Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series (5 page)

“You are truly an angel of mercy,” he smiled, taking the first sip.

“I’m no angel, but I do make a mean batch of hotcakes,” she looked at Chas expectantly.

“Prove it,” he fired back, enjoying his coffee. “And throw some bacon on that plate while you’re at it, please.”

“You got it,” Betty tucked her pen into her apron pocket.

She delivered the hot, fluffy pancakes, topped with a melting ball of whipped butter, four perfectly crispy strips of bacon, and a pitcher of warm, thick maple syrup to the stressed-out man in front of her, and leaned in a bit, looking around to see that no one was watching.

“Someone was asking about you yesterday,” she confided in a low voice as she set down the food.

“Oh?” Chas had already picked up his fork and was using it to cut a perfect triangle of golden-brown pancake.

“Attractive woman, looked like she’d been around the block a few times if you know what I mean. Tried real hard to look like “normal folk,” but had a thousand dollar haircut and wore shoes that cost more than my car payment,” Betty said, casually wiping the already clean counter.

“What was she asking?” the detective dug into his breakfast, listening carefully.

“She was more… insinuating rather than asking. Said your family was involved in some shady business dealings. I had to practically strap Kellerman into his seat, she had him so wound up,” she refilled his coffee cup for the second time already.

“She knows Kel?” Chas was surprised, but didn’t let it show, not wanting to attract attention from any of the other diners.

“No, not at all, she just…” Betty stopped in mid-sentence as the door opened, and the hard-edged brunette from the day before walked in and made a beeline for Chas.

“Back again, huh?” the diner owner addressed her without a hint of a smile, as the woman settled herself onto the stool next to Chas.

Hannah’s outfit was a bit more daring than it had been the day before, a short white skirt, and a clinging, rather low-cut jade-green silk top which brought out the green of her tinted contact lenses.

“I had to see if your breakfast items were as tasty as your lunches,” she ran a hand through her hair in a move that Betty had witnessed from scores of women who were looking to be noticed by a man. She chuckled inwardly, knowing that the strange woman would be shot down… hard, by the fiercely loyal detective.

“Uh-huh,” was the skeptical reply, as Betty tossed down a placemat and menu. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Hannah nodded, then turned her attention to Chas, who was seemingly immersed in his breakfast. “Mmm… that looks good,” she said softly, leaning forward just enough so that the front of her blouse gaped just a bit.

“Betty’s the best,” the detective nodded, not looking up, and seeing her overt moves in his peripheral vision.

She waited until Betty had stepped from behind the counter to deliver platters of food to another table, before quickly leaning in and whispering to Chas.

“Detective, it’s me, Darla… I called yesterday, and we really need to talk.”

“I’m listening,” Chas said casually, irritated that the persistent woman had tracked him down. His eyes met Betty’s from across the room, and the look that she gave him let him know that the woman sitting beside him was the one to whom she’d referred.

“So, you’re a pretty rich guy,” she began.

The detective raised an eyebrow, offended at her opening line, but said nothing, picking up a slice of bacon and relishing the crunch between his teeth as he bit into it.

“How much do you care about where your money comes from?” she challenged, sipping at her coffee and gazing at him over the rim of her cup.

Chas set down his fork slowly, deliberately, dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin, and took a breath before responding. Leaning in, he spoke in a low voice.

“Look, I have no idea who you are, and I find your insinuations insulting. Why you feel the need to address me, about something that is quite frankly none of your business, is beyond me, but know this: I won’t stand for my family name being besmirched, so if that is your intent, you should just table your agenda right now.”

A slow smile spread across Hannah’s face. She glanced outside for a split-second, her eyes lighting up, and then leaned in much closer to the detective, coquettishly twirling a lock of her chocolate brown hair through her fingers in a manner that was meant to be flirtatious.

“What if my agenda is a bit more… personal,” she breathed, dropping the lock of hair and trailing her fingertips over the detective’s bicep.

Knowing that she was going for shock value, Chas didn’t flinch at her touch, didn’t budge, but merely fixed her with a stare so cold that her immaculately-groomed eyebrows should’ve frosted over. By this time, Betty had moved back behind the corner, but the two in front of her had their eyes locked on each other and didn’t notice.

“Keep your hands to yourself, keep your insinuations to yourself, and do yourself a favor… get out of town before things get very uncomfortable for you,” the detective warned.

“Is that a threat, Detective?” she cooed, batting her eyes and brushing her knee against his.

Revolted, he stood, reaching into his pocket and tossing some bills on the counter.

“That’s simply an explanation of reality,” he snapped, eyes glittering with simmering rage. “Betty, if she lingers too long, give me a call and I’ll send someone over to arrest her for loitering.”

Hannah glanced out the window again, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Betty nodded at the detective, her mouth set in a disapproving line as she turned her gaze toward the strange woman.

***

Missy thought her heart would explode from her chest. Missing her husband, she’d stopped by the police station with a box of cupcakes. When the desk sergeant told her that he’d walked to the diner for breakfast, she got back in the car and drove over, hoping to surprise him and have a cup of coffee together, but the surprise was on her when she passed by the front windows of the diner, headed for the front door, and saw her husband engrossed in conversation with a woman who was clearly flirting. Not wanting to watch, but rooted to the spot, unable to move, she watched as the woman leaned in, smiling, and touched Chas in a manner that was reserved for her alone.

Bile rising in her throat, she turned quickly away and hurried back to her car, willing herself not to be sick. By the time the detective stormed from the diner, she was already blocks away, tears streaming down her face. There had to be an explanation for what she had seen. Chas loved her, he showed her that in so many ways. But he had seemed to be extra busy lately… staying at the office late, and going in early. She’d hardly seen him. And how could she know whether or not he was really where he said that he was?

Shaking her head to wipe the unspeakable thoughts from her mind, Missy swiped at her eyes and took several deep breaths. There had to be an explanation for this. Chas was a loving, honorable husband and man, who was passionately in love with his wife. He worked hard and didn’t deserve to be looked upon with suspicion. But their heads had been so close together… and the woman had caressed his arm with sickening familiarity. Missy’s mind warred within her, and she barely remembered the drive home, finding herself inexplicably standing in the small commercial kitchen of Cupcakes in Paradise, with red-rimmed eyes and one heck of a bellyache.

“Mrs. Beckett? Are you okay?” Spencer asked, frowning when he saw her tear-stained face.

He’d been manning the shop while she was gone, and was extremely disturbed to see her in such a state. The feisty, level-headed southern woman was typically optimistic and happy, which led him to believe that something awful must’ve happened.

“Actually, I’m not feeling very well, Spence. Do you mind staying here until closing?” she asked quietly.

“No problem, ma’am. Is there anything that I can do?”

“No, sweetie, I’m just going to relax for a bit. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thank you,” she said. Although she turned away quickly, he saw her eyes welling with tears.

“Just text me if you need anything,” he called after her as she exited. Unable to speak, Missy didn’t turn around to answer him, but raised a hand in farewell.

***

Golden retrievers seemed to have the wisdom of the ages in the chocolatey depth of their warm, intelligent eyes, and Missy’s dog Toffee was the epitome of compassion when her mistress came in the door. Her usual enthusiastic greeting was tempered as she sensed the pain and suffering that emanated from her human. The two of them had been through a lot together, and Toffee was instantly in tune to Missy’s mood, despite the fact that her canine sister, Bitsy, an opinionated maltipoo, capered about as usual, yipping in her excitement.

Missy knelt down to hug the sweet, precious animal, whose coat had absorbed more tears than she cared to count, while Bitsy stood on her hind legs, licking the salt from her face. She needed these furry little comforters more than they knew, and decided that some fresh air and exercise might give her a better perspective on things.

She hurriedly changed into jogging shorts and a tank top, feeling so keyed up that she thought there was a possibility that she might hit the beach and just run until she collapsed. Not needing leashes on the private beach, she grabbed a couple of plastic bags for the girls, just in case, and headed for the door, not bothering with shoes.

Drinking in the ocean breeze, which cooled the humid heat of the day, Missy started out at a fast walk, allowing the “girls” to cavort in the surf as long as they stayed close. Two walks a day was the norm for the three of them, but her canine companions seemed to sense that there was an undercurrent of emotion rocketing through their human, and stayed close at heel after the first mile or so. Heart pounding from a combination of exercise and emotional agony, Missy tried hard to make sense of what she had seen, and was entirely unaware of the tears streaking down her cheeks.

The sun beat down on her as she battled with her thoughts, and she wandered into the water up to her ankles, bending down to splash her arms, cooling them.

Chas is a good man
, she thought.
Honest and loving and kind. I’ve never even seen him look at another woman. There has to be an explanation.

The deep breaths of ocean air, and the cool water on her skin was helping her to regain a proper perspective, and the more that she thought about it, the more she realized that all she needed to do was talk to her amazing husband and find out what had been going on. She’d look into those sapphire blue eyes, take his hand, and find out that she had no reason whatsoever to be concerned. Filled with resolve, she patted her scampering furry friends, and headed back toward the inn with a renewed sense of determination and peace.

Missy’s fragile confidence all but shattered when she got closer to the inn and saw a woman heading down the beach toward her. Not just any woman, but
that
woman. She recognized the glossy brown hair, silky green blouse, and short white skirt. She was also shocked to realize that the smug woman heading toward her was the same person who had been in her shop the day before, asking for a restaurant recommendation. What on earth was going on?

“Hi!” Hannah said, smiling a friendly smile.

She stopped and waited in the shade of a palm as Missy and the dogs drew near. Toffee growled low in her throat, and Bitsy yapped and dashed behind Missy.

“I saw you today,” Hannah said quietly, dropping her nothing-is-wrong act.

Missy said nothing, staring at the woman and steadfastly refusing to give her the satisfaction of showing emotion.

“I just want to say… there are a lot of things about your husband that you don’t know,” she began.

“Who are you?” Missy demanded, interrupting, her kitten-grey eyes stormy.

“I think the question that you really should be asking yourself is, who is he?” Hannah smiled nastily.

“Get out of my sight,” Missy snarled, her teeth clenched as she tried to hold on to her temper and her sanity. Her stomach was twisted in knots and her heart was in her throat, while a compulsion toward violence rose up within her like never before.

“Oh, I see… I could tell you what this is all about, but you’d rather bury your pretty little unsophisticated head in the sand like a simpleton. Not that I blame you, I wouldn’t want to know either, if I were the wife,” Hannah dealt the final blow.

Something broke within Missy, and, with dogs barking frantically, she let out a guttural, primal sound that came from deep within her, lunging at the woman, only to be swept away by a determined Marine, after only grazing the woman’s arm with her nails. Squirming, squalling, and struggling against Spencer’s iron grip, Missy was physically removed from what had shaped up to be a volatile situation. Hannah touched a fingertip to the welt on her forearm where Missy had actually scratched her hard enough to draw blood.

“Stay right there,” Spencer ordered, turning to Hannah as he carried Missy away, his eyes flashing fire.

The woman thought that she was tough, but he knew quite well how to turn that kind of bravado into a quivering confession. He also knew that she would most likely would be gone when he returned, but his first duty was to get his sobbing, hysterical boss home safely. He could worry about her antagonist later; there were plenty of ways to find people who didn’t want to be found.