Mango Madness Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 15 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) (3 page)

Missy
had done a lot of tossing and turning before finally dropping off into a fitful
and nightmare-filled sleep in which she constantly seemed to be running away
from someone…or something. Her phone buzzed insistently from its place on her
night stand, taking a long time to penetrate her exhausted stupor.

“Hello?”
she mumbled sleepily, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Well,
well, well, Melissa Gladstone…looks like you’ve gotten yourself into quite the
little pickle, now haven’t you?” the mayor’s voice sounded a bit sinister and
was far too loud for the early hour at which he was calling.

Missy
looked at her ancient radio alarm clock, saw that it was just after six and
groaned inwardly. She always tried to be on her toes when dealing with Felton
Chadwick, and after a sleepless night, she wasn’t at all prepared to deal with
him, particularly before she’d had her coffee – at least a pot of it.

“Umm…pickle?
What?” she tried to physically shake the cobwebs from her brain by literally
moving her head back and forth.

“I
find it very interesting that the Honorable Chester Kingsman’s body was found in
your van,” Felton drawled.

“Interesting?
No, it’s terrible…what an awful thing,” Missy yawned again, wondering what the
mayor was getting at.

“You
know, little lady, scandals like this that can ruin a person,” he said
carefully.

“I’m
sure you have nothing to worry about, Felton. Everyone knows that you’re more
than capable of beating your opponent fair and square. Clearly you’d never
resort to such horrible measures to win an election,” she assured him,
irritated that he had woken her up at such a ridiculous hour to talk about his
reputation and campaign.

“You
misunderstand me, Melissa…” he let the sentence hang for a moment, sounding
like he was intentionally pausing for dramatic effect. “I’m not concerned about
how this matter will affect me, my reputation is strong enough to weather
almost any storm. My concern is how you’re going to handle it when your
businesses fail and your neighbors start locking their doors and windows
because all the townsfolk know is that one of their very own government officials
was found dead in your van,” Felton finished, saying nothing more, letting it
sink in.

“Felton
Chadwick! How dare you insinuate that I had anything to do with this awful
thing? You know me well enough by now to know that I couldn’t possibly be a
part of what happened. I planned your daughter’s wedding for crying out loud!”
Missy exclaimed, offended.

“Mmmhmm…and
we all know how well that turned out,” was the snide reply.

“It’s
not my fault that your precious Priscilla chose an art thief and a killer for
her fiancé,” she shot back.

“Here’s
what I know, young lady, and you listen good,” the mayor ordered, and she could
just picture the pompous smile on his face as he gave her a long-winded
directive. “Someone is to blame for what happened. Now, because of the
adversarial nature of our political system, silly, uninformed folks might start
pointing their finger in my direction, which would be an utter travesty,”
Felton explained, as though talking to a child. “Because the body was found in
your van, it seems to me that the shadow of doubt falls squarely on the
shoulders of you and your dangerous-looking young assistant. I’m telling you
this right now, Melissa Gladstone, if it comes down to a choice of either you
or me taking the fall for this…most unfortunate occurrence, I guarantee you
that I will be the last man standing, and you will fall. Am I making myself
fairly clear?” he asked smugly.

“Did
you do it?” Missy whispered, unable to help herself.

“I
most certainly did not, and don’t you forget it,” Felton barked, his Southern
accent heavy.

“I
didn’t either, and neither did Grayson,” she said numbly.

“Don’t
bore me with details, Melissa. Good day to you now,” he replied, hanging up
with a quite cordial tone.

Missy
dragged herself out of bed, and went downstairs to start a pot of coffee,
trying to work up enough strength to take Toffee, her gentle golden retriever,
and Bitsy, her irrepressible malti-poo for a walk. She wanted to get to the
LaChance shop early today, to check on Grayson, so after a three cups of
strong, black coffee, she took “the girls” out for a walk, then came back and
showered, finally feeling somewhat human again after getting dressed and
tossing her blonde curls up into a messy bun.

“G’mornin,’
Cheryl,” the already-weary shop owner said, coming in the back door to the
kitchen.

“Hey,
Ms. G.,” her manager replied, looking at her with concern. “How’re you holding
up?”

“I’m
fine,” she waved dismissively. “Where’s Grayson?”

“I
hope you don’t mind, but after he told me what happened last night, I sent him
home. He hadn’t had any sleep and he looked just awful. I called Ben to ask if he
could lend us Chris from
Crème de la Cupcake,
so he’s on his way to
cover Grayson’s shift,” she explained.

“You
did the right thing, honey,” Missy assured her. Chris was a friend of Ben’s
from grad school who had been hired right around the same time as Cheryl. He’d
been involved with Echo’s sister briefly, when she came out to visit from
California, which had turned out to be a big mistake. The troubled young woman
had him under her spell to the degree that she even managed to convince him to
“temporarily borrow” some money from Missy’s cash register. When an infuriated
Missy found out what had happened, she considered firing the lad, but having
seen Echo’s sister in action, she decided to give him another chance, and had
been nothing but happy with him ever since.

“I
can’t even imagine how that poor, sensitive young man must’ve felt, finding
that body,” she shuddered. “Can Chris stay all day?”

Cheryl
shook her head. “No, he had been volunteering for Judge Kingsman’s campaign,
and they’re having a meeting today to break the news to everyone. It’s just so
awful. Why would someone do such a thing?”

“I
wish I knew, darlin,’ I wish I knew,” Missy frowned.

“There
was a policeman that came by here this morning, asking questions,” she confided,
wrapping her arms around her middle.

“About
what?” Missy asked, alarmed.

“Grayson,
mostly,” Cheryl bit her lip, worried.

“Oh
no…” Missy’s heart sunk.

“Yeahhh…”
her manager replied, crestfallen.

Their
conversation was interrupted by Chris coming in the back door. Having showered,
dressed and left for the day, without even a glance at television or social
media, he had no idea what had happened, and was shocked when Missy told him of
the previous night’s events.

He
shook his head in sad disbelief. “So that’s why they’re calling a meeting of
the campaign staff,” he sighed.

“I’m
afraid so,” Missy nodded.

“How’s
Grayson?” Chris asked, putting on his canvas apron.

“Not
too well, I’m afraid,” she replied, clearly worried about the young man.

“Well,
with the way he looks and all, you gotta figure the cops would be taking a hard
look at him first,” he mused, tying a knot at the back of his waist and heading
for the sink to wash his hands before stocking the cases.

Missy
and Cheryl drew in a collective sharp breath.

“What
an awful thing to say, Chris. We all know that Grayson wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
Cheryl came to the assistant’s defense. “In fact, the other day, there was a
spider in the eating area, and when I asked him to take care of it, he scooped
it up in a cup and put it outside rather than squishing it like most people
would’ve done.”

“Hey,
I live in the real world,” he shrugged, undaunted. “When you choose to look
like that, with long hair and piercings and tattoos, people look at you
differently, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not going to argue whether the
stereotypes tend to be true or not, but that’s just the way it is.”

“Well,
fortunately, those of us who know and love Grayson, won’t be judging him by
such ridiculous measures,” Missy raised a disapproving eyebrow at Chris, who
turned away quickly, heading for the unfrosted trays and the bowls of frosting.

“Hey,
what’s our Cupcake of the Day supposed to be?” he changed the subject,
examining the unfrosted cakes that had been pulled out of the oven earlier.

“Mango
Madness,” Cheryl replied dully, unaware before this morning of just how
appropriate having a Cupcake of the Day with “Madness” in the title would seem.
“The frosting is in the bowl on the right, use the fluted tip,” she directed,
looking at Chris thoughtfully, then exchanged a glance with her boss.

“Well
team, you guys can carry on here, I’m going to go see how Ben is managing, and
maybe pop by Echo’s store for a dish of Vanilla Bean Rice Dream,” Missy said,
reaching for her purse.

“I
think that ice cream is entirely warranted under the circumstances,” Cheryl
agreed. “We’ll be fine here, don’t worry. If it gets really busy after Chris
leaves, I’ll call you,” she promised.

“How
well do you actually know Grayson?” Chas asked Missy, his eyes locked on hers.
They were having a quick dinner at their favorite crawfish café, before Missy
went home to the girls and Chas spent another long night at the office, trying
to solve the Kingsman murder.

“Quite
well,” she frowned at the fact that the detective would even ask such a thing.
“Not only have I worked side by side with him for more than a year, we’ve had
some very in-depth conversations about important things,” her tone was
strident. She hated having the finger of blame pointed at Grayson. While it was
true that he was the artist who created the rendering of Judge Kingsman that
the man’s wife had nearly destroyed, he certainly wasn’t concerned enough about
the incident to have then murdered the candidate. It made Missy wonder the
mayor hadn’t been pulling strings behind the scenes to shift the focus away
from himself and onto poor Grayson.

She
sighed, dropping her head into her hands in frustration. “Look, Chas, I may be
just a cupcake artist, but I really don’t think that it takes a rocket
scientist to figure out who the most obvious suspect should be. There’s only
one person in this town who would have the motive to kill Judge Kingsman, and
that’s his opponent, Felton Chadwick!” Missy insisted vehemently.

“Questioning
my intelligence these days?” Chas raised his eyebrows with a slight smile.

“Oh,
honey, you know I didn’t mean it like that, but doesn’t it make sense?” she
persisted.

The
detective took a deep breath. “When dealing with a public figure like Felton
Chadwick, we have to be very careful, Missy. This man holds a lot of power in
this parish, and we can’t even consider making an accusation for a capital
offense until we have far more than just a suspicion to go on,” he said in a
low voice.

“So
you think he did it too?” she asked, excited that he had seen her point.

“I
didn’t say that, but I will agree that he would probably be the most logical
choice. People have killed for much lesser positions of authority,” Chas
admitted, carefully.

“What
can we do to make sure that they stop being suspicious of Grayson?” Missy
asked.

“Sweetie,
there’s nothing you can do. I have my best men on this, and we’ll get it taken
care of,” he assured her. “Don’t forget, when Grayson comes under scrutiny,
you’re not immune either,” he warned.

“Why
can’t things just go back to being normal?” she asked plaintively.

“Why
indeed,” her fiancé agreed, kissing her hand.

They
changed the subject at that point and made an effort to talk about anything
other than the Kingsman murder – their upcoming wedding, Ben’s graduation
party, and hiring new managers for Missy’s business. It was refreshing to take
a brief escape from reality, while munching on some good ole fashioned Southern
comfort food, but their respite was abruptly cut short by the ringing of
Missy’s phone.

The
caller ID showed that it was Samantha Lemmon, a member of the Burgundies and
Books book club to which Missy belonged. She had gotten to know the young ER
nurse better over the past few months and considered her to be a good friend,
so despite the fact that she was enjoying Chas’s company enormously, even under
the current circumstances, she took the call.

“Hi
Sam,” she said with a smile after pushing ‘Accept’ to take the call.

“Missy,
oh my goodness, I’m so glad that you answered,” Sam said in a hushed tone.

“Oh
my, why? What’s wrong, Sam?” Missy’s heart began to pound within her chest, an
overwhelming premonition of doom seeping into her soul.

“I’m
not supposed to tell you this, okay, but I know that you would want to know…”
her voice was nearly a whisper.

“What
is it, Sam?” Missy interrupted, worried. “I won’t tell anyone that you told
me.”

“An
ambulance just came in a few minutes ago…Grayson was on it, and he didn’t look
good, Missy, I’m so sorry,” the young nurse confided.

“What?”
the color drained from Missy’s face, and Chas reached for her hand, concerned.
“Is he…?” she couldn’t bring herself to ask the question.

“No,
at least not the last time I checked. He’s in surgery, I’ll try to keep you
posted, but I have to go now. I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” she
whispered. Dial tone.

Missy
was shaken and stunned. Chas had seen her reaction and signaled for the check,
so he was able to spirit her from the restaurant before the storm of tears that
threatened swept her away. She told him what the phone call had been about,
lamenting that, since she wasn’t actually related to Grayson, she wouldn’t have
access to any information about him.

“You
won’t, sweetie, but I will,” the detective assured her, his jaw set.

“I
don’t even know what happened to him,” Missy murmured, tears flowing freely.

“I’m
going to drop you off at home, then I’m going to find out,” he promised. “As
soon as I know something, I’ll call you."