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

by Carol Durand

“It will be for me too,” Missy followed him to the back door, her hand warm in his. They set their glasses and the rest of the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter and continued on to the front door. Chas paused when he got there, turning around to face her.

  Tilting her face up to smile at the handsome detective, Missy’s voice was warm and soft when she thanked him for dinner. “I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you for dinner and good company.”

  “My pleasure,” he gazed down at her. “Thank you for wine and good company.”

  “You’re welcome.” A flush was spreading through her that had nothing to do with the wine.

  “I’d like to do this again if you don’t mind,” Chas said, searching her eyes.

  She nodded happily, “I would too.” Her heart beat fast in her chest. She had never wanted to be kissed so badly in her life, but it had been so long, that she wondered if she even remembered how. For someone who wasn’t looking for a relationship, those big grey eyes of hers had a look in them that sent out an unmistakably invitation, to which Chas Beckett willingly responded. Lowering his head, he gently brushed his lips against hers, sending her butterflies into a mad flurry as sensations that she hadn’t experienced in a very long time coursed through her in a warm rush. She was certain that her heart was pounding loudly enough for him to hear it.

  “Good night Missy,” he said softly when they drew back from the brief kiss.

  “Good night Chas,” she smiled shyly.

  Chapter 3

  Friday and Saturday were so busy at Missy’s shop that she hardly had time to breathe. Stuart Cline arrived on Saturday afternoon, just as she and Ben finished tidying up, to take her to see potential properties for her second shop. She was excited and nervous about the possibilities, and very much looking forward to exploring her options. They toured four properties in nearby towns, and although some of them had potential, Missy had seen nothing that seemed to be the perfect fit.

  “Didn’t you mention a property that had all of the amenities that I’m looking for already in place?” she asked Stuart.

  “Yes ma’am, I did,” he replied with a smile. “I saved the best for last – that’s where we’re headed now.”

  He headed north on a small country highway, to a town that was about the size of LaChance, called Dellville. When he stopped at the property that he wanted to show her, Missy was incredulous.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she exclaimed, not happy at all.

  “Now, Miss Gladstone, I know that there’s a history here, but I’m confident that once you see…”

  Missy interrupted him before he could even finish his sentence. “No! Absolutely not! I’m not setting foot in Darryl Davis’ old Donut shop. You have a lot of nerve bringing me here,” she accused, offended. Darryl Davis had been a rival of Missy’s for quite some time, up until he had been murdered in this very shop a little more than a year ago. Missy had been accused in the murder initially, but had the gumption, with help from a very stern Chas Beckett, to clear her name and help bring the actual killer to justice. To set up shop in the dead man’s former domain was utterly unthinkable. She folded her arms stubbornly and sat staring straight ahead, fuming.

  “Miss Gladstone, I can certainly understand how you’d have an emotional reaction to this…location, but if you can put that aside, for just a moment and consider the impact that owning this building would potentially have on your business, I think you’ll agree that it’s worth at least taking a look.” Stuart explained the traffic pattern and customer flow, the advantages of ample parking, the cost savings of having state-of-the-art equipment already in place, and the fact that, since the property had been vacant for quite some time, there was a substantial price reduction that made this location hugely more economical than any of the others.

  Missy sighed heavily, knowing that he was right, but not quite able to get past her initial reaction.

  Seeing that his client was still on the fence, Stuart gave it one last shot. “Look, Melissa, if we go in and take a look and you’re too uncomfortable, we’ll leave and I’ll never mention it again, okay?”

  He looked at her without speaking, until at last, she reluctantly relented. “Fine, but it’s going to be quick. I mean it, we get in, we get out, got it?” she asked, uncharacteristically abrasive.

  “Of course,” Stuart agreed. “But, when we get inside, I don’t want you to think about what was, nor what is. I want you to envision what the space could be, with your special touch and your refined taste. I want you to look past the reality, and consider the potential. Deal?” When Missy nodded just once, he got out of the car, and went around to the passenger side to open her door. Jangling a ring of keys, he found the one that he wanted and unlocked the building.

  When Missy stepped inside, she detected a faint scent of fryer fat, alongside the typical musty smell of unused space and stale air. She actually did as Stuart had asked, and tried to envision what her colors, her furniture and her special touch could do for this large space, finding that tons of possibilities flooded her mind. They headed back to the kitchen, where Darryl the Donut Man’s body had been found, and Missy was relieved to see that the Davis family had made the smart decision to have the entire kitchen cleaned spotlessly before trying to sell the building. There was a thin coat of dust covering every surface, but aside from that, the appliances, counters, flooring and walls looked perfect. The walk-in freezer was larger than hers, as was the kitchen, and she nodded thoughtfully as she wandered through. There was a sizable storage room at the back, and a lounge area for employees on break. She hated to admit it, but Stuart Cline was absolutely right, the property was ideal. The only thing that she’d have to do eventually is remove the deep fat fryers. When they left, Missy instructed Stuart to take her directly to his office so that she could make an offer on Darryl Davis’ former Donut shop. She offered twenty percent less than the asking price, thinking that there was no way she’d ever get it that inexpensively, but in less than 24 hours, Stu called to let her know that her offer had been accepted.

  Chapter 4

  Missy’s loyal assistant, Ben Radigan, had been thrilled when she asked him if he would accept the position of Store Manager at the shop in LaChance, running things there so that she could get set up and running over in Dellville. Once the new store was established, Ben could decide whether he’d rather manage the new store, or stay put in LaChance. She had hired a new assistant for the LaChance location, a sweet and capable young woman named Cheryl Tilden who had long, thick, dark, hair and big brown eyes that she loved to bat at Ben. Seeing the two of them together, bantering back and forth and giggling, made Missy’s heart smile. Ben was a loner, a grad school student who had lost his beloved cat to a malicious act perpetrated by Darryl the Donut Man’s murderer. He had few friends, and spent most of his time studying for his Doctorate in Criminal Justice, so the introduction of a young and vibrant person who would be in his life on a daily basis could only be a good thing. Missy had a little more than a month to get the two of them working together as a team before she’d be at the Dellville location full time, but had every confidence that they’d do just fine on their own.

  Today was a cleaning day at the new store, which Missy had decided to call, “Crème de la Cupcake.” She had donned her oldest, most worn clothing for the messy task, and was armed with rubber gloves, sponges, scrubbers, sprayers and cleansers of every stripe. She kept her store spotless at all times, and this one needed a thorough polishing from top to bottom after having sat vacant for so long. She planned to paint the interior in the same bright lime and bubblegum pink color scheme that she had in her other store, wanting to maintain a consistent feel. Painting was second on the list, right after clean-up, then she’d purchase quaint little mismatched tables and chairs, making the transformation complete.

  Missy was elbow deep in degreaser when she heard the back door open. She froze, thinking that she had locked it, but coming to life when she heard a man’s voice call out. Stripping off h
er gloves and hanging them over the side of her bucket, she ran her hands under the tap at the sink, and then dried them before heading through the storage room to the back door.

  “Hello der! Where you at?” she heard a raspy voice with a thick Cajun accent inquire.

  She saw the unkempt and overweight man, dressed in overalls with a white tank top underneath, wandering around, just inside the back door. Rising up to every last inch of her diminutive 5’4” height, she put her hands on her hips and addressed him.

  “May I help you?” she asked warily. The shop was in a good neighborhood, surrounded by cute and cozy specialty stores, but she was new in this area, and very conscious of the fact that she was alone.

  The man’s piggish eyes, small in his jowly face, roamed up and down, taking in her worn, cut-off shorts, long legs, and thin camisole. “You wanna place an order, sweethawt?” he drawled.

  Ignoring his leer, Missy responded coolly. “Place an order? I’m sorry; I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I’m expecting a delivery any moment, and I need to be ready for it. Good day,” she dismissed him. She’d been bluffing. There was no delivery coming, but she thought it might be smart to make him think that she wasn’t going to be alone for much longer.

  “Naw, see, you doan unnastand, dahlin. You got to git yo drah goods ordahd, so’s y’all kin open on tahm,” he insisted, stepping close enough for Missy to smell the rank and fetid odor of his body and breath.

  “Dry goods? I get my dry goods from a wholesaler with whom I’ve worked for years, thanks anyway. Have a good day,” she turned to go, wanting desperately to get away from this foul creature of the swamp.

  “Aww, no y’all doan. Y’all gots to git de drah goods frum us local boys, y’heah?” the vile man’s voice rose as he stepped toward Missy, looking as though he was going to reach out and grab her.

  “Is there a problem here?” Chas Beckett’s voice boomed suddenly from behind the lurking mountain of a man.

  The stranger turned around slowly, giving Beckett a ponderous once-over before apparently deciding that the strapping detective was probably way more than he wanted to mess with. “Naww…ain’t no prollem heah,” he grunted. Turning back to Missy, he said, “I be back to take dat ordah, you heah?”

  “Don’t waste your time,” she said, before turning her back on him and heading back to the kitchen.

  “Door’s that way, pal,” Chas said pointedly, nodding toward the back. The man looked sideways at him and sauntered out, leaving an unpleasant odor in his wake.

  Beckett locked the back door behind him and went to the kitchen to see what Missy was up to. He found her hovering near the entrance of the kitchen, waiting for him.

  “Is he gone?” she half-whispered.

  “Yes. Who is that character?” Chas asked gruffly.

  “I have no idea. He came in making a fuss about me needing to place a dry goods order. I told him that I already have a supplier, and he started getting rude about it. I’m so glad that you came in when you did.”

  “So am I. You really need to keep the doors locked when you’re here by yourself, you know,” he admonished her.

  “I know, I know. Sometimes I just get so caught up in what I’m doing that I forget,” she shrugged, giving him a sheepish look.

  “I’ll give you a string to tie around your finger,” the handsome detective teased.

  “So did you just come here to rescue me, or are you going to roll up those designer sleeves and get to work?” Missy flirted, irrationally happy that he stopped by.

  “Just making the rounds, ma’am,” he said in his best ‘official law enforcement personnel’ voice.

  “Well, I’m glad you did,” she moved closer.

  “Always a pleasure,” he kissed her cheek and gave her a look that warmed her from head to toe.

  “Is it warm in here, or is it just me?” she murmured as he headed for the door.

  He paused before leaving, appraising her. “Oh, it’s most definitely you.”

  Chapter 5

  Missy had finished cleaning the new shop and was excited to open the lids on cans of bright lime and pink to freshen up the interior, making it her own and erasing all appearances of the donut shop that it had once been. She was going to do alternate stripes on the front wall, the side walls pink, and the wall behind the cases and counter green. The trim would be bright white and would make the large space seem even larger. There would be a reclaimed barn wood floor going in once all of the painting was done, and she had found an eclectic assortment of wooden tables and chairs that would be painted white with various designs and touches of pink and green.

  Climbing down from her stepladder after having put up the blue painters tape which outlined her stripe design, Missy stood back to assess the spacing, and was startled when the menacing Cajun who had tried to force her into placing a dry goods order the previous week, suddenly appeared in one of the front windows with a thinner and more presentable man at his side. Sighing inwardly, Missy went to the front door, unlocking it when they knocked.

  “Mornin’ ma’am,” the new guy greeted her with a smile. His drawl was more ‘small-town Southern’ rather than Cajun, and his teeth were in infinitely better condition. “My name is Jed Boudreaux, and this here is my associate, Louis Abshire.”

  “Melissa Gladstone,” she replied, reluctant to give her name, but not knowing how to withhold it without seeming rude.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” Boudreaux smiled while Abshire silently regarded her with heavy-lidded eyes, breathing shallowly through his mouth. “May we come in for just a moment? I have something I’d like to talk with you about that won’t take but a minute.”

  “Sorry, gentlemen, I’m right in the middle of something. I just don’t have the time,” Missy said firmly, determined not to let them in at any cost. She started to shut the door and Louis stuck his shoddy boot-covered foot in it, simultaneously pushing it open and coming in, with Jed trailing behind him. The large Cajun stood blocking the door, his piggy eyes narrowed, while his ‘associate’ started talking. Gone was the smarmy smile and cordial manner, Jed Boudreaux was all business now.

  “I don’t believe I’ve made myself clear, Ms. Gladstone. If you’re wantin’ to do business around here, you’re gonna need to listen to what I have to say. Folks ‘round here know that if you wanna do things right, y’all gotta go to the right folks. We’re savin’ y’all the trouble by comin’ to ya first. Ya oughta be a bit more hospitable, miss fancy pants,” he sneered. “It’s funny, you thinkin’ that you got a choice in the matter.” Boudreaux looked at Louis. “Ain’t that funny, Abshire?” The two exchanged malicious grins.

  “Who are you people?” Missy demanded, fed up with their condescending manner.

  “Well now, that just depends, little miss. We can be your best friends, or we can be the folk you don’t wanna see comin.’ That’s completely up to you.”

  “I think we’ve already established that I don’t care to see you darken my doorstep again. Who do you work for? I’m going to have a little chat with your boss,” she responded, madder than a wet hen.

  Boudreaux exchanged another smirk with his unpleasant companion. “She wanna know who we work for, Louis. What y’all think of that?” He turned his gaze back to Missy. “Tell you what, little miss, you wanna talk to our boss, you just git yourself down to the Crawshack Redemption and ask for Thibedeaux. That’ll take care of that little attitude and set y’all straight.” Jed and Louis chuckled in a manner that made Missy want to take a shower.

  “The two of you need to get out of my store right now,” she said through her teeth, done.

  Boudreaux leaned forward, violating her personal space in a way that made her cringe. “We leave when we choose, little miss. Good thing for you we got other commitments,” he smiled nastily, gesturing for his lackey to open the door. “Have a nice day, darlin.”

  Missy relocked the door, shaking with fury. Th
e Crawshack Redemption was an iconic restaurant in Dellville, a place where locals and tourists alike went for the best and most authentic Cajun food in this part of the state. Located on a pier that jutted out over the bayou, the rustic restaurant had been featured on more than one television show, and was a popular destination for adventurous foodies who wanted to sample gator, snake and other local dishes with a tremendous Cajun kick. She would certainly be paying Thibedeaux, whoever that was, a visit to tell him in no uncertain terms to call off his thugs.

  As Missy took some deep breaths to recover from the encounter and regain enough peace of mind to continue her work, she heard a timid knock at the front door, and turned with some measure of dread to see who it was. A tiny, elderly woman waved at her shyly. Relieved that her visitor looked harmless and civil, she went to the door and opened it.

  “Hello! How can I help you?” she greeted the woman with a pleasant smile.

  “Hello dear, I’m Clara Clements. My husband Elmer and I own the little ice cream shop across the way. I was hoping I might be able to have a quick word with you.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Clements, please come in!” Missy introduced herself and pulled up two of the unpainted wooden chairs so that they could sit and talk.

  “I must confess, I was terribly worried about you when I saw those awful men coming out of your shop. Part of why I came over was to make sure that you were okay,” Clara said in a low voice, absently patting down the silver hair that was wound artfully into a perfect bun.

  “Well, they certainly weren’t very pleasant, but I can usually do a pretty good job of taking care of myself,” she reassured the sweet little ice cream lady. “Who are they anyway?”

  Clara leaned forward and Missy did the same, intrigued. “Around here, we call them the “Cajun Mafia,” she said, eyes wide. “They have a dry goods business that they force all the folks in this town and most of the surrounding ones to use. They’ve been known to hurt people, set fires and do all manner of nonsense to folks who don’t give in to them,” she whispered.