A Murder Moist Foul: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

 By Saturday morning, she couldn’t
stand the suspense any longer and decided to take matters into her own hands. 
Stepping out of her burgundy cube car in front of Bodacious Bakery, Giacomo
Andretti’s somewhat dingy but well-known sweet shop that had thrived for years
in a much larger town roughly 45 miles from LaChance, Melissa took a deep
breath to steady her nerves and headed for the entrance.  The teenager working
behind the counter was quite friendly as she pretended to study the selection
of cakes and pastries while surreptitiously glancing about, looking for
something (anything!) that looked suspicious.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she cooed in
her most motherly voice, “do y’all happen to have a ladies room?”  She knew
from having been in the bakery years ago that there were no public facilities.

The teenager leaned over the
counter conspiratorially and said in a low voice, “I’m not supposed to do this,
but I can let you use the employee rest room if you promise not to tell my
boss.”

“My lips are sealed, darlin,” she
beamed at him as he pointed, directing her to go down the hall and turn left. 
She went down the hall and turned right instead, heading for the kitchen. 
Entering the stainless steel commercial space, she quickly scanned shelves
looking for clues of any kind.  Bingo!  There it was…sitting on a shelf below
one of the massive commercial sinks was a large box of rat poison.  How they
were able to pass health inspections under those sorts of conditions is a
mystery probably best explained by the plethora of friends in low places that
Andretti had acquired over the years.

One of Ben’s fellow grad students
worked part time at the mortuary, assisting with embalming and preparations of
the deceased.  He had discovered in some carelessly stored paperwork that the deceased,
one Darryl Davis, had been poisoned and that the tentative identification of
the substance causing death was thought to be rat poisoning.  And right here,
right now, in Giacomo Andretti’s kitchen, she had discovered a big box of the
stuff. 

Taking her phone out of her purse
in order to take a photo, Missy froze when she heard a raspy voice with a heavy
Italian accent say, “And what is it that a beautiful lady is doing in my
kitchen?”  The words were friendly, but the voice had menacing overtones.  Melissa’s
heart pounded in her chest as she whirled to face the large Italian man.  She
plastered a wide smile on her face, fighting madly to keep her voice from
shaking.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry – I
wandered back here looking for the ladies’ room, am I going the right
direction?” she feigned innocence, hoping that her performance was convincing.

“We don’t have a ladies’ room, but
I’d be happy to escort you to my employee restroom if you’d like,” he offered,
too smoothly.

Missy was not about to allow this
man to escort her anywhere, but she once again worked up some sugar and spice,
hoping to get out of there alive.

“You know what, I think I’ll just
wait, I’m headed straight home after this anyhow,” she crinkled her nose
flirtatiously, pulling out all the stops.

“You look very familiar to me…” the
dark Italian observed, narrowing his eyes.  “Have we met?”

She avoided the question deftly. 
“You know, people say that to me all the time – I guess I just have one of
those faces.”  She beamed at him one more time and moved toward the door which
led to the front of the store, fingers crossed that he wouldn’t block her
passage as she made her exit and got back in her car to head to see Chas.

“Do you realize I could have you
arrested for impeding an investigation?” Chas hissed at her, livid.

“How can you be upset with me when
I found evidence linking him to the crime?” Missy shot back, hurt.

“Evidence?  You call a box of rat
poison evidence?  There’s probably one of those in every kitchen in Louisiana,”
he commented dryly, bursting her bubble.  “And what made you think that rat
poison is what killed Davis anyway?” he scorched her with his gaze.

“I’m not revealing my sources, but
I have it on good authority that rat poison is what killed Darryl, and the fact
of the matter is that someone who has motive to kill him is in possession of a
great deal of it!” she stomped her foot in frustration.  “Can’t you just arrest
him for something and then do a search to see if you find anything?” she
pleaded.

Beckett sighed, running a hand
through his hair, exasperated.  “No, we can’t just arrest him, there has to be
a reasonable suspicion of guilt and there are proper procedures involved.”  He
came around to the side of the desk where Melissa sat fidgeting in her chair. 
“Look,” he said quietly, “I told you that I would look into it, and I am
looking into it, you need to trust that I’ve been following up on every
possible lead.”  He held her gaze and part of her melted at the concern that
she saw in his eyes.  For the first time in a long time, she was at a loss for
words.  It had been a long, tiring week and suddenly she felt entirely drained.

“When’s the last time you had a
decent meal?” Beckett suddenly asked almost sternly.

Thinking about it, Missy realized
that she hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday and her stomach growled audibly in
response.  She giggled, embarrassed by the expression of her hunger and
admitted that it had been almost 24 hours.

“I’ll meet you in an hour,” he
shocked her by saying.  “We’ll continue this discussion at the steak house if
that works for you.  I could use a good meal myself,” and he actually allowed
the corners of his mouth to lift briefly in a gentle and devastating smile.

Missy’s insides shook like
well-made aspic whenever she thought about her impending meal with the handsome
Detective Beckett.  She changed her blouse three times, finally settling on a
bright blue silk that looked perfect with the ivory trousers that she had
selected for the occasion.  She brushed out her gleaming cornsilk tresses,
leaving her hair falling gently down around her shoulders in a glorious cloud
of soft curls, and finished her look with a touch of eyeliner and lip gloss. 
Simple sapphire studs adorned her ears and she admired their sparkle in the
mirror.  Missy knew that she was probably putting way too much thought into the
evening, Beckett probably just wanted to pick her brain for more ideas about
the case, but she was an old-school Southern woman and when a gorgeous man
asked her for the pleasure of her company, she would dress for the occasion, no
matter what his motives might be.

Toffee followed her from room to
room as she prepared for her evening (she refused to call it a date, she hadn’t
been on one of those for a couple of years), the tags on her collar jingling as
she moved.  Missy had watched her carefully after the incident with the
cigarette butt and the creaking gate, relying upon the retriever’s keen sense
of hearing for clues to any possible intruders, but the mellow Golden hadn’t
seemed to notice anything unusual in the last couple of days.  She bent down to
ruffle the fur on the top of her beloved friend’s head.

“Well Toffee Girl, it may not be a
date, but I’m going to enjoy the heck out of sitting across from Detective Chas
Beckett this evening,” she grinned happily at her pet, surprised at the
butterflies that fluttered lightly in her midsection.

After pulling his third choice of
shirt impatiently over his head and throwing it on his bed, Chas frowned at his
own behavior.  Why was he making such a big deal over something as simple as
two hungry people sharing a meal together?  It wasn’t like it was a date or
anything, he reminded himself.  After his fiancée had left him at the altar all
those years ago, he had vowed that he would never allow another woman to get
close enough to him to devastate his soul the way that Chloe had.  Until now it
hadn’t been an issue, although many willing and able young ladies had
practically thrown themselves at his feet over the years, he had managed to
keep them at arm’s length until they realized that he meant what he said when
he declared that he was married to his work and that she was a jealous wife. 
Sighing, he pulled a deep purple button-down from its velvet-clad hanger
(organization was a priority in his life and his closet highlighted the
concept), and pulled it on.  The shirt was perfect, but looked far too upscale
for the perfectly fitted dark-wash jeans that graced his hips, so he grabbed a
pair of charcoal-colored woolen trousers that completed his look.  He glanced
at his watch, ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it into place,
hurriedly fastened his favorite watch to his wrist, grabbed a coordinating
sport coat and headed for the door.  He was never late.  His father had been a
military man who insisted upon impeccable manners, which included pathological
punctuality, and the practice of arriving never less than ten minutes early had
served Beckett well.  He was always prepared, always ready for whatever awaited
him, and always in control of himself and his surroundings, so why on earth was
there a somewhat breathless sense of anticipation coursing through his veins at
the thought of sitting across the table from the lovely Melissa Gladstone?  It
had been a long week and he hadn’t eaten in quite a while – he was quite
certain that once his belly was full, he’d return to his normal state of
detachment.  At least that’s what he told himself.

Missy arrived at the Happy
Horseshoe Steak House, trying not to notice how her heart leapt into her throat
when she saw Detective Beckett’s low-slung sport sedan already parked in the
lot.  Breathing deeply to steady her inexplicable bout of nerves, she took one
last glance in her visor mirror, fluffing her curls with her fingertips before
heading toward the restaurant.  Her breath caught yet again when she saw him
sitting alone in a candlelit booth, seemingly perfectly at home against the
rich soft leather of the seat.  His casually elegant appearance made her heart
beat faster than it had in quite some time and her smile was anything but
forced as she approached the table.

Beckett stood and lightly touched
her arm to guide her to her seat and Missy had to work hard at suppressing a
shiver of excitement at the feel of his touch through the light silk fabric. 
She sat across the table from him, uncharacteristically at a loss for words,
still intimidated by his even gaze.

“I took the liberty of ordering a
wine that is a delicious complement to the steaks that are featured,” he
began.  “I hope you don’t mind,” he raised an inquiring eyebrow.  Missy
wondered absently if he had any idea how devastatingly handsome he looked when
he used that expression.

“Not at all,” she murmured, smiling
shyly.  “A good pairing makes all the difference!” she exclaimed, mortified the
moment the words left her mouth and hoping that he didn’t take them the wrong
way.  “I mean, with wine and food, you know…they’re really much more tasty when
paired correctly,” she babbled, blushing.  Much to her surprise and delight, a
slow grin spread across Beckett’s finely chiseled features and he nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he came to
her rescue.  “The right wine and food pairings can be extraordinary.”  Missy
returned his smile, relieved and was more than glad to see the approach of the
waiter, bottle of wine in hand.

“Detective Beckett, I can’t tell
you how grateful I am for the work that you’re doing on the case,” Missy said,
earnestly, sipping the delightful Cabernet that he had selected for the
occasion.

Beckett held up a hand to interrupt
her.  “First, please call me Chas; and secondly, let’s not talk about the case
right now.  I think we could both use a break from it for at least the duration
of our meal,” he gave her a pointed look, but softened it with a slight smile.

“I think you’re absolutely right,
Detect – I mean, Chas,” she agreed, loving the sound of his name on her lips. 
“And please, call me Missy,” she directed.

“It suits you, Missy,” he tipped
his wine glass toward her and she clinked hers lightly with his.  “Tell me
about yourself,” he invited after appreciating his sip.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to
tell,” she admitted ruefully.  “I was born and raised in this tiny town.  I’ve
done some traveling, but not nearly as much as I’d like, and the shop takes up
practically every second of my time,” she shrugged.

“I know the feeling,” Chas nodded. 
“Do you have any family in town?”

Missy eyed him speculatively.  “Is
that a personal question or a professional one?” she challenged lightly.

She was treated to another flash of
that devastating smile.  “Personal, no business tonight, I promise,” he
asserted, hands up in mock self-defense.

“No, no family,” she dropped her
gaze, but not before he noted the touch of melancholy in her soft grey eyes. 
“My parents died in an accident when I was 17, leaving me with the family
business.  Friends and generous folks from the community helped me out with it
until I graduated from high school, then I went to college part-time to earn my
degree while I ran the store during the day.  My younger sister helped out when
she could, but she was in school too, so she could only do a few hours here or
there.”  Missy quieted, caught up in her memories of the past, then shook her
head as if to escape them.  “Needless to say, it was challenging for a while,
but I managed,” she tried to smile.

“Wow, caring for a younger sibling
while going to school and running a shop is pretty amazing for an adult, it
must’ve been tremendously difficult for a teenager,” Chas frowned
sympathetically.  He noticed that she smiled brightly, falsely, and changed the
subject immediately when he expressed sympathy.  He totally understood.  Pain,
anger and raw courage he could deal with – compassion and sympathy, not so
much.  He wondered how much more he had in common with this charming Southern
belle.

“It all seems like a hundred years
ago,” Missy smiled, trying desperately for nonchalance.  “What about you – do
you have any family?” she inquired, more than ready to shift the focus of the
conversation.

“My mother passed a couple of years
ago, and my father is alive…physically at least.  He’s in a nursing home in
upstate New York – I see him every couple of months, but on most visits he
doesn’t even know who I am,” Chas showed a surprising vulnerability when he
spoke of his father, Missy’s heart went out to him. 

“Oh Chas, I’m so sorry,” she said
softly.  “Has he been that way for very long?”

“Too long,” was the somewhat husky
reply. “He would never have wanted to live this way,” he finished gruffly. 
Missy started to reach for his hand, but held back when the waiter approached
with their steaks.

“That smells fantastic,” Chas
noted, grateful for the interruption.  Missy’s stomach growled loudly in
agreement and they both laughed, their shared moment dissipating into safer
realms.

They shared the rest of their time
together talking about current events (other than the Davis case), places
they’d like to visit someday, and embarrassing childhood experiences that had
them at times practically doubled over with laughter.  It was, without
exception, the best evening that either of them had experienced in a very long
time, their carefree laughter drawing smiles and indulgent glances from their
fellow diners.

Chas insisted upon walking Missy to
her car, and, in light of recent events, (along with the fact that she was as
pleased as a blushing schoolgirl at the prospect), she agreed.

“I had a really lovely time
tonight,” she smiled softly up at him, eyes shining.  “Thank you so much – it
was nice to feel like a person again,” impulsively she lightly touched his arm,
truly grateful for his company.  He studied her for what seemed like a long
time, smiling warmly.  Her heart beat faster and faster.  She gazed at the
tempting fullness of his lower lip, wondering if he was going to kiss her.  He
noticed the focus of her attention and drew in a deep breath, seeming to come
to some sort of decision.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he
said, clearly meaning it.  He brushed his fingers gently over the hand that she
had placed on his arm and stepped back, clearly reluctant to maintain distance,
but needing to do so.

They said their respective goodbyes
and Missy practically floated up her front steps when she got home, smiling
dreamily and totally unaware of a presence in the shadows watching, waiting.