Strawberry Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 13 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries)

by Carol Durand

  She looked around the kitchen and found nothing out of place. No dirty dishes in the sink, no teabags in a dish by the stove. Looking around the living room, she froze in place when she heard a soft scrape on the floor upstairs, directly above her in Echo’s bedroom. Listening carefully, she called out, “Hello? Echo?” and tiptoed up the stairs, heart pounding wildly. Feeling more than a little bit vulnerable, she crept slowly up the stairs, still straining to hear. The sound that she had heard didn’t repeat, but she knew that it had been more than a mere figment of her imagination. Something, or someone was in the house, and she had to find out what the source of the sound had been.

  Watching for movement or shadows, she reached the top of the stairs, moving toward Echo’s bedroom. Her door was closed, filling Missy with foreboding. She put her hand on the antique brass knob, turning it slowly and wincing at the creaking sound that seemed to reverberate through the upstairs. Opening the door, she immediately spotted something that gave her cause for concern. The bed was made, the shades were down and the curtains drawn. Everything was in place and as it should be with the exception of Echo’s “delicates” drawer, which had been pulled completely out of her dresser and dumped on the floor, its contents strewn about as though someone had pawed through them, looking for something. Missy felt a chill creeping up her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck rose in alarm. A floorboard creaked immediately behind her and she spun to face the intruder just as a searing pain stabbed into her neck and everything went black.

  Chapter 9

  Chas Beckett tossed a thick file folder onto his desk, disgusted and worried. Missy had been missing for two days now, and he had no leads as to where she might be or why. Forensics had turned up nothing conclusive as yet, and the spots of blood on Echo’s bedroom floor and back porch had escalated his concern. Echo had withdrawn a few thousand dollars from her bank account the morning after Brad Parker’s murder, and neither she, nor her boyfriend Frank had been seen since. Traces were requested for any credit cards and cell phones that either of them might have, but so far nothing had turned up that would give any indication of where they might be. As much as it pained him to think so, Chas was beginning to believe that not only had Frank killed Brad, but apparently Echo was determined to cover for him and help him avoid arrest. The thing that kept giving him pause for thought was the fact that he knew how much Echo loved Missy. No matter what she had become involved in, he simply couldn’t believe that she would allow her friend to be hurt or kidnapped.

  The detective had gone to Missy’s house when she failed to answer her phone, after repeated attempts at trying to contact her, and found her dogs patiently waiting for her to get home. He kept food, toys and bedding at his house for them because they visited often, so he snapped their leashes on, took them for a short walk, then loaded them into his car, taking them home with him until Missy returned. He held on to the slim hope that she had merely tried to take matters into her own hands and had gone somewhere to investigate. Unfortunately, he also knew that she’d never ignore his calls or abandon her furry babies, so that scenario seemed highly unlikely. He had been working tirelessly, day and night, since her disappearance – she was the love of his life and he wouldn’t rest until he had found her and brought her to safety.

  **

  Missy’s throat hurt badly. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Her mouth was stuffed with some sort of coarse fabric that had sucked every bit of moisture from her mouth. Her head ached abominably, and a tight cloth tied around her eyes prevented her from opening them. Because she couldn’t see, she listened, and heard absolutely nothing – no sounds of cars, or people, or appliances running, or any of the typical noises that one would associate with normal life. Her hands were bound behind her, and her wrists ached, chafing against what felt like duct tape, and she was lying on a firm but squishy surface that felt like an aging couch and smelled of dust and wear. Too exhausted and dehydrated to cry, she tried to think about how she had gotten into her current predicament, and couldn’t put a coherent thought together, collapsing into unconsciousness from the effort.

  A dark figure opened the door of the cabin. The man moved quietly, placing sacks of groceries and supplies on the counter in the kitchen. He put each item in a specific place for a specific reason, then moved to the daybed where the blonde woman who had interrupted him lay sleeping. He had been injecting her with tranquilizers stolen from a veterinary office periodically so that she wouldn’t have to suffer through the sensory deprivation that he insisted upon. He had to keep her quiet and he had to keep her immobile until his purpose had been served, then she would be of no consequence to him.

  Chapter 10

  Echo dug her toes into the sugar-white sand and sighed. This vacation had not turned out at all the way she’d expected. When Frank had impulsively suggested that it would do both of them good to travel and relax for a while, she’d agreed, even letting him convince her to “really get away from it all” by leaving her cell phone in a kitchen drawer, along with his. The trip had started out with her feeling wild and carefree, taking off without a backward glance to live life with a sense of abandon that she hadn’t felt in a very long time, but now she found herself beginning to wonder if her best friend, Missy might not have been at least a little bit right about Frank and his possessive and controlling ways.

  They had driven through Mississippi and Alabama, taking their time, spending the night in a nice hotel and ordering room service for breakfast before getting back on the road, headed for Georgia and ultimately Florida. They’d stopped at antique malls, tourist attractions and roadside fruit and vegetable stands, meandering their way east and south, getting closer and closer to their destination. It seemed to Echo that the closer they got to Key West, the more uptight Frank became.

  “Most people go on vacation to relax,” she had teased, receiving a rather stony silence in return.

  Passing his strange behavior off as “first-trip-together-as-a-couple jitters, she had tried to be more attentive and entertaining, but nothing seemed to help, so she fell quiet, determined to enjoy the scenery and experiences whether Frank did or not. It was a relief to finally arrive at their private beach rental so that she wouldn’t have to endure the weird silence as the miles flew by. She planned to read books, sunbathe, swim and go for long walks. If Frank chose to participate, she’d be glad, if not, that was his choice and she wasn’t going to let that ruin her vacation.

  The beach house was fully stocked with food, linens and everything they’d need for the two weeks that they planned on spending there. Although their location was completely private, there were several restaurants and shopping areas within bicycling distance, and Echo looked forward to visiting them. They arrived late in the evening on their first day, so rather than going out for dinner, they opted to stay in and nibble on some of the prepared salads that their rental host had thoughtfully provided. They walked on the beach in the moonlight, holding hands, and all was well…until the next day.

  Echo had enjoyed their lazy breakfast and reading on a beach lounger sipping mimosas, but when she finished her book, she was ready to explore. Frank didn’t want to get sunburned, so after a few minutes on a lounger, he had retreated to the living room to watch TV. Brushing the sand from her feet, Echo padded into the beach house, sitting next to him on the couch and giving him a kiss.

  “You know, we’re going to have to pay for damages if you stain the couch with suntan lotion,” he grumbled, backing away.

  “It’s non-staining…I always get that kind,” Echo replied, surprised.

  “Good,” he said, staring at the television and changing channels.

  “Frank, is there something wrong? You’ve been acting very strangely, and if I’ve done something that has upset you, just let me know so that we can talk about it,” she said, placing a hand gently on his bicep.

  The clearly stressed man sighed. “Nothing is wrong. I’m on vacation and I just want to sit and watch some TV in peace and quiet, i
s that too much to ask?” he complained.

  Echo pursed her lips and took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. She couldn’t understand why the man who had wooed her for several weeks had now turned into this brooding stranger. “My understanding was that this vacation was going to be about spending time together and exploring our relationship,” she said, giving him a pointed look.

  He looked at her, annoyed at first, then seeming to soften. “Look, doll, I’m sorry, okay? It was a long drive and I just need to catch up on some rest, then I’ll be ready to get up and go do things with you. I need to decompress for a bit, but I don’t mind at all if you want to go explore. I’ll be here when you get back – take lots of pictures,” he smiled, kissing the tip of her nose and considering the matter settled.

  “Okay,” Echo replied, at least somewhat satisfied with his explanation. Truth be told, she was actually looking forward to taking her time and exploring the shops and restaurants that made the area famous. If she went by herself, she wouldn’t feel rushed, and could linger in a coffee shop all afternoon if she felt like it, enjoying the tropical breezes.

  **

  Echo had lost track of time – delighted that there was so much to see and do. She’d meandered aimlessly from shop to shop, stopping occasionally for coffee, gelato and key lime pie. She’d talked with locals and tourists alike, and even received an invitation to a beach party later on in the week. By the time she mounted her bike to head back to the beach house, it was nearly dinner time, so she stopped and picked up a large bucket of steamed clams, which rode proudly in her bike basket. She strolled into the house, bearing her bounty of the sea, and couldn’t find Frank anywhere. She went from room to room, calling his name, before finally venturing outside to find him sitting under a beach umbrella on a lounger, staring out to sea.

  “Hey there,” she called, swinging her bucket of clams in one hand, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses in the other.

  “Where have you been?” he asked without looking at her, his voice deadly quiet.

  “I went into town, you knew that,” she said deflated. “You said you wouldn’t mind at all,” she reminded him, her voice faintly accusing.

  “And what were you doing?” he still stared out at the ocean.

  “I shopped, I stopped for coffee and pie, I met some really fun people, who…”

  “Fun people?” he cut her off. “You mean men. You met fun men, and spent time with them. That’s what you really meant, isn’t it?” he accused coldly, finally turning to look at her with disapproval.

  Echo was done. She recognized a domineering, possessive man when she saw one, and she had left that type of life behind a long time ago. “No, I said that I met fun people, and that’s exactly what I meant. Fun. People. How dare you presume to accuse me?” she snarled. “It was your idea to come on this vacation, your idea to just drop everything and get away, and you’ve been nothing but a rude, controlling, bastard the entire trip. I’m sick of it, and I’m leaving,” she finished, making an on-the-spot decision.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

  “Watch me,” she shot back, slogging through the soft, fine sand back to the house.

  She went into the bedroom, pulled out her suitcase and snatched her clothes out of drawers and off of hangers, throwing them in. She then went through the same process with her toiletries, tossing them carelessly into her makeup bag. She planned to either ride a bike, which could prove difficult with her baggage, or walk to town, then take a taxi back to the mainland where she could catch a flight home. They had driven Frank’s car down, so he could find his own way back…or not, for all she cared. Echo had fled from California to escape a man much like Frank Capetti, and she wasn’t even going to think twice about leaving. Picking up her bags, and sliding her feet into sandals, she headed for the door, where Frank stood waiting for her, with a smart phone in his hand.

  “The house is a smart house,” he said, his eyes cold. “I control all of the locks, doors and windows from this phone. Like I said before, you’re not going anywhere,” he stepped toward her as her bags hit the floor with a thud.

  Chapter 11

  Chas Beckett was more worried and more puzzled than ever. He’d done some investigating and found out that Frank Capetti had quite a dark past. His parents had died of undetermined causes when he was young, so he spent the bulk of his childhood in various orphanages and foster homes, bouncing around from home to home like a human ping-pong ball and getting in trouble wherever he went. He’d done jail time for everything from drugs to burglary, but perhaps the most alarming thing was that he’d also been arrested multiple times for domestic violence. Some of his victims had been so badly abused that they’d ended up in the hospital.

  It was a pretty good assumption that Echo was most likely with him, since they’d disappeared at the same time, and Missy might also be in his clutches, having disappeared a day later. The thing that didn’t add up was Brad’s murder. Jealousy had been established as Capetti’s motive for beating up the women in his life, but he’d never killed anyone and never so much as assaulted a man, choosing to bruise and bully the women who loved him instead.

  Capetti hadn’t been lying about writing text books, that actually is what he did for a living, but another disturbing fact that Chas had unearthed about the unsavory character was that the current focus of his work was in psychology, sociology and criminal behavior. So, not only did Capetti already have the tendency to inflict physical harm upon others, he most likely was also highly educated in how to manipulate others emotionally in order to build trust so that they’d willingly but unwittingly put themselves in harm’s way at his hand.

  Bitsy had curled up around the detective’s feet as he sat in his home office staring at reports and lab work so long that the words on the page blurred, and Toffee came over and laid her head in his lap, gazing up at him with warm, chocolatey eyes.

  “I know girl, I miss her too,” he said, stroking the golden’s silky ears. “I’ll bring her back, I promise.”

  Chapter 12

  Missy was groggy and so ridiculously thirsty. She had torturous dreams of crawling through the desert, her hands raw from desert scrub and her throat and eyes blistered by sand, waking to find that, although the source was different, the result was the same. Her thoughts had cleared to a degree that she could make the decision that something had to give. She felt her life ebbing away from her and knew that she couldn’t continue putting up with these conditions and expect to live. Listening for any sound that would indicate that someone was about, she heard nothing and decided that it was now or never – she had to try to free herself, or die trying.

  She felt the same type of cushion on which she was lying, rise up beside her to her right, which meant that if she truly were on a couch, there should be an edge to her left. Using what meager strength she had, she scooted her body to the left, inch by inch, until she felt an edge. Her limbs tingled with misuse, but she continued scooting over until she could swing her legs over and rest them on the floor. The effort made her head swim and she stayed very still, recovering for a bit before attempting to sit up.

  Gathering her strength for what seemed like a Herculean task, Missy struggled and strained and finally sat upright, panting with exertion. Dismayed that she couldn’t see, not even knowing whether it was day or night, she was determined to find her way out of her current circumstances. Scooting her bottom close to the edge and then over it, she slid carefully down to the floor, her knuckles scraping against rough wood planks. She rested for a moment, and then, encouraged by her progress thus far, began scooting along to her left, keeping her back against the couch, looking for something that she could scrape her wrists against to cut through the tape that bound her.

  She bumped along the perimeter of the room slowly, running into various objects, none of which had any sharp surfaces that she could use. She worked her way along a wall next to the couch, noting that the surface changed from what
felt like a smooth type of paneling, to a stone texture that morphed into a fireplace. The hearth of the fireplace had a sharp, rough corner that should work nicely and she moved her hands up and down behind her back, trying to cut through. The tape was thicker and stronger than she had anticipated, and sweat beaded her brow before she finally heard the gratifying sound of threads beginning to snap.

  Missy heard what sounded like car tires crunching on a gravel road and her efforts became more frenzied. There was no turning back now. If her captor came back and found that she was attempting to escape, he’d either drug her again, or simply kill her. Her survival depended on breaking through those bonds in the next few seconds, and she pistoned her arms frantically up and down, tearing through flesh as well as tape in a desperate effort to free herself. She heard a key jiggling in a lock in a door to her left, and grunted out a last bit of strength, finally tearing through her bonds. She had just torn the blindfold from her eyes and removed the rag from her mouth when she heard the door open and sunlight poured into the rough cabin.

  “Well now,” said a man whose face she couldn’t see because he was so brightly backlit while standing in the doorway. “This just won’t do,” he shook his head. “This won’t do at all.”

  He approached her slowly and reached toward her. Instinct took over when Missy saw the stubby-fingered hand in her blurred field of vision, and lighting fast, she reached out to the fireplace, grabbed a wrought iron poker tool, and swung it as hard as her still-partially asleep arms would allow, striking her captor soundly just above the ear, knocking him sideways. When he fell to his knees, holding his head, she struck him again, knocking him out, her vision still blurry from the blindfold. Blinking rapidly and not stopping to think, Missy stabbed the pointer between her ankles, ripping the tape that held her feet together. Jabbing again and again until she could tear the shreds of tape apart with her half-numb hands, she worked the poker, then tossed it aside, rubbing her ankles for a moment, before gingerly trying to stand.