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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Maven Publishing & Summer Prescott Books - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 1
Petite, blonde owner of Cupcakes in Paradise, Melissa Gladstone Beckett was both excited and relieved that it was finally the week of Christmas. She’d been working hard this season, both baking cupcakes for holiday customers and interacting with guests at the Beach House B&B, a bed and breakfast inn that she owned with husband, Detective Chas Beckett, on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Christmas was her favorite time of the year, and she had made certain that she set up holiday hours that would allow her to enjoy time with family and friends. The cupcake shop would be closed early on Christmas Eve, not reopening until the second of January, and no guests were scheduled to stay at the inn until the week after Christmas.
Maggie, the lovely silver-haired innkeeper, who had worked at the inn before Missy and Chas bought it, had gone to her sister’s in Ohio for the holiday. The two women alternated every year because Maggie sometimes got homesick and wanted to see snow, whereas her older sister wanted nothing more than to lie on a lounger and ring in the holidays with sand and sun. Spencer, the young, handsome Marine veteran who served as handyman, shuttle driver, stand-in server and all-around go-to guy for both the inn and cupcake shop, would be celebrating with Missy and Chas. The Marine had no family that they knew of, and had blended into their close-knit group of friends quickly, despite being a couple of decades younger.
Missy had created a new flavor of cupcake this morning that she was eager to test out on her friends. Phillip “Kel” Kellerman, a 60-something local artist whose work was world-renowned, and Echo Willis, a flame-haired former Californian, joined her for coffee nearly every morning, and she regularly used them as guinea pigs to try out her new recipes. Echo was vegan, so Missy made certain that for every new recipe, there was a vegan version, which had, at first, been a bit of a challenge for the southern gal who had moved to Florida from a smallish town in Louisiana, where butter was jokingly referred to as a food group. The vegan-friendly options had been a hit with quite a few of the local folks, and she was glad that she was able to provide something for everyone.
Today’s new flavor had been inspired by one of the staple candies of the holidays, peanut brittle. Instead of the wonderfully crunchy bits of the sweet treat, Missy had mixed a bit of peanut butter into her batter, coming up with a delightfully dense, moist, cupcake, which she then topped with a fluffy buttercream frosting, and drizzled with “peanut brittle” glaze, finishing them off with a sprinkle of finely crushed peanuts. They looked, smelled, and tasted delicious, and Missy couldn’t wait to try them out on her coffee buddies.
“Oh my goodness it smells amazing in here,” Echo exclaimed, appearing in the doorway of Missy’s spotless commercial kitchen.
“I’m glad you think so,” her friend beamed, handing off a platter of cupcakes. “I just need to start a pot of coffee and we’ll be all set.”
“No worries, I started one before I came back here,” Echo assured her, heading to the eating area with the platter.
Kel was sitting at their favorite bistro table with his newspaper, and looked up with interest when the two women appeared bearing cupcakes.
“Well, well, what delights do you have in store for us this morning, dear ladies?” he asked, his eyes brightening when Echo set down the tray in the middle of their table.
“They’re peanut brittle cupcakes,” Missy announced. “The ones in the blue foil are vegan,” she advised, knowing that he’d select the ones in the red.
The artist’s eyes practically rolled back in his head when he took a bite of the treat.
“I don’t know how you do it, my dear, but please don’t stop. Each new creation is a wonder,” he declared, raising his coffee mug in tribute.
Missy and Echo looked at each other and laughed.
“Thanks Kel, I’m glad you like it. So what’s going on in our little piece of the universe today?” Missy asked, grabbing a cupcake.
As a lifetime resident, and someone who knew practically everyone in the seaside town of Calgon, Florida, Kel felt that it was his civic duty to keep newcomers, Echo and Missy, up to date on the happenings in and around town. He wasn’t spreading gossip…he was helping them acclimate to their new community.
“Well,” the artist leaned forward confidentially. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that clever husband of yours gets terribly busy in the next few weeks.”
“Chas?” Missy was a bit alarmed. “Why would he be busier?”
Chas Beckett was the lead detective at the Calgon Police Department, and took his job quite seriously, despite having been left a fortune by his father. He used his billions to enrich the lives of others, and was involved in charity work, but had so far managed to keep his financial status a secret from the world at large. His wealthy family was from New York, so no one in Florida had any clue that he only did detective work as a means of contributing to the community.
“There’s been quite the rash of crime these days, not just here in our lovely little berg, but in surrounding counties too. They don’t know if it’s all connected, but there’s been such an increase that coincidence doesn’t seem likely.”
“How do you know about all of this?” Echo challenged, taking a sip of her coffee.
“My dear, you know I never reveal my sources, but let’s just say, one can pick up a wealth of information when one chooses to patronize the local diner during the wee hours of the morning,” Kel replied mysteriously.
“What are you doing out and about at the wee hours of the morning?” she teased. “I’d think you’d need all the beauty sleep you could get.”
Echo was Kel’s Gallery Manager in the afternoon, after helping Missy at the cupcake shop in the morning, and loved to poke at him, just for the fun of it.
“I was working on a new sculpture, and time got away from me,” the artist shrugged. “And I do just fine with minimal beauty sleep, young
lady.”
“Are the crimes that are happening dangerous?” Missy worried.
Kel shook his head. “They don’t seem to be. From what I heard, there’s no consistency at all in the crimes – it’s everything from petty theft to breaking and entering to trespassing to vandalism. Folks are making sure to lock their doors and windows.”
“That’s awful. Right before the holidays? What kind of terrible person would do such a thing?” she asked, frowning.
“With the number of incidents being reported regionally, they don’t think it could possibly be one person,” Kel replied.
“A crime ring?” Echo remarked. “That’s rather disturbing.”
“Well, I don’t think that you ladies have anything to worry about, but it might be worthwhile to just double-check for security before you leave home, don’t leave Christmas packages in the car, that sort of thing,” he suggested.
Missy nodded. “I’ll definitely be more careful. Keep us posted if you hear anything else, Kel.”
“Most assuredly, dear lady,” the artist agreed, taking a huge bite from his second cupcake.
Chapter 2
A plain-looking young woman with mousy brown hair, freckles, and an outfit that harkened back to pioneer days, came into Cupcakes in Paradise after Echo had gone to work at the gallery, so Missy emerged from the kitchen to see what she needed.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted the customer with a smile. “How can I help you?”
“Hello,” the woman replied softly. “I’ve never been to your shop before, but everything looks and smells delicious,” she said shyly.
“Well, thank you, and welcome. Is there anything specific that you’re looking for?”
“I usually don’t indulge,” the whip-thin woman admitted. “But, I figured, since it’s the holidays and all…”
“That’s the spirit,” Missy encouraged. “Nothing has calories in the month of December, right?” she joked.
“Exactly,” she smiled, showing even white teeth. “What would you recommend for someone who only eats treats once a year?”
“I just created a new flavor this morning – peanut brittle,” she pointed out the delicious cakes in the display case.
“Oh my, that sounds like the best of both worlds, candy and a cupcake all in one,” the woman nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll have one of those, please.” She took a worn, obviously handmade quilted wallet in a calico print out of a backpack that looked as though it had been purchased at an Army/Navy store, and paid for her treat, settling down at one of the tables to eat it.
“Mmmm…this is really good.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it,” Missy replied, wiping down the front counter. “Do you bake?”
“Oh yes, I make everything from scratch. I can tell that you do too,” she nodded appreciatively.
“That’s the only way to go.”
“I totally agree. I really try to get back to basics. I grow my own food, sew my own clothing, and try to live off of the land as much as possible,” the woman explained, clearly enjoying her cupcake.
“Wow, that’s commendable. It can’t be an easy thing to do these days,” Missy remarked, interested.
“Easier than you might think, once you get into it. I have supportive friends who are doing the same thing, so it really has just become a way of life,” she shrugged.
“How fascinating. Do you live around here?”
“Well, actually…I…uh,” the young woman seemed a bit nervous after glancing outside the shop window as a man was walking by. “I think I’ll finish the rest of this on my way. I have to head out. Thanks so much, it was delicious,” she said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and taking the rest of her uneaten cupcake with her as she hurried to the door.
“You’re welcome,” Missy called after her, puzzled.
Spencer Bengal, the Marine veteran who helped out at the inn and shop, came in the back door of the kitchen, moments later.
“Good morning Spence, how are you today?”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Beckett, thanks for asking,” the Marine’s brow was furrowed. “What did the woman who just left here want?”
“A cupcake presumably,” Missy grinned. “Why?”
“Can you let me know if she comes in again?”
“Sure…but…” Missy was confused for a moment, then realization hit. “Ohhhh…she’s about your age…do I detect an interest?” she teased.
“Something like that,” Spencer replied, without a hint of expression. “And, please, don’t let her know that you know me,” he added cryptically.
“Okaaaay,” Missy agreed, shaking her head as he left.
Spencer always seemed to have an air of mystery about him. He was a delightful young man with a quick smile and a heart of gold, but there appeared to be a tiny amount of darkness that followed him – a secret pain that he kept locked away. He’d seen too much horror and misery during his service, and seemed determined to leave the past behind, but he couldn’t always hide the shadows that haunted him.
Chapter 3
“Was that her?” Simon’s hand clamped around Ginny’s arm like a vise.
“It had to be. She had a southern accent, and she was the only one in the place. She fit the description. You totally threw me off by lurking around out front though – what were you thinking?”
“It’s not your place to question me, woman,” he growled, tightening his grip as she tried to shake free.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny replied, teeth clenched. “I was nervous enough about doing the scouting, without you watching my every move.”
“You should be thankful that you were included in this operation at all. I had to convince the others that you were ready. Don’t prove me wrong,” Simon warned.
“I won’t. I’m probably more ready for this than any of them are,” she scoffed.
“Don’t get cocky Virginia. You have yet to prove your loyalty and worth to the group.”
“Loyalty? Are you kidding? I work my fingers to the bone for the group, cooking, canning, making laundry detergent, dressing like Laura Ingalls for crying out loud…how can anyone possibly question my loyalty? And as for proving my worth, my time in the service pretty much trumps the home-grown training that your guys provide,” she reminded him, noting his displeasure.
“Talk like that can result in some very unpleasant consequences,” Simon threatened, wondering if he’d made a mistake in recruiting this tough-as-nails chick to his exclusive group of warriors. “Do you want to be a part of the cause or not?” he demanded, still digging his fingers into the lean muscle of her upper arm.
“Yeah, I do,” she said in a low voice, eyes slitted.
“Good,” he shoved her away. “Then get back to the compound, where you belong, and get started on your chores.”
Chapter 4
Marine veteran, Scott Janssen, crouched low behind a stand of palmetto as a group of strangers tramped through the Florida wilderness that had become his home. He’d never been able to assimilate back into civilian society after several tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, preferring to live among the wild creatures and out of the public eye. He’d done too much, seen too much, to ever allow himself the dangerous luxury of becoming complacent in a world full of predators, but now it seemed that a small group of men had found its way into his little corner of the world, which put him on high alert.
The largely beefy and bearded group was wearing t-shirts, ball caps and bits and pieces of uniforms from different branches of service, which made Janssen believe that, most likely, none of them had ever served, or, if they had, their service had been brief and obligatory. They were tricked out in outdoor gear and all of them had weapons. The way that they marched, and the furtive manner that they glanced about constantly gave him cause for great concern. Warriors who knew what they were doing, moved through the terrain with stealth and confidence. Those who were posturing and paranoid could be dangerous…to themselves and others.
Janssen’s concern d
rove him to follow the pack, not making a sound as he moved gracefully through the terrain that he’d come to know and love, not leaving so much as a broken twig to indicate his path. He followed the group for most of the day, stopping to pick up the cigarette butts and slim-jim wrappers they discarded in their wake. He had a good idea where they were headed after he’d tailed them for a while, and his intuition proved to be spot on. There was a cabin out there in the middle of nowhere that would be just about the right size for the group, if they didn’t mind sleeping on a rough-hewn wood floor.
The Marine knew the cabin well, and knew exactly where to slip into the basement so that he could hear what was said in the space above him. He waited for the men to get inside and settle in with whiskey and freeze-dried meals – he knew they had them, because he could smell the former, and heard them tearing the tops off of the latter – before soundlessly removing the boards and stones along one side of the structure and sliding underneath on his stomach. He replaced the boards behind himself, and made his way, in the low light of the basement, to a spot near the front of the structure, where the group had gathered on the lone couch and a scraggly collection of camp chairs. His back to a supporting post, Janssen sat directly below the men, their conversation as clear as if he’d been in the room with them.
“How much did we get this week?” one of the younger men asked the thick-browed leader of the group who sat on the couch sipping cheap whiskey.
“Not much from Calgon.” Janssen’s ears perked up at the reference. “Got some nice loot from Semblas county, and hit a bank over in Considine, but our operatives are still working, so it looks good.” The man’s voice sounded like he’d spent a lifetime smoking, and his heavily lidded eyes missed nothing.
“Simon, did the girl make contact today?”
“Yep, she spoke to her,” Simon nodded.
“Southern accent?”
“Yep.”
“Good. Can your girl be trusted to go back and talk to her enough to get an idea of her routine? We need to know when she’s going to be alone, so that we can get in, get her, and get out.”
Peanut Brittle Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 25 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Page 1
