She’d sent Beulah home at closing, and was making a list of ingredients that she’d need for the next day, when she heard a scraping sound from behind the kitchen. Cocking her head to one side to listen, she looked up and discovered that she must’ve been at her task for longer than she had realized. It was dark outside her cozy little shop. Staying perfectly still, she strained to see if there were more sounds, and after five minutes, she figured that whatever she had heard must’ve been in passing, and went back to her list. A chill ran down her spine when she heard the knob of the back door turning, and the slight creak of the hinges as it swung open. From her seat in the eating area, she couldn’t see the back door, and hoped against hope that it was just Beulah, returning to retrieve a forgotten apron or something.
“Beulah?” she called out, embarrassed at how weak and scared she sounded.
No response. Was that a footstep that she heard? The hair on the back of her neck stood up and Missy slid silently out of her chair, putting her pencil down and backing toward the front door. A dark shadow appeared in the low light of the doorway between Missy and the kitchen. She opened her mouth to scream and heard footsteps pounding in through the back door.
The man who’d been in the doorway, knife in hand, was tackled roughly to the ground as Chas leaped on him from behind. Missy screamed during the brief scuffle, as Chas subdued the intruder.
“Hit the lights,” her husband commanded, and Missy ran to the light switch, illuminating the shop, finally seeing who’d been tormenting her for weeks. It hadn’t been the scruffy homeless young man at all.
“Carlton Aimes?” she exclaimed, shocked. Seeing the large hunting knife that had flown from the gallery manager’s hand when Chas tackled him, she was both horrified and stunned.
“But why? I don’t even know you,” she gasped, shaking her head.
“Yeah, you pretended you didn’t know me back in college too,” Carlton sneered, his face an alarming shade of red.
Missy was confused. “College?”
“Yeah, little Miss Perfect. Got great grades, even though she was running her parents’ business. You got so many breaks because everyone felt sorry for the poor girl whose parents got killed in a car accident. I should’ve been valedictorian, but no. Misfit Melissa spoke at commencement instead,” he snarled.
Missy’s face drained of color and she swayed slightly as realization hit her. She’d thought that Kel’s manager had seemed familiar from their first meeting. Now she knew why.
“Shut it, not another word,” Chas ordered, dialing his phone with his knee squarely between Carlton’s shoulder blades. The much-thinner, weaker man posed no threat to the PI now that he was unarmed.
“Aimee Carlson,” Missy murmured. “We were neck and neck for valedictorian, and you were so sweet when you lost. I thought that we were friends.”
“You were never my friend. You always got everything I ever wanted, and look at you now. I saw an article online about you and your high-society husband, living your glamorous life by the beach,” Aimee sneered. “I searched for a job in this town for months, and when I heard about a gallery opening, I cut my hair, changed my name, and applied for the job. I figured you wouldn’t recognize me if I looked like a man. I banked on your stupidity and I nearly got to you. If my aim had been more accurate at that gala…” she muttered bitterly.
Chas finished talking to the police chief and hung up the phone, disconcerted to say the least that he was currently astride a woman posing as a man.
“You killed that woman because in the dark you thought she was me,” Missy mumbled, feeling sick.
Sirens wailed in the distance and Aimee Carlson hung her head.
“Well, I guess we know whose fingerprints were on the fuse box at the gallery now,” Chas commented. “You’re going to be going to jail for a very long time,” he gritted his teeth, the thought that Aimee had been aiming for his beloved Missy making him nearly crazed with anger.
“I almost did it. I almost got her,” Aimee muttered, putting her cheek on the floor and heaving a regretful sigh.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
Spencer Bengal had been glad to hear that Chas had solved two murders in his absence. He felt less guilty about being away, tracking down his former girlfriend. Her publisher had begged him to find her without involving the police, so that the author wouldn’t have to endure any negative publicity if she were just hiding out somewhere to write.
He felt like a creeper as he expertly picked the lock to Izzy’s apartment, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Her brother had said that she liked to write in her former fiancé’s cabin in the Berkshires, but before traveling there, Spencer wanted to see what clues he could find in her house. Her giant dog, Hercules, was happily holed up in Spencer’s hotel room for now, and he’d hired a pet sitter for the day, so the Leonberger would be well entertained in his absence. The dog’s nasty cut was healing nicely now, and Spencer only hoped that his condition when he was found wasn’t an indicator of what had happened to Izzy.
He knew that Izzy usually preferred to use her laptop to write, sitting on the sofa, surrounded by her notes, portable radio, and multiple cups of coffee, so he headed for the couch immediately, and found something that surprised him. There was a notebook there, along with some newspaper articles and photographs. Izzy had been researching… him. The industrious author had discovered his real name, the circumstances surrounding his mother’s death, his father’s address, and from the notes that she’d jotted down, she was very close to finding the name of the secret government program in which he’d worked. His heart leaped at first to think that she was still thinking about him and interested in him, then sunk to his stomach when he realized that if she’d been caught with this information, it might be one of his international enemies who had made her disappear.
Even though the government had released him from his duties, he’d still awakened the ire of certain foreign agencies who weren’t quick to forgive. If Izzy wasn’t holed up in her mountain hideaway in the Berkshires, he’d have to go back to his sources in the government to track her down… or what might be left of her. Tapping the screen of his watch to life, he quickly made reservations and headed for the cabin of Izzy’s ex-fiancé, which currently seemed too far away for the worried Marine.
***
Izzy Gilmore opened the door of the cabin, shocked that anyone had managed to find the place. It was well hidden and not noted on any maps that she knew of. It had been like coming home, in a way, and her writing had been productive.
“Spencer,” her eyes went wide with surprise. “I thought it would just be a hiker who got lost or something.”
The handsome young man stared at her for a moment, his relief palpable.
“Miranda was worried about you and didn’t want to call the police,” he replied, his professional mask slipping back into place.
“Oh,” Izzy bit her lip. “Sorry that she bothered you with it. Please, come in,” she opened the door wider and let him in to the beautifully rustic cabin.
“I can only stay for a minute. Now that I know you’re safe, I’d like to make it back to the nearest town before nightfall.”
“Of course I’m safe,” Izzy gave a weak smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I found Hercules at the animal shelter with a knife wound and thought he’d probably gotten it trying to protect you,” he gritted out, thinking of the sweet dog’s pain.
“What?” Izzy gasped, her hands going to her mouth. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that sitting service. Goodness only knows what my poor baby went through. Please tell me he’s okay,” she whispered, shaking her head.
“He is now. Why didn’t you bring him with you?”
“I was only planning on being gone a couple of days…a week at the most, but then I started writing and just completely lost track of time.”
“I went to your house,” Spencer began, his blue eyes unreadable.
He took off the
backpack that he was carrying, unzipped it, reached inside and took out all of the materials that she’d gathered about him, setting them on the small dining table in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Izzy said, reddening.
“This is dangerous. The fact that you’re doing these searches could cause you to run into people who might harm you. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Iz. Particularly because of me,” Spencer said softly.
“You didn’t even tell me your real name,” Izzy whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
“You didn’t tell me yours. And you didn’t tell me that you’d been engaged,” Spencer replied.
“I’m sorry, it was rough for me…” she began.
“No apologies. I get it, it was rough for me too,” Spencer looked at her with compassion, not exactly the look that she’d wanted to see in his eyes.
“Can’t have much of a relationship with so many secrets on both sides,” she murmured, slow tears rolling down her cheeks.
“No,” he agreed. “Izzy, with what you’ve discovered, it would be dangerous for you to have a relationship with me. That’s why I kept it from you in the first place,” Spencer sighed. “The best thing that you can do is stay up here for a while. Get rid of the articles and photos, and wipe out your search history. Forget my name… both of my names… and forget me,” he swallowed hard.
“I’ve tried that. I’m not very good at it,” Izzy’s voice quavered.
“For your own safety, please… will you destroy this stuff?” he gestured to the pile.
Izzy nodded sadly. “I hate this, it’s like I’m erasing you.”
“That’s exactly what you need to do,” Spencer replied, his heart aching.
“I don’t know how to wipe my computer files,” Izzy looked down, tears flowing.
“I can take care of that remotely,” Spencer tapped his watch, contacting Ringo.
“So, this is it. There’s really no more Spencer Bengal in my life?” Izzy’s breath hitched as she tried to control her emotions.
Spencer didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. She saw the answer in his eyes.
“I won’t forget you,” she murmured, her lower lip trembling.
“Please try,” he said gently, clearly in pain.
He handed her a slip of paper that had the name and address of the pet sitter with whom he’d left Hercules. “I’ll pay for his care until you can get back to him,” he said, and turned to go.
“Thank you,” Izzy whispered.
He didn’t look back.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
* * *
“That nasty little cross-dresser better be darn glad that I wasn’t here when she came a-calling,” Beulah fumed, when Missy told her about the arrest of Aimee Carlson, who had posed as gallery manager Carlton Aimes.
“I’m just glad that you didn’t get hurt more seriously than you did when the guttering fell,” Missy smiled at the older woman’s fiercely protective side.
“I’d have given that little beast a piece of my mind and a healthy dose of manners, I tell you,” Beulah was clearly all fired up over the incident.
“All’s well that ends well, Beulah,” Missy patted her arm. “I’m just so sad that someone got killed because of me.”
“That ain’t your fault, child, no way. You ain’t responsible for that woman’s crazy,” she shook her head. “The police chief fire that no-count detective yet?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s asked Chas to take the lead on all homicide cases until he can get Solinsky out and find a replacement.”
“That husband of yours is something else, all right,” Beulah nodded appreciatively. “My little niece, Joyce, needs to find herself a good man.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Spencer came into the shop in need of cupcakes.
Beulah’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “He’ll do,” she pursed her lips and then put on her biggest matchmaking smile.
***
“I don’t know how my aunt guilt-tripped you into coming over for dinner, but I owe her some bingo money,” Joyce chuckled, leaning back in her patio chair after having consumed all sorts of comfort food with Spencer. “You okay?” she asked, her perceptive chocolate eyes missing nothing.
Spencer nodded slowly. “Yeah, the funny thing is, I think I am okay. I’d be even better with another monster slab of your chocolate cake,” he eyed the platter hungrily.
“Oldest trick in the book, lure ’em in with lobster mac-n-cheese and keep ’em with chocolate layer cake,” Joyce grinned.
“I thought I was lured in by a determined aunt,” Spencer reached for the cake.
“Well, of course. Nobody says no to Aunt Beulah.”
“She couldn’t tell me enough about how special you are. She’s a big fan of yours,” he commented, taking a huge bite.
“And what about you, Mr. Bengal? Are you a big fan of mine?” Joyce challenged playfully, leaning forward.
Spencer stared at her as though seeing her for the first time and swallowed his bite of cake. “Bigger by the bite,” he said softly.
Somehow, the setting summer sun got a bit warmer, and the sounds of Calgon stood still, at least for the occupants of Joyce’s patio. And inside the house, Aunt Beulah just smiled as she crocheted.
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott.
All Rights Reserved.
Caramel Pretzel Killer Page 7