Creamsicle Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 11 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) (3 page)

After
having literally accused Missy of murder, Ivana Cherie still insisted that she
deliver three cupcakes a day, even though filming had been suspended until the
script could be modified to accommodate the untimely demise of one of the main
characters. When Lola, Ivana’s assistant, had informed Missy that the diva
still demanded her cupcakes, she flatly refused until the assistant, with great
humiliation and remorse told her that Ivana wouldn’t hesitate to sue for breach
of contract if she didn’t get her cupcakes.

“I’m
damned if I do and damned if I don’t,” Missy shook her head, venting to Cheryl
in the kitchen of Missy’s Muffins and More.

“I
wonder if all Hollywood types are this terrible,” the young manager said,
crushed with disillusionment.

“Ian
wasn’t,” Missy replied sadly. Cheryl patted her boss on the back as she left
the kitchen.

Missy
packed up the three unique cupcakes that she was contractually bound to
deliver, unwilling to compromise on quality, despite the nasty disposition of
her customer. She and Cheryl had made three lovely creations this morning, a
Magnificent Mango, a Rainbow Delight, and a Lemon Meringue. Putting them in
their coordinating boxes, she wondered how long she’d have to serve this
nightmare of a human being. Sighing and accepting her fate, she headed for the
set. Police activity had died down to the point where people were beginning to
resume practicing lines, building sets and double-checking props, so Missy was
able to enter and exit as she pleased with her VIP badge.

Lola
answered the door, accepting the cupcakes gratefully on behalf of her employer,
and Missy decided to walk around a bit, even though it wasn’t the same without
Ian’s quick wit and catty remarks to keep her entertained. Heading toward the
lunch tent, she heard the unmistakable throaty chuckle of Ivana Cherie, and not
wanting to be seen by the disagreeable diva, she ducked behind a bush just as
the actress came around the corner of a nearby trailer, her arm linked with
Chas’s. Missy’s heart dropped to her knees as she observed her beloved, snared
in the clutches of that evil woman. She ducked her head coyly, saying something
that Missy couldn’t quite hear, and Chas smiled in response. Waiting behind the
bush like a fugitive until they passed, tears rolled silently down Missy’s
cheeks. Chas had no idea that he had stepped into a spider’s web of dangerous
deceit, and the only way to prove it to him would be to find the killer
herself.

She
texted Cheryl, and Ben, the manager of her Dellville store, Crème de la
Cupcake, to let them know that she’d be tied up for the rest of the day, and
headed for the lunch tent.

Conversations
with the cast and crew, as she wandered through the site, shed some light on
why Ivana Cherie might be trying so hard to frame Missy for Ian’s murder.
Apparently, the bitter actress had been dating Ian for quite some time, and had
a wide jealous streak. On past shoots, she’d been known to sabotage other
actresses with laxatives in their food, bleach in their shampoo bottles, and
even poison ivy in one unfortunate actress’s underwear drawer. Ian was a
harmless flirt, who, as best as anyone could tell, had never actually cheated
on Ivana, despite her rather difficult disposition.

When
Ian had befriended Missy, Ivana started asking the cast and crew questions
about her. Missy had mentioned to many of her new friends that Chas was her
Significant Other, and when the actress heard that she had a boyfriend, she vowed
to seduce him, use him, and throw him away if she ever had the opportunity. It
made Missy’s heart ache to realize that the vile diva wasn’t even actually
interested in the handsome detective, she was just putting him under her spell
as revenge for Missy becoming friends with her lover.

After
the murder, Ivana went on the warpath against Missy, blaming her for Ian’s
death to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. She’d concocted an
elaborate story which she felt fully explained Missy’s motives, method and
madness, and spread the tale far and wide. Unfortunately, the local media got
wind of it, and, smelling a scandal, put out a very speculative story which
implied all sorts of inappropriate (and perhaps even criminal) conduct on
Missy’s part.

People
looked askance at her in the grocery store, and ladies whispered to one
another, giving each other knowing looks when her back was turned, but Missy
was undaunted. She didn’t answer calls or texts from Chas, thinking that he was
unreliable now that he seemed to be buying into Ivana’s ridiculous stories. She
also didn’t spend much time at either of her shops, knowing that she could
trust Cheryl and Ben to effectively run the show while she was gone. She
delivered her cupcakes daily, as required by her ridiculous contract with the
actress, and each time, unless the door was opened by Lola, she said absolutely
nothing as Ivana smiled her Cheshire Cat smile, thinking she’d won.

**

“Hello!”
Missy smiled brightly, approaching the Props Master, who had just returned to
work after taking a week off to recover from the news of Ian’s murder.

“Can
I help you?” the weary man asked, not sounding at all as though he wanted to
help.

Missy
paused for a moment. “I…I just wanted to come by and say how sorry I am about
the whole “props” thing,” she said softly, moving closer. “That must’ve been
just awful for you.”

The
thin man looked at her closely for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t even
here. I was out scouting for a certain kind of riding saddle for the equestrian
scene when it happened. My assistant set-up and double-checked everything
before filming started, but I keep kicking myself, thinking that maybe if I had
been here, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said sadly, shaking his head.

“I’m
so sorry, Mr…?”

“Al,
just call me Al,” he said quietly. “I don’t have enough dignity left at this
point to be called Mister anything,” he shrugged.

“Oh
no,” Missy shook her head. “This was so not your fault, Al. If someone wanted
to hurt Ian, they would’ve found a way whether you were here or not,” she said,
trying to make him feel better. She had thought, at first, that he might be the
killer, but after talking with him for just a few minutes, she could tell that
was clearly not the case. The more people that she heard from, the more she was
convinced that Ivana Cherie had killed her own lover out of jealousy. Now she
just had to prove it.

She
talked with Al for a few more minutes, then told him that she had to go.

“You
know, there are a lot of people around here who think that you might have done
this,” he said quietly as she turned to leave.

“I
know,” she nodded sadly. “But Ian was my friend,” she said facing him for a
long moment, then walking away.

Missy
decided to take a break from the doom and gloom of investigating Ian’s murder,
and took her golden retriever, Toffee, and her rescued malti-poo, Bitsy, to the
park for an extended game of fetch. The trio arrived home after their
excursion, panting with heat and exertion. Missy filled the tail-wagging, happy
canines’ bowls with water, and gave them each a treat before going upstairs to
shower off her outdoorsy glow.

Feeling
much better after her shower, Missy sat down at the kitchen table with a glass
of wine to record some of the info that she’d gleaned in talking with actors
and tech people at the movie site. She’d filled two pages with notes when her
doorbell rang. She lifted her head from her work, startled by the sound and
wondering who would be calling on her at nearly 9:00 at night. She tiptoed to
her door and peeked out of the peephole, surprised to see Chas on the other
side of the door.

“Open
up please, Missy,” he said tiredly. “I know you’re looking at me right now
because I heard the squeak in your floorboards.”

She
leaned against the door and sighed, frustrated at having been caught by the
overly-observant detective. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him
yet, partially because it hurt had her so badly to see him laughing and
chatting with Ivana Cherie, and partially because she knew that he could see
right through her and she didn’t want to tell him that she was doing her own
investigation in order to clear her name. She hesitated a moment too long, and
he knocked on the door, startling her from her thoughts.

“C’mon,
Missy, open up. This is business,” he said, his tone serious.

She
wondered what business he could be talking about, thinking nastily that perhaps
his precious Ivana may have asked him to renegotiate her contract.

“Hello,”
she said politely, upon opening the door.

“May
I come in?” his manner was grave, formal.

“Are
we really back to that kind of formality?” Missy asked, hurt by his detached
air. She opened the door wide and gestured for him to enter, noting that he
ignored her question.

“I
have to ask you some questions,” he said, heading for the kitchen table. Missy
brushed past him and tried to appear nonchalant as she gathered her notes and
stuffed them in a drawer.

“New
recipes?” he asked, following her movements with eyes that missed nothing.

“Mmhmm…”
Missy kept her back turned as she fibbed to the love of her life, whom she was
afraid she was losing to a Hollywood barracuda. “Your friend Ivana keeps me on
my toes,” she said, sounding lightly passive-aggressive.

Again,
he ignored her barb.

“Would
you like some wine?” she asked, returning to the table with the bottle and
topping off her glass.

“No,
thanks, I’m working,” was the toneless reply.

Missy
raised her eyebrows in inquiry, looking at him but saying nothing.

“I
have a few questions for you,” Chas said, pulling a note pad out of an inside
pocket in his sport coat, his cool manner breaking her heart into a million
pieces. When she’d avoided his calls and texts, eventually he had just stopped
trying, not even bothering to try to talk to her about what was wrong.

“Ask
away,” she said dully, taking a large gulp of her wine and immediately kicking
herself for it. If she was going to keep her investigation hidden from the
detective, she’d have to be on her toes.

“Where
were you around 11:00 the night before Ian Carson was murdered?”

“Seriously,
Chas? Where would I be at 11:00 at night? I’m sure I was sleeping,” Missy
looked at him incredulously.

“Do
you have anyone who could verify that you were at home, sleeping on that date
and at that time?” he asked, not looking at her.

“I
used to,” she whispered, her gaze accusing.

“Who
was with you when you baked the cupcakes for Ivana Cherie the day before the
murder,” he asked after looking at her for a long moment.

“No
one. Normally Cheryl and I bake together, but I had to get in so early to meet
the diva’s deadlines that I refused to ask Cheryl to get out of bed that
early,” Missy muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Did
you take photos of, or make notes about, the cupcakes that you baked that
morning?”

“No,”
she answered, not looking at him.

“Was
anyone at the store when you left with the cupcakes that might’ve seen them?”

“No,
Cheryl was up front with Grayson,” she mumbled, wishing he’d just leave so that
she could have a good cry.

“Are
you familiar with firearms at all,” he asked, his pen poised to make notes.

“You
know I’m not, Chas. I’ve never touched a gun in my life, and don’t ever plan
to,” she shuddered, remembering when a hunting accident had claimed the life of
a high school classmate.

She
wrapped her arms around her torso, as though in pain. “Are we done yet?” she
asked, refusing to even glance in his direction.

“For
now,” he replied, closing his notebook and tucking it back into his blazer.
“I’ll let myself out.”

Missy
held back her tears until he’d drawn the front door closed, then ran upstairs,
sobbing, and irrationally running bathwater to cover the sound, despite having
just taken a shower.

She
soaked in the tub for a while, hoping it would relax her and make her somewhat
able to sleep tonight, despite the unbearable aching of her heart. She wished
that she could linger in the warm water until all of the pain went away, but
resigned herself to the reality of having to take the dogs out one last time
and getting ready for bed. She had two shops to run, in addition to having to
do her own detective work to throw off the shackles of unfair accusation that
were weighing heavily upon her.

Trudging
back up the stairs after Toffee and Bitsy had a quick romp around the back
yard, Missy was bone-tired, but quite certain that she wouldn’t be getting any
sleep anytime soon. She went to her dresser to grab a summer nightgown, and
noticed a scrap of lace sticking out of her underwear drawer. The neat rows of
panties had clearly been rummaged through, and she counted them, thinking that
one was missing. Sure enough, there were only 19 pairs, when there should have
been 20 because she’d just done laundry the day before. She looked behind the
dresser, under the bed, and in and around the washing machine, to no avail. It
surprised her that she had left her underwear drawer in such a state, but she’d
been so tired and busy lately that anything was possible. Puzzled, but not
worried enough about it to bother searching any further, she sank into bed,
dreading waking up to another grim and joyless day.