Murder So Sweet: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery (Frosted Love Mysteries Book 3) (5 page)

The acrid stench of smoke and ruined burned her nose as Missy stood on the sidewalk, gazing in disbelief at the charred ruins of the shop where she had spent the vast majority of her life. Hearing a gasp beside her, she looked up to see Ben, who had just arrived. She held her arms out and he went into them, embracing his boss and friend, sharing her sense of profound loss.

“I just can’t believe it,” he sniffed, swiping at his eyes.

“I know,” Missy shook her head, depressed and beaten.

“What are we going to do?” Ben asked, feeling helpless.

“We’re going to carry on,” she replied, her jaw set. “We’re going to concentrate on the Dellville shop while this one is being rebuilt, and we’re not going to let these psychopaths stop us.”

“I’m with you, Ms. G., whatever you need, I’m there,” the loyal young man promised.

“I know Ben, thank you,” she gave him another hug.

Melissa Gladstone was furious. Whoever was behind all this was trying to hurt her in the most profound way possible and she was not going to take it sitting down. She had a feeling that this entire set of circumstances had come about due to her refusal to be intimidated into doing business with Thibedeaux and his thugs. If that was indeed the case, this nonsense was going to end today. She was going to march boldly into the Crawshack and give them a piece of her mind, telling these despicable bullies to back off once and for all. She hoped that, during the course of her conversation, someone would say something that would incriminate them. She’d share the info with Chas, he’d figure out how to charge them, and they’d end up in jail. She so looked forward to the day when all she had to worry about was what the cupcake flavor of the day needed to be.

Missy didn’t dress in a suit this time. Her battle armor consisted of a comfortable pair of jeans, a v-necked, sleeveless knit top, and a sturdy pair of running shoes, just in case. Chas had advised her to lay low until the police could figure out what was going on and who was trying to hurt her, but inaction was not in her makeup. Something needed to be done and she refused to sit back and play the victim. She parked her little car in the parking lot of the Crawshack, which was just beginning to fill up with the lunch crowd, and headed for the boardwalk. Remembering her gruesome discovery the last time she’d been here, Missy shuddered, a prickle of goosebumps rising on her skin, despite the sultry day.

A perky hostess greeted her at the door and attempted to hand her a menu, a shadow passing over her face when Missy asked to see Thibedeaux. The young girl asked her to wait a moment, and pushed past a swinging door and into the kitchen. Her stomach churned with nerves as she prepared to face someone who might be Elmer Clements’ murderer, as well as the arsonist who destroyed her shop and tried to destroy her home. She steeled her resolved and, upon the girl’s return followed the tipped-nose brunette down a long corridor past the restrooms to where Thibedeaux’ office could be found. The hostess opened the heavy wooden door, stepped back to allow Missy to enter, and closed it firmly behind her. A white-haired man sat in a club chair in front of a handsomely carved mahogany desk, and turned to see who had just entered.

“Well, well, look who we have heah,” drawled Sheriff Calvin Goins, sharing a smug smile with the thin, icy blonde woman sitting in a leather executive chair behind her desk.

“There must be some mistake,” Missy snipped, glaring at the man. “I requested a meeting with Thibedeaux, I’m apparently in the wrong office. The blonde’s smile grew wider, and if possible, more sinister as she stared at Missy haughtily.

Goins chuckled, apparently enjoying some sort of private joke, as Missy reached for the doorknob. “Now, just hold up there, little Miss High and Mighty,” he commanded, laughing at her. “You haven’t met my daughter-in-law. Melissa Gladstone, meet Chanel Thibedeaux-Goins.”

Missy stared, open-mouthed. “You’re Thibedeaux?” she asked, incredulous.

When the blonde spoke, it was with a charming Creole lilt. “Well now, that shouldn’t surprise an enterprisin’ young business woman like yourself,” she drawled. “I’d think you of all people would appreciate a thrivin’ organization bein’ run by a woman.”

Missy turned to the Sheriff. “Your daughter-in-law? Things are starting to make much more sense now,” she accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Seems we got ourselves a little bit of a problem, now don’t it, sugar?” he gave her a bone-chilling smile.

Chas Beckett rubbed his head in frustration. A call to the Sheriff’s department to check on the status of the evidence that he had submitted had gone through four different people, only to be told that, as he suspected might happen, they had no record of a possible murder weapon being submitted for testing. This meant that he was going to have to go through a judge in order to claim jurisdiction in the case. The fact that the Dellville case was irrevocably tied to incidents in LaChance would make that claim easier, but it was still going to be a logistical nightmare with a never-ending series of hoops to jump through. Something stunk to high heaven in this case, and he had to get to the bottom of it quickly before Missy got hurt. He glanced at his watch. Hopefully the lab results would be back after he returned from lunch and he’d finally have some answers. He tried to call Missy, and was disappointed when he went immediately to voicemail.

Beckett made it a little over halfway through his deli sandwich, when the front desk sergeant called to let him know that there was a very insistent little old lady at the station demanding to see him. Beckett asked what she wanted and was told that she refused to talk to anyone but him. When the sergeant told him that the woman’s name was Clara Clements, Chas jumped up from the table, threw the remnants of his lunch in a trash barrel, gulped down the dregs of his coffee, and headed out to his unmarked car, speeding back to the office.

“I found some things in Elmer’s safe that might be of interest to you, Detective,” Clara Clements was wide-eyed and clutching a file folder to her bosom.

“Please, sit down, Mrs. Clements. Can I get you a cup of tea or a soda?” Chas offered.

“No, thank you, young man, I’m just fine.”

“So, what is it you’d like to share with me?” he asked kindly.

Handing him the folder, she recounted the years-long history of conflict between her husband and a woman named Chanel Thibedeaux, who had a nasty habit of sending her goons to harass and threaten the elderly couple and their business. Unbeknownst to Clara, Elmer had been collecting names and copies of transactions between local businesses that had bowed to the pressure and allowed themselves to be extorted by Chanel’s sinister empire. One of the nasty woman’s customers was Darryl Davis, the previous owner of Missy’s Dellville shop. Chas noticed that the transactions were not only deposited into an account for Chanel Thibedeaux, but a portion of the funds was also being funneled into an account under the name of Calvin Goins. Detective Beckett wracked his brain trying to remember where he had heard the name before (aside from dealing with the Sheriff), finally realizing that the rude cop he encountered at Missy’s place was named Goins. He wondered if they were related, but Goins was a pretty common name in Louisiana, so it could go either way.

The evidence linking Thibedeaux to extortion was pretty substantial, with the receipts, canceled checks, statements of harassment, and other documentation that Elmer had kept in his safe. If the business owners on the list would be willing to testify against Chanel Thibedeaux and Sheriff Calvin Goins, the case would be solid enough to put them in jail for a very long time. Clearly, Elmer had been killed because he knew too much, now all Chas had to do was prove it.

“Would you excuse me a moment?” he asked Clara, and when she nodded, he picked up the receiver on his desk and dialed the lab, asking the tech who answered the phone if his results for the murder weapon were back yet. The tech came back on the line after checking and told him that the results were back and he’d bring them right over, because he had some news that he thought the detective might be interested in.

Chas asked Clara if he could make copies of the contents of the file, but she said that he should just keep it. She wanted nothing more to do with the whole mess and was eager to leave what she had found in Detective Beckett’s capable hands. He thanked her for her time and help and walked her to the door. They shook hands and the little woman shuffled slowly to her car. Chas waved as she drove away, and saw Gus, the lab tech pull into the space she had just vacated. He greeted the shy tech and took him back to his office to see what he had to say. The young man looked about furtively, as though he was afraid to be seen.

Gus handed over the reports that the detective had requested, along with a manila folder. Beckett flipped through the evidence, noting that the fingerprints on the jerry can that was left at Missy’s matched the fingerprints that were on the matchbook he had picked up in her yard after someone had vandalized her house, a thumb print on the door jamb at the Dellville store, and a partial fingerprint on the churn blade that had killed Elmer Clements. The blood on the blade had indeed been Elmer’s, and the coroner’s report showed that he had been killed hours before his body was discovered, leaving plenty of time for the killer to have transported him from the ice cream shop to the bayou.

“What’s in the envelope?”Chas asked the nervous young tech.

“Well, sir, you know how you asked me about some sort of physical evidence that the Sheriff might have implicating the lady who owns the cupcake place?” he began, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, did they actually have anything?” the detective asked curtly.

“Well, they said they recovered some long, curly blonde hairs from the clothing and hand of the victim, so they were going to use that, but then you gave me a sample for DNA from the cupcake lady, so I compared the hair from her and the hair that was found on the victim, and they’re not the same.”

Beckett remembered something and dug quickly through the file that Clara Clements had given him, looking for the description of Chanel Thibedeaux. There was a photo attached, showing the icy beauty of a woman with long, flowing, curly blonde hair.

“Great work, Gus – you may have just helped me solve a murder,” he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat and heading for the door. Once in his car, he called in for backup, dispatched patrol cars to Missy’s house and her new store, and sped toward the Crawshack Redemption.

Missy stared at the sheriff with utter contempt. “Yes, I believe we do have a problem here, Sheriff. Extortion is illegal, and your daughter-in-law has been extorting money from law-abiding local business owners for far too long. As an officer of the law, I would expect you to put a stop to this thievery,” she fumed.

Chanel and the sheriff exchanged a look, and the beautiful blonde looked at Missy amused. “For someone who has survived so long on her own, you are incredibly naïve, Missy Gladstone.”

Missy was taken aback. She’d never heard of Ms. Thibedeaux before she bought Darryl’s place, yet this icicle of a human being seemed to know quite a bit about her.

“Yes, I know who you are, you provincial little simpleton,” Chanel sniffed disdainfully. “I do my homework, and I know exactly how to get what I want. Your resistance is not going to benefit you in the end, surely you realize that. I wonder how your precious dog is getting along, with you being here and all.” She regarded Missy coolly, hoping to see her squirm.

At the mention of her beloved Toffee, Missy began to panic. Unwisely perhaps, she had never really believed that she was in any real danger, but the thought of something happening to her sweet innocent companion filled her with dread, and made her wonder what this dreadful woman was capable of. She knew that if her fear showed, she was already defeated, so she raised an eyebrow as though she were dismissing the threat, and changed the subject.

“Who killed Elmer Clements?” Missy challenged, wondering if she should really go there. “Your goons, Jed and Louis? You should be ashamed of yourself, making them do that,” she accused boldly.

The blonde on the other side of the desk gave her a chilling smile, shaking her head slowly back and forth. “Oh you poor dear,” she mocked her. “You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” She rose to her full 6 feet and walked slowly around the desk to where Missy was sitting. Kneeling down next to her chair, she leaned in, her face merely inches away, and stage-whispered with a sadistic smile, “I’d never have my cousins take care of a task for me that brought me so much pleasure.”

Missy’s heart pounded so loudly that she wondered if Chanel and the sheriff could hear it, when she realized that she was literally sitting face to face with a cold-blooded killer. She fumbled madly with what to say to buy herself some time, now that she knew way too much about this woman and her operation. “What is wrong with you? Is the paltry bit of money that you’d get from Elmer and Clara worth the cost of a human life?”

Chanel snickered and rose to lounge on the desk in front of Missy. “Oh honey, if you think this is about money, you’re more stupid than I thought,” she drawled.

For her own safety, Missy chose to ignore the insult and tried to keep the deranged woman talking, the sheriff watching the two of them, amused. “It has to be money, what else could it be?” she challenged the blonde.

Kneeling down beside Missy again, and thrusting her face toward her aggressively, Chanel suddenly reached around behind Missy, grabbing a substantial chunk of her silken curls, she yanked back hard, snapping her head back on her neck, painfully. Missy gritted her teeth and didn’t cry out as the evil woman began to speak again, hissing through her teeth. “Killing is not about money, extortion is not about money…none of this is about money,” she growled, pulling hard on Missy’s hair as she spoke. “Make no mistake, little country bumpkin…This. Is. About. POWER!” she roared, punctuating every snipped syllable with a yank.

Something deep within Melissa Gladstone snapped, as visions of a sweet elderly couple who wanted nothing more than to live out their days watching happy children coming in and out of their ice cream shop was replaced by the gruesome image of a dead and bloated corpse floating in the bayou. Roaring in anger, she launched up out of her chair, pushing the loathsome woman as hard as she could would both hands, toppling her to the ground. Thankfully she released Missy’s hair before she fell. Despite his bulk, the sheriff sprung to his feet and wrapped his thick arms around Missy to subdue her as Chanel scrambled to her feet, furious. She stalked over to where Sheriff Calvin Goins held a struggling, flailing Missy and stood in front of them, capturing Missy’s gaze before striking her across the face, leaving a stinging red hand print.

Missy started screaming, believing that her time on this earth could soon be ending, and the locked door splintered in its frame, kicked in by Chas Beckett, with a small army of LaChance Police Officers behind him. Goins immediately released Missy, who then fell upon Chanel Thibedeaux like a woman possessed until embraced firmly from behind by Chas, who spoke softly in her ear to calm her as he extracted her from the fight, one of his officers restraining Chanel. The tall, thin blonde and her corrupt, morally bankrupt father-in-law were cuffed and led from the room. Missy collapsed shaking and crying against Beckett’s chest and he led her slowly from the room.

Chas Beckett found out after arresting Sheriff Goins and his daughter-in-law, that the Lausanne Parish sheriff’s department had been under federal investigation for a variety of charges, and the evidence that he’d collected in conjunction with the Elmer Clements murder would be instrumental in taking down an organization that had been terrorizing legitimate business owners all over the state. The officers who had been dispatched to Missy’s home and her new shop had arrested Jed and Louis, respectively, in the process of vandalizing each location. The fingerprints that had been found were a perfect match with Chanel Thibedeaux, as was the hair sample. Her attorneys counseled her to plead insanity, but a jury of her peers didn’t buy it and awarded her life in a Louisiana maximum security prison without the possibility of parole. Chas Beckett was formally commended by the US government and the Parish of Lausanne, and received a promotion and pay raise from the city of LaChance. He was also offered free coffee, muffins, cupcakes and cookies for life by a certain smitten small business owner.