A Murder Moist Foul: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 1)
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Authors: Carol Durand
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Dedication:
To the boundlessness of life (the infinite) and
love.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Fearless Publications/ Maven
Publishing - All rights reserved.
All rights Reserved. No part of this
publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any
form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without
prior written permission of the copyright holder.
Table
of Contents
Melissa Gladstone inhaled the
heavenly fragrance of her latest creations with a blissful smile. These
cupcakes could very well be her best batch yet. She’d been experimenting with
sweet and savory combinations and had come up with the ultimate breakfast cupcake,
The French Toastie. There were decadent swirls of buttery cinnamon and brown
sugar in the center, and crunchy bits of bacon dotted the maple-infused icing.
The scent alone was certain to cause her loyal patrons to start queuing up
early for the warm, fresh taste treats.
She heard the bell over the front
door jangling, and, glancing at her watch, surmised that it must be her
assistant Ben coming in. Ben was a grad student majoring in Criminal Justice
who worked at Missy’s Cupcakes and More for spending money. There were many
times Melissa more than suspected that the poor boy was subsisting on day-old
cupcakes, and would load up bags full of leftovers for him.
“Hey Ben, come back here,” she
called out from the kitchen, “you HAVE to try these!”
She nearly dropped a full pan of
her breakfast concoctions when an unfamiliar deep, resonant male voice replied,
“Ms. Gladstone, this is Detective Beckett from the LaChance police department,
may I have a word with you?”
Setting down her tray and wiping her
hands reflexively with a kitchen towel, Missy headed out of the kitchen,
wondering. She couldn’t fathom that a police department as small as LaChance’s
had actual detectives – nothing ever happened in this slow, sleepy Louisiana
town.
“Good morning,” she smiled
tentatively, reaching out to shake the hand of the breathtakingly handsome man
whose towering presence seemed somewhat out-of-place in the whimsical pink and
lime-green interior of the cupcake shop. “We don’t have any donuts, sorry,”
she giggled, her attempt at a joke falling awkwardly flat in the face of his
intensely serious disposition. She was more than a bit intimidated by the
steely blue gaze of Detective Beckett, and his seeming inability to smile was
disconcerting to say the least.
“What can I help you with?” she
asked, sobering and feeling the tiniest bit embarrassed at her potentially
offensive remark.
Detective Beckett appraised her
thoroughly, and despite having nothing to hide, she felt uncomfortably exposed
beneath his penetrating gaze. Her enormous grey eyes widened and she
unconsciously smoothed a curling tendril of bouncy blonde hair back from her
brow when he finally spoke.
“I’d like to ask you some
questions, Ms. Gladstone, it shouldn’t take too long,” he fixed her with his
gaze and pulled a note pad out of his trench coat.
“Umm…certainly,” she agreed,
wondering. “Let’s sit over there,” she gestured to a small café table that was
far enough away from the front counter and windows to ensure privacy. She
didn’t mind talking to the dashing, lantern-jawed detective, but she didn’t
necessarily want passersby to witness his presence. She hoped that the
conversation would be brief, the shop opened in half an hour, and Ben wasn’t
scheduled until mid-morning, although he often came in early.
“Would you like some coffee,
Detective? Or a cupcake? I have some fresh out of the oven,” she offered,
trying to make up for her earlier faux pas.
“No, thank you,” he replied without
changing expression. “Let’s get started.”
Missy was completely thrown off by
the detective’s remote manner. Her irreverent sense of humor, lighthearted
personality and slight Southern drawl usually defrosted even the iciest of
folks. In any case, her curiosity was piqued, wondering what could be so
important as to render this man stoic in the face of her hospitality.
“Did something happen?” she asked,
“Should I be worried? Is Ben okay?” She never had occasion to deal with the
police other than attending their annual charity ball every year, and just
realized that the fact that a detective came to her shop to speak to her could
be an indication that something might be terribly wrong.
“Let’s start there,” Beckett
replied, jotting down something on his notepad. “Who is Ben?” he asked,
piercing her with his eyes. She tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. It
had been quite a while since a man had made her squirm and she wasn’t at all
comfortable with the feeling.
“Ben is my assistant; he helps me
with baking, running the shop and deliveries.” The detective took a full
report demanding Ben’s full name, address, work schedule, school schedule and
habits before returning to more pointed questioning.
“Where was Ben and what was he
doing between the hours of 8 p.m. and 1 a.m. last night?” he asked, watching
carefully for any reaction from Melissa.
“I have no idea,” she replied,
baffled. “I would guess that he was either in class or studying, that’s how he
spends most of his time – that boy is determined to make his way in this
world,” she assured him.
“So you’d say he’s ambitious,
willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead?” Beckett probed.
“Absolutely,” Missy nodded
vehemently, “I love that about him,” she smiled broadly, clearly proud of her
young assistant.
“Are you in a romantic relationship
with Ben?” he quirked an eyebrow.
“Goodness no!” she exclaimed. “I’m
almost old enough to be the boy’s mama,” she chuckled at the absurdity of the
question. Truthfully, she had only turned 40 last month and thanks to a
faithful gym and skin care regimen, she looked years younger, but her fondness
for Ben was purely maternal.
After making some notes in
handwriting that could only be described as chicken scratch, Detective Beckett
snapped his notebook shut and tucked it back inside the flap of his coat. He
handed Missy a business card with instructions to call him if she thought of
any details regarding Ben or his whereabouts last night that might be of
interest. Locking the door behind the detective – she’d really have to start
being more diligent about keeping it locked when she was there alone in the
morning – Missy pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her stylish but
practical jeans and dialed Ben’s number.
Detective Chas Beckett drove away
from Missy’s Cupcakes and More deep in thought. His encounter with the owner,
Melissa Gladstone had been entirely positive. If she was hiding something, she
was a master of deception. The total lack of guile in those enormous
kitten-grey eyes had him stumped. How could someone who was so close to the
main person of interest in the Davis murder be entirely innocent? Still, he’d
met his share of skilled liars in his time, and she just didn’t fit the
profile.
He had a full day ahead - now that
he’d interviewed Ms. Gladstone, it was time to track down her seemingly
squeaky-clean assistant for questioning. Depending upon how the conversation
with Ben Radigan played out, he’d either be booking a suspect, or further
investigating the crime scene evidence.
This one was going to be messy.
Beckett had been called out in the middle of the night after one of the
uniforms on patrol discovered that someone had left the lights on in the back
room of Darryl’s Donuts. When the officer went to investigate and found the
rear entrance door ajar, he entered the sweet-smelling premises and nearly stumbled
over the body of its owner, Darryl “The Donut Man” Davis slumped on the floor.
Darryl was not sleeping, he was not unconscious, The Donut Man was dead, and
still clutching a half-eaten chocolate crueller. Careful examination of the
scene revealed no obvious cause of death – there were no signs of trauma, no
tell-tale blood stains and no evidence that a struggle of any kind had
occurred, yet Beckett was suspicious. He’d seen quite a few stiffs in his 22
years on the force, and something about this one wasn’t quite right. He’d
ordered a full forensics work-up, including a comprehensive search for trace
evidence, fingerprints and an autopsy of The Donut Man, staying on the scene
personally, observing the careful gathering of evidence, making sure that the
crueller was taken gently from Davis’ grasp and bagged as well, which made for
a very long night.
The results of the autopsy would
take a while to come back – the local coroner didn’t have much in the way on
his case list, but the testing and lab results could take a few weeks. Chas
received a call from the lab while en route to interview Melissa and discovered
that preliminary tests had come back on the half-eaten crueller and indicated
that Darryl Davis had been poisoned. Further tests would be conducted, but the
tech on the phone with Beckett speculated that it was common rat poisoning.
The case had just leaped in classification from “Suspicious Cause of Death” to
“Homicide.”
Maybe he should’ve taken Melissa
Gladstone up on her offer of coffee and a cupcake – he’d certainly had more
than a passing thought about how he wished the two could’ve met under more
pleasant circumstances. The lovely, curvaceous southern belle had definitely
piqued the interest of the somewhat taciturn detective. He’d had to
consciously resist her charm and hospitality in order to do his job
effectively. Having interviewed friends and family members of Darryl the Donut
Man, Beckett discovered that there had been some contention between the portly,
jovial fellow and Melissa Gladstone over a prize-winning recipe. According to
those who should be in a position to know, Darryl had somehow obtained a
cupcake recipe of Missy’s that he altered just slightly to make a donut version
and entered it into a national competition, winning a significant amount of
money which allowed him to expand and advertise his business. Melissa, being a
woman who believed in dignity (and the exacting repercussions of Karma), didn’t
pursue legal action against Darryl; but advised him never to speak to her or
set foot in her establishment again. Finding it impossible to believe that
this sweetly diminutive woman would exact any sort of physical vengeance upon
her cross-town rival for the affections of the breakfast crowd, speculation
naturally fell to Ms. Gladstone’s fiercely loyal assistant, Ben. The boy had
no family in town and didn’t have much spare time to pursue friendships, so his
ties with Melissa Gladstone were definitely significant. How significant
remained to be seen. Sighing audibly and running a hand through his lush, jet
black hair, Beckett turned his thoughts reluctantly away from the beautiful
blonde and back to the tasks at hand. He pulled into the drive of the small
rental home that Ben inhabited when not at work or school, and put his game
face on.
“Ben!” Missy hissed into the phone,
frightened, “What on earth is going on?”
“Huh?” Ben mumbled, confused. He
had just woken up after a night of studying and couldn’t fathom why his boss
was calling him so early. “What do you mean? Am I late?” he yawned hugely.
“You need to come to the shop right
now, we need to talk,” she replied, urging him on, her voice clouded with
worry.
Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes,
not comprehending the seriousness of Melissa’s directive. “Mmmm…okay,” he muttered
sleepily. “I’ll grab a quick shower and be right there,” the clueless youth
promised.
Missy sighed, frustrated, “Okay,
but hurry Ben, please?”
His curly mop of mocha-colored hair
still damp from the shower, Ben Radigan went about his morning routine with no
more sense of urgency than if Melissa had never called. He figured that
whatever it was that she needed to talk with him about could at least wait
until he fed his cat, threw his laundry in the dryer and had his first two
steaming mugs of coffee. After all, he reasoned, if it had been really
important, she would’ve told him about it on the phone, right?
He took his aromatic cup of java to
the dining nook and sat down to begin the process of waking up and starting his
day. Surprised by the ringing of his doorbell, followed by an insistent
pounding on the front door, Ben shambled to his small entryway and peered out
the peep hole. Much to his surprise, his line of sight out of the peep hole
was blocked by the shiny chrome of a police badge, and he quickly moved to open
the door.
“Get your shoes Mr. Radigan, I’m
bringing you in for questioning.”
Chas Beckett tapped his pen against
his desk blotter in consternation. Ben Radigan was no longer a suspect or even
a person of interest in The Donut Man murder. He had guilelessly given Beckett
a detailed accounting of his whereabouts between the hours of 6:30 p.m. until
2:30 a.m. and had his story corroborated by two professors, a librarian and her
assistant and six members of his study group. The kid really was as squeaky
clean as he seemed – which left the detective the unpleasant task of
considering who might have the motive to poison Darryl Davis. Reluctantly, he
admitted to himself that he would have no choice but to question Melissa
Gladstone again, she had just become a primary person of interest.
Melissa had heard of the demise of
Darryl The Donut Man from one of her early morning regulars shortly after
Detective Beckett had left. Caught up handling the morning rush by herself
when Ben failed to appear, she didn’t even have time to try to call her young
assistant again until it was nearly lunchtime, and was dismayed when he didn’t
answer. She didn’t believe for an instant that the dear boy had anything to do
with the tragedy at Darryl’s Donuts, and would fight tooth and nail to help
prove his innocence if necessary.
Missy was turning the lock on the
front door, preparing to head for home when, finally, Ben drove up in his
time-worn little blue car.
“Ben!” she exclaimed with utter
relief. “Thank goodness you’re okay! Where have you been?” she demanded,
worried.
They went back inside to catch up
and Ben relayed the story of his experiences with Detective Beckett and the
police department. Melissa was relieved to hear that he had been cleared of any
wrongdoing, but still troubled by the fact that a scary tragedy had occurred in
their quaint, cozy town. Locking the shop securely behind them, she and Ben
went their separate ways, determined to put the unpleasant day well behind
them.