Raspberry Creme Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 14 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) (5 page)

Missy
slept all afternoon, and through the night, waking early the next morning when
Toffee nosed at her impatiently, needing to go outside. Glancing at the clock,
still dressed in the previous day’s clothing, Missy sat upright in a hurry,
apologizing to her furry friends. She jogged down the stairs, in a hurry to
provide them with relief, and opened the back door so that they could quickly
get into the grass. Bitsy had left a small puddle on the tile in the kitchen
overnight, but Missy had no intention of scolding the small dog, knowing full
well that the accident had been completely her fault for sleeping so long. When
the grateful canines came bounding back into the house, Missy apologized to
them again, petting them and giving them each a treat. After they’d had their
fill of food and water, and she’d had several cups of coffee and a leftover
cupcake, she jingled their leashes and they came running, ready to frolic in
the park.

Missy
sat on a bench in the park, enjoying the sun on her face, and feeling better
rested than she had in quite some time. She watched the dogs run and play,
thinking how wonderful it would be to be that carefree.

“Hi
Missy,” a soft voice interrupted her thoughts, startling her. Samantha Lemmon
stood in front of her, wearing gym shorts and a plain t-shirt, her hair up in a
ponytail. “I love this park. I come here to get away from the world sometimes,”
she said, sitting on the far end of the bench.

“My
dogs like it here,” she replied awkwardly, trying not to tremble and wondering
how to safely and tactfully get away.

“I
hear we have a common friend,” Sam commented, following Missy’s gaze and
watching the dogs.

“Yeah,
small world,” Missy tried to smile, stealing a sidelong glance at the younger
woman, then doing a double-take and looking closer.

“What
is it?” Samantha asked, noticing Missy’s scrutiny.

“You
don’t wear earrings,” she stated, lost in thought.

“No,
I don’t. Never have. My parents thought that pierced ears were vain and
dangerous, so I couldn’t have them done when I was younger, and I’ve seen far
too many ripped out lobes come through the Emergency Room to even think about
having it done now,” she shrugged. “I guess that’s kind of strange,” she said,
wondering at Missy’s trance-like reaction to her discovery. “Are you okay?” she
asked, peering at the older woman.

Her
question seemed to snap Missy out of her reverie. “Uh, yes, I’m fine,” she
said, giving herself a mental shake. “Sorry, I was just thinking about
something,” she murmured. “Well, I have to get going,” she said, standing but
no longer afraid. “Take care, Sam,” she said, calling to the dogs.

“You
too,” was the bewildered reply.

**

“I
don’t think she did it,” Missy announced when she walked into Chas’s luxurious
ranch-style home.

“Who
did what?” he replied, accepting an intense amount of affection from Toffee and
Bitsy.

“I
don’t think that Samantha Lemmon killed Sally Higgins,” she said, capturing the
detective’s full attention.

“What
makes you say that?” he asked, as the dogs settled at his feet.

“She
doesn’t have pierced ears,” Missy said, as though that explained everything.

“Okay…so
why does that disqualify her from being the killer?” the detective was puzzled.

“Because
she couldn’t have worn the earring that I found on the porch,” Missy replied
excitedly.

Chas
took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sweetie, that earring could belong
to anyone – you, Echo, Cheryl, the mail carrier. Just because you found it
after the vandalism occurred, doesn’t necessarily mean that the two events are
connected,” he explained gently.

“Fred
the mail carrier doesn’t wear earrings,” she pouted, deflated that he’d shot
down her theory.

The
detective chuckled. “Well, good, then we can probably eliminate him as a
suspect,” he teased. “Look, I totally understand your reluctance to believe
that Sam is the killer, it doesn’t seem very plausible to me either at this
point, but, knowing the kinds of family ties that she has, anything is possible,”
he said, reliving his encounter with Pierre Chartreaux. “The lab is testing to
see if there’s any usable DNA on the earring post, so hopefully they’ll have
some answers for us soon.”

Missy
was preoccupied, staring into space and absently stroking Toffee’s ears, so
Chas took advantage of the opportunity to gaze with unashamed love at the most
beautiful person he’d ever known. When she caught him in the act and asked,
“What?” he just shook his head and smiled a secret smile.

Missy
had taken Chas’s advice and was staying with him until the murder was solved,
which made helping with meals much easier. He had a cleaning service come in
twice a week, so she didn’t have to worry about housework, and she had to
admit, she felt much safer being in the detective’s home. The tenacious lawman
had returned to work sooner than his doctor felt was safe, but had no problems
getting right back into the swing of things, even arresting one of Pierre
Chartreaux’s cohorts after an anonymous tip.

Missy
and Chas sat snuggled up on the couch, with the dogs quite literally underfoot,
when his phone buzzed, indicating an incoming text. Glancing at the screen, he
quickly punched in a number and spoke urgently into the phone.

“Gimme
Chapman,” he barked, checking his watch. “Chapman…give me the status,” he
ordered, his face tense. “When? How bad is it?” he listened intently, pausing
the DVD. He exhaled long and loudly with relief, shaking his head. “Okay,
thanks. I’ll be right over.” He pressed the end button on his phone and turned
off the TV.

“Duty
calls?” Missy asked.

“There’s
been…an incident…at your house,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh
no, Chas…what?” she asked, panicking.

“I’ll
explain in the car,” the detective promised. “You’re coming with me.”

**

There
were four fire trucks and two police cars in front of the graceful Victorian
when Chas pulled up in his unmarked car. A plume of smoke rose into the air
from behind the house and Missy gasped, tears springing to her eyes.

Seeing
her distress, Chas took both of her hands in his before they left the car.
“It’s okay,” he soothed her. “The fire didn’t reach the house, it was contained
in the back yard and just got a small corner of the back porch before your
neighbors smelled smoke and called the fire department,” he reassured his
trembling girlfriend. “The reason that I brought you with me is that I want you
to go into the house with me to try to determine if there’s anything missing.
Whoever lit the fire, broke into the house first, took all of your books, threw
them in the back yard and set them on fire. My guys found an empty can of
lighter fluid, and a half used box of matches that were left behind,” he
explained as gently as he could. “Are you going to be able to help me with
this?” he asked, in a tone designed to snap her out of her fear.

“Yes,
of course,” Missy replied bravely, working hard to keep her chin from
quivering. “Let’s do it.”

They
made their way to the back yard first, to survey the damage, and saw the
remnants of Missy’s entire book collection in a smoldering heap by the flower
beds. Biting her lower lip to control her emotions, she wrapped her arms around
herself and nodded, taking it all in. There were books in that charred pile
that had been special to her – some were signed by the authors, some had been
given to her by special friends, some had belonged to her grandmother,
priceless treasures, gone in the tossing of a match. Her heart ached at her
loss and her soul cried out at the senseless cruelty that someone had inflicted
upon her. Shaking her head, she numbly followed Chas inside, absently noting
the splintered door jamb where the intruder had broken into her house.

She
went straight to her now empty book shelves, looking sadly at the space where
her treasured books had been, and then doing a double take. There were thin,
short horizontal lines in bright red on the back wall of the shelves.

“Chas,
look at this,” she pointed to the lines.

“Hmm…were
those there before?” he asked, shining his flashlight on them for a closer
look.

“No,
they weren’t. Do you know what they are?” she asked.

“No
idea,” he frowned, stumped.

“They’re
nail polish trails,” she said excitedly. “Whoever took the books out was
wearing this color of nail polish.”

“Stay
here, I’ll be right back. I’m going to have an officer pay a visit to Samantha
Lemmon to see if she wears red nail polish,” he said, heading for the back
door.

“Chas,
wait!” Missy stopped him in his tracks. “The last time I saw Samantha Lemmon,
she was so stressed that she had chewed her nails down to the quick. Even if
she was wearing red nail polish, nails that short wouldn’t be able to leave a
mark.”

“Unless
of course she had her nails professionally done since you saw her last,” he
replied. “Let’s check out the rest of the house and see what we find. I’ll
think about whether or not we need to track down Samantha just yet,” he
conceded.

In
the kitchen, all of Missy’s bottles of red wine were missing, but aside from
that, nothing seemed to be out of place. When they went upstairs to her
bedroom, however, there certainly seemed to be a message that the vandal was
trying to send. The missing bottles of wine from the kitchen had been emptied
onto her bed, making it look like a grisly scene had taken place, and on her
pillow, lay a copy of the last book that the book club had discussed in Sally’s
living room. It was opened to the scene where the body of the victim had been
discovered, and drops of wine had splashed the pages. Aghast at the scene in
front of her, Missy moved to pick up the book and Chas stopped her.

“Don’t
touch that, sweetie, we may be able to lift fingerprints from it,” he advised,
wrapping his arm around her waist. The empty wine bottles had been thrown on
the floor, making horrible stains in her cream-colored area rug, and they were
careful not to disturb them as well.

“Why
is she doing this to me, Chas?” Missy asked, overwhelmed.

“I
don’t know, sweetie, but I promise you that I’ll find out,” he replied, jaw
muscles flexing.

Missy
did the only thing that she knew to do when she was stressed beyond belief…she
baked. Ben and Cheryl watched with quiet concern as she feverishly turned out
batch after batch of flawless cupcakes, each one a picture-perfect creation.
She invented new flavors and improved old favorites. She made cupcakes richer,
tastier, and dense with moisture, and whipped her toppings higher, fluffier and
with brighter color. Missy was like a woman possessed, when one batch was in
the oven, another was being mixed. When one pan was done being frosted, another
came out of the oven to cool. She worked non-stop during normal working hours
and beyond, the staff coaxing her out of the kitchen occasionally for a bite to
eat.

“Detective
Beckett, Ben and I just don’t know what to do,” Cheryl worried when she ran
into Chas at the grocery store. “She just won’t stop, we’re afraid she’s going
to work herself to death!”

“Well,
I have something planned that I think may help her to focus on something other
than murder and baking,” he smiled mysteriously, chatting with Cheryl for a
good half hour before gathering the rest of his groceries and heading home to
cook dinner for his beloved. Cheryl was stunned and pleased as punch at what
the detective had to say, and couldn’t wait to get home and tell Ben.

**

Missy
had taken a brief respite from her afternoon baking and sat down at a corner
table with coffee and a Cherry Amaretto cupcake, nibbling a bit every now and again,
but mostly sipping at the coffee and staring into space. The bell above the
front door clanged and she looked up startled and slightly annoyed. Her temper
had been precarious lately, which was unusual for her, but not entirely
unexpected, given her recent habits.

The
unexpected guest was Marsha Mueller, and Missy beckoned for her to come sit.

“I
actually forgot that it’s Tuesday,” she apologized, jumping up to get coffee
and a cupcake.

“Suddenly
they don’t seem as important anymore, do they?” she asked, eyeing her cupcake.
“What flavor is that?” she asked, sniffing it from a distance.

“Cherry
Amaretto,” Missy replied. “It’s a new recipe.”

Marsha
made a face. “Do you suppose that I could have something different?” she asked.
“I had a bad experience with Amaretto liquor in college and I haven’t been able
to stomach even the smell of it ever since,” she explained, pushing the plate
away.

“Oh,
I’m sorry, I had no idea,” Missy scooped up the offending cupcake and took it
to the kitchen, coming back with a Coconut Dream cupcake. “I hope you like
coconut,” she said, handing the plate to her friend.

“More
than life itself, honey,” Marsha smiled a sad smile. She delicately unwrapped
the fluffy epitome of coconut perfection, took a large bite, and pronounced it
delicious.

Missy’s
eyes grew wide for a moment, and her heart began to pound. Picking up her
coffee mug to cover her reaction, she was dismayed to see that her hand shook
so badly that the coffee sloshed in the cup. Entirely absorbed in her cupcake,
Marsha failed to notice her hostess’s panic attack and blithely munched her
treat.

“Marsha,
honey,” she began, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. “I really
need to get back to the kitchen, I have some rosewater and vanilla cupcakes
that need to be frosted before the tops get too tough. Will you be okay out
here by yourself?” she stretched her mouth across her teeth in what she hoped
looked like a smile.

“Of
course, Missy. Go do your thing,” she waved her hand to shoo her friend away
without looking up from her cupcake. “What do I owe you?” she finally glanced
up, chewing.

“It’s
Tuesday,” she managed to get the words out without stuttering. “….it’s on the
house.”

She
gave a reasonable impression of nonchalance as she made her way back to the
kitchen, but once the swinging doors swung shut behind her, she went searching
for Ben, eyes wide with fear, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest.

“Ben,”
she whispered, hating the fact that she was about to deceive the kindest, most
loyal person she’d ever known. “There is a woman sitting in the eating area.
She’s a member of my book club and is still really upset about the whole thing
with Sally Higgins. I want you to go out there and pretend to clean something,
but engage her in conversation, and try not to let her leave before I come back
out, okay?”

“Okaaaay…”
he replied, giving his boss a strange look. “Everything okay, Ms. G.?”

Another
faked smile. “Of course, everything is fine. I just have to make a phone call
and I don’t want to leave her by herself,” she shrugged. Ben raised his
eyebrows questioningly, but turned to do her bidding, and she let out a sigh of
temporary relief.