Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series (12 page)

Opening his eyes to mere slits that no one but the most highly trained observer would notice, Spencer took stock of his surroundings, thankful for the dimness that allowed his eyes to adjust more rapidly. He seemed to have been thrown into a storage room. The walls were lined with rusting metal storage shelves which housed cans of paint, outdated light fixtures, decrepit furniture, and other discarded items. Once he’d freed himself from his bonds, he’d try to find something useful among the junk that would help him to finish the job that he’d come here to do. Wendell Shropshire would be begging for mercy by the time the Marine was done with him, and the earl would be willing to tell him everything that he knew.

Spencer wiggled his fingers to try to get his circulation going again, and flexed and relaxed his toes as well. He’d divest himself of the ropes that held him for the moment and get on with the task at hand. He’d just begun the process of taking off his wrist bindings when he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. He froze in place, his efforts temporarily on hold, and waited to see what his captor had in mind. If he got close enough, the Marine could theoretically swing his legs to the side and knock him off of his feet. Once he’d incapacitated him, he could then turn the tables and keep the earl as his prisoner until he procured the information that he was after.

He listened as the footsteps grew closer, and was frustrated that the captor was approaching him from behind, which would make it nearly impossible to swipe his legs out from under him. He didn’t react at all when the booted foot slammed into his ribs, and didn’t even grunt when the man settled himself on top of his prisoner.
This wasn’t the earl, he must have his servant doing the dirty work for him
, Spencer surmised, his training kicking in so that he showed no outward sign of his pain, not even opening his eyes.

“Let’s just make this little nap of your last a bit longer, shall we?” the unmistakably accented voice of Kosta snarled cruelly, jamming a needle into the Marine’s neck.

The spot where he’d been injected felt numb, and despite his resolve to resist the effects of whatever drug he’d just been given, Spencer felt himself again slipping into oblivion.

Missy loved her husband with every fiber of her being, and knew without a doubt that he was innocent of any crime involving the murdered reporter. She felt heartsick that he would even be considered a suspect, and was still experiencing pangs of regret that she had ever suspected that he might be involved with that woman. That said, she was more than ready for him to go back to work. He was getting underfoot, drifting in and out of the inn and cupcake shop, as Missy tried to throw herself into work as a means of keeping her fretting mind focused on something positive.

Chas Beckett was preoccupied with covertly finding evidence, and was extremely frustrated that he couldn’t even discuss the details of the case with Jim, who had been assigned to it. Usually relaxed and easygoing, he was uncharacteristically tied up in knots, and in constant motion, frowning, staring into space, and muttering to himself. Missy wanted him to stop suffering, and wanted her rock-steady mate back.

“Are you okay, sugar?” she asked, for what must’ve been the hundredth time, as Chas stood at the counter of Cupcakes in Paradise munching on a cupcake and gazing out of the window toward the ocean.

“Mmhmm…” he mumbled, not even really hearing her.

Both of them looked up, however, when the bells above the door jangled, indicating an arrival.

“Paddy,” Missy smiled in greeting. “How nice to see you again. Did Spencer send you?”

“Aye ma’am, he did,” the young Irishman grinned, shaking Chas’s hand.

“Did he… is he… ?” Missy didn’t quite know how to phrase what she wanted to say.

“I believe he’s travelling, ma’am, and that’s all that I know about it,” Paddy smiled, but there was something in his eyes that let Missy know he’d say no more about his friend.

While Chas knew that Spencer and Paddy worked for Chalmers’s mysterious security force, Missy had no idea, thinking that Paddy was just a friend of Spencer’s who earned extra cash by filling in for the young veteran as needed.

“Paddy, there’s something that Spence was working on that I’d like you to take a look at,” he said moving toward the door.

“Yes, sir,” the young man fell in behind him and followed him out.

The detective intentionally strode away from the cupcake shop, not wanting to take any chances at being overheard.

“I hate to even ask, but did Spencer…” Chas began.

“I have no information, sir,” Paddy cut him off before he could even finish his question.

The detective looked at him closely, detecting no hint of guile.

“They intentionally keep you in the dark, don’t they?” Chas guessed, beginning to really wonder what kind of an organization Chalmers was running, in addition to, or as a component of Beckett Holdings.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir,” the young man replied, with an expression which let Chas know that there was no point in pursuing that line of questioning.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he sighed. “Look, I can’t help if I don’t know what needs to be done,” the detective ran an exasperated hand through his hair.

“I’m certain that everything which can be done is being done, sir.”

Chas nodded, feeling useless and helpless for the first time in a very long time.

“You were going to show me something that needed to be done,” Paddy reminded him.

“It seems that you know more about that than I do,” the detective remarked, arching an eyebrow. “Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chas walked slowly back to the cupcake shop, knowing what he needed to do. He hadn’t been specifically warned by Jim Reubens to not leave town, but he knew that he shouldn’t. Nevertheless, sometimes the need for action overrode caution.

“Sweetie,” he said, coming up behind his beloved wife and wrapping his arms around her. “Do you think you can manage here without me for a few days? I’d like to go to New York and visit with Chalmers for a bit,” Chas explained, telling most of the truth.

Missy was relieved, but worried. She thought that getting away might be the best possible thing for her husband, but having learned a thing or two about police procedure, she suspected that a sudden trip might not be the wisest choice as far as Jim Reubens and his investigation were concerned.

“Do you think that would be okay with Jim?” she asked.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it,” Chas replied, glad that he didn’t have to meet her eyes.

“All right, sugar. You do what you need to do. Maggie and I will be just fine now that Paddy is here to lend a hand,” she assured him.

She turned in his arms and gave him a kiss, then lingered for a moment, her head resting on his broad chest. After another kiss, he brushed his fingers lovingly across her cheek, then turned to go. She watched her husband disappear through the door knowing darn well that he wasn’t leaving to go on a mini-vacation, and hoping that he’d be okay and would settle this whole mess once and for all.

Missy, Kel, and Echo all sat staring blankly into their coffee cups, each absorbed in their own thoughts. It had been a bewildering week for the trio, to say the least. Chas was headed to New York, Spencer had seemingly disappeared into thin air, and a woman had been brutally murdered. Their usual lighthearted banter had been replaced by a brooding silence. As usual, when Missy was worried about something, she’d been baking non-stop; there was a platter of assorted cupcakes in front of them, but they went largely untouched.

“We have to figure this out,” Missy murmured, stirring her coffee with a spoon to get just the right blend of coffee, sugar and cream. Normally, she took it black, but she’d eaten so little in the past few days that she could certainly justify treating herself to a sweeter experience.

“It’s just entirely ridiculous that everyone we know is under some degree of suspicion in this horrible thing,” Echo grumbled, dunking her tea bag up and down in her cup. Her stomach had been upset for a couple of days, so she was shying away from coffee.

“From what I saw of that woman, it could have been anyone. She was really quite abrasive,” Kel remarked, absently stroking the back of his fiancée’s hand.

“I’m just going to point right at the elephant in the room,” Echo announced, gazing at her best friend with compassion. “Missy, how much do you know about Chas’s family business?”

Missy sighed, understanding her friend’s point.

“Hardly anything. I know that they’re involved in all sorts of industries all over the world, but I’m not certain exactly what they do,” she shrugged.

“But they’re old money, and they have a spotless reputation,” Kel added. The artist, who’d had a privileged childhood himself, had socialized with family and friends in upstate New York who knew and socialized with the Becketts.

Missy nodded. “Chas’s father was a good man, and a decent one. I would be shocked if there was anything happening with Beckett Holdings that wasn’t completely aboveboard. Chalmers is sweet and responsible… he wouldn’t allow it.”

“So how on earth are we going to figure out who killed Hannah Folsom?” Echo asked.

“Well, I can start searching on the internet for enemies that she might have had. I mean, everyone is just assuming that whoever killed her is in some way tied to her investigation of Chas and his family. What if someone just followed her when she left New York and saw a chance to kill her?”

Kel nodded. “You may be right. Like I said, she certainly didn’t seem to be a very likeable person, so it really could’ve been someone who was out to get her for entirely different reasons. I’m going to go have a chat with the gentleman who owns the Thai place where she was killed.”

Echo looked at her fiancé with concern. “Dearest, you have to be careful. The police are still looking at you as a person of interest because you argued with her publicly,” she reminded him.

“Yes, my love, I’m aware, but I also have you as an alibi,” he kissed the tip of her nose.

“I’m sure they believe that I’m more than a bit biased,” she frowned.

“I certainly hope so,” he teased.

Missy, tired of dwelling on the murder, changed the subject.

“How’s Joyce working out for you at the bookstore?” she asked Echo, selecting a chocolate cream cheese cupcake.

Echo’s eyes brightened immediately. “She is absolutely the best person I could ever have hired. She’s bright and creative and just loves working with books and people. I’m so excited to have her there.”

“That’s great,” Missy smiled, thankful for a positive note in the conversation.

“She was quite taken with Spencer when he came in,” Echo raised her eyebrows.

“Most young women are,” her friend smiled. “That reminds me… has anyone heard from Izzy lately?”

Both Kel and Echo shook their heads.

“No, but you know how reclusive she can be. She’s probably writing her next bestseller,” Echo shrugged. “I’m sure she’s fine, but maybe we should text her and see if we can get her to come out of the house for a bit. I mean, she has to eat at some point.”

“Yeah,” Missy agreed. “And she may be upset that Spencer disappeared again, particularly under the circumstances.”

“True. I’ll text her and we can all get together for dinner or something.”

“There’ll be plenty of cupcakes,” Missy smiled ruefully.

The light was blinding. Everything was white and bright and cold. The young woman took a deep breath and opened her eyes slowly. The room was unfamiliar and sterile. Every surface was polished, and the absence of color was startling. She tried to sit up and was terrified to find that she couldn’t. She was encased in some sort of garment that prevented her from moving her arms, and made her claustrophobic tendencies kick into overdrive.

Moaning in fear, she whipped her head from the left to the right, trying to get a better sense of her surroundings. The familiar smell in the room finally clued her in… alcohol, rubbing alcohol. She was in some sort of hospital, but this room was unlike any sort of hospital she’d ever been in. Her arm throbbed, and she wished that she could move it just a bit to relieve the pain, but it was firmly set in place.

A door that was not recessed in any way, like a typical door, suddenly swung open, admitting a hard-faced but cheerful middle-aged woman in lavender scrubs. She had rough hands and a bad perm, but she was smiling.

“Well, it looks like somebody is finally awake,” she sang out. “The doctor is on his way in,” she continued to the window, and opened the vinyl curtains, allowing the sunlight in, which made the already bright room seem to glow.

“Doctor? Wha—? I—” she tried to speak, but her throat was dry and her voice hoarse.

“Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing,” the lavender lady cut her off. “We’ll have you back on your feet and good as new before you know it.”

The thirst burned her throat, and she wanted to protest, but clearly this woman didn’t want to hear it. Closing her eyes, she tried to slip back into the familiar oblivion of sleep, because if she stayed awake and was kept in whatever restraints bound her, she might just scream herself into insanity.