Cookie Dough Killer

by Summer Prescott

  “I could learn how to bake,” Janssen agreed, glancing back and forth between the two women.

  Missy stood to her full height and kept a smile on her face, despite the steel in her normally soft grey eyes.

  “Beulah, this man has worked in the highest levels of government and has survived circumstances that I can’t even begin to imagine. He is highly qualified and has gone to great lengths in the past to protect me and my family. While I respect the fact that you’re concerned about Kaylee, you need to trust that I will always do what is best for her. This isn’t a long-term thing. Mr. Janssen is just going to watch her until I can get something else figured out,” she explained in a tone that was not to be trifled with.

  Beulah’s eyes narrowed. “Thought you been taking her to some stranger’s house and paying her. What happened to that?” she asked, folding her arms.

  Missy sighed. “It’s a long story. Come on Will,” she left the kitchen, with Janssen trailing behind her and Beulah utterly fuming.

  The sound of pans clanging violently in the kitchen reached them just as they were about to leave.

  “I’ll be back in a bit, Beulah,” Missy called out, entirely unsurprised that she received no response.

  **

  Janssen sat on a corner of the sofa in the Beckett’s family room, watching little Kaylee as though she were a time bomb that could go off at any minute. Missy had been very thorough in her instructions, but the war-hardened Marine had never felt more out of his comfort zone than he did right now, while the sweet toddler sat, hands in her lap, watching a cartoon movie. Afghanistan had nothing on this.

  The movie ended and he began to panic, watching Kaylee for her next move. With a little sigh, she stood up, turned around and stared at him, with two fingers in her mouth.

  “Hi,” he said, trying his best to sound nice, while his heart thudded in his chest. His system was flooded with gallons of adrenalin.

  Kaylee continued to stare and waved at him with her other hand.

  “Do you want to watch another movie?” he suggested, praying that she said yes.

  She shook her head.

  “Of course not, that would be too easy,” he muttered under his breath, wondering what to do next.

  “Nack,” Kaylee said, removing her fingers from her mouth.

  “Huh?” Will asked, mentally going through the list of common words Kaylee used, that Missy had given him.

  “Nack. Peez,” she repeated, wandering off.

  “She’s on the move, okay,” Janssen practically leapt from the couch to follow the little girl.

  Kaylee padded into the kitchen and pointed at the refrigerator. “Nack, peez,” she said again.

  “Oh! Snack! You want a snack?” light dawned on the befuddled Marine.

  Kaylee nodded.

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here,” he opened the fridge. “Your mom said you like mandarin oranges, cheese and crackers. Which one do you want?” he asked, pointing at the items.

  Kaylee looked from Janssen to the fridge and back again.

  “Do you want cheese?”

  She nodded.

  “Oranges?”

  Another nod.

  “Crackers?”

  A third nod.

  “So, you want all of them?” he confirmed.

  Kaylee merely looked at him expectantly before turning around, walking to the kitchen table and climbing up on a chair.

  “Okay, then. We’ll just give you some of everything and you can eat what you want,” Janssen said, more to himself than the child.

  He peeled back the thin film on the plastic container of mandarin oranges and put a small pink rubber fork in them. Then he plated a couple slices of cheese and four crackers and carried the food to the table, where Kaylee waited for him.

  “Hey, do you want to have your snack while you watch another movie?” he proposed, not knowing what on earth he’d say to the little girl if he sat across the table from her.

  Her eyes widened, and he hoped against hope that she wasn’t about to burst into tears.

  “I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want to, that’d be okay,” he said hurriedly, not knowing what he’d do if the kid started crying.

  Kaylee blinked at him a few times, then slid down out of her chair and headed back to the family room. With a profound sigh of relief, Janssen followed her. He looked at his watch, hoping that it was near the end of the day, and was dismayed to discover that merely two hours had passed.

  “This is more nerve-wracking than Kabul,” he sighed, following the tot to her spot on the carpet in front of the TV.

  He’d pulled some paper towels from the roll in the kitchen, and he set them down in front of her, placing the food on top of the paper towels. If messes happened, he could deal with them later.

  He’d just gotten settled back on the couch after turning on another animated movie about a fish, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Spencer.

  How’s your assignment going, Marine?

  Janssen grimaced and tapped out a quick reply, while Kaylee nibbled at a piece of cheese, enthralled with her movie.

  It’s gonna be EXPENSIVE beer this time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  “Mrs. Henderson, can you tell me about the last encounter that you had with your mother-in-law, Allivia Dunham?” Chas asked, as a sullen Kendra sat across the interrogation table from him, arms crossed.

  “That would have to go back awhile. She hasn’t spoken to me since my high school graduation. And please don’t call her my mother-in-law, she wasn’t a real mother to Brant and she certainly means nothing to me.”

  “You certainly sound pretty bitter about that,” Chas observed.

  “Ya think?” Kendra’s voice dripped sarcasm. The mention of Allivia Dunham’s name had changed the young woman’s personality dramatically.

  “Where were you on Tuesday night?” the detective asked.

  “I’m in the same place each and every night, Detective Beckett,” Kendra sighed. “At home. We don’t go out, we don’t socialize. Every penny that we make goes into paying our bills and trying to set some money aside for a rainy day. We don’t even own our home, we rent. What is this all about anyway? Why am I even here? I asked your associate if you’d found out where Brant might be earlier, and to tell you the truth, I really don’t appreciate you calling me down to the police station to talk about it. I came to you because you were a Private Investigator, key word, PRIVATE,” she glared at him.

  “Mrs. Henderson, are you aware that Allivia Dunham was murdered on Tuesday night?”

  Kendra’s face paled and her mouth dropped open.

  “What?” she choked out.

  “Now, as the lead detective on the case, I’d really like to be able to interview the estranged son of the victim, but I can’t, because he mysteriously disappeared on Monday afternoon. That, Mrs. Henderson, is why you’re here, and from what I’m hearing, I made the right call in bringing you in,” Chas’s tone was icy.

  The young woman across from him continued to gape like a water-starved fish, her demeanor significantly less aggressive.

  “I…you…but, you can’t possibly think that Brant or I had anything to do with that,” she stammered, eyes wide. “We didn’t associate with her at all. There would’ve been no reason to murder her,” Kendra’s hands twisted in her lap.

  “Didn’t you just tell me that you and Brant are struggling financially?” Chas reminded her.

  “Well, yes, but…killing her wouldn’t change that. Allivia cut Brant out of her life and her will a long time ago,” she shook her head vehemently.

  “But your husband blames your plight on the fact that she cut him off, right? He’s probably as bitter about it as you are, maybe even more so, am I right?” the detective challenged.

  “Well, yes, but…he’s a good man. He would never…”

  “And what about you?” Chas nailed her with a glance. “You had a pretty big attitude when y
ou came in here,” he observed.

  “Detective Beckett, there’s a huge difference between being upset and committing murder, and I can assure you that no matter how rude I was when I came in, I did not kill anyone,” Kendra’s eyes filled with tears.

  “So, you and your husband are completely innocent?”

  Kendra nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek, her pulse beating so rapidly and so hard that the detective could see it in her neck.

  “Then you won’t mind if I take a look around in your house, right? Might help me gather some info that will lead to us finding your husband.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling.

  “Great, let’s go,” the detective stood.

  Spencer tucked a catalog from the insurance company, on which Chester Dunham had circled the pieces of his wife’s jewelry that were missing, into his pocket. The young P.I. had been to six pawn shops so far, and was really hoping that he’d find the missing pieces soon. He was tired of the seedy shops with smelly, threadbare carpeting, falling ceiling panels and the smell of aged cigarette smoke, full of overpriced merchandise, which represented someone’s desperation.

  “I’ll give you fifty for that watch,” the rotund, unshaven man behind the counter offered, when Spencer approached the counter.

  “Are you kidding me? This is a five-thousand-dollar-watch,” Spencer was astonished.

  “Uh-huh, and it’s probably so hot that it’s burning you,” the proprietor rolled his rheumy, yellowed eyes.

  “Hardly,” Spencer muttered. “Where’s your fine jewelry?” he glanced around.

  “Well, there’s some in the case over there,” the man gestured toward the opposite end of the room. “But for my more…discerning customers like you,” he grinned greedily. “I have some private stock that I could show you. What are you looking for?” the owner practically drooled.

  “I have a high-maintenance girlfriend, show me everything you’ve got that’s any good,” Spencer shrugged.

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised, moving faster than Spencer would’ve thought he was able, considering his girth.

  When the shopkeeper returned, he was moving much more slowly, laboring under the weight of a large, velvet-lined tray. Spencer saw the outline of an ill-concealed firearm tucked into the pocket of his baggy pants.

  “Here we go,” the now-perspiring man huffed, setting the tray on the counter in front of Spencer.

  Jackpot.

  Every item that was missing from Allivia Dunham’s collection was on the tray, with the exception of a diamond heart bracelet.

  “Whaddya think? Pretty nice stuff, am I right?” the man gave Spencer a greasy smile.

  “I have a question for you.”

  “Yeah?” the smile faded a bit.

  “Do you have video surveillance in this store?”

  “Why?” he demanded, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be thinking you’re gonna rob me, mack, cuz that ain’t happening.”

  The shopkeeper reached for his pocket, clearly underestimating Spencer’s size, speed and athleticism. Before he knew what was happening, his pudgy body had been secured against the counter, face-down, with both hands behind his back.

  “I’m not going to rob you,” he informed the man. “But if you reach for your pocket again, I will disarm you. Got it?”

  “Get off me,” the shopkeeper growled.

  “Do you understand that if you reach for your pocket again, it will not go well for you?” Spencer asked again.

  “Yeah, yeah, just get off me,” the man muttered.

  Spencer let go, and the man grabbed the tray, turning toward the back of the room.

  “Get out of my store,” he barked and took a step.

  “Not so fast,” Spencer grabbed his arm with an iron grip. “Put the tray down, and talk to me about your video surveillance,” he ordered calmly.

  “What if I don’t?” the shopkeeper challenged.

  “If you don’t, I’ll immobilize you and call the police so that they can see your large collection of stolen merchandise. How does that sound?”

  “My stuff ain’t hot. I bought it fair and square,” the man protested.

  “Uh-huh. From whom?”

  “From fine, upstanding citizens.”

  “I’m sure,” Spencer tightened his grip, causing the man to wince. “Now about that video…”

  “What do you want to know?” he finally relented, shaking Spencer off.

  “Does that camera work?” Spencer pointed to a spot above the front door.

  “Yeah.”

  “What area does it cover?”

  “The whole store.”

  “Do you keep the tapes?”

  “For a month, then I re-use ‘em. Why?” the man frowned, becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. A sheen of sweat appeared on his upper lip.

  “What are your store hours?”

  “Ten a.m. to ten p.m., seven days a week.”

  “I need to see the tapes from Tuesday night and Wednesday.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I don’t find out who brought in the jewelry from a murder victim, you’re gonna go down for it,” Spencer informed him.

  The shopkeeper stepped away from the tray as though it were filled with snakes.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” he held up his hands and backed away. “I don’t know nothing about no murder.”

  “Where’s your security screen?”

  “In the back office,” the man pointed to a door covered with iron bars, clearly rattled.

  “Go lock the front door and show me,” Spencer instructed.

  “What if I have customers?”

  “Do you want your customers to see you getting arrested?”

  The shopkeeper glared at the hulking, well-dressed man in front of him and trudged over to lock the door.

  “Lead the way,” Spencer said pleasantly.

  Tuesday’s tapes yielded nothing, but late Wednesday morning, there was video of a man bringing in Allivia Dunham’s jewelry.

  “Your video quality sucks,” Spencer complained, trying to get a good look at the perp’s face.

  “Well, I’m just so sorry. Surveillance ain’t my gig,” the shopkeeper retorted.

  “Stop the tape,” Spencer ordered, moving closer to the small black and white image on the screen. “You got any records of this transaction?” he asked.

  “Nope, this guy always sells rather than pawns. I buy the stuff outright,” the man smirked.

  “You know his name?”

  “Nope.”

  Spencer stared at the shopkeeper, making him supremely uncomfortable.

  “Fortunately for you, I know where I can find this guy,” he murmured, recognizing the man in the video. “You said he “always sells,” does that mean he comes in pretty often?”

  “Yeah, usually once a month or so,” he shrugged. “So?”

  “So, does he always bring in fine jewelry items?”

  “Usually, yeah. Sometimes he brings in some convincing fakes, but typically it’s the good stuff.”

  “Did the stuff on this tray all come from him?”

  “Except for a couple of pieces, yeah.”

  “Which pieces?”

  The man approached the tray as though it would give him the plague if he touched it, and pointed to five pieces.

  “This one, that one, that one, that one and…that one,” he poked his finger in the air above three rings, a necklace, and a pair of earrings.

  “You clean these before you put them out?” Spencer asked.

  “Not usually, unless they’re really dirty.”

  “Good, they’ll still have DNA on them then.”

  “I know you’re not thinking of taking this tray,” the man said in a low voice, his threat clear.

  “I take it, or I hold you with your face on the floor until the cops get here, your choice,” Spencer shrugged.

  “I could shoot you.”

  “You could tr
y. How did that work out for you the last time you went for your gun?” Spencer reminded him.

  “You’re saying that you’re going to steal the merchandise that I paid for,” the shopkeeper tried a different tactic.

  “Not at all. I’m going to confiscate stolen property so that we can find the real thief.”

  “You’re going to get my best supplier busted, ain’t ya?” the man shook his head, disgusted.

  “That’s the goal, yes. Whether for theft or murder is yet to be determined.”

  The pawn shop owner’s head snapped up and he stared at Spencer, realization dawning.

  “You think that guy is a killer?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “Can’t trust anybody these days,” he groused. “Go on, take it and get out,” he waved at the tray.

  “I need the videotape too.”

  “You’re pushing your luck buddy.”

  Spencer stared at him, waiting.

  “Fine, c’mon,” the shopkeeper barked, leading him back to the office, where he popped the tape out of the VCR and tossed it on top of the tray that Spencer had picked up after slipping on nitrile gloves.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Spencer smiled. “Now go unlock the door.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  “What are you looking for, anyway?” Kendra trailed behind Chas as he walked slowly through her home.

  “Anything unusual. There’s an outside chance that whoever murdered Allivia Dunham might be the person who is behind your husband’s disappearance.”

  The detective made his way around the humble home. The entire living room, dining room and part of the kitchen was dedicated to the home daycare business and the rest of the home was sparsely furnished and uncluttered. There was an extra bedroom which had been turned into a family room so that the couple would have a place to relax in the evening, and when Chas entered the room, he saw a glimmer of something on the window sill and went over to investigate.