A Murder Moist Foul: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

Nearly a week had passed since
Missy had medicated herself with chamomile and lavender, and she hadn’t had a
good night’s sleep since.  Being an animal lover herself, the news of Ben’s
beloved cat, Rocky, dying had rocked her world.  He seemed to be coping well,
but who knew what pain he experienced every time he walked in his door.  Once
again desperate for a good night’s rest, as much as she loathed the idea, Missy
took one of the sleeping pills that she had been prescribed, feeling that she
wouldn’t make it through the work day tomorrow after yet another sleepless
night.

She was dreaming.  It was a balmy
summer evening and she was at the carnival.  Brightly colored lights flashed
around and around as the Ferris wheel took her higher and higher, then swooped
toward the ground.  She could hear the drumbeats of a band but not the music. 
The drumbeats got louder and louder, drowning out every other sound.  Suddenly,
someone was shouting above the staccato drumbeats, calling her name, beckoning
her down from the Ferris wheel.  There was danger.  She needed to get off the
Ferris wheel and couldn’t open the safety lock.  She panicked.

Sitting bolt upright in her bed,
panting with fear, Missy saw the bright blue and red flashing lights of a squad
car painting the walls of her bedroom in frightening rhythm.  There was pounding
at her front door and a deep male voice was calling out to her.

“Ms. Gladstone?  Ms. Gladstone, are
you in there?  Ms. Gladstone, can you hear me?  This is Officer O’Leary, can
you open the door Ms. Gladstone?”  More pounding.

Terrified, Missy snatched up her
thick baby blue bathrobe, throwing it on over her pajamas, and slid her feet
into her slippers, dashing out into the hall.  She ran to the front door,
nearly tripping over Toffee, who was cowering in the foyer, the fur on her
scruff standing straight up.  She opened the door to see Officer O’Leary
standing on her front porch.

“Are you all right ma’am?” he
asked, concern coloring his words as he did a quick assessment of her physical
state.

“Yes, I’m fine, why?  What’s
happening?” she asked in alarm.

“May I come in?” he inquired,
peering past her, into the house.

“Of course, please.  Where are my
manners?” she murmured, bewildered.

“No worries, ma’am, I’m sure you’re
understandably startled,” he followed her into the foyer, eyes darting
methodically to every corner of the room.

“What’s going on?” Missy asked,
genuinely worried, noting the policeman’s vigilant behavior.

“Mrs. Fielding, your next door
neighbor, called us to report an intruder at your residence.  She saw someone
near your bay window.”  Missy’s hands flew to her mouth in horror.  “When our
unmarked patrol car arrived on the scene, the intruder fled down the alley
behind the Fielding’s, into the woods on the other side of the railroad tracks,
and out of sight.”

“So you didn’t catch him?” the
terrified woman whimpered.

“No ma’am, I’m sorry, we didn’t,”
the officer admitted ruefully.  “We have a team outside, looking for clues, so
we’ll be here a while.”

“I understand.  Can I get you
anything?  Coffee?” the southern hostess in her took over automatically.

“No thank you, ma’am.  We’ll just
get what we need and be on our way.  The detective will be here in a few
minutes to ask you some questions, and I’d like to check out your security
systems and the rest of the house right quick if you don’t mind.”

“No, please, go ahead – do whatever
you need to do,” Missy replied, still stunned by the night’s events and
desperately trying to shake off the numbing effects of the sleeping pill that
she had taken.  She heard another knock at the door and went to answer it while
O’Leary inspected the house.  Standing on her doorstep, looking somewhat
chagrined and quite serious, was Detective Beckett.

“Hi Missy,” he said softly.  “May I
come in?”

“Of course, Detective,” she
returned coolly, turning around and heading for the kitchen table.  She pulled
out a chair for herself and sat, indicating the chair across from her for
Beckett.  The look on her face spoke volumes, as she arched an “I told you so”
eyebrow at him.

“Look, I’m sorry I dismissed your
concerns earlier.  I promise you, we are going to make every effort to find out
who was trespassing here tonight and bring them in for questioning,” he assured
her earnestly.

“Well, at least you believe me
now,” she pointed out shakily, glad to finally be vindicated, at least in this
regard.

“Did you see or hear anything
tonight?” Chas probed gently, noting that Missy was still shaking like a leaf. 
She shook her head vehemently.

“No.  Unfortunately, I was so
exhausted tonight that I actually followed the doctor’s orders and took a
sleeping pill so that I could finally sleep.  The first thing I heard was
Officer O’Leary pounding at the door,” she confessed, miserably.

“Sorry about that,” Beckett
apologized.  “In cases like this, the first thing that we do is make certain
that the resident is safe and sound.”

“No apologies,” Missy dropped her
head into her hands.  “I was more than relieved to see a policeman at my door
rather than a boogeyman.”

Chas gazed sympathetically at the
understandably overwrought woman and made his questioning brief, reassuring her
that his team was thoroughly combing the grounds and surrounding area for any
hint of a clue.

“Do you have somewhere to stay
tonight?” the detective seemed genuinely concerned.

Missy shrugged, “No.  Where would I
go in the middle of the night?  I have no idea what to do,” her lower lip
trembled as tears threatened. 

Beckett took a deep breath. 
Seeming to come to a decision he offered, “I have a completely unused guest
room if you’d like to stay somewhere safe for the night.”

Knowing that she was completely
safe under Chas Beckett’s roof for the night, Missy made sure that Toffee was
settled into her puffy grey velour doggy bed in the corner of the guest room
and, after an hour or so of tossing and turning, finally dropped into a deep
sleep. 

She awoke in the morning, rested,
but still very unsettled.  As diligently as the handsome detective had been in
trying to find new leads and exhaust every possible avenue for information,
nothing constructive had been found.  Not being one to sit around and let fate
take its course, Missy vowed to get to the bottom of this case, her life might
very well depend upon it, but before she could begin ferreting out elusive
clues that would help solve the case, she had to open the shop.  Ben had his
annual physical this morning, so Missy’s sleuthing would have to wait until he
came in at 11:00.

Business was booming this morning,
and Missy hardly had a spare moment to even think until the rush ended around
10:30.  She had restocked the gleaming glass cases with delectable treats and
was wiping down the tables which had recently been cleared, when she heard the
tinkle of the chimes above the door.  Expecting to see Ben coming in early, she
turned and saw a harried-looking woman who appeared a bit younger than her,
stride briskly over to the counter.

“Hi!  I’ll be with you in just a…”
Missy began, only to be interrupted by the impatient woman.

“I’d like a Strawberry Cheesecake
cupcake, to go,” she ordered brusquely.  Missy was nonplussed.  Most of her
customers were completely willing to take their time placing an order, chat for
a bit, and maybe even sit down for a cup of coffee.

“Certainly,” she agreed politely,
wiping her hands on a towel behind the counter and slipping on a pair of
plastic gloves.  “Can I get you a cup of coffee with that?” she offered.  “I
can make it…”

“No coffee,” the woman interrupted
again, frowning.

“…to go,” Missy finished,
frustrated, but pasting what she hoped was a sufficiently pleasant smile on her
face.

Missy reached into the case,
selecting the largest, most luscious looking Strawberry Cheesecake cupcake and
placed it in a bag for the rude woman.

“That’ll be $3.50,” she said with
forced cheer, handing the woman the bag.

“Keep the change,” the woman
decreed abruptly, slapping four bills on the counter and rushing out the door.

“Thank you,” Missy called after
her.  “Have a nice day,” her voice dripped with sarcasm after the woman was
long gone.  She shook her head and went back to wiping down the tables and
thought about her plan for the afternoon, leaving as soon as Ben came in.

Darryl Davis’ mother played bridge
with Missy’s parent’s years ago, so Missy felt that she could drop in on the
elderly woman without the fear of being rebuffed.  It was a long shot, but
Widow Davis might just know something useful.  She parked in front of Mrs.
Davis’ small but elegant cottage with its neatly manicured lawn and lovingly
tended flower beds that were so well kept they looked presentable even despite
the winter chill.

Holding her breath and desperately
hoping that the woman was still of sound mind and would recognize her, Missy
rang the bell, hearing a lovely chime within the house when she did.  Listening
intently, she heard stirrings that sounded like Mrs. Davis might be shuffling
toward the door.  Sure enough, she opened it and smiled with delight at the
sight of a visitor.

“Well…Missy Gladstone, as I live
and breathe!” she exclaimed with a grin.  “Come on in, dear, I haven’t seen you
in years, we have some catching up to do,” she beckoned Missy in with a gnarled
but graceful hand.

“Thank you Mrs. Davis, it has been
a long time, hasn’t it?” Missy agreed, taking in the lovely antiques, polished
floors and fine fabrics decorating the cottage.

Leading Missy to a velvet wingback
chair in the parlor, Mrs. Davis made her way to the kitchen and came back with
a tray laden with tea, cream, sugar and a plate of homemade sugar cookies. 
Taking a cookie to be polite, and finding it utterly delicious, Missy indulged
Darryl’s mother with lighthearted conversation about her work and how she had
been, receiving a wealth of stories in return, related to Mrs. Davis’
bridge-playing exploits, who was seeing whom in her church congregation, and
the current state of her garden.  After nearly an hour, Missy felt that she
could almost comfortably broach the subject of Darryl’s death, her actual
reason for visiting with the widow.

“You must miss Darryl terribly,”
Missy observed sympathetically.

A faraway look descended over the
widow’s gentle face.  “Oh I definitely do,” she agreed softly.  “There were
some things that we disagreed upon, but he was a good boy, my Darryl.  He made
some mistakes in this life, to be sure,” she gazed sadly at Missy, “but deep
down, where it counts, he was a good boy.”

“I’m sure he was, Mrs. Davis, I’m
sure he was,” she patted the widow’s hand reassuringly.  “Who’s running his
shop now?” she asked with a “just-curious” expression.

“His brother David,” she replied,
seemingly lost in memories.  “So many folks have come by the store to express
their sympathies at his passing.  It brings me comfort to know that he was so
loved,” she smiled faintly.  “There’s even someone who anonymously drops off a
hydrangea blossom on the back stoop at his house every morning.”  Missy’s ears
perked up at this tidbit…it could mean something.  “They were his favorite
flowers you know, hydrangeas.  The blue ones, specifically.”  Widow Davis
suddenly looked very tired and was beginning to ramble a bit, so Missy took her
leave, eager to gather more information that might help Detective Beckett find
the horrible person who killed Darryl.  If she could help crack the case, she
just might find out who had been lurking about outside her home and avoid being
the next victim.  She had a hunch to follow and drove with determination to her
next stop.

There was no one in Darryl’s Donuts
when Missy entered the sweet-smelling shop, save for the fresh-faced teenaged
girl behind the counter.

“Hey, Ms. Gladstone!” Darryl’s
niece, Debbie, sang out.

“Hi Debbie,” she replied with a
smile.  “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” the bubbly girl
responded.  “I mean, you know, it’s been kinda tough around here without Uncle
Darryl and all, but we’re doing okay I guess,” she shrugged, determined to hold
on to optimism.

“I bet,” Missy sympathized.  “Your
Grandmama  told me that folks have been coming by to talk to y’all about what a
good man he was.”

Debbie nodded vigorously.  “Yep,
there’s one lady who has stopped in here every morning for a really long time,
and she still comes in every day.  I think of her as “Strawberry Cheesecake,”
because she gets our Strawberry Cream Cheese Danish every day at 7:20 – it
never fails.  Well, almost never, I didn’t see her this morning,” the teenager
mused, as a lightbulb suddenly snapped on within Missy’s mind. 

Strawberry Cheesecake???  The rude
woman who stopped into her shop this morning ordered a Strawberry Cheesecake
cupcake – was it possible that she had killed Darryl and was now setting her
sights on Missy? Missy had to find out more about this mystery woman – she just
might be the key to cracking Darryl Davis’ murder.  After all, doing the same
thing every morning for years at a time…wasn’t that a bit pathological?  Of
course, people have habits, but Strawberry Cheesecake’s habit was unhealthy and
seemed…obsessive.  Missy’s fevered brain tried to wrap itself around this new
revelation while still appearing to focus on the chattering girl behind the
counter.  She made mindless conversation for a few more minutes, just to be
polite and not seem suspicious, but she was anxious to get away in order to
think through her next move.  She needed to find out more about Strawberry
Cheesecake.  Should she investigate on her own?  Should she call in Detective
Beckett?  It seemed to her that every lead that she turned over to the
detective led to a dead end, so maybe she should arm herself with more
information before alerting him to a potential new suspect.  Missy had never
even considered the fact that the killer could be a woman.  Had Darryl made a
nuisance of himself with Strawberry Cheesecake the way that he had with Missy’s
beloved little sister?  Or worse?  And if that were the case, why would the
woman have anything against Missy?  She needed to think, so she headed home to
make a cup of tea, grab a snack and form her plan of attack.  The fact that a
woman who was known for ordering the same thing every morning from Darryl and
that a rude woman came into Missy’s shop and ordered a cupcake version of the
same thing, could be just a coincidence, but with the strange events of late,
Missy wasn’t taking anything at face value.  “Strange coincidences” seemed to
be the norm these days, and she was going to chase down every possible clue.

Sitting in the sunny nook of her
kitchen’s eating area with Toffee curled up at her feet, Missy sipped at her
tea, nibbled at her small bowl of pretzel crisps and pondered the events of the
day.  Darryl’s mother had mentioned that someone was leaving a single hydrangea
blossom on his stoop every morning.  Perhaps that person would have had a close
enough relationship to Darryl to know something about who might have the motive
to kill him.  All she would have to do is hide away somewhere near Darryl’s
house, and when the mystery visitor came to drop off the flower, Missy could
start a sympathetic conversation that could lead to more clues.  Never having
been involved in any sort of intrigue, she had no idea about the potentially
dangerous situation that she could be putting herself in.  It seemed that the Cheesecake
lady might provide more relevant info than the mysterious flower giver, because
her behavior seemed more bold, so Missy vowed to be parked near Darryl’s Donuts
by 7:20 tomorrow morning in order to follow her to see what information could
be unearthed.  For now, she would make notes regarding her findings in a
notebook that she had been using to keep track of information that seemed
relevant.  Quickly jotting down dates, times and “facts”, she didn’t notice the
passing of time, and was surprised when she at last looked up, to see that the
sun had begun its descent and the air had cooled rapidly.  Drawing on a sweater
to combat the chill, Missy was startled when her phone rang.

“Ms. Gladstone?” Detective 
Beckett’s serious tone was inescapable. “I need to speak with you…now.  I’ll be
at your door in ten minutes, we need to talk.”

Missy’s heart beat fast, wondering
if the detective had finally found out something crucial to cracking the case. 
Chas was somber and frowning when she opened the door to admit him.

“Have you found something?” Missy
asked breathlessly, leading him to the kitchen table to have a seat.

“I’ve found enough to make a
difficult case seem even more difficult,” he sighed, running a frustrated hand
through his hair, ruffling the thick locks in a tousled manner that made him
even more attractive, Missy noted.  He glanced over at the notebook that she
had been keeping and leaned closer to glance at the pages, so she discreetly
closed the cover and put her mug of tea on top of it, using it as a coaster.

“Would you like some tea?” she
asked, trying to divert his attention.

“No, I’m fine thanks,” he
responded, getting down to business.  “Do you wear lipstick, Ms. Gladstone?” 
Missy was baffled.

“On special occasions,” she
replied, mystified.  “I’m more of a lip balm gal – it’s much more
practical…why?”

“Could you please bring me any
tubes of lipstick currently in your possession?” his request sounded much more
like an order.  Taken aback, Missy opened her purse and extracted a tube, then
told the detective that she’d be right back.  As she emerged from her bedroom
carrying two additional tubes, Chas was examining the first lipstick and making
notes in his ever-present flip-pad.  He took the next two tubes from her and
did the same.

“Mind if I borrow these for a
couple of days?” he asked, pulling a small plastic bag out of his trench coat
pocket.

“Of course not,” Missy consented
immediately.  “But why on earth do you want my lipstick?”

Ignoring her question, Beckett
demanded to know if she had any other tubes.  When she told him no, he stood to
go.

“Are you going to tell me what’s
going on here?” she demanded, beginning to get upset at his reticence.

“Just following up on some leads,”
he said dismissively.  “I’ll let you know if we find anything significant.”  He
strode toward the door, ending the conversation.  Missy was entirely befuddled.

“Wait!” she called out, stopping
him in his tracks.  He turned slowly to face her.  She wasn’t going to give him
an inkling about the Cheesecake lady, she was following up on that one on her
own.  But perhaps she could be more efficient by having him track down the
mystery hydrangea giver.

“Darryl’s mother told me something
today that might be important,” she said urgently, walking toward where he
stood unmoving by the door.

He quirked a disapproving eyebrow
at her.  “And why, exactly, were you speaking to Mr. Davis’ mother?” he
demanded, his displeasure evident.

“She was a friend of my parents,”
Missy hedged, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.  “Don’t you want to
hear what she said?” she challenged.

“Fine,” Beckett sighed.  “What did
she say?” he reached into his pocket, bringing out the flip-pad.  Missy related
her conversation with Widow Davis, leaving her other activities of the day
deliberately absent.  Chas took notes here and there, then snapped the flip-pad
shut, fixing Missy with a piercing gaze.

“Stay away from this, Ms.
Gladstone,” he warned soberly.  “You aren’t making your circumstances any
better by interfering with my investigation,” he admonished.

“My circumstances?” she exclaimed. 
“This has nothing to do with my circumstances,” she asserted.  “I’m just trying
to help you find Darryl’s killer,” she frowned, bothered by the detectives
detached demeanor.