Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series (3 page)

Good gravy, was this woman really this nice? Was that even possible? Hannah’s job was to question people and their motives, and she didn’t usually encounter folks like Melissa Beckett. She didn’t quite know how to respond.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be back, and I do have a question,” she said, thinking on her feet.

“Sure, honey, what is it?”

Hannah had a strange feeling that Izzy was watching her closely, too closely for comfort.

“Well, when I visit a new town, I like to eat at the local places. You know, where everybody knows everybody, and it’s comfortable and cozy, with good home cooking. Is there any place like that in Calgon?”

“Betty’s,” Missy and Izzy said in unison.

“Well, that was unanimous,” Hannah emitted a soft sound that she hoped passed for a laugh. “How do I get to Betty’s?”

Missy gave her directions, and she and Izzy exchanged a look when Hannah left.

“Does she seem like someone who would eat at Betty’s?” Missy asked.

“She was wearing Ferragamo shoes,” Izzy observed, looking speculative.

Phillip “Kel” Kellerman was creatively on fire. Inspired by the thought of his upcoming marriage to the soulfully lovely Echo Willis, he had been working long hours on a sculpture that would embody the essence of his feeling for his spectacular fiancée, and had been a bit of a recluse as a result. Knowing that he had to have some sort of human contact, as well as some form of nourishment, he sought out both in the familiar confines of Betty’s diner.

Kel was reputed to know everything of consequence about everyone in Calgon, and much of his reliable information came while he was cheerfully ensconced on a stool at the counter of Betty’s diner. Betty, the stocky, iron-haired owner, was the eyes and ears of Calgon. Her diner was where the locals came to talk business, mend relationships, and confess their wrongdoings while sobering up. The clientele was diverse, coming from all walks of life to process their thoughts and feelings over heaping platefuls of the best “home cooking” in town, served up hot and fresh with dark, dangerously caffeinated coffee.

“Hey there, fancypants,” Betty greeted Kel when he came in, looking uncharacteristically rumpled and distracted. “You must have a piece that you’re working on,” she observed, accurately. “You want the usual, so that you don’t have to make any decisions?” the old battle-axe asked, knowing him well.

“What would I do without you, fair lady?” he replied, running a hand through his already askew hair.

“Coming right up,” Betty grinned, having had this exact interaction with the renowned artist on several occasions over the years.

She’d watched Kel blossom and grow in his work, remembering when he was just a young, torn-jeans-wearing hopeful, waiting for his big break. Now, he had a spacious home, drove only exotic cars, and was a member in good standing of the country club.

Kel sat in his usual spot at the counter, chin resting on his fist, as he stared out into space, visualizing the next steps of his project.

“This one must be a lulu,” Betty remarked, setting down a giant turkey club sandwich with a heaping side of crunchy, creamy coleslaw, and a steaming mug of high-test coffee. “You’re even quieter than usual.”

She knew which dishes to bring him, based upon what hour he came in, relieving him of the responsibility of making choices that would interrupt his creative flow. When the artist wasn’t in the middle of a project, he was a chatterbox, engaging everyone around him in witty banter, and extracting loads of information, but when he was in the zone, Betty knew to just let him be.

“Dear lady, I am working on what may very well be the masterpiece of my entire lifetime,” Kel replied, coming out of his fog for a moment and taking a large bite of his sandwich.

“Can’t wait to see it,” Betty replied, wiping down the counter beside him. While tough as nails and seemingly unrefined, the diner owner made every effort to support her community and her regulars in their various endeavors.

An attractive, but a bit hard-edged-looking woman, whom neither Kel nor Betty had ever seen before, came in and took a seat at the counter, a few stools down from Kel. Betty took in the expensive manicure and shoes and deduced that the woman was a tourist who had somehow managed to find her way to the local gathering spot. She handed her a menu and asked if she wanted coffee. When the woman politely declined and asked for water instead, it cemented Betty’s original deduction.

“This is really nice,” she said, glancing at her surrounding and trying to make conversation. “You have a cool retro vibe going on in here.”

Betty and Kel exchanged a glance while Kel chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich.

“Retro?” Betty snorted. “Oh honey, this ain’t retro. This lovely olive and mustard interior is original. The reason them stools are so darn comfy is because they’ve been broken in by generations of Calgon behinds,” she chuckled, enjoying the woman’s reaction a bit too much.

“Wow, you must know a lot of the town’s history then,” the woman continued, undaunted.

Betty nodded, her eyes guarded. “I know enough.”

“Well, I’m sure glad that Melissa recommended this place. It looks like I’m in for a treat,” Hannah said brightly.

“Melissa?”

“Yeah, the really nice gal from the cupcake shop… Cupcakes in Paradise. She said that you had the best home cooking in town.”

Kel’s ears perked up, but he gave no indication of his interest, appearing to be intently focused on his food.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Betty asked casually refilling Hannah’s water.

“Well, I met her today when I went in to buy a cupcake, and we got to talking. I had heard of her husband by reputation, but it was great to meet her.”

Kel’s eyes darted from side to side, as he digested that little tidbit, making it look as though he was critically examining the contents of his plate.

“Buy a lot of cupcakes, do ya?” Betty asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman’s rail thin gym body.

“Oh no, only when I’m on vacation,” she explained hastily. “Could I have a slice of lime for this?” Hannah held up her water glass, dripping with condensation.

“No lime, just lemon,” the diner owner flipped up the top of a plastic box just below the level of the counter, grabbed a lemon slice with a pair of tongs and plopped it into the water.

Hannah’s smile flickered momentarily, a fact that did not escape Betty’s notice, nor Kel’s. She ordered a plate of food, making all sorts of changes and special requests, and kept her eyes on the diner’s owner.

“So, do you know Melissa and Charles?” she asked, extracting a stalk of celery from her salad and nibbling the end of it.

“We’ve met,” Betty replied, drying a glass.

“Have you heard that Charles may be in trouble?” Hannah lowered her voice.

“Come again?” Betty kept polishing, while Kel stopped chewing so that he could hear better.

“Yeah… apparently, Charles comes from a really rich family, and the family business is mixed up with some nasty people from overseas. It’s tarnishing the family’s reputation,” she dropped her bombshell, then sipped her water, waiting for a reaction.

The diner owner’s response would clue her in as to whether or not the woman knew Charles Beckett well and liked him, or whether she’d be a good channel for vicious gossip.

“Sounds a bit farfetched to me, but I suppose anything’s possible,” Betty said neutrally, holding her cards close to the vest.

Hannah’s eyes took on a predatory gleam.

“The stuff that’s going on is the type of thing that can ruin lives, you know. But honestly, if Charles knows about this and does nothing, simply because it makes him money, he deserves whatever happens to him, no matter how nice his wife is,” she shrugged. “Poor, simple woman probably doesn’t suspect a thing.”

Kel had heard enough.

“Now see here, I will not stand by one minute longer and listen to you impugn the reputation of some of Calgon’s finest people. You have no idea what you’re talking about, and you’d be best served to shut your mouth and go back to wherever it is that you came from,” he said with dignity, raising a disapproving eyebrow.

“Last time I checked, this was a free country, and I can say whatever I’d like to whomever I’d like. I wasn’t talking to you anyway, but I’m guessing that you’re a friend?” Hannah replied calmly, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth.

“Indeed I am, and I don’t appreciate you spewing lies about some of the most honest and upstanding folks that I know. I don’t know what your motivation is, but rest assured, you’re not going to gain many friends around here, behaving in that manner,” he chastised her.

“I’m not terribly worried about that. I won’t be staying long anyway,” she regarded him coolly. “How well do you really know Beckett? Don’t you think it’s just the tiniest bit strange that he has billions of dollars, but chooses to live in an obscure little town like this?” she challenged. “Makes you wonder if he has something to hide.” She crunched a carrot stick between her teeth.

Gone was the pretense that she was a sweet vacationing admirer of Missy. Her true colors were showing, and she was hoping to make the rich dude a few seats down angry enough to reveal something significant. She loved this part of the job, thoroughly enjoying spinning people into a frenzy and watching them explode while she maintained a disinterested cool. It was a tactic that hadn’t worked well in her relationships, but was magical when she needed to ferret out information for a feature story.

Betty had been watching the exchange, and decided it was time to step in, before a furiously sputtering Kel caused more of a ruckus. She knew that the artist was fiercely loyal when it came to those of whom he loved, herself included, and she wanted to shut him down so that she could gain the woman’s confidence and she could find out what she was up to.

“Kel, yours is on the house today. Shouldn’t you be getting back to the studio?” she gave him a pointed look while pouring a to-go cup of coffee and stuffing his sandwich into a styrofoam box.

The artist gave her a measured look, then gazed with utter contempt upon the lunchtime interloper.

“I certainly should,” he replied coldly.

Betty handed him a large bag. “Here are your leftovers, hon. I threw a piece of pecan pie in there for good measure,” she said, pointedly glancing at the exit.

“Thanks, Betty,” he took the bag and stood, still glaring at the stranger.

Hannah merely smirked at him and waggled her fingers mockingly in a goodbye wave. The rest of the lunchtime crowd, who had been curiously watching the exchange, went back to their food and chatter.

“Beckett,” Chas answered the phone as professionally as he could, given the volume of work with which he was currently dealing.

“Hello, my name is Darla… is this Detective Chas Beckett?” a sweet, somewhat timid voice asked on the other end of the line.

“Yes, speaking. What can I do for you?” He made a Herculean effort to sound cordial.

“Well, I… I was just wondering… umm… I mean, I was just hired by your family’s company, Beckett Holding Corporation, and it seems to me that something is really wrong, and that there are some bad things happening…” the woman trailed off uncertainly as Chas pulled on his tie to loosen it, biting back a sigh of frustration.

“I’m sorry, Darla. I’m afraid that I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I can’t help you, so if you don’t mind…” he had the receiver halfway back to his desk phone when he heard her protesting on the other end.

“Please, Mr. Beckett, don’t hang up. They’re going to blame you for it. If you’re not involved, you need to…” and the line went dead. Hannah’s smirk turned the corners of her mouth up, and she felt invigorated at having made first contact with her target. Darla had been her stepmother’s name, and she always felt wonderfully vindictive when she used it as her alias.

Chas stared at the receiver, wondering what on earth that had been about. He’d give Chalmers, his deceased father’s former manservant and current overseer of the corporation, a call later, after he’d waded through the morass of paperwork that threatened to drag him under. He was waist deep in an incident report when his phone rang again.

“Beckett,” he barked, sounding harsher than he’d intended.

“Hey Chas, it’s Kel,” the artist replied tentatively, now wondering if there might be some small bit of truth to what the nasty woman in the diner had said about his friend.

“Hey Kel, what’s up?”

“Well, I hope that I didn’t catch you at a bad time; I was just calling to see if you might be able to meet me for a drink this evening.”

“Oh geez, man, I’d love to, but I’m just snowed under right now. Can I take a raincheck?” Chas asked, truly hating to have to say no.

“Of course, no worries,” his friend assured him, troubled. “Another time.”

“Thanks for the invite. As soon as I get caught up, it’s a go,” the detective promised.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Kel hung up the phone and tented his fingers under his chin, thinking. He picked up his phone again, this time to call his fiancée.

“Hey hot stuff, what’s up?” Echo asked, delighted to hear from her beloved in the middle of a work day.