“Nope. Too much sugar in those things, I can’t have them. I can make you some tea if that would help.”
“Why can’t you have sugar?” Chas asked casually.
“Diabetic. Since I was a kid, because apparently the world is a cold, cruel place.”
The detective nodded, distracted. “Do you have to take medication for it?”
“Yep, but at least I’m getting by with just the pills and watching my diet. No injections for me yet,” Samuels shuddered.
“Medical stuff gross you out?”
He made a face. “Yeah. Needles, the smell of antiseptic, seeing blood, it all gives me the shivers because I had to spend so much time in the hospital as a kid. I hate it.”
“Happens to a lot of people. I should be out of your hair in about an hour or so,” Chas dusted off the knees of his trousers.
“You want that tea?”
“Nah, I think I’m okay. Thanks anyway.”
“Cuz that’s what criminals do, they offer detectives who are searching their house a nice cup of tea,” Seth grumbled, heading down the hall to the living room.
Despite himself, Chas cracked a smile, but quickly hid it and went across the hall to the other bedroom. The guest room had been converted into a music room, with a stand-up piano dominating what seemed like an entire wall. There were shelves of music books and a variety of instruments in the closet, but none that matched the blunt trauma impression. After checking the hall closet and the attic space, Chas was satisfied that he wasn’t going to find anything, and made his way back to the living room, where Samuels sat on the couch, reading a thick paperback.
“What are you reading?”
“Is that part of the investigation?” Seth’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“Depends,” Chas’s tone was equally snarky.
Samuels held up his book and Chas grinned before he could help himself.
“You like Izzy Gilmore, huh?”
“She makes me a bit queasy sometimes, but yeah, no one writes suspense like Izzy Gilmore. I like a good thriller…sue me.”
“Good choice. I’ll be in touch,” the detective let himself out.
“Oh goodie, I can’t wait,” Seth got in one last comment before the door shut.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
Destiny and her family were staying at the Inn until their RV could be restored. Doors had been torn off, stuffing had been pulled out of cushions, and other damage had been done, so they had taken the battered vehicle to an RV interior shop and checked in. Evan and Dolores were actually relieved to be under the same roof as Detective Beckett.
“I’m really sorry that I got us all into this,” the teenager lamented after they were settled into a family suite.
“Sometimes trying to take things into our own hands rather than trusting people to do their jobs can turn out badly,” Evan replied, chucking her affectionately under the chin.
“It wasn’t like that, Daddy. I was only trying to help,” she protested.
“I know,” he nodded. “I’m sure this will all work itself out, but in the meantime, you need to just let Detective Beckett do the investigating,” he warned.
“I know,” Destiny said in a small voice.
“Hey, let’s not be so gloomy about all of this,” Dolores interjected. “We’re staying with friends at a beautiful inn, where there’s a pool and beach access, and it’s almost Christmas. Let’s get settled in and then go exploring.”
“Great idea,” Evan grinned and kissed his wife. “I may let you gals do that while I work on the outline for my latest book.”
“You can work for a bit and then come join us,” Destiny suggested.
“I’d like that,” he agreed easily enough. “Now, let’s take care of the unpacking.”
**
Echo sat at their favorite table at Cupcakes in Paradise, helping Missy with the menu for the Christmas gathering. At her friend’s insistence, she had her feet propped up on a chair, and was sipping a cup of mint tea.
“Destiny is such a smart little cookie,” she told Missy, her pen poised over a piece of notebook paper.
“She sure is. Hey, I was thinking…do you think that Scott might be willing to take her to a movie or to the mall or something? She could probably use a friend right about now.”
“What a great idea!” Echo exclaimed. “He’s very personable, and has taken the time to get to know Calgon really well since he moved here. He’d be a perfect tour guide. I’ll talk to him about it when I get home.”
“Have you heard from Spencer lately?” Missy asked, resting her chin on her hands.
“I haven’t, but Joyce said that he came over to her place for dinner a few nights ago and didn’t seem like himself,” Echo sobered.
“Was that before or after the murder?”
“After. Joyce lured him over with chocolate cake and a pay-per-view basketball game.”
Joyce Rutledge managed the side by side bookstore and candle shop that Echo owned downtown. The feisty mocha-skinned young woman made no secret of the fact that she had a major crush on the handsome Marine, and they spent time together every so often, despite Spencer’s assertions that he was in no way ready to date.
“I’m worried about him, Echo,” Missy confessed.
“Well, I think it’s pretty clear that he didn’t have anything to do with Arthur Beringer’s murder.”
“I know, but he’s been acting strangely, and Izzy is sad all the time, and he’s been so scarce that I haven’t even had a chance to give him a hug or ask how he’s doing. I miss him, and I don’t think it’s healthy for him to be keeping everything to himself like this.”
“He’s dealt with far worse things in his young life,” Echo pointed out.
“I know, but at what point does even the strongest man break? We should be seeking him out and helping him.”
“I’d love to help him, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped,” Echo murmured sadly.
“Hey ladies! What’s with all of the gloomy faces in here? It’s Christmas, we should be merry and bright,” Carla Mayhew exclaimed, breezing in the front door of the cozy little shop.
Carla had been Missy’s decorator when she and Chas had first bought the inn, and she had been Missy’s only friend in Calgon before Echo decided to relocate there. Now, she was in the process of buying the inn from Missy and Chas, and was excited beyond belief about closing her decorating business to run the inn, with the help of Maggie, the lithe, silver-haired woman who’d been the innkeeper since before they’d bought the beachside business.
“We’re trying,” Echo sighed. “Want to take over the menu notebook?”
“I’d love to, but I can’t stay. I just popped in to say hi and see if you had any of those wonderful peppermint chocolatey coffee creations handy,” she grinned hopefully.
“Sure, I’ll box some up for you,” Missy rose and headed behind the counter.
“How are you, little mama?” Carla asked Echo.
“Ready to burst,” Echo answered truthfully, making Carla chuckle.
“It’s worth every moment of it, trust me,” the decorator patted her hand.
“That’s what I hear. Now I know why they say that having kids is for the young. I feel about a hundred years old.”
“Well, you look fantastic, and it’ll all be over soon,” Carla reassured her, standing as Missy came back with her box of cupcakes.
“You’re the best,” she cooed, handing Missy some cash. “Take it and don’t sass me about it, young lady,” she demanded with a grin.
“I will this time, but once you own the inn, you eat cupcakes for free,” Missy insisted.
“Deal,” Carla nodded happily, and gave a jaunty wave on her way out the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
Spencer Bengal entered the lobby of Memorial Mortuary like he owned the place. There was a service going on in one of the velvet draped parlors, so he knew that the mortician, Timothy Ecke
ls, and his spunky assistant Fiona, would be otherwise occupied for at least an hour. He’d followed the obituaries online, and when he saw his first opportunity to get into the mortuary virtually undetected, he’d seized it. Slipping down the stairs to the basement prep rooms, he opened the two cold storage drawers. In the first he found a car accident victim who was no longer distinguishable as a human being, and in the second, he found what he was looking for. The chilled and preserved, but not yet prepared body of Arthur Beringer lay within the metal box, which Spencer pulled out as far as it would go.
He’d hacked into the county computers and had reviewed the coroner’s report, so he knew precisely what to look for. He carefully slid his hands under the shoulders of the corpse and turned him just far enough that he’d be able to see the indentation made by a blunt instrument. When he reviewed the impression on flesh, rather than simply depending upon the coroner’s sketch, he immediately knew what had been used to knock out the businessman. Now his challenge was to find the perpetrator of the injury, and the nature of the instrument should narrow down the candidate pool considerably.
Spencer heard the man before he approached, but didn’t have time to gingerly set down the body of Arthur Beringer, shut the drawer, and make his way out of the building before encountering him. Tim came down the stairs just seconds after he closed the metal drawer, and his hand was on the knob of the door which led to the cargo elevator.
“What are you doing?” the mortician said mildly, frowning with confusion.
“I’m sorry, I was going to go to the memorial, but the family might object to me being there, so I chickened out. I figured no one would see me if I took the back stairs, and I didn’t realize that they weren’t just an exit, sorry,” Spencer shrugged and smiled apologetically.
“Oh, so you were the one they were whispering about,” Tim nodded, peering at Spencer, his eyes huge behind coke-bottle lenses.
“Yeah, that’s me. Does this door lead to the exit?”
“Yes. You’ll find yourself in the garage, but there’s a side door out of there that should allow you to escape unseen by your fellow mourners,” the mortician blinked at him.
“Thanks for understanding,” Spencer opened the door.
“I’m usually the one that people whisper about,” Tim said, as a means of explanation.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” Fiona appeared behind Tim, seemingly out of nowhere, and called out to Spencer just before he could make a hasty exit.
The Marine looked up and caught the eyes of the lovely young woman.
“I don’t…think so,” he said quietly, blushing to the tips of his ears. He stepped quickly through the door and disappeared into the night.
**
“Hey Detective,” one of the lab techs called out to Chas when he arrived back at the station after his fruitless search of Seth Samuels’ house. “We got some of Beringer’s cultures back from the hospital. You’re not going to believe this,” he said, handing Chas a report. “Check out page three.”
Chas flipped through the folder and came to page three. He read the results once, then went back and read them again, his eyebrows raising nearly off of his forehead.
“Well, that changes things a bit,” he mumbled, astonished.
“Thought it might,” the tech said, before disappearing back into the lab.
**
Spencer had been doing some checking into the background of Arthur Beringer. He knew that Chas was a top notch detective, but the Marine had a vested interest in catching Arthur’s killer as soon as possible, feeling that the cloud of uncertainty regarding his character wouldn’t be dissipated until the rightful murderer had been caught. He would clear his name no matter what the cost.
He reviewed the list of names of people whom he’d been looking into, and tapped his finger on the most likely suspect. If he could gather evidence which showed that this person had committed the murder, he could go back to being just another bodyguard and handyman who was entirely trustworthy and above reproach. Glancing at his waterproof watch, Spencer cursed the lateness of the hour, and knew that he’d have to call in a few favors in order to get where he needed to go, in a hurry.
Throwing some things into a piece of designer luggage that he kept in the back of the closet in his basement apartment at the inn, he went into the bathroom and gazed at himself in the mirror for a long moment before bringing a straight-edged razor to his throat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
“Mrs. Beringer, the last time that we spoke, I asked you about the nature of your relationship with your husband,” Chas began, sitting in the well-appointed living room.
“Yes, yes you did,” her polite smile faltered just slightly.
“And now I need to ask you again, is there anything that you might have remembered, that you didn’t tell me about the first time that I asked?” he gave her a pointed look and she averted her eyes.
“What are you trying to say, Detective?” Barbara Beringer’s voice raised an octave.
“Was there anything going on with your husband…medically?”
“Well, his cholesterol was a bit high, and he didn’t get to the gym as often as he needed to, but he did play a fair bit of golf, and while he enjoyed going to the bar with his clients, he wasn’t an alcoholic, not by a long shot,” she shook her head firmly, back on solid ground.
“I want to share something that the coroner found when he examined your husband’s body.”
Barbara’s eyes widened, and she reflexively reached for her cup of tea, sipping it slowly. “Oh? Was he ill?” she asked, the cup in her hand shaking ever so slightly.
“I think you know what was wrong with your husband Mrs. Beringer, and I’m thinking that it might have provided the motivation to commit murder,” Chas challenged.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she denied, setting her cup down rather forcefully and not looking at the detective.
“Mrs. Beringer, your husband had a sexually transmitted disease.”
Babs gasped and put a hand to her throat, turning crimson. “Well, he certainly didn’t get it from me,” she huffed, visibly uncomfortable.
“Then who might he have gotten it from?”
Tears sprung to Barbara’s eyes and her jaw hardened.
“Mrs. Beringer, who was your husband sexually involved with, other than you?” Chas decided to be direct, hoping to shock her into a confession.
Instead of the further embarrassment that he’d expected from her, Barbara Beringer turned to him, her eyes flashing fire.
“Make no mistake, Detective,” she growled, leaning forward in her chair, wrath making her bold. “My husband was not sexually involved with me, and hadn’t been for years,” she hissed bitterly. “If you’re looking for the filthy wretch who gave him a disease, you might want to talk to that tart of a secretary that he had.”
“Are you saying that your husband was having an affair with Grace Masterson?”
Barbara sat up straight mustering every ounce of dignity that she could, and looked Chas directly in the eye. “How many secretaries do you know of, Detective, who drive German sports cars and vacation in Monaco?”
**
Spencer Bengal awoke with a start, surrounded by white and forgetting where he was and how he had gotten there. The sounds of the city outside his window brought him crashing back down into reality, and he yawned and stretched in his luxurious hotel bed, knowing that he had to get up and get to work. He’d made it to the picturesque college town late last night, and hadn’t been able to do anything beyond checking into his hotel and falling into bed, sleep claiming him the moment his clean-shaven face and close-cropped hair had hit the pillow. Scraping off every last hair of the short beard that he favored, and trimming nearly ten inches from his raven-black hair had been a bitter pill to swallow, but if he was going to get answers, he had to fit it. He had to look like he belonged among the elite students who glided down the historic corridors of one of th
e world’s premier universities. He’d packed appropriate clothing, and would be hitting the campus as soon as he knocked back a significant amount of coffee and some sort of breakfast protein. The Marine had to be on top of his game today. The trust of his boss depended upon it, and he only hoped that he hadn’t come out here on a wild goose chase.
The familiar sounds of grunts and the clanging of weights being added on to heavy metal bars were like music to Spencer’s ears when he entered the men’s gym on campus. The Marine was in fantastic shape, and drew begrudgingly admiring looks from the guys working out, who were only a few years younger than he. Ignoring them, and spotting a muscular man with a crew cut who looked as though he was in his fifties, Spencer made his way through the racks.
“You new?” the man asked when he approached.
“Thinking about being new,” Spencer grinned, using the tone and inflection of the privileged set.
“What’s your sport?” there was a flicker of interest in the coach’s eyes.
“Fencing, rowing, rugby, cricket, I have a rather expanded repertoire,” he chuckled smugly.
“With that build, I can see that. Are you parents alumni?”
“Alas, I must confess, the Becketts chose a different path, but a very good friend of mine attends this fine university, so I thought I might break family tradition.”
“Beckett? As in the New York Becketts?” the coach raised his eyebrows.
“The very same,” Spencer glanced down modestly.
“Good family, we’d be lucky to have you. Who’s your friend?”
“Bern Beringer, do you know him?”
“Yes, of course. He’s one of the best cricket players that I’ve got,” the coach grinned.
“I bet. I know I’d have to get a physical done before applying to your program. Can you tell me who I might ask for at your medical facility in order to…expedite the process?”
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