Fruitcake Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 26 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries)

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Fruitcake Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 26 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Page 4

by Summer Prescott


  “Of course,” Echo squeezed her hand.

  “We wouldn’t dream of leaving you here alone,” Kel replied. “And it looks like it’s a good thing that we’re flying out tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to tell Chas?” Echo asked. “Surely he’s not going to approve of you going to see a serial killer.”

  “I’m going to tell him the truth…that these events have made me so stressed out that I need to get away for a bit. Then, when I hopefully find out something useful from Warren Casman, I can come back here and tell Chas before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “I hope it works out that way,” Echo mused.

  “It has to.”

  Chapter 10

  Even after landing, Kel and Missy had to rent a car and drive for a couple of hours through dark, dreary brown fields, dotted with the unforgiving stubble of dry, brittle cornstalks. The air was frigid, and the two southerners cranked up the heat in the car, not knowing whether their chills came exclusively from the weather in the Midwest, or from the thought of Missy sitting face to face, behind safety glass of course, with a serial killer.

  The daring duo had rented hotel rooms for the night, which were about half an hour away from the prison where Warren Casman was housed. In the morning, Kel would drive to the prison with Missy, waiting in the visitor lobby for her until she was done meeting with Casman. From there, they would proceed directly to the airport to catch their flight home, hopefully armed with information that would help solve the mystery of who was sadistically taunting her, and why.

  Dinner that evening was quiet, as Missy and Kel sat in a local steak house, pushing food around on their plates, rather than eating.

  “He can’t hurt me,” she said softly, staring at her plate.

  “No, dearest, he can’t,” Kel gazed at his friend sympathetically. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “We came all this way,” there was steel in those soft kitten-grey eyes. “I’m certainly not going to chicken out now.”

  “Good for you. Are you prepared with a list of questions?”

  “I didn’t write them down or anything, but, yes, I know what I’m going to be asking. I’m just going to try to see how to best approach him when I get there. I mean, I don’t know if he’s going to be hostile or psychotic or what, so I’ll just take it slowly.”

  “Well, I would think that, since he probably doesn’t get many visitors, perhaps he might be glad for a bit of human interaction,” Kel tried to stay positive.

  “Unless of course I make him feel like a bug under a microscope,” Missy sighed.

  “Oh, come now, you’re more than adept at making folks feel at ease. You can handle this, just turn on that southern charm,” he grinned.

  “I’ve never had to make a serial killer feel at ease before,” she grimaced.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”

  **

  To say that Missy was intimidated by the procedures that were necessary to endure when visiting a maximum security inmate was an understatement indeed. Leaving Kel behind in the waiting room, she had to fill out various forms, present identification, put all of her personal items in a locker and subject herself to a thorough pat-down. She was briefed on the limitations of the visit, what behavior was acceptable, and other details which only served to increase her anxiety about meeting with Warren Casman.

  At long last, when all safety protocols had been observed and satisfied, Missy was led down a sterile looking industrial-green corridor through a series of gates that had to be buzzed open by correctional officers sitting in protective cages. There was a huge, hulk of an officer leading the way, and two more officers, one male, one female, following behind. The final, massive door that was opened led to a small room, in which sat one chair that was bolted to the floor, facing a wall made of cinder blocks that featured a picture window of inches-thick safety glass with small holes in it to allow the prisoner and visitor to hear each other.

  Missy’s heart leapt to her throat as she sat in the cold, hard chair. She shivered, not knowing whether it was from the frigid temperature in the room, or her insane case of nerves. Her hands trembled and she clasped them together, trying desperately to look nonchalant. Behind the glass was a room smaller than the one that she was in, with a door identical to the one that she’d just come through. She arrived before Warren Casman did, so she sat, stomach churning, awaiting the arrival of the killer.

  The enormous officer who had led her into the room instructed that he’d be just outside the door if she needed him or wanted to leave early, all she had to do was knock. Once he’d left, the tiny room seemed to close in on her, making it difficult to breathe. The door on the other side of the glass opened and she thought her heart would explode out of her chest. Not knowing whether she should smile, or if Casman would find that mocking or upsetting, she kept her look neutral, clenching her jaw lightly so that her teeth didn’t chatter.

  Gazing deliberately blankly at the serial killer, Missy was astonished to find that the appearance of the sadistic monster that she’d imagined didn’t even come close to matching what he actually looked like. Anyone’s objective opinion of Casman would be that he was attractive, with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes that weren’t even remotely crazy looking. Missy blinked a few times, unsettled.

  “Not quite the boogeyman that you expected, eh Ms. Gladstone?” he spoke in a cultured voice, with a slight smile gracing his patrician features. Missy hadn’t given her married name, not wanting anyone involved to discover that she had a husband in law enforcement.

  “I…umm…” she floundered, not knowing whether or not she should admit the truth of his statement. Her face flushed with color and her heart pounded.

  “Sorry, it was unkind of me to put you on the spot like that,” Casman said easily, derailing her again.

  “It’s…nice to meet you, Mr. Casman. Thank you for seeing me,” Missy said softly, bracing herself for his reaction.

  “Nice to meet me? There’s one that I haven’t heard in a while,” he chuckled, never taking his eyes off of the woman who was trying desperately to keep from squirming in her chair. “You can’t leave your southern charm behind, even when meeting a monster, can you, Ms. Gladstone?” his eyes pierced her.

  “Everyone deserves common courtesy, Mr. Casman.”

  “Do they? Even someone who thrills in the bloody deaths of others? If you say so, Ms. Gladstone. What can I do for you? There are typically two kinds of people who request to meet with me; sick fans of my “sport” who want me to share with them the gory exploits of my all too short career in what most people would consider to be heinous crime, and those who are trying to analyze me, figure me out. You’re certainly not the former, and I can’t say with any degree of certainty that you’re the latter, so I must admit, I’m intrigued. I typically decline visits from people I don’t know, even attractive women, but I must confess, I’m quite curious to know why a cupcake baker from Louisiana would want to keep me company for a couple of hours,” he sat forward, eyeing her, his shackled hands resting lightly on the table in front of him.

  Missy sat, mouth agape. How could this man have possibly known who she was?

  “Surprised that I checked you out?” Casman smirked. “Really, Ms. Gladstone, I have all day, every day to do absolutely nothing…did you honestly think that I wouldn’t do an internet search to find out about you?”

  “I suppose that I’d have checked me out too,” she said, returning his stare.

  He gazed at her with something akin to admiration. “So, again, I must ask, why is it that you’re here?”

  “Some strange things have been happening to me, and I think someone may be copying your…patterns of behavior,” she swallowed hard, startled when he sat forward and frowned suddenly.

  “One of my fans decided to take action? Interesting. Tell me everything. Details. I’m assuming you want me to figure out who is doing this to you and why, yes?”

  “Well, yes,
I’d appreciate any help that you could provide,” she nodded slowly.

  “You’re pretty bold for someone who’s never been in the presence of an artist of murder,” Casman observed.

  “You’re pretty easy to talk to for someone who’s an artist of murder,” she replied, her gaze not wavering, hoping she hadn’t overstepped.

  Casman actually laughed, so she felt safe going a bit further, her curiosity getting the best of her.

  “What did you do in life, other than…you know?” she asked.

  “I taught high school,” the killer shrugged. “Loved it. It’s amazing what sorts of suggestions can be implanted in the ripe and ready minds of the young,” he gave a sinister smile that made Missy’s skin crawl and reminded her that she was indeed sitting across from a serial killer. “Now, tell me, Ms. Gladstone, what has this amateur been doing?”

  Missy told Casman all of the details, leaving nothing out, and he sat back, a displeased look on his face.

  “Blundering barbarian,” he commented with a disgusted grimace.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Whoever this is, quite obviously has an inferior intellect. I didn’t just work my artistry on random creatures with no regard to order. There was always a distinct biological basis and progression in my work. Making my way up the food chain, as it were. If he missed that, he’s nothing more than a pathetic hack,” he spat with contempt.

  “Why do you think he’s doing this?” Missy asked softly, the killer’s current mood scaring her.

  “The reason that I enacted the progressions that I did was in order to warn my ultimate prize. Had the humans been smart enough to pay attention to the clues, they could’ve guessed that they were next. Not that that would’ve saved them, but at least it wouldn’t have felt so much like shooting fish in a barrel,” Casman shook his head.

  “As to why this bumbling buffoon is doing this, there only can be one possible explanation. He’s wanting to terrify you…to keep you dangling in abject horror until he comes after you. I must admit, there is some artistry in that aspect of it, but his other sloppiness is intolerable.”

  Missy swallowed hard, entirely unsettled by this brief glimpse into the mind of a heartless butcher.

  “Ah, there it is. It always shows up eventually,” the killer mused, gazing at Missy ruefully. “The look of horror, the human recoil. It’s all sunshine and butterflies until I start talking about the beauty of my art, then it’s tedious terror and revulsion. I’d rather hoped that you were better than that Ms. Gladstone, but it seems that you’re as dully human as the rest, despite your sympathy toward all breathing creatures, even the incarcerated ones.”

  Ignoring the jab, Missy took a deep breath and tried again. “So, do you have any idea who might be doing this?”

  “Persistent aren’t we?” Casman raised an eyebrow. “Did the thought ever cross your mind that you came here to use me? To get from me what you can, then to leave, running screaming into the night like all the rest? Why should I help you when there’s nothing that you can do for me?”

  “What makes you think that I’d react that way?”

  “It’s written all over that lovely face,” he sighed, seeming to assess her, and making her feel like a bug under a microscope. “That’s another difference between your pathetic stalker and me, by the way…my work was always done with subjects who were younger than thirty. No offense, but you wouldn’t have made the cut,” he giggled briefly at his pun, a chilling sound.

  “None taken,” Missy murmured. “Who do you think it is?” she persisted.

  Casman grew impatient at that point. “Who knows? Your neighbor? My neighbor? More likely my neighbor than yours, he was a fellow of small intellect to be sure…but who knows? Are we done here?”

  “If we need to be,” Missy replied bravely.

  The killer nodded, breaking into a sinister grin. “You’re going to think about me for a long time, Ms. Gladstone. When you sleep, when you hear a strange noise, when a sudden chill raises the hairs on the back of your neck…like it is right now…you’ll think of me, and oh, sweet Melissa, rest assured, in the dark of night…I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “Guard!” he shouted suddenly, making her jump. A burly man came in and escorted Warren from the room in a jangle of chains.

  Missy slumped in her chair, drained, trying to slow her racing heartbeat.

  Chapter 11

  “I cannot believe that you sat face to face with that monster,” Echo shuddered, sitting at the island in Missy’s kitchen. She, Kel, and Carla had come over for coffee and cupcakes as usual, and she filled them in on her conversation with the Countdown Killer.

  “Well, there was several inches of bullet-proof glass between us, and he was shackled,” Missy pointed out.

  “Was he rude and gross and horrible?” Carla asked, awed.

  “Oddly, no. He had a strange charm, and if he wasn’t a bloodthirsty psychopath, I would’ve thought that he was attractive.”

  “Well, that explains his sick little fan base, I suppose,” Echo remarked, shaking her head.

  “Serial killers tend to be charming “boy next door” types, generally,” Kel said.

  “How do you know all of that stuff?” Carla looked at him strangely.

  “I read a lot,” he waved a hand dismissively. “What’s important here is to try to figure out who this person is, and why they’re doing this. Unfortunately, Missy didn’t get much info in that regard, other than to establish that this killer is less intelligent and meticulous than Casman.”

  “Well, that turned out to be a good thing for the people at the party who ate the wrong stuffed mushrooms. Apparently he had somehow poisoned seven of them, trying to kill seven people all at once, but didn’t know as much about poisons as he thought he did. The caterer was mortified, and had no idea how he gained access to the food,” Missy explained.

  “Well, thank goodness we have a not so brilliant killer,” Carla commented. “I wonder if he’s going to have a do-over on seven, or if he’ll go straight to six.”

  “Hopefully we can figure out who he is before either one of those things happens,” Kel replied.

  “Maybe it’s not a he,” Echo proposed.

  “Huh?” Missy said.

  “Well, if Casman is handsome and charming, I would assume that his fan base is mostly female, so it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to assume that this person may be female, right?”

  “That’s a good point,” Kel nodded. “Everything that has been killed so far has been small enough that it wouldn’t take strength or even much skill to accomplish. Perhaps we’ve been not only sexist, but short-sighted in thinking that the stalker could only be a male. We need to really try to narrow down the possibilities of anyone who might have the motive.”

  “There’s also the possibility that whoever it is, isn’t stalking Missy. The killer could be trying to warn Chas,” Carla suggested.

  “That would make sense,” the artist nodded. As a member of law enforcement, Chas would stand to have far more enemies than his lovely cupcake-baking wife.”

  “Kel, Casman said something about the killer possibly being a neighbor. Can you figure out who, among our neighbors, might have reason to try to drive us away? I mean, we’re thinking that whoever this is, is working toward murdering someone, but what if they’re just trying to scare us off?”

  “That’s a good point,” he replied. “And actually more probable, if you think about it. I’ll check out the folks in the neighborhood and see if I can come up with anything. They’d have proximity, and would be above suspicion simply because they live on the beach in an upscale part of town. Have you made anyone mad since you moved in?”

  “Just the developers who wanted to tear this lovely Inn down and build condos,” Missy frowned.

  “Let me do some asking around and see what I can find out,” Kel directed.

  “Maybe Dora would know something. She seems to know just about everyone in town,” Echo teased the artist. Carla a
nswered before he did.

  “Intimately,” she drawled, sipping her coffee.

  “Are you ladies going to hang out and bake with me today?” Missy jumped in, changing the subject.

  “I can’t, honey. I’ve got a client in about twenty minutes,” Carla replied.

  Missy looked wide-eyed at Echo, hoping that she’d be available.

  “I can’t either, I have to be at the gallery…” she began apologetically.

  “No, you don’t. I’m closing the gallery for today so that I can work on a sculpture without being disturbed,” Kel broke in, giving Echo a pointed look. Missy hugged him.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’m really hoping that all of this is over soon, and you guys can stop worrying about babysitting me.”

  “Gives us a great excuse to sample more of your cupcakes,” Echo grinned at her friend with tender affection.

  Chapter 12

  “I think we should get out of here and get some fresh air,” Echo announced after Carla and Kel left to get on with their day. “We can take the girls for a walk,” she suggested brightly.

  “I don’t know,” Missy hesitated. “What about Moose?” she asked, referring to Spencer’s cat, who had been left in Echo’s care, and was currently sitting in Missy’s lap, napping contentedly.

  “I went out and bought one of those baby backpacks to put him in so that I’d never have to leave him at home alone. He loves it, so I can just put him in his backpack and take him with us.”

  “Okay, that sounds great, actually. I need some sand, surf and sun,” Missy agreed, excited at the prospect of being able to get outside and clear her head without fear.

  She snapped the leashes onto Toffee’s and Bitsy’s collars, grabbed some plastic baggies to stuff in the pocket of her capris, just in case, and waited for Echo to strap Moose across the front of her. The giant cat looked adorable, resting his head under her chin, ready for a walk.

  There was a slight, deliciously cool breeze that carried the scent of the ocean to their nostrils, and they took deep breaths, setting off at a luxuriously slow pace, meandering down the beach, enjoying the sand under their feet while the dogs scampered and played.

 

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