Murder So Sweet: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 3) (3 page)

Missy donned a light grey pinstripe suit and a sleeveless blue blouse for her meeting at the Crawshack, wanting to be seen as a professional rather than a cute little woman who bakes for a living. She contained her cornsilk blonde hair in a polished bun atop her head, and wore simple diamond stud earrings. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she thought that she had done a reasonably good job of creating a look that indicated she was a force to be reckoned with. She was jittery, both from the copious amounts of coffee that she had consumed in lieu of a more substantial breakfast, and from the reality of having to confront a bullheaded southern man over his harassment. She climbed into her tiny blue car just after eight a.m. feeling determined, but just the tiniest bit afraid of what she might encounter.

The parking lot of the Crawshack was actually quite a distance from the restaurant itself. A long, raised, wooden walkway meandered through the swamp, where patrons often glimpsed cranes, alligators, snakes and other wildlife along the way. The knees of cypress trees rose from beneath black murky waters, and moss hung from trees in this quaint locale, and Missy had to admit that the site had a certain charm. Stepping onto the walkway, she wished for a moment that she had worn comfortable shoes rather than her grey patent leather pumps, and jeans rather than her suit skirt. The humid heat was starting to rise already, and a thin sheen of sweat beaded her upper lip as she made her way to the restaurant. She had found it more than a bit strange that there were no other cars in the parking lot when she pulled up. She had reasoned that if the restaurant opened for lunch, surely there would be someone around doing prep work by now, and typically a manager or owner would be present earlier rather than later.

The clip clop of her heels on the boardwalk rang out in the still bayou morning, and she felt oddly chilled despite the growing heat of the Louisiana summer. Missy didn’t see any sign of activity as she neared the restaurant, but if anyone was around, they’d likely be in the office and/or kitchen anyway. Pulling on the heavy brass handle of the front door, she discovered that the front door was locked, which wasn’t really surprising. She knocked a few times, and when there was no response, she made her way across the deck that surrounded the entire restaurant, looking for the door to the kitchen. Finding that the kitchen door was locked as well, and again getting no response, she decided to follow the decking to the back of the restaurant in search of an office door, her last hope. She slapped at a mosquito that was buzzing near her ear, and felt curly tendrils escaping her carefully crafted bun. Her frustration level was rising, and she planned to use it when she unleashed her criticism upon Mr. Thibedeaux.

Stepping around the far corner of the building, a flash of something white in the water caught her eye. Curious, she walked to the railing and peered down into the waters of the bayou, a scream of terror ripping from her unbidden as she realized what had captured her attention. The corpse of an elderly man floated face-down among the pilings below. Horrified and crying in terror, Missy pulled off her shoes and ran as fast as she could back to the parking lot, jumping into her car and locking all of the doors. Her feet bled and her pantyhose were completely ruined, but she didn’t even notice as she dialed Chas Beckett’s number with shaking hands, her stomach churning violently and threatening to eject the entire pot of coffee that she had drunk this morning.

The parish sheriff got to the site before Chas did, arriving shortly after she hung up the phone. Next came the sheriff’s divers, an ambulance and the parish coroner. A deputy took Missy’s statement explaining how she had discovered the body, and why she was there in the first place. He looked at her skeptically and took her contact information in case they wanted to speak with her again. When Chas came jogging toward her finally, she fell into his arms sobbing, overwhelmed. He held her close, trying to maintain his professional demeanor in front of the other officers, but deeply concerned about her.

He handed her a tissue, helping her to calm down, then turned to a nearby deputy, flashing his credentials. “Officer, are you done with this witness.”

“For now,” was the terse reply, as the officer turned his back and headed for the bayou.

Chas told Missy to go home, and that he’d come check on her after he found out what was happening down at the scene. She nodded numbly and limped back to her car.

After Missy got home and changed into yoga pants and a soft, worn t-shirt, she curled up on the couch with Toffee, trying to take her mind off of her traumatic morning by watching TV and stroking the silky fur behind her adoring retriever’s ears. Her head ached miserably, whether from caffeine or adrenalin she didn’t know, and her stomach refused to even consider the possibility of food. She must have drifted off to sleep, because the doorbell ringing a couple of hours later startled her. Getting up to answer it, with Toffee trailing behind her, she was relieved when she looked out her peephole and saw Chas Beckett standing on her porch. It touched her heart that he had brought her vegetable soup and a turkey sandwich from the deli, even though she didn’t feel like eating at the moment.

Chas filled her in on what he had learned about the case, despite the fact that the sheriffs were being very close-mouthed. The victim had been killed before being dumped into the bayou, but the coroner would have to try to determine how long ago he had died. A sharp instrument had been used to slit his throat, and there had been no bruises to indicate that he had been involved in any type of struggle. The elderly man had no identification on him, not surprisingly, so the coroner will be using dental records and fingerprints to try to determine his identity.

“Not to suggest that you even remotely had anything to do with what happened this morning, but what on earth were you doing out at the Crawshack this morning?” Beckett asked gently.

Missy related the story of Jed and Louis, as well as what she’d been told by Clara Clements, and his expression darkened. “What?” she asked, fear rising within her at his expression.

“I can’t believe that you went out there on your own, Missy. These are dangerous people that you’re dealing with. The Cajun Mafia is a very real thing, and even if this is only a small-town branch of it, you should absolutely not be dealing with these characters, particularly on your own,” he admonished her, fearing for her safety.

“I didn’t know,” her lower lip trembled as she fought back tears.

“I know, it’s okay,” he took her in his arms. “Don’t cry Missy, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” He kissed the top of her head and she drew strength from the warmth of his embrace. When her tears had been reduced to sniffles, he pulled away and asked, “do you have security systems set up in your shops?”

Missy shook her head. “No, I never thought I needed one. LaChance is a safe place, Chas.”

“Yes, typically LaChance is a very safe place, but if Jed and his pals find out that you’re the owner of two businesses rather than just one, they’ll be looking to profit from both. Or would potentially want to destroy both since you don’t plan to cave in to their demands,” he said grimly. “C’mon, we’re going out right now to take care of your security issues,” he offered his hand, heading for the front door.

Chas decided that he could install the security system in LaChance tomorrow, the need was far more urgent in the Dellville location, so after purchasing the necessary equipment, they headed out to the new store.

“I was supposed to finish painting today,” Missy murmured, looking around when they arrived.

“The distraction might be good for you,” the wise detective suggested. “I’ll be puttering around, making sure everything is safe and secure, so you’re free to paint to your heart’s content.”

Missy nodded and started pulling out her supplies. She had successfully finished the last coat on the walls and was pulling down the blue tape between her stripes when she looked out her front window and saw a sheriff’s patrol car pull up across the street at Clara’s ice cream shop. She watched as Clara, dressed tastefully in lavender, came out to talk with the officers, and then collapsed in tears. The officers stayed for a few more minutes, appearing to try and console the distraught woman, and then went on their way, faces grim.

“Chas, I’m going across the street for a minute to check on Clara at the ice cream shop, I’ll be back soon,” she called, opening the front door.

“Be careful,” was his distracted reply as he focused on calibrating a security camera.

In her second horrific surprise of the day, Missy learned that the man whose body she had seen floating in the swamp had been that of Clara’s beloved husband, Elmer. The grieving widow thought that he had merely gone out to pick up supplies when he wasn’t in bed or at the store early this morning, and was heartbroken when the police came by to give her the bad news. Elmer had been a volunteer crossing guard at Dellville Elementary School for years, so when the coroner ran his fingerprints, they immediately popped up on the database as a registered ‘safe person’ for local children. Missy tried to console the fragile old woman as best she could until her daughter arrived, then trudged back across the street, sick at heart. Chas was wiping his hands on a towel, having just finished installing all of her new security measures, when she walked in, sad and defeated. She numbly told him what she had just learned and he held her while yet another torrent of tears took her by storm.

Missy’s sleep was restless, she tossed and turned, constantly haunted by nightmares, and nightmarish visions of death and fear. She woke late, to the ringing of her cell phone on the nightstand beside her.

“Hello?” she answered groggily.

She was more than surprised to hear her neighbor, Myra Cranston, on the line. “Missy, darlin’ what on earth happened to your poor house?”

“My…what?” Missy was confused.

“Sweetheart, I’m standin’ out here in your side yard, you might wanna come out here and see this,” she advised.

“Oh…okay. I’ll be out in a minute,” she replied, trying to shake the cobwebs from her sleepless night. Throwing on the first pair of gym shorts and t-shirt that she could find, Missy dashed out the front door with Toffee at her heels, to see Myra, standing with her arms crossed, shaking her head slowly while gazing at the side of her house. Jogging over to stand next to her neighbor, Missy turned and saw, much to her dismay, that someone had spray painted the word
NEXT
in red letters at least three feet high on the butter-yellow siding of her gracious Victorian.

Myra patted her back. “You better call the police, sugar,” she advised with a frown.

“Doesn’t look like I’ll have to,” Missy murmured, as a patrol car pulled up in front of her house, lights flashing.

Two uniformed officers came toward her, and Missy went to meet them.

“Thank you so much for coming, did one of the neighbors give y’all a call?” she asked.

“Nice try Ms. Gladstone. Come with me, please.” The officer closest to her reach for her and Missy stepped back.

“Come with you? Where? And why?” she was completely taken aback.

“You’re a person of interest in the murder of Elmer Clements. We’re taking you to the station for questioning,” he replied sternly.

“That’s absolutely ridiculous! I was just about to call the police because someone vandalized my home, and now you’re trying to accuse me of murder? That’s just crazy!” Missy retorted.

“You have a choice ma’am, you can either come with us voluntarily, or I can place you under arrest for interfering with an official investigation, what’s it going to be?” he stepped toward her, hands on hips.

“Don’t you threaten me, Officer. I’ll come with y’all, but you need to stop being so rude. I’m a law-abiding citizen and I don’t appreciate being treated like this,” she huffed, heading for the house.

“Where do you think you’re going ma’am?” the other officer asked.

“I am going to take my shower and get dressed in appropriate clothing, not that it’s any of your business. Once I’m ready and have had my breakfast, I’ll drive down to the police station and talk with you.”

“Not the police station, the sheriff’s office, ma’am.”

That stopped Missy in her tracks. “I don’t even know where the sheriff’s office is.”

The second officer sighed. “Ma’am, just go do whatever it is that you need to do. We’ll wait here for you and escort you to the station when you’re ready.” His partner shot him a dirty look that he ignored.

“Well, while you’re wasting time and taxpayer money doing that, y’all might as well check out the vandalism that was done to my house and look for clues or something,” Missy glared at them before turning to go back in the house, calling Toffee to follow. Myra waved at her and headed back to her own home.

Once inside, Missy immediately called Chas and explained what had happened. He promised to head over and told her to take her time getting ready, so that he could talk with the officers on site.

“Morning officers,” Chas called out after arriving at Missy’s.

“Who are you?” the one with an attitude demanded.

Chas flashed his credentials briefly, neglecting to answer the question. “Neighbor lady called to report vandalism, so they sent me to check it out,” he lied smoothly,  gesturing at the graffiti on Missy’s house.

“They sent a detective to investigate a vandalism report rather than a uniform?” the smarter officer who had been polite to Missy asked. “What kind of operation y’all running over there at local?”

Beckett nodded, in seeming agreement. “Right? Waste of my time if you ask me, but who am I to say?”

“I hear ya.”

“What brings you boys out here on a Sunday morning? Chas asked conversationally.

“The lady of the house is a person of interest in that bayou murder. Found some physical evi…”

The rude cop cut off his partner before he could finish his sentence. “Routine procedure,” he inserted quickly, shooting his partner a glare. “Sheriff’s hoping that maybe the little gal saw something that might help us out. Told us to bring her in for questioning.”

“Yeah, I heard about that murder,” Beckett replied, letting the cop think he’d been successfully distracted. “Terrible thing. Who’d want to kill an old man? Crazy stuff,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, you boys take care now, I’m gonna go check out the vandalism. That’s why I get the big bucks,” he joked wryly. Rude Cop nodded and grinned, Smart Cop raised his hand in acknowledgment.

Chas walked over to the house, legitimately looking for any clue as to who could’ve done the spray painting, and slyly picking up something that he saw on the ground, he went back to the officers who were leaning impatiently against their vehicle, waiting for Missy to get ready.

“Hey, you boys mind if I have a crack at the little lady before she goes out to the station with you? I want to ask her a few questions, see if she has any clue as to who did this,” he explained.

“Don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that this is a distraction tactic, detective,” Rude Cop drawled sarcastically.

“You know that and I know that, but chances are the lady doesn’t know that, so I’d like to talk with her briefly if you don’t mind. I gotta have something to put in my report,” he shrugged. “I can make sure she gets to the station if you guys wanna go ahead and take off.”

The duo exchanged a look of relief, and Rude Cop nodded. “We appreciate it, man, thanks. And good luck with the lady, she’s a feisty one.” When they got into the car and drove away, Chas mounted the porch steps two at a time and rang the doorbell, his face grim.

“They apparently have some sort of physical evidence linking you to the Clements murder,” Chas announced without preamble when Missy let him in.

Her eyes widened in shock. “But Chas, that’s impossible! I didn’t kill Elmer Clements, I’d never even met him. I only met his wife the day before.”

“I know that you didn’t kill him, Missy, but the sheriff doesn’t know that, and I have to find some way to figure out what evidence they have that makes it look like you did.”

“So what do I do now?” she worried.

“Finish your breakfast, take a deep breath, and do what you always do…tell the truth,” he advised. “I’ll be working overtime trying to find out who killed Elmer, and who wrote on the side of your house. I’m thinking there may be a connection between the two.”

“You mean, when it says NEXT, it might mean that I’m…”

“The next victim,” he finished soberly.

Her phone rang, startling her, and she saw Ben’s number pop up on her screen.

“What’s up Ben?” she answered more abruptly than she had intended.

“Ms. G., I’m at the store. I stopped by to make sure that we had enough strawberries because we’re featuring the Strawberry Cheesecake Muffins tomorrow, and…well, I think you should come by here,” he finished nervously.

Missy shook her head, disgusted. “Let me guess…the word NEXT spray-painted in red on the building?”

Ben was silent for a moment, stunned. “Yeah, on the back door…how did you know?”

“It’s a long story. Hey listen, can you hang out there for a bit? Detective Beckett will be coming in to check it out in an hour or so,” she looked at Chas for confirmation and he nodded. When her assistant said he’d stay, she told him to lock all the doors and not open them for anyone but the detective.

“Well, they found your other business,” Beckett observed with a sigh.

“Chas, what am I going to do?” she whispered, frightened.

“You’re going to stay strong, be careful, and go talk to the sheriff. I’m going to go solve a murder. Don’t worry, we’ll get you through this,” he promised, stroking her cheek. She nodded miserably.