Sweetheart Killer: Book 14 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series

by Summer Prescott

  “If you go to the second tab, you can see he also just left a one star review and negative comments

  for an excursion that he went on in St. Thomas. Said his poor wife almost got eaten by a shark or

  something.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Chas mused.

  “Huh?” the officer was puzzled.

  “Things are not always as they seem. Let me know if you find anything else,” the detective

  instructed, hearing the voices of the coroner and his assistant arriving on the scene.

  “Tim,” Chas said, shaking hands with the strange man whom he admired for his sharp wit and eye

  for detail. “Fiona.”

  “Always a pleasure, Detective,” she purred at him. Fiona’s flirtatious nature was well known in

  the law enforcement community. Fortunately, her ability to slay a hopeful suitor with one well-

  delivered glare or pithy remark was known as well.

  “I don’t know that there is foul play involved, but since an otherwise healthy man happened to

  drop dead without an obvious cause, I thought it would be a good idea to bring you in on this one,”

  Chas explained to Tim, who was already kneeling near the body.

  “There’s foul play involved,” the coroner said flatly, peering into the mouth of the deceased.

  “Wow, that was fast,” the detective’s eyebrows shot skyward. He shouldn’t be surprised. Tim’s

  powers of deduction tended to be quick and accurate. The man was almost never wrong.

  “It’s strange though…” Tim muttered to himself, holding Stewart’s lips apart so that Fiona could

  snap a series of pictures.

  “What’s strange?” Chas moved closer.

  “The tissues inside his mouth are inflamed, yet there’s significant evidence of heavy bleeding from

  his nose as well.”

  “Poison?”

  “Hard to say. If it is, it’s unlike anything that I’ve ever seen,” the coroner pursed his lips.

  “What are the other alternatives?” Chas felt a chill race up his spine.

  “I don’t know. Radiation? Biochemical agents? Hard to say,” Tim repeated, lost in thought.

  “Should I have a mask on?”

  “I think we should all have protective gear on, as a safety measure. Clear the area of anyone who

  doesn’t absolutely have to be here, and Fiona, call ahead to the morgue to let them know to prepare

  for a potentially contaminated corpse. We need to get samples to the lab,” the timid, pasty man

  took charge.

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  Stewart and Blanche Fiskin’s lovely home had been tested for air quality and radioactive elements,

  and had, as a precaution, been given a government approved cleansing after all evidence had been

  collected. Missy felt nervous going over to visit Blanche, after hearing about the potential hazards,

  but she knew it was the right thing to do, so she took some cupcakes over, neglecting to mention

  it to Chas, who needed to focus on the case.

  “Oh, Missy,” Blanche embraced her after opening the door. “It’s so good to see you.”

  The widow’s eyes looked tired, haunted. She was thinner than Missy had remembered, and her

  faint smile was but a shadow of her formerly sunny personality.

  “Blanche, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine how you must feel right now,” Missy followed her

  into the spotless house.

  “It was such a shock,” she shook her head. “I was out in Colorado visiting my sister, and I got a

  phone call from the police, requesting that I come home to discuss a matter involving Stewart. I

  thought he might’ve gotten into an argument with someone, he does that from time to time, and

  that they pressed charges,” Blanche sat numbly on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.

  Missy set the box of cupcakes that she’d been carrying on the coffee table, sat down and put her

  arm around the grieving woman’s shoulders.

  “But then…they…they told me that he…I just couldn’t…” the widow burst into tears. “I’m sorry,

  I’ve been a wreck. A blubbering fool, ever since I found out that I lost him,” she shook her head,

  pressing a lace-edged handkerchief to her reddened nose.

  “Oh, don’t apologize, honey,” Missy cooed, squeezing her shoulders. “It’s perfectly

  understandable. You’re grieving. These things take time to heal.”

  “My life will never be the same,” Blanche’s breath came in small, hitching gasps.

  “Well, I’m here for you. I just want you to know that. Can I fix you some tea or something? I

  brought cupcakes with me, because they have a funny way of going down easy, even when you

  don’t feel like eating.”

  “Heavens no. You’re my guest, it wouldn’t be right for you to fix my tea, but I’d love it if you kept

  me company while I make some.”

  The two women went to the sunny, yet somehow cold, white marble kitchen, and Missy put

  cupcakes on plates while Blanche brewed some tea.

  “Do you know…how it happened yet?” Missy asked, settling back into the living room with her

  tea and a Sweetheart cupcake, left over from Valentine’s Day.

  Blanche shook her head. “No, but I’m just terrified with all this talk of radiation and chemical

  something or other,” she sighed, then, to be polite, took a bite of her cupcake.

  “Oh goodness, this is delicious,” she said, savoring the bite.

  “Thanks, I’m glad you think so. This was my Valentine’s Day Sweetheart recipe,” Missy

  explained, nearly smacking her forehead after realizing what she just said.

  “Wish I could’ve shared one of these with Stewie,” was the soft reply, as Blanche took another

  bite. “This is the first thing I’ve been able to choke down since I’ve been back. What’s in them?”

  “It’s a dark chocolate cupcake, filled with cinnamon cream cheese,” Missy explained, recognizing

  that the grieving woman was trying to talk about something that wouldn’t make her cry.

  “And the frosting is so fluffy,” Blanche observed. “Pink is my favorite color,” she held the cupcake

  up to look at it, then took another bite.

  “Mine, too,” Missy admitted with a smile.

  “Did your detective do something nice for you for Valentine’s Day?”

  “Well, we celebrated while we were on the cruise, then he sent me flowers when we got back.”

  “So sweet,” Blanche teared up again. “I’m so glad that Stewie and I had one last chance to spend

  time together before this awful thing happened.”

  “You have wonderful memories,” Missy agreed. “And Chas is working really hard to get to the

  bottom of this,” she assured the widow.

  “Thank him for me, won’t you?” Blanche asked.

  “Of course.”

  Missy finished her tea, and after a few more hugs and insistences that the widow should call upon

  her if she needed anything, she went home, grateful that her beloved husband was alive and well,

  if a bit stressed at getting a major case to work on while trying to transition out of the department.

  **

  “So you’re on board then?” Chas asked Spencer, as the two men reclined by the pool behind the

  Inn, beers on ice between them.

  “You got it, boss. I’ve been feeling a bit…” he struggled to find the words.

  “Underutilized?” Chas supplied helpfully.

  “Exactly. I’ve been feeling underutilized these days, so I think that a little private investigation

  work on the side might be just what I need.”

  �
�You’ve had the best training in the world, Chalmers saw to that. There’s no reason that we

  shouldn’t be putting it to good use.”

  “What about personal security for you and Missy? I can’t just leave you here unprotected,” the

  Marine pointed out.

  “Chalmers said that he’d take care of it, whatever that means,” Chas chuckled.

  “That means that he’ll be sending Paddy, or someone else from Beckett Holdings’ security team

  to keep an eye on things when I have to travel,” Spencer explained.

  “That’s pretty much what I figured,” the detective nodded. “I’ve got your first assignment ready

  for you.”

  “That didn’t take long. You’re not even off the force yet. I’m guessing it’s the Stewart Fiskin

  thing?”

  “Bingo,” Chas touched his nose. “I told the department that they could hire my firm for this one, so that I could work here while you traveled to gather evidence.”

  “Traveled? Where am I going?”

  “St. Thomas. Think you can handle it?” he teased.

  “Oh, if I have to,” the Marine grinned.

  “You familiar with the area?”

  “Yep.”

  “Gonna tell me how you’re familiar with the area?”

  “Nope, classified.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?” Chas chuckled.

  **

  Chas had spoken with the CEO of the cruise line, managing to book Spencer into the exact same

  stateroom that the Fiskins had occupied a week earlier, and schedules had been shuffled to ensure

  that Putu would be his cabin attendant, all free of charge. The ship, which had been in port for the

  past week for a repair to some of the computer systems onboard, was taking the same route as last

  time, which would give Spencer ample opportunities to speak with anyone who might’ve come

  into contact Stewart and Blanche Fiskin.

  While he knew that he’d be working, the Marine was secretly glad for the chance to get away. In

  his down time, he’d do some soul-searching, and might be able to work toward

  healing his wounded soul. There was a gym onboard, so he’d be able to stick to his workout

  routine, and the buffets would supply him with plenty of fresh, healthy food so that he could

  recharge for a bit. Without knowing it, Chas had done him a favor in giving him his first

  assignment, and he was determined to make the most of it.

  **

  “Hello, my name is Putu. I am your cabin attendant. I’m here to make your stay as wonderful as

  possible,” the smiling man greeted Spencer, taking his bags and bringing them into the cabin.

  “You come very highly recommended, Putu,” Spencer shook his hand, taking his bags.

  The attendant definitely didn’t need to see the equipment that it contained. An oversized safe had

  been requested for his journey, and he’d put his things in it whenever he was out of his room.

  “Thank you, sir. My reviews are among the highest on the ship, and I make sure that they stay that

  way,” he nodded.

  “Really?” the innocuous statement caught Spencer’s attention. “And how do you accomplish that,

  exactly?” his cobalt eyes fastened on the man.

  “By…uh…always providing top notch customer service, of course, sir,” his smile faltered a bit. “I

  take very good care of my guests.”

  “Good to know,” Spencer replied with a brief smile.

  “I’ll be back in a moment with snacks and a cocktail. Is there anything else that I can do for you,

  sir?” Putu asked, backing out of the room.

  “No, I don’t need snacks or cocktails, thanks. I’ll just grab a water out of the minibar.”

  “Shall I pour it for you?”

  “Nah, I’m good, thanks anyway.”

  “Certainly, sir. There is fresh ice in your ice bucket. Please let me know if there’s anything that

  you need.”

  “Will do.”

  Spencer was anxious to explore the cabin to see if, despite a thorough cleaning, the Fiskins had

  left any clues behind. When he reached into the refrigerator for his water, he pulled out one of the

  cheese drawers and found that it bound a bit. Taking a flashlight and shining it up under the shelf

  attached to the drawer, he saw what looked like a forgotten grape wedged into the track, but it was

  too narrow a space for him to try to retrieve it, so he just shut the drawer carefully and opened his

  water.

  His search revealed nothing that seemed out of the ordinary, so he headed out to some of the other

  decks to speak with personnel who, based upon receipts from the Fiskins’ cruise, may have

  interacted with Stewart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  Chas flashed his badge at the guard in the small white shack, and the tall metal gate groaned,

  sliding back onto itself so that he could drive through.

  “I’m here to see…Chet Hegstrom,” the detective consulted his notes, once inside.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard nodded. “Take a left after that first metal building, and you’ll see a grey trailer

  on your right. Mr. Hegstrom’s office is in there,” he pointed.

  “Thanks,” Chas lifted a hand in acknowledgment and slid his window closed, enjoying the brief

  respite that his air conditioner provided from the humid day.

  He parked his unmarked, bland, beige sedan in front of the trailer, mounted the aluminum steps

  and knocked on the door.

  “What?” a surly voice shouted from inside.

  “Calgon PD,” Chas announced, opening the door and flashing his badge.

  “Oh. Sorry about that. I’m trying to get everything in order for tax season, and the warehouse guys

  keep coming in here,” the heavyset, balding man behind the desk explained.

  “Chet Hegstrom?” the detective verified.

  “That’s me,” the man nodded.

  “Detective Chas Beckett, homicide.”

  “Have a seat, Detective. What can I do for ya?” the man seemed harried, but not rude.

  “I need to ask you a few questions about your employer, Stewart Fiskin.”

  “Yeah, terrible thing,” Chet nodded with seemingly ersatz sympathy.

  “Did you get along well with Mr. Fiskin?”

  “As well as anybody could, I suppose,” Hegstrom shrugged.

  “What does that mean?” Chas probed.

  “Well, I don’t know if you ever met the guy, but he wasn’t the easiest person to work with, that’s

  for sure,” Hegstrom confided.

  “How so?”

  “He micromanaged, he bullied, he yelled…a lot. Even if you kept your head down and did what

  you were supposed to do, he could go off on you on a whim,” Chet held up his hands in a gesture

  of helplessness.

  “Was there anyone in particular who seemed to have a serious problem with him?”

  “Take a number,” Hegstrom scoffed. “Nobody liked Fiskin. Nobody.”

  “Did he ever carry it further than verbal abuse?”

  “I’ve heard stories that he had no problem shoving around the warehouse guys.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, Mr. Fiskin seemed to be in good shape, but he was getting

  on in years. I would think that a young, strong warehouseman would be able to hold his own in a

  physical struggle.”

  “Not if he wanted to keep his job. I live in the real world, Detective, and lemme tell ya, it’s tough

  out there. Fiskin was a tightwad, but he also paid overtime, and these guys would be hard pressed

  to find another warehouse job around
here where that was the case.”

  “How many are on staff here?”

  “Fifty-two, counting me.”

  “Anyone in particular that you think might be worth talking to?”

  Chet Hegstrom thought for a moment, then sighed. “Check with Paul Sanchez.”

  “Do you have a work schedule so that I can see who works when?”

  “Sure, it’ll take a minute, but I can print it up for you.”

  “Perfect. Can you print me last week’s schedule as well?”

  “Not a problem,” Chet rose from his desk and turned on the printer, then typed with one finger.

  The ancient printer groaned into service and began chug-chugging copies from its smudged grey

  mouth. After what seemed like an eternity, it powered down and Chet handed the stack of pages

  to Chas.

  “There you go – dates are at the top.”

  “Great, thanks. I’ll interview some of these folks, and there’ll be other officers who speak to the

  rest. I’ll be in touch,” Chas shook Chet’s hand, noticing that it seemed oddly clammy.

  **

  Paul Sanchez, the warehouse supervisor with whom Chet had suggested Chas should speak, wasn’t

  on duty the next day, so the detective decided to pay him a visit at home. The thirty-five year old

  single man lived in one of Calgon’s few seedy neighborhoods. Yards were overgrown and often

  strewn with trash and toys, and bleached-out houses were shabby, with peeling paint and windows

  that seemed to sag in the relentless Florida sun.

  Chas parked in front of a mint green, ranch style hovel that had weeds growing out of the sidewalk

  and torn screens at the windows and door. There was a rusted car with bald tires in the drive, and

  the detective hoped that was an indication that Paul was home. He knocked on the door and heard

  bumps, thumps and voices whispering from inside. On a hunch, he slipped around the side of the

  house and saw a man stepping out of the back door.

  When the man spotted Chas, he took off at a sprint, leaping to try and clear a chain link fence that

  enclosed the yard. Chas let himself in through the side gate, dashed to where the man had gotten