A Murder Moist Foul: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 1) (5 page)

Ben looked at his boss with
consternation.  There were dark circles under her eyes, and she clung to her
coffee mug as though her life depended upon it, staring vacantly into space.

“Hey Ms. G.,” the concerned young
man began.  “If you want to take a few hours to go home and sleep or something,
I can handle things here,” he offered, somewhat alarmed when she didn’t
respond.

“Ms. G.?” he prompted, a bit louder
this time, causing Missy to come out of her reverie a bit.

“I’m sorry Ben,” she ran a weary
hand over her forehead.  “Did you say something?”

He had never seen her so
exhausted.  His boss was a woman of action, when something was bothering her,
she figured out a way to solve the problem, that’s just who she was.  Seeing
her like this was making him gravely concerned for her health and well-being.

“I just…I said that I think you
should go home and sleep and I’ll take care of things here,” he urged.  Missy
smiled at her kind-hearted assistant.

“Thanks for the offer Ben, but I’m
not having much luck sleeping at home lately.  Ever since I found out that
someone had been in there, I’ve felt…I don’t know…watched…violated.  My
personal space was invaded.  They scared my baby girl,” her voice broke a bit
when she thought about how scared Toffee had been.

“Well, I understand how that could
happen, but…isn’t there someone who would let you crash on their couch for a
bit or something?” he tried desperately to think of solutions that would help
this poor, suffering woman.

“It’s okay, Ben, really.  It
doesn’t matter where I am or who I’m with these days, I’m not going to be able
to rest until I get some answers.  Someone is trying to send me a message and
eventually we’ll find out what it all means,” she sighed, dropping her head
down on her arms in exhaustion.  “I really feel safest when I’m here,” she
mumbled.  Ben awkwardly patted her on the arm in his innocent attempt to
comfort her, and heard her snore softly. 

“Well, at least she’ll finally be
getting some sleep,” he remarked to himself, going back to his tasks.

“What do you mean Andretti is in
the clear?” Missy demanded, sitting in the uncomfortable leather chair across
from Chas Beckett.

“He has airtight alibis for both
events.  There’s no way he could have been at Darryl’s on the night of his
murder or at your house on the night of the break-in,” Chas asserted gently. 
“He provided video evidence.”

“But…how?  Was it authenticated? 
If it wasn’t Andretti, who on earth was in my house, and who killed Darryl?  It
just doesn’t make sense,” Missy shook her head in dismay.

“Yes, the videos were
authenticated, it’s a dead end, we need to find someone else with the motive to
do what they did, assuming that the two events are even related,” he mused.

“Of course they’re related,” she
insisted.  “There’s no way that Darryl’s death and someone suddenly stalking me
could be a coincidence.  Oh Chas, what am I going to do?” Missy lowered her
face into her hands, finally giving in to the tears that had been threatening
since the whole horrible mess had begun. 

Beckett observed her, torn.  One
part of him thought that it would be all too easy for her to try to throw him
off her trail by distracting him with supposed break-ins, but the other part of
him, the way-down-deep-inside part of him that was rarely (if ever) wrong, felt
that she was as much of a victim as Darryl was, although not quite as
finally…yet.  But he was frustrated by the lack of leads and evidence in the
case.  He vowed to leave no stone unturned until it was solved, and if that
meant having to convict the sweet, lovely woman who sat sobbing in front of
him, so be it.

Missy was frustrated, with herself
for breaking down in front of anyone, but particularly Chas Beckett, and with
her situation.  She couldn’t understand why it was taking so long for the
police to find Darryl Davis’ killer, and she had an eerie feeling that she just
might be the next victim.  She hated going home these days, there was a
pervasive chill in the stately house that had nothing to do with the thermostat
setting.  Toffee seemed to have recovered entirely from her strange encounter
with an intruder, but Missy noted that the animal seemed more vigilant than
usual, pacing up and down in front of the windows and sometimes fixating on
particular spots in the darkness beyond.  As a precaution, she had disposed of
the dog’s food and replaced it with new – she couldn’t bear the thought that
someone just might be evil enough to try to poison her furry friend.  She
changed the locks on all of her doors, had expensive deadbolts installed, and
put guard bars in her windows.

 Yet, even with all of the
precautions, she still jumped at every sound, investigated every shadow, and
hardly slept at all.  Her fears were taking a toll on her health.  Her face was
pale, with deep shadows under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide,
so she didn’t even bother to try, and she hadn’t been able to force herself to
eat an entire meal since the incident.  She nibbled delicately and scraped the
majority of her meals into the garbage disposal.  Weight loss made her look a
bit gaunt, and her clothes were starting to hang loosely.

She could have taken the sleeping
pills that dear Doc Wiley had provided when she complained about her insomnia,
but the nagging fear that something would happen that would require her to have
her wits about her, prevented her from seeking pharmaceutical relief. 

Knowing that she desperately needed
some rest, she made herself a cup of chamomile tea, just like her grandmother
used to make, while she ran a bath with lavender crystals that the woman at the
health food store assured her were supposed to induce sleep.  At this point she
was willing to try anything to get some rest.  Her teakettle whistled merrily,
and the happy sound took her back to simpler days.  Pouring the steaming water
into her cup to brew, she wished that life had taken a different path.  She
missed her parents and her sister still.  Time had eased the pain, but
certainly hadn’t eliminated it.  She wondered if staying single all these years
so that she could focus on keeping the family business alive had been a
mistake.  Going through recent events would have been much easier with someone
strong, capable and loving by her side. 

Chas Beckett’s handsome face popped
into her mind and she forcibly dismissed the thought of him.  She thought they
had shared a special time together, and had enjoyed seeing the softer, more
personable side of the taciturn detective, but now he looked at her as a
possible murderer.  How on earth could he believe something like that after
spending time getting to know her?  Well, it’s not like it mattered anyway, he
wasn’t looking for a relationship and neither was she.  Going solo might be
lonely, but the intricacies and difficulties of relationships could be more
painful than the pangs of loneliness, so she had probably been right to avoid
the whole emotional mess – it was safer, in a manner of speaking.

Shaking herself from her reverie,
she dunked her teabag up and down several times, squeezed it out and headed for
the bathroom with Toffee at her heels.  She waited until the adoring canine
settled herself on the bathmat in front of the sink, then locked the two of
them in.  She wasn’t letting the dog out of her sight whenever she was home,
just as a precaution.

She sank back into the delicately
scented warmth of the bath and drew in a deep breath.  The water felt
wonderful, and she felt some of her stress melting away.  Missy sipped her tea,
savoring the familiar taste of home and family, then tipped her head back and
closed her eyes, relaxing a bit.  She was luxuriating in the feeling of finally
being warm and somewhat sleepy when her cell phone buzzed from its spot on the
countertop.  Sighing, Missy decided not to jump up from her watery retreat to
run across the cold porcelain floor to answer it.  Whatever it was could wait,
she reasoned, and if it was important, the caller could leave a message.  She
was exhausted and refused to deal with anything (or anyone) else for the rest
of the day.  Lingering in her bath for nearly half an hour (and adding hot
water periodically to keep it soothing and warm), Missy noted that the
chamomile tea and lavender crystals seemed to be having their intended effect,
as her eyes drooped heavily.  Rising slowly out of the healing waters, she
padded over to the towel bar and wrapped the large, fluffy bath blanket around
herself.  She glanced at her phone and saw that Ben was the mystery caller, and
that he had indeed left a message.  She yawned hugely and decided to listen to
his voicemail tomorrow.  Sleep was fast approaching and she was going to take
full advantage of the opportunity.

Drying off and slipping into thick,
pink flannel pajamas, Missy headed down the hall and gratefully cocooned
herself in the pillowy depths of her fluffy down comforter, drifting off into
the first heavy sleep she’d had in a very long time.  Toffee snored softly from
her plush doggie bed in the corner of the room, and all was peaceful for the
rest of the night.

Missy awoke with a start, dismayed
to see sunlight streaming through the windows.  She had to have overslept, at
this time of year she was always up and baking before sunrise.  She felt
guilty, particularly because she knew that Ben would already be hard at work,
waiting for her to come in.  She took a quick shower, dried her hair in such a
hurry that curly tufts sprang up in every direction, causing her to toss it on
top of her head in a loose bun to contain it, and threw on the first sweater
and clean pair of jeans that she could find.  She brushed her teeth, grabbed
her coat and keys and flew out the door, pausing only long enough to let Toffee
come trotting out behind her.  Once the dog was done with her morning relief,
Missy let her back in the house, locked the door securely behind her and headed
for her car.

The shop was dark when its harried
owner arrived, causing her to wonder what was going on.  Ben was nowhere to be
found, and Missy remembered that he had left her a voicemail last night. 
Hurriedly punching her code into her phone, after a brief pause she heard Ben’s
voice.  He sounded as though he had a cold.

“Uh, hi Ms. G.,” he began
haltingly.  She heard him take a deep, shuddering breath.  “I’m really sorry,
but I might not be able to open the shop tomorrow,” his voice cracked with
emotion and Missy’s heart dropped at the thought of what might be making him so
upset.  “When I, umm…came home tonight,” the clearly distraught youth choked
out, “Rocky was really sick, so I took him to the vet…and they…they don’t know
if he’s…” Ben’s voice cut out, he was overwhelmed.  Missy had never heard him
so upset.  Another shuddering breath.  “Anyhow, they’ll know more
tomorrow…so…I’ll call or something.  I’m really sorry.”  Click.  The message
ended.  Missy’s heart went out to the youth, and she hung up her phone sadly. 
It never rained but it poured, poor Ben.  It was rough making it through the
business day without her loyal assistant, but she understood how he felt.  He
was alone in the world and Rocky was his best friend.  If something happened to
the gentle cat, Ben wouldn’t get over it easily.

So many times during the day, Missy
reached for her phone to call, but she knew that Ben would update her when he
knew something, and customers kept her busy pretty consistently, giving her
little time to think about his awful circumstances.  She had just turned off
the bright neon pink “We’re Open” sign and locked the front door to the shop
when her phone rang.  Seeing Ben’s number on her screen, she answered
immediately.

“Ben, sweetheart, are you okay? 
How’s Rocky?” she asked tenderly, before he even had a chance to speak.  When a
small sound like a soft sob was his reply, she knew right away that the worst
had happened.

“Oh Ben, I’m so sorry, what can I
do?  What do you need?  Have you eaten?” Missy went into nurturing mode, like
she used to when Sherilyn used to cry for their parents in the night.  Wishing
she could give him a hug, she listened as he recounted the events of the
evening before, his tears fading into faint hiccups.

Ben was perplexed when Rocky didn’t
greet him at the door by twining between his legs as was his custom.  Their
routine was like clockwork – he would pick up the snuggly feline and scratch
him behind the ears, then it was time to go to the kitchen where he’d pour
kibble into Rocky’s bowl.  Rocky would wait patiently for Ben’s dinner to come
out of the microwave (or for the pizza delivery man to arrive) and then when
Ben sat down to eat, Rocky would attack his food like the mini-lion that he
pretended to be.  The two would eat in companionable silence, then retire to
the living room for TV.  It was more than strange that Rocky broke from
routine, and Ben went through the house calling his name.

He found the poor cat curled up on
his side, on top of a heat register, in the corner of the bedroom, mewling
miserably.  His eyes were glazed and had a pained expression and the poor
animal had white foam drizzling from the corners of his mouth.  Ben gingerly
picked him up and his dear friend felt almost rigid in his arms.  He wrapped
him in a blanket and drove him to the emergency veterinary hospital, where the
doctor took one look and spirited the miserable cat to an examination room
immediately.  He told Ben that, at first glance, it looked as though Rocky had
gotten into something poisonous, but that it would take some testing to be
sure.  In the meantime, they were going to keep Rocky overnight to give him
fluids and keep him under observation, but the prognosis didn’t look good.  At
4:30 a.m., Ben received a call requesting that he come in as soon as possible. 
Rocky wasn’t going to make it and breathed his last gasping breath cradled
gently in the arms of his owner, while tears flowed freely down the stricken
youth’s face.

Ben had wrapped Rocky carefully in
the blanket that he’d brought him to the vet in, and took him home, where he
buried him under the winter-barren branches of a rose bush in a corner of the
back yard.  With no one around to hear or see, the grief-stricken young man
leaned pitifully on the handle of his shovel sobbing with all his might.

When Missy heard the terrible tale,
her heart broke for Ben and she cried with him over the phone.  She reassured
him that he could take as much time as he needed for his grief, but he insisted
on coming in the next day, knowing that work would help take his mind off of
the incredibly untimely loss of his furry friend.  She hung up the phone after
murmuring words of comfort that most likely fell upon deaf ears, and wrapped
her arms around her waist, aching with sorrow.  She didn’t know if she could
take another tragedy and hoped desperately that something good would happen,
and soon.