victim, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Chas looked around. “Come with me. I’ll take you through the kitchen so that we can avoid contact with Solinsky until after you’ve spoken with her.”

  “Yes, that would be best,” Tim sighed.

  “Oh great, we get to deal with Captain Incompetent,” Fiona muttered, drawing a silencing look from Tim.

  While her boss agreed with her assessment of Solinsky, it was unprofessional to speak of it publicly.

  When Tim reached Missy, he spoke with her briefly, then had her stand, while Fiona took multiple pictures of her dress. She’d just lowered her camera when Solinsky spotted them and strode over, his face like a thundercloud.

  “Eckels, the body is over there,” Solinsky blustered, jabbing a finger in the direction of the victim.

  Tim stared at Solinsky, expressionless, blinking slowly.

  “C’mon Freakshow, chop chop, that body ain’t getting any fresher,” the detective clapped his hands in front of the coroner’s face and Tim didn’t even flinch, but instead turned to Fiona.

  “We’ll need to change the chip in the camera to make room for the photos,” he directed, intentionally ignoring the fuming Solinsky.

  “You got it, Boss,” Fiona shot Solinsky a defiant glance and followed Tim over to the body.

  With gloved hands, Tim examined the mortal wound, while Fiona took pictures. He pointed to the incision and glanced at her. She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant, without him having to say a w
ord.

  “What?” Solinsky’s Jersey accent invaded their silent communication.

  Tim ignored the detective entirely, so Fiona, realizing that her boss had no intention of acknowledging him, replied, hoping that he’d go away.

  “That’s just his way of reminding me that I need to take another photo of the wound. If you could step aside a few feet I’ll be able to get a much better angle, thanks,” she dismissed the detective, who stood belligerently in her way for a few more seconds before moving off to bother someone else.

  Chas Beckett came over to observe briefly, once Solinsky was gone.

  “Eckels… may I ask you a question?” he crouched down near Tim, but far enough away that he wouldn’t impede his examination.

  “I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question,” was the dry response.

  Chas nodded. “Why did you want to speak with Missy before you saw the body?”

  Tim sighed and thought for a moment.

  “Based on the way that you described the events which led to the death of the victim, I would presume that Solinsky is going to interview your wife as a suspect.”

  “Based on proximity,” Chas nodded. “So, were you able to draw any conclusions about the killer?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t say,” Tim seemed genuinely apologetic.

  “What? Why?” Chas frowned. He and the coroner had always enjoyed a good working relationship.

  “Because I would guess that Solinsky will scream conflict of interest. If I give you any information, it could look like we’re stacking the deck to clear your wife, as it were,” Tim replied in a low voice.

  Fiona raised her eyebrows at Chas and inclined her head to indicate that Solinsky was on his way over.

  “Fine,” Chas said, more loudly than he needed to. “I understand if you can’t talk to me, but I would hope that you get the results back to Detective Solinsky as soon as possible,” he insisted, walking away in what he hoped was a convincing huff. It worked. As he shouldered past Solinsky, the detective gave him a satisfied smirk.