Plain Vanilla Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 12 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) (5 page)

“How
are things going?” Penny Mathers asked in a hushed tone. The static on the line
made her think that her co-conspirator was wandering around in a basement or
something.

“Perfectly,”
Francesca Childs purred, smoking a clove cigarette and sipping a dry martini,
on a lounger by the pool. “These bumbling gumshoes out here think that our
little Southern-Fried chick is the bad guy. “Kelvin handed them a suspect on a
silver platter by cursing her out so profoundly in the last round,” she
snickered.

“Well,
that’s good news,” Penny sighed with relief. The heavy Minnesota accent that
she’d adopted for the show had disappeared without a trace. “So when can I get
my hands on the contest money?” she asked. Francesca was supposed to have
declared Missy and Simon disqualified from the competition due to suspicious
circumstances, which would make Penny the winner of the prize money, as well as
the contract for a baking show of her own.

“You’re
just going to have to be a bit more patient on that one,” Francesca warned.
“There are some legal loopholes that have to be finessed before I can just get
them to write you a check,” she explained, her good humor dimming a bit.

The
“Midwestern” woman paused before responding. “We had a deal you gothic snake,”
she hissed. “I want my money and I want my show and I want it yesterday, get
it?” The plump, grandmotherly-looking woman was infuriated to hear a soft laugh
on the other end of the line.

“Well,
dearest…you’re really not in a position to make demands, now are you?”
Francesca snarled with great satisfaction, blowing a smoke ring and smiling at
the perfection of it.

“Oh,
but I am,” Penny returned in a deadly voice. “You see, I’m the one who knows
what you did. I know who doctored Kelvin’s drink to make him barely coherent, I
know who invited him to stay since he “wasn’t feeling well,” and I darn sure
know who held his head under water long enough for him to “mysteriously drown,”
despite being a strong swimmer, which puts me actually in an enviable position
to make demands, doesn’t it, my dark one?” she finished ever-so-sweetly.

“Go
back to Minnesota, you miserable wretch,” Francesca suggested, just as sweetly,
before hitting the End button.

Stabbing
out her cigarette and putting her phone back into the rear pocket of her
slim-fitting black jeans, the producer sighed, wondering if making a deal with
the devil (also known as Penny Mathers), had been worth the headache. She had
misrepresented the amount of money that Penny would get from winning the
contest so that she could keep more than half for herself. It had been a gold
mine when Frannie found out that the determined Ms. Mathers had paid Kelvin
Michaels a significant amount of money to sway the contest in her direction.

When
Kelvin went rogue and decided to renege on his deal with Penny, the diabolical producer
had suggested to the scheming sow (who was from Orange County, not Minnesota)
that a convenient “accident” could solve their problem. On the night of the
final showdown celebration dinner, she had drugged the unsuspecting judge with
a strong sedative, offered to let him spend the night because his oh-so-jealous
lover was out of town, and drowned him in her Olympic-sized swimming pool,
calling the police when she “found” him in the morning, and concocting a story
about having last seen him chatting with the innocent little hayseed from
Louisiana, Melissa Gladstone.

Being
well-known, and quite frankly, highly admired, in the industry had its
advantages. The police bought Francesca’s story, hook, line and sinker, and she
even had a bit of fun flirting with the Erik Estrada look-alike detective. They
glommed on to poor, unsuspecting, Missy Gladstone like Velcro after that, and
never for a moment suspected that the real culprit sat smugly in their midst.
Penny had only pretended to flee back to Minnesota in disgrace, but had
actually just gone home to the OC, where she spent her days (ironically)
watching reality TV and calling to pester the producer who was now seriously
considering causing an accident to befall the her obnoxious partner in crime.

Her
phone chirped again and she pulled it out of her pocket with a sigh, prepared
to threaten Penny Mathers with a cruel and untimely death if necessary. Seeing
that the caller was one Melissa Gladstone, she clicked a button to send the
call to voicemail, rose from the lounger and sauntered into her opulent mansion
in search of her butler, Walter. The man’s massages were out of this world, and
her neck could use a little work.

Missy
was furious when Francesca Childs ignored her call yet again, and decided that
this time, she was going to leave a message. The snooty producer had no right
to treat her like a social pariah, and she was going to give her a piece of her
mind. She waited for the tone to signal that it was time to speak, and
unleashed a torrent of emotion that had built to a fever pitch, particularly
when she was cast out of the Bake House without so much as a second thought.

“How
dare you ignore my attempts to contact you? I don’t know just who you think you
are treating me like dirt after you lured me out here under false pretenses.
You told me I’d be auditioning for a chance to host my own baking show, and
that was a flat-out lie. I trusted you because you said that my friend Ian had
told you about me, now I’m wondering if you just used the name of a dead man to
fulfill your own selfish purposes. If so, I feel sorry for you because that’s
just plain vile and disrespectful and you’re a horrible…” beeeeep…the voicemail
clicked off. Missy jabbed at the End button on her phone in frustration,
halfway tempted to call back and continue her chastisement, but thinking better
of it. When she really thought about it, there was actually no point in lashing
out at someone who apparently had no conscience.

**

Sitting
back in the strictly utilitarian desk chair in her mid-grade hotel room, Missy
ran over and over the events that had led up to Kelvin’s murder, wracking her
brain for any possible explanation as to who would want to kill him and why.
His fellow judges all seemed to respect him, even occasionally ribbing him
about his grumpy disposition. The contestants all feared him, but knew that
criticism was a natural part of both the process and his personality. She
flashed back to the dressing down that he had given her after choking on his
cupcake and something about that incident struck her as significant, but she
couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. She replayed the humiliating scene in her head
again and again, finally thinking beyond the event to when Kelvin had addressed
Penny Mathers.

He
had finished choking, finished giving his cruel feedback to Missy, and finished
his glass of water. Penny felt sorry for him, and perhaps trying to gain
brownie points with the judge, had offered him a mint. A light bulb went off in
Missy’s brain – that was it! The mint! Kelvin had snatched the tin from Penny’s
hand and had eaten a few of them before giving the Minnesotan her feedback.
What if the mints had been poisoned? What if Penny had been the killer?

Missy
grew excited at the prospect of possibly having identified a real suspect, but
then came back to reality and thought about the sweet, innocent former farm
girl who had blushed so deeply when receiving her criticism. That woman clearly
didn’t have a negative bone in her body, and had been nothing but kind to
Missy, the other contestants and the judges. Feeling more than a bit guilty at
having considered Penny, even briefly, as a suspect, she readjusted her
thinking cap, and worked on figuring out a viable suspect.

It
occurred to Missy that she had no earthly idea as to how Kelvin Michaels had
died, and it might help her figure things out if she knew. She made a note in
the notebook that she had in front of her, to try to find out what exactly had
happened to Kelvin, which would hopefully steer her in the direction of the
culprit. She had so often wished that Chas could come out and help her, but he
was tied up in multiple cases in Louisiana, so the best he could do was talk
with her over the phone every day.

**

It
had been quite a while since Missy had felt safe. Her room at the Bake House
had been violated, and the police, in the absence of evidence to the contrary,
attributed the attack to a deranged and grieving fan of Kelvin Michaels,
neglecting to pursue the matter any further. Evidence had been collected at the
scene and was being slowly processed, but there was no expectation that the lab
results would yield anything of significance.

Scanning
her notes, trying to make some sort of sense out of nothing but speculation and
random observations, Missy was startled when it sounded like something brushed
against the stucco on the outside of her hotel room, between the front window
and the door. Jumping up to make certain that the deadbolt was engaged, she
stood on tiptoe and looked out of the peephole, seeing nothing. She heard
another sound and saw a shadow fall briefly into view in front of her window.

Nearly
jumping out of her skin when her phone rang, Missy picked up immediately and
reflexively whispered hello.

“Ms.
Gladstone, it’s Detective Fernandez. Are you at your hotel currently?” he asked
in a clipped voice. When Missy said that she was, he told her he’d be there in
fifteen minutes, and for once she was really looking forward to seeing a member
of the LAPD. After hanging up, she realized her mistake. Although the voice on
the other end of the phone had sounded like Detective Fernandez, she had no
idea if it actually was him, and had just confirmed her location. If someone
had called, intending to do her harm, she had unwittingly told them exactly
where she could be found. Clutching her cell phone as though her life depended
on it (and thinking that it just might), Missy extinguished every light in the
hotel room, moving stealthily to the window to look out. She didn’t see anything,
but wasn’t confident that her eyes had fully adjusted. Her heart pounded so
profoundly within her chest that she wondered if whoever was lurking about
outside could hear it. She consciously slowed her breathing, trying desperately
to remain calm. Slumping to the floor, with her back against the wall, knees
hugged to her chest, Missy stayed just to the side of the window for the entire
fifteen minutes, sagging with relief when she recognized Detective Fernandez’s
unmarked cruiser pulling into the parking lot. She flung open the door as the
detective approached.

“Oh
my goodness, I’m so glad to see you,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

“Melissa
Gladstone, you are under arrest for the murders of Kelvin Michaels and
Francesca Childs,” he stated flatly, and handcuffed her while reciting her
rights.

Missy
sat on the chilly slab of cement that served as a bench in the corner of a
holding cell, her feet tucked up underneath her, head down, arms criss-crossing
her body protectively. Her cell mates were many and varied – women who’d been
arrested for prostitution, shoplifting, public intoxication, and every other
social ill that Missy could think of, and some that she’d never even heard of.
Keeping to herself, she never made eye contact, her heart pounding with fear
and adrenalin. She sat for hours while other offenders came and went, some
staying only long enough to sober up. The smell in the overcrowded cell was
staggering, and Missy tried to breathe through her mouth so that she could
control the nausea that rose up within her when she caught of whiff of the
powerful stench that surrounded her. Numb with fear and revulsion, but afraid
to close her eyes, she stared at a spot on the floor for hours before hearing
her name called.

“Gladstone!”
a husky female guard with a frizzy perm and a bad attitude barked to get her
attention.

Her
mouth seemingly lined with cotton from dehydration, Missy raised her hand to
indicate that she’d heard her name.

“Gladstone,
get over here,” the guard ordered, frowning. “I ain’t got all day to mess with
you.”

Feeling
frail and overwhelmed, she went to the door of the cell, where the surly
officer let her out into the hallway. “Follow me,” was the directive given,
and, not having any other choice than to go back to the seventh circle of hell
that awaited within the holding cell, Missy silently obeyed, shuffling along
behind the mountain of a woman in front of her.

“Get
in there,” the guard ordered, opening a door and stepping back to let her pass.
Missy entered an interrogation room utterly defeated, with her head down, not
raising it to acknowledge whoever awaited her.

“I’ll
take it from here,” a familiar voice said with quiet authority.

Missy
looked up, eyes wide. “Chas!” she screamed, throwing herself into the
detective’s waiting arms and sobbing with relief. All her fears and concerns
melted away as he held her, murmuring soothing words that were lost on her as
she clung to him, wetting his sport-coat with her tears. He let her cry for a
few minutes, then calmed her down little by little, until her sobs waned,
becoming infrequent hiccups and gasps, then disappearing almost entirely.
Leading her to a molded plastic chair, the detective sat her down and placed a
steaming cup of coffee in her shaking hands.

“Chas,
I’m so glad you’re here. These terrible people arrested me. They said I killed
two people, but I didn’t – you know I didn’t,” she pleaded her case.

He
nodded and squeezed her hand supportively. “I know, sweetie, I know. There have
been some developments since they arrested you last night, and they’re not
terrible people, they’re just trying to do their job. Detective Fernandez
shared some of the details of the case with me, and it looks like we may be
able to get you out of here in a few hours, once the autopsy report comes in,”
he reassured her.

“Oh
Chas, I’ve been so scared,” Missy whimpered, twisting her hands in her lap.

“I
know, but there’s no reason to be scared any longer. I’m here and I’m not going
anywhere until we get to the bottom of this mess,” the handsome detective
brought her hand to his lips, capturing her gaze with blazing blue eyes.
“Okay?” he asked.

She
nodded, and jumped when the door to the interrogation room suddenly swung open.
Detective Fernandez entered, carrying a thick file folder, nodded a greeting to
Missy and focused on Chas, sitting down in a chair across the table from him.

“Okay,
here’s what we’ve got,” he began, getting immediately to business. “Kelvin
Michaels’ cause of death was drowning. The victim’s body was found in Francesca
Childs’ pool, and the estimated time of death makes it impossible to implicate
Ms. Gladstone because she has a verified alibi during that time period,” he
explained, much to Missy’s relief.

“Good,”
Detective Chas Beckett replied, scanning the autopsy results. “What else?”

“The
heavy sedative that was found in the victim’s blood stream matched a
prescription that was discovered in the bedside table of Francesca Childs,
implicating her in his death. A household servant has come forward and claims
to have seen Kelvin and Ms. Childs out by the pool, behaving in a manner
consistent with having consumed vast quantities of alcohol, or a bit of the
sedative in question,” Fernandez said, letting Chas and Missy connect the dots.

“So
Francesca killed Kelvin? Why on earth would she do that?” Missy wondered aloud.

“As
it turns out, there are a couple of reasons that Ms. Childs would have the
motivation to kill Kelvin Michaels. We found a digital recording in Ms. Childs’
phone of a conversation between her and Penny Mathers. Francesca had apparently
discovered that Ms. Mathers had paid off Kelvin Michaels to ensure that she
would win the competition, collect the prize money and host her own baking
show. She threatened to expose the deal between the unscrupulous judge and
contestant, unless Penny agreed to split the winnings with her,” Fernandez
explained.

Shaking
his head in disgust, the LA detective continued. “Backed into a corner by the
producer, Penny agreed to split the winnings, but Mr. Michaels changed his
mind, backing out of the deal, keeping the money but refusing to allow Penny to
win. Penny then threatened to go public with the news of the bribe, which would
have created a scandal that effectively would ruin Francesca’s career. Knowing
that she’d gotten in over her head, and that the indomitable Penny Mathers
would not even consider backing down, Francesca concocted a plan to eliminate
Kelvin in order to save her career and make it look as though either Missy or
Simon had committed the crime. She wanted to frame the other contestants
because disqualifying them would free up the money for the runner-up, Penny
Mathers, who would then split the spoils with her. Francesca would go on to produce
the baking show, Penny would finally have the fame that would give her the
income she desired, and no one would be the wiser. As it turns out, the
producer also had an extra incentive to kill the judge, because she knew that
Kelvin was on the verge of going to the investors to have the show cancelled so
that he wouldn’t have to deal with her scheming and drama, which also would
have immediately ended her career.”

“So
how did Francesca get killed then?” Chas asked.

“From
what the butler overheard, she had a confrontation over the phone with Penny
Mathers that didn’t end well. Her phone records back that up. Francesca acted
like she was in a position of power and hinted that she might just consider
cutting Penny Mathers out of the money altogether. Penny apparently took the
producer’s threats seriously, thinking that she was going to lose out on all of
the money as well as the chance of hosting her own show, and took matters into
her own hands, literally, strangling Francesca last night as she slept. The
security cameras which had mysteriously malfunctioned on the night of the dinner
party were working just fine last night and captured the entire gruesome event
on video. Fingerprints found at the scene matched hers, along with prints at
the Bake House after the vandalism, and more recently, fingerprints found on
the door frame at your hotel,” Fernandez grimaced.

Missy
gasped. “Do you mean that she was going to try to…” she couldn’t bear to even
finish her sentence.

“Come
after you next? Yes, that’s exactly what I think was happening. I saw a figure
darting into the shadows when I pulled up to arrest you, but by the time I sent
an officer to investigate, there was no trace of anyone in sight. I hate to say
it, but arresting you was probably the best thing that could have happened for
your own safety,” he finished, sounding apologetic.

“Or,
you could have believed her in the first place and provided protection,” Chas
commented dryly, giving the detective a look.

“Granted,”
Fernandez nodded. “Right now, we’re focusing on an intensive manhunt to track
down Penny Mathers. When we ran her prints through the system, we got so many
hits that it’ll take us quite a while to investigate every crime that she’s
committed. She’s going to be headed to jail for a very long time when we
finally catch up with her.”

“Any
leads on that?” Chas asked.

Fernandez
shrugged. “In this part of the country, when a killer goes missing, we send our
guys to the border, hoping we can stop them before they get across.”

“Can
she be extradited if she does make it?” Missy asked, trembling a bit.

“If
she’s found…and once she makes it to the other side, that’s a big ‘if,’ the
extradition process is very sticky. Usually if they get that far, they just
disappear,” he replied. “But, the good news is that you have been entirely
cleared of all charges.”

“I
would certainly hope so,” Chas raised a disapproving eyebrow. While he knew
that Fernandez and the LAPD had just been doing their jobs, he resented the
fact that they’d allowed themselves to be duped by a shallow “Hollywood” type,
and that his sweet Melissa had suffered because of it.

“So…I’m
free to go?” Missy asked, looking from one handsome detective to the other.

“Absolutely,”
was the quiet response from LAPD’s finest. Fernandez knew that he could have
handled this case better, and had vowed not to make the same mistake in the
future.

Missy
turned to her beloved Chas and said simply, “Please take me home.”