“It’ll be my pleasure,” Kel said, taking out his wallet and heading for the maître d. He paid for Frieda’s exorbitant lunch without a qualm, and sped toward the Beach House.
Heading straight for Spencer’s apartment, the artist pounded on the door. When the young Marine didn’t answer, Kel sought out Maggie to see where he might be. She directed him to the pool area, where Spencer was testing the PH levels of the water.
“Hey, Mr. Kellerman,” he greeted Kel, wiping his hands on his pants. “What can I do for you?”
“You and Beau drove Mr. Perkins to the airport, yes?”
“Yeah, we took him to ship a bunch of boxes out first though. Man, that dude had a ton of stuff. Why?”
“What kind of stuff?” Kel asked, seeming in a hurry.
“He said it was office supplies,” Spencer shrugged.
“Where did you go to ship his boxes?”
“Marvelous Mailer,” the Marine answered slowly.
“Who was working when you went in?”
“I have no idea. Some lady.”
“Was she tall, with purplish hair?” Kel asked impatiently.
“Yeah, she was, now that I think about it,” Spencer nodded.
“Come with me,” Kel beckoned, heading to his car.
“Where are we going?”
“To solve a murder,” the artist answered mysteriously.
Spencer texted Maggie from the car to let her know where he had gone, and that he’d be back soon. When they arrived at Marvelous Mailer, Dora Hartshorn was standing at the register.
“Dora, my lovely, how delightful to see you,” Kel fawned over the overly made-up fifty something broad behind the counter.
“Phillip Kellerman…I haven’t seen you in ages,” Dora cooed, batting her eyes in a manner that she quite obviously thought was fetching. “What can I do for you, gorgeous?”
“Do you remember when this young man came in with a rather quiet but dapper fellow to ship several large, heavy boxes?” he asked, referring to Spencer.
“I sure do. That was my biggest sale this week, and I’d never forget someone who looked like that young man,” she attempted to flirt with Spencer. He gave her a weak smile.
“I don’t suppose you recall who those boxes were mailed to, do you?” Kel leaned on the counter, smiling flirtatiously.
“I’m really not supposed to give out that information, you know,” Dora whispered, batting her eyes like psychotic butterflies. “But then again, if I happened to accidentally drop an invoice on the floor, and you helped me out by being a gentleman and picking it up, I really can’t control what you might see on there,” she said coyly, twisting a lock of her purplish hair.
“I am a gentleman,” Kel nodded with a knowing smile.
“Let me see what I can find,” Dora sashayed over to the file cabinet, and withdrew a yellow carbon slip from a file, bending over in a way that she thought was provocative. Spencer politely looked away, finding the display of bubble wrap to be suddenly fascinating, and Kel swallowed hard, pretending to be enchanted.
“Oopsies,” she cooed, bringing her hands to her face in mock-surprise after dropping the yellow slip on the floor.
“Let me help you with that, dear lady,” Kel said, playing his part. He stooped down and picked up the sheet of paper, looking at the go-to address. He looked at Spencer and nodded.
“Thank you so much for humoring an old man and delighting me with your charm, as always,” Kel bowed at the waist and kissed her wrinkled hand, her nails ablaze with bright orange polish.
“Anytime, Phillip Kellerman. I mean it…anytime,” she called out as they closed the door behind them.
Neither of the men said anything until they got into the car.
Kel turned to Spencer. “Now, we call in Detective Beckett.”
“You’re a pretty wily dude, Kel,” the Marine teased.
“Takes one to know one, young man,” he replied with a smirk, keeping his eyes on the road.
Chapter 17
“So, all of my brilliant sleuthing was for naught,” Kel complained to Echo and Missy.
“Not at all,” Missy assured him. “Chas suspected Allen Perkins because he had a large scratch on his hand, and when he ran the DNA that was underneath poor Moose’s claws, he came up with matches for both Allen and Beau, because they’d both been scratched. The thing that really made him wonder was when he opened the door for Mr. Perkins so that he could carry a big box up to his room.”
“Why would that have made him suspicious?” Echo asked.
“Because he said it smelled faintly…” Missy looked uncomfortable.
“Of what?” Kel was curious.
“Of blood,” she shuddered. “So he went to Ohio to check some things out, and when we called him with the news that Allen Perkins had shipped the boxes to himself, but used the name Alan Newman, he knew that he had his man.”
“So poor Cassie was killed by her only living relative,” the artist shook his head sadly.
“What made you suspect Allen in the first place?” Echo asked, thinking that her boss was craftier than she gave him credit for being.
“After I spoke with him for the first time, I happened to mention to Velma Myers at the farmer’s market that I had run into someone who had grown up here and was thinking about moving back. When I described Allen to her, she said that she thought he sounded like someone her daughter had dated back in high school, who belonged to one of the “beach home” families in town. Well, then, wouldn’t you know, I ran into Velma’s daughter the next day at the florist, and it turns out that she had dated a young man named Alan Newman. I filed the info away in my brain and didn’t do anything with it until it started looking more and more like Beau was going to be nabbed for the crime.”
“Why didn’t you think that Beau was guilty?” Missy asked. “Everything pointed toward him being the murderer.”
“Which would make it way too easy, for one thing. If you like reading mysteries, you’ll note that it’s never the obvious person who commits the crime,” he said smugly. “But, aside from that, Beau Garrity was a petty thief. He stole from the Thai Hut, and he stole from Spencer, and if we want to get analytical about it, he actually stole from his mother and sister by leaving them in the lurch when they needed him most. Petty thieves don’t typically graduate quite that quickly from misdemeanors to felonies. He had neither the sophistication, nor the smarts to plan and execute something on that large of a scale.”
“Wow, you’re pretty darn smart for a creative type,” Echo teased, but with admiration. “Did Chas tell you that he figured out that it wasn’t Beau who was stalking me the other night?”
“So, who was it?” Kel asked.
“My nasty new neighbor,” she sighed. “Chas found one of his cigarette butts right under my window. I’m just glad he didn’t burn my house down.”
“What are you going to do?” Missy asked, wide-eyed.
“Nothing at the moment. Chas sent one of his guys over to have a little chat with Stalker Steve, so I don’t think he’ll be bothering me anymore,” she grinned mischievously.
“I don’t know,” Missy worried. “I still hate it that you’re living next door to that nasty man.”
“If you need me to pose as your fake date again, let me know. I’ll work it into my schedule,” Kel teased.
“Thanks, I’ll get back to you on that,” Echo said dryly.
“So, what was the deal with Spencer’s shoes? Why did they take them as evidence? And did he ever get them back?” Kel changed the subject.
“There were footprints that closely, but not exactly, matched Spencer’s and Beau’s shoes in the house, along with little bits of white paint. Spencer and Beau had been painting the fence, so the police just assumed that there was a connection,” Missy explained.
“But, if they didn’t do it…why were their footprints all over the place? How did they get there?” Echo frowned.
“They didn’t. Part of the reason that Chas went
to Ohio was to search Alan’s house. When he did, with the help of the local police department, he discovered, not only all of Cassie’s treasures, but also, a pair of running shoes that were nearly identical to the ones worn by Spencer and Beau. Because Alan had walked behind the fence that the guys had been painting, he got paint on his running shoes and tracked it into his aunt’s house when he killed her.”
“So he did that almost immediately after his arrival?” Echo was appalled.
“Apparently. Which means…”
“That it was premeditated,” Kel finished for her. “His sentencing could be rather…stiff.”
Missy nodded, horrified at the entire situation.
“I found out some interesting news as a result of this nasty business,” Kel said, standing to go.
“What’s that?” Echo asked.
“The very kind widow, Cassie Bielman, willed all of the pieces that she had purchased from me, back to me, so they will be returning to my collection,” he announced.
“Aww…that was sweet of her,” Missy smiled.
“Additionally…much to her nephew’s surprise, I’m sure. She did not leave her estate to him. She left it, in its entirety to her cat, Moose. It is to be used to ensure that he has the best of care for the duration of his life, with any remaining funds to be donated to the Loving Arms shelter upon his death.”
Echo chuckled. “That’s awesome.” Kel waved as he left.
“I wonder if Spencer will still be able to keep him,” Missy said, taking the empty mugs and plates to the kitchen.
“I don’t see why not. The poor kitty doesn’t have any living relatives. But does that mean…” her eyes widened.
“Our favorite Marine may just have become a very wealthy man,” Missy nodded.
Chapter 18
“I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am that all of that murder ugliness is over,” Missy sighed contentedly as she and Chas enjoyed an intimate dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant. “I hated looking at Spencer, knowing that he was suspected of a crime. He’d never do such a thing.”
“Fortunately, he had faith in the system and knew that we’d uncover the truth. You and Kel are really becoming an asset in solving crime,” he complimented his wife, gazing at her with unvarnished admiration.
“Well, I’ve always liked mysteries,” she shrugged. “I just never dreamed I’d ever be this close to someone who deals with them for a living.”
“Guess we make a great team in everything,” the detective grinned, twining his fingers with hers.
“Yes we do,” she agreed. “Maybe you should hire Kel,” she teased.
“We’re actually fully staffed,” Chas held up his hands, making Missy laugh out loud.
“So what’s new at the Inn?” he asked, twirling pasta Alfredo around the tines of his fork.
“We just had a party of six reserve a bank of rooms and the ballroom for their holiday party next week,” Missy’s eyes sparkled at the thought. She loved parties and holidays, and when the two met, it was pure bliss.
“Sounds like fun. Hopefully, things will settle down enough for me to attend.”
“Oh, I hope so, I bought you the most dreadful holiday sweater that I could find,” she giggled.
“Well, lookie here – aren’t you two just the shweeetest pairr,” a familiar female voice slurred loudly. Missy and Chas looked up to see Missy’s friend and decorator, Carla Mayhew, staggering toward their table. The poor woman had lost her husband and son a few months ago, and sometimes coped with her loneliness and pain by drinking.
“Carla, I haven’t seen you in so long,” Missy got out of her chair to hug her friend.
“Yeah, I noticed. You avoiding me or what?” the decorator stumbled when Missy released her.
“Oh dear. Uh, no, of course not, I’ve just been busy with holiday preparations and the Inn, you know how it is. Won’t you join us?” she offered, casting Chas an apologetic glance.
“And be the third wheel? No. Besides, I can find a date. In a classy place like thisss…I can find a good date,” Carla insisted, her inebriation painfully evident.
“You know what?” Missy had an inspiration. “I could really use some girl time. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even thought about sitting down long enough to watch a movie or anything. If you’re not busy tonight, we can have Chas drop us off at your place. I’ll make some popcorn and we can watch a chick flick, what do you think?” she asked, knowing by the concerned look on her husband’s face that he’d understand.
“You pity me. I doan want yer pity,” she frowned.
“Oh no, sweetie, it’s not pity. I could really use some down time,” Missy insisted.
“Really?” Carla swayed, and Missy reached out a hand to steady her.
“Really. We were just about to box up our stuff and head home because there’s a totally boring sports thing that Chas is just dying to watch,” Missy lied, her husband loving her more every second.
“Okay,” the decorator tried to nod and staggered sideways. “I gotta pee first,” she said, lurching toward the direction of the bathroom.
“Go,” Chas said quietly. “I’ll take care of this,” he gestured at the food. “We need to get her home.”
“Again,” Missy sighed.
She hurried to the ladies room and heard Carla’s painful retching before she ever opened the door.
“Carla, are you okay?” she knocked on the door of the stall.
“Leave me ‘lone,” came the pitiful reply.
“I’m here sweetie,” Missy said. “I’m going to go get you some water and I’ll be right back.”
She hurried out of the bathroom and got a large glass of ice water from a passing waiter. By the time she returned, Carla was leaning heavily on the sink, peering at her mascara smeared reflection in the mirror.
“Here you go,” Missy said, handing her the water. “Do you feel okay?”
“Do I look okay?” her drunken friend challenged. “Just take me home and leave me alone,” she muttered.
Chas managed to help her to the car without further incident, and stopped a couple of times on the way to Carla’s so that she could rid herself of some of the alcohol in her system. When they got to her house, she refused to let them come in, insisting that she could take care of herself. Missy was clearly worried on the way home.
“I hope she’s okay.”
“Well, this certainly isn’t the first time she’s handled this,” Chas reminded his tender-hearted wife.
“I know. I just wish that there was something I could do.”
“Maybe you should talk to her about rehab,” he suggested.
“That won’t be a fun conversation,” she sighed.
“The important ones rarely are.”
“You know, seeing someone else whose life is out of control makes my heart hurt, but it also makes me realize just how fortunate I am. I have the world’s best, most loving husband, a successful business, the best friends ever. Life is so good. I want it to be good for Carla too.”
“You’re a good friend to her, honey. I know you’ll be able to help her work it out.”
“I sure hope so. I’ll start by helping her live through her hangover tomorrow. I’ll get her up and moving, make her eat, and bring her over to help me plan the party that we’re having next week.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Chas nodded. “She’s lucky to have you in her life…and so am I.”
Missy smiled at her husband. “Nope, I’m the lucky one,” she said, and laid her head on his shoulder.
Copyright 2015 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved.
A letter from the Author
To each and every one of my Amazing readers: I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think by leaving a review!
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Summer Prescott
Gingerbread Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 21 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Page 6