A Murder Moist Foul: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

Missy absently brushed the flour
from her hands on the front of her apron before putting another batch of her
popular Chocolate Cream Cheese Cupcakes in the oven.  She had been working
extra quickly this morning, trying to get everything in the kitchen done well
in advance of her 7 a.m. opening time.  Ben had called in sick – a first for
him, he hadn’t had a sick day the entire time he worked for her – and her heart
went out to him, he sounded positively miserable.  Which left her with all of
the opening and customer service responsibilities, it was going to be a long
day.

Humming to herself as she worked,
Missy jumped a mile when she heard a familiar raspy Italian voice directly
behind her.  “You should be more careful about locking the door behind you,”
Andretti snarled in a menacing tone.

Heart racing, she whirled to face
him, eyes wide with fear.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice a
tad shrill.

“You didn’t admit who you were when
you were snooping around in my shop last week,” Andretti’s eyes narrowed
accusingly.  “And I didn’t remember you until the police came and started
asking me questions,” he continued in a low growl.  “People who go looking for
trouble usually find it.  You’d do well to remember that, lady,” he spat
contemptuously, turning Missy’s fear to ire.

“Is that a threat, Mr. Andretti?”
she challenged, hands on hips, eyes flashing.  Andretti took a deliberate step
toward her, thrusting his face so close she could smell traces of last night’s
garlic on his hot, chuffing, breath.  Missy stumbled away reflexively, fearing
that the irate Italian would become violent.

“That,” he began, enunciating and
emphasizing every word with unspoken but nearly tangible malice, “That. Was.
Not. A. Threat, little Missy.”  He stabbed his finger in her direction
repeatedly, trembling in his anger, causing her to step back yet again.  She
knew this kitchen like the back of her hand and knew that he had her backed
into a corner with no escape.  For better or worse, when it came time for fight
or flight, Missy’s usual reaction was to stand up for herself.  She may be in a
bad position, but she’d be damned if she’d go down without a fight.

Inwardly loathing the weak-sounding
tremor in her voice, she drew herself up to every inch of her diminutive
height, thrust her chin forward with bravado that she almost felt, and
declared, “Mr. Andretti, I think you’d better leave now.”  She was determined
to stand her ground, come what may.  She refused to cower before a bully, even
if it killed her, and she was actually afraid that it just might.

“I’ll leave when I choose,” he
thundered in response, his color rising, turning from red to nearly purple in
his ill-contained rage.  He moved in close to shout in her face again, but this
time she refused to retreat, despite her revulsion at the hot stench of his
breath and the spittle that launched forth.  “Just you remember what I said,
and keep that fragile nose of yours where it belongs – I’d hate to see
something happen to it,” he hissed through his teeth, turned on his heel and
strode toward the back door.  Grabbing a dishcloth before touching the
doorknob, he spun to face her with a pointed glare that spoke volumes.  He
pointed at her, jabbing his finger toward her again, raised his eyebrows in
warning, and backed out the door.

Missy heaved a giant sigh of
relief, and ran trembling to lock the door after Andretti departed.  She leaned
back against it, willing her heartbeat to slow, taking deep breaths.  An acrid
smell teased her nostrils and she looked toward the ovens in alarm. Her
cupcakes were burning and tendrils of smoke were starting to rise up through
the burners.  Furious, she raced over to turn off the ovens and decided against
opening the shop today.  With the burned disaster in the ovens she wouldn’t
have enough stock to make it through anyway, so she made a sign for the door
and grabbed her car keys.  Maybe Chas Beckett would believe her suspicions
about Giacomo Andretti now.

Rhonda Davis Burns sat across the
conference table from Detective Beckett smoking a cigarette and distractedly
tapping her ragged nails on the scarred and pocked surface while studiously
avoiding his steely gaze.

“Did your brother have any
girlfriends or ex-girlfriends with whom he had some sort of conflict?” he
probed, impatient with Darryl’s sister’s reluctance to participate in the
conversation.  He thought that he had interviewed every living relative of the
Donut Man, to no avail, and then Rhonda sauntered into his office at the
insistence of her other siblings.  She looked as though she had been pretty
once, a long, hard lifetime ago.  She stated her age as 28, but looked as
though she was at least a decade older than that, with harsh lines around her
mouth, deep frown lines on her brow and teeth and nails showing the dull yellow
of neglect, and years of chemical experimentation.

“He kinda gave up on having a
girlfriend after that Gladstone snob humiliated him,” Rhonda drawled, taking a
deep drag.  Beckett wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly.

“Gladstone?” he inquired, his pen
poised above his notebook.

She snorted derisively, “You mean
no one told you about her?  That smug little babe ruined Darryl for good,” she
sneered.  “He didn’t date much before he tried to date her, but he didn’t date
at all once she destroyed what few shreds of manhood he had left.”   Chas put
down his pen, needing to clarify what he thought he was hearing.

“Who are you talking about here?”
he drilled her with a look.

“I told you, the Gladstone chick,”
she allowed a curl of smoke to drift from the corner of her mouth.

“Melissa Gladstone?” he offered,
hoping that he was wrong.

“Oh hell no, Darryl knew better
than to even try with that snooty little goody two-shoes, he went for the
little sister, Sherilyn.  He thought he was in love with that girl and she wouldn’t
give him the time of day.  He asked her out quite a few times and she always
turned him down.  He sent her flowers and found them in the trash behind the
cupcake shop.  The last straw was when he bought space on the light board at
the ballpark and asked her out between innings, in front of the entire crowd. 
She refused him, again, told him to leave her alone or she’d go to the police,
and ran from the park crying.  He tried calling her for a few months and used
to ride by her house in his car, but he finally gave up.  A few months later,
she was dead,” Darryl’s sister shrugged as if her story was common knowledge,
and of little consequence.

Beckett’s mind was reeling.  Why
hadn’t Missy told him about her sister and Darryl Davis?  She’d had the perfect
opportunity at dinner, and had changed the subject instead.  And how did
Sherilyn die?  Unfortunately, he’d have to table these new questions until his
interview with Darryl’s sister was complete.  He grilled her further, but
received no information of any value, and finally sent her on her way, spraying
a disinfectant room freshener after her departure.

Missy quickly got out of her car,
looking furtively about her to make certain that she wasn’t followed, and
trotted quickly up the cement steps to the LaChance police department to fill
Chas Beckett in on her encounter with Giacomo Andretti.  She checked in with
the clerk and made her way to Beckett’s desk.  When he glanced up and saw her,
instead of the welcoming smile that she expected, she was greeted with an icy
glare.

“Chas?” she approached hesitantly.

“What can I do for you Ms.
Gladstone?” he responded curtly, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Missy was taken aback, they had
parted on such good terms, and now it seemed that their lovely evening together
had never happened.  She had come to him today hoping for support and
reassurance and was apparently going to receive neither.

“Umm…I really need to talk to you,
it’s important,” she said quietly, puzzled at his behavior toward her.

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence,”
he retorted sarcastically. “I have some things that I need to speak with you
about as well, have a seat,” he indicated to the worn leather chair across from
him.

“Is something wrong?” Missy asked,
worried.

“You haven’t exactly been forthcoming
with me in regard to your relationship to Darryl Davis have you?” Beckett got
straight to the point.

“Of course I have,” Missy
sputtered, confused.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’ve told you
everything I know!”

“Everything?” the detective
queried.  “You want to rethink that?” he looked at her pointedly.

“Rethink what?  I’m sorry
Detective, I don’t understand what’s going on here, do you want to tell me what
this is about, or are you just going to continue to vaguely accuse me of something
and leave me in the dark?” she challenged.

Beckett sighed and leaned back in
his chair, putting his hands behind his head, never taking his eyes from hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me about
Sherilyn?” he asked quietly.

Missy dropped her gaze, shoulders
slumping.  “I did tell you about her, there was nothing more to say,” she
offered lamely.  Her words sounded hollow even in her own ears.

“Really?” he threw out
sardonically.  “You didn’t think the fact that Darryl Davis essentially stalked
your sister might turn out to be somewhat relevant to this case?”

“How could it be?  My sister has
been deceased for years,” her eyes filled with tears as the wounds that she’d
tried so hard to keep closed reopened, the pain as fresh as if it happened
yesterday.  Her sister was all she had left in the world and one day she was
just…gone.  Forever.

“And that was another detail that
you neglected to mention.  Your sister died under suspicious circumstances, a
suspect was never named and I’m supposed to believe that it never crossed your
mind that Darryl Davis should have been named as at least a person of interest
in the case?”

Missy shook her head vehemently. 
“You know very well that there was no love lost between me and Darryl Davis,
but as much as I disliked him as a business rival, he was never anything but
sweet to Sherilyn.  I don’t believe for a second that he had anything to do
with her death.  The police eventually reported that it was accidental, and
I’ve lived every day since believing that.  No, Darryl may have been
unscrupulous in business, but he didn’t kill my little Sheri.”  She twisted her
hands in her lap, biting down on her lip to keep from breaking down in front of
the man whom she had come to admire, who was now looking at her as though her
words were not to be trusted.

Beckett ran a hand through his
hair, frustrated.  Once again, his gut told him that Missy was innocent of any
wrongdoing, despite what seemed to be a pretty damning omission in her
statement, but he had no other prime suspects and the case was growing colder
by the day.  He’d be putting in some late hours this week, but then, that was
the norm for him.  His pleasant interlude with Missy at the steakhouse had been
a mistake.  For a moment he had allowed his personal feelings to cloud his judgment
– that wouldn’t be the case from now on.  He would be strictly businesslike
with this beautiful blonde person of interest.

“You said that you had something
important to talk about,” he said somewhat wearily, picking up his pen.

Missy drove home in a daze, her
thoughts far away.  She hadn’t thought about the details of Sheri’s death in
years.  The reality of it was just too painful.  Her sister had died of head
injuries that appeared as though they were deliberate, but in the end were ruled
as being accidental because no good explanation could be found as to how she
suffered them.  Her sister Sherilyn was a quiet, bookish girl who laughed
easily and was a friend to everyone.  The only reason that Darryl Davis thought
he had a chance with her was because she was as kind to him as she was to
everyone else and he read more meaning into her polite smiles and conversation
than he should have.  That he was bewitched by her lovely face and pleasant
manner was no surprise, she had more than her share of wanna-be suitors, but
preferred to spend most of her time alone with her music and her books, lost in
world of her own where parents don’t die prematurely, sisters don’t take on the
role of parenting, and life is simple and beautiful.  The thought of hurting
anyone caused Sheri great distress and she grieved for young Darryl Davis,
knowing that her refusals were causing him pain, but unable to become involved
in a close relationship with anyone aside from her beloved older sis.

Missy’s melancholy clung to her
like a dark cloud, and she trudged to the mailbox in front of her house not
even noticing that the letter flap had been left open.  Finding it empty, she
made her way up the front steps, eager to bury her face in the silky fur of her
loyal friend.  When she stepped into the foyer, she immediately knew that
something was wrong, her senses becoming instantly aware of several things
simultaneously.

Toffee had an accident in the front
hall, as evidenced by a large pool of urine, and the happy animal who typically
greeted her at the door, was nowhere to be seen.  There was a faint smell in
the air that she recognized…fear.  Animals put out a definitive odor when they
are in a state of fear or distress and Toffee was no exception. 

Heart in her throat, Missy called
out softly, “Toffee?  Where are you, girl?  Toffee?”  She was just beginning to
panic when she heard a soft whine from the kitchen, and ran to see what had
happened.  Toffee was huddled in the corner, under a table, peering out warily,
trembling.  Her tail thumped twice when Missy held out her hand to the
frightened animal, beckoning her to come out.  The terrified retriever
belly-crawled out to Missy, laying her tawny head in her lap.

“What is it, girl?  Why are you so
scared?” Missy cooed to her faithful friend, frightened herself.

The dog sat up and looked at her
owner, then at the back door, then at her owner and back at the door again. 
Missy followed the dog’s gaze and her breath caught in her throat – the door
was ajar.  She never left the house without locking both the front and back
doors, particularly now that there was potentially a madman on the loose.  She
was rooted in place, not knowing whether or not to move quickly to lock the
back door, or whether there might still be someone in the house.  Fearing for
her safety and Toffee’s, Missy sprang into action, tiptoeing across the kitchen
to grab Toffee’s leash, then snapping it on the still-trembling animal’s collar
and practically sprinting out the front door with her.  Locking herself and the
traumatized animal safely in her car, she dialed Chas’ number with shaking
fingers.

Missy stayed in the car attempting
to soothe Toffee, while keeping a lid on her own rising panic and waited for
Chas and two more patrol cars to show up.  She had kept her eyes glued on the
house, and from her vantage point, had seen no one leave through either the
front or the back door, which meant that either they were long gone before she
arrived, or they were still inside the house.  Chas and the four patrol officers
approached the house, hands on their weapons, but not drawing any attention to
the residence from curious neighbors, per Missy’s request.  Two officers stayed
outside to secure a perimeter around the house, while Chas and the other two
went inside, where they stayed for what seemed to Missy to be forever.

Chas approached her car to give her
an update.  “We dusted the doorknob for prints, but whoever touched it last
wiped it clean.”  Immediately Missy thought of how Giacomo Andretti had grabbed
a kitchen towel before exiting out the back door of the cupcake shop after
their encounter, and mentioned the parallel to the detective.  He responded
that they would check it out, and that after exploring every nook and cranny of
her sizable residence, they had found no evidence of an intruder, aside from
some potato chip crumbs on the table in the kitchen.  Missy had given up eating
potato chips several decades ago and told him so.  Nodding thoughtfully, Chas
let her know that they had taken the crumbs as evidence and that he would let
her know what they found out.  Missy made the spontaneous decision that she
would be traveling to another city this evening to stay in a hotel and Chas
accompanied her into the house while she cleaned up the evidence of Toffee’s
accident, packed a light bag and some basic supplies for her beloved pet. 
Beckett was stationing a patrol car in the area, where they could observe the
residence without being detected, and assured her that he would call if
anything happened, counseling her to relax and get a good night’s sleep.  At
this rate, she didn’t know if she’d ever sleep again.