A Murder Moist Foul

by Carol Durand

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  Dedication:

  To the boundlessness of life (the infinite) and love.

  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 Fearless Publications/ Maven Publishing - All rights reserved.

  All rights Reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  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 1

  Melissa Gladstone inhaled the heavenly fragrance of her latest creations with a blissful smile. These cupcakes could very well be her best batch yet. She’d been experimenting with sweet and savory combinations and had come up with the ultimate breakfast cupcake, The French Toastie. There were decadent swirls of buttery cinnamon and brown sugar in the center, and crunchy bits of bacon dotted the maple-infused icing. The scent alone was certain to cause her loyal patrons to start queuing up early for the warm, fresh taste treats.

  She heard the bell over the front door jangling, and, glancing at her watch, surmised that it must be her assistant Ben coming in. Ben was a grad student majoring in Criminal Justice who worked at Missy’s Cupcakes and More for spending money. There were many times Melissa more than suspected that the poor boy was subsisting on day-old cupcakes, and would load up bags full of leftovers for him.

  “Hey Ben, come back here,” she called out from the kitchen, “you HAVE to try these!”

  She nearly dropped a full pan of her breakfast concoctions when an unfamiliar deep, resonant male voice replied, “Ms. Gladstone, this is Detective Beckett from the LaChance police department, may I have a word with you?”

  Setting down her tray and wiping her hands reflexively with a kitchen towel, Missy headed out of the kitchen, wondering. She couldn’t fathom that a police department as small as LaChance’s had actual detectives – nothing ever happened in this slow, sleepy Louisiana town.

  “Good morning,” she smiled tentatively, reaching out to shake the hand of the breathtakingly handsome man whose towering presence seemed somewhat out-of-place in the whimsical pink and lime-green interior of the cupcake shop. “We don’t have any donuts, sorry,” she giggled, her attempt at a joke falling awkwardly flat in the face of his intensely serious disposition. She was more than a bit intimidated by the steely blue gaze of Detective Beckett, and his seeming inability to smile was disconcerting to say the least.

  “What can I help you with?” she asked, sobering and feeling the tiniest bit embarrassed at her potentially offensive remark.

  Detective Beckett appraised her thoroughly, and despite having nothing to hide, she felt uncomfortably exposed beneath his penetrating gaze. Her enormous grey eyes widened and she unconsciously smoothed a curling tendril of bouncy blonde hair back from her brow when he finally spoke.

  “I’d like to ask you some questions, Ms. Gladstone, it shouldn’t take too long,” he fixed her with his gaze and pulled a note pad out of his trench coat.

  “Umm…certainly,” she agreed, wondering. “Let’s sit over there,” she gestured to a small café table that was far enough away from the front counter and windows to ensure privacy. She didn’t mind talking to the dashing, lantern-jawed detective, but she didn’t necessarily want passersby to witness his presence. She hoped that the conversation would be brief, the shop opened in half an hour, and Ben wasn’t scheduled until mid-morning, although he often came in early.

  “Would you like some coffee, Detective? Or a cupcake? I have some fresh out of the oven,” she offered, trying to make up for her earlier faux pas.

  “No, thank you,” he replied without changing expression. “Let’s get started.”

  Missy was completely thrown off by the detective’s remote manner. Her irreverent sense of humor, lighthearted personality and slight Southern drawl usually defrosted even the iciest of folks. In any case, her curiosity was piqued, wondering what could be so important as to render this man stoic in the face of her hospitality.

  “Did something happen?” she asked, “Should I be worried? Is Ben okay?” She never had occasion to deal with the police other than attending their annual charity ball every year, and just realized that the fact that a detective came to her shop to speak to her could be an indication that something might be terribly wrong.

  “Let’s start there,” Beckett replied, jotting down something on his notepad. “Who is Ben?” he asked, piercing her with his eyes. She tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. It had been quite a while since a man had made her squirm and she wasn’t at all comfortable with the feeling.

  “Ben is my assistant; he helps me with baking, running the shop and deliveries.” The detective took a full report demanding Ben’s full name, address, work schedule, school schedule and habits before returning to more pointed questioning.

  “Where was Ben and what was he doing between the hours of 8 p.m. and 1 a.m. last night?” he asked, watching carefully for any reaction from Melissa.

  “I have no idea,” she replied, baffled. “I would guess that he was either in class or studying, that’s how he spends most of his time – that boy is determined to make his way in this world,” she assured him.

  “So you’d say he’s ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead?” Beckett probed.

  “Absolutely,” Missy nodded vehemently, “I love that about him,” she smiled broadly, clearly proud of her young assistant.

  “Are you in a romantic relationship with Ben?” he quirked an eyebrow.

  “Goodness no!” she exclaimed. “I’m almost old enough to be the boy’s mama,” she chuckled at the absurdity of the question. Truthfully, she had only turned 40 last month and thanks to a faithful gym and skin care regimen, she looked years younger, but her fondness for Ben was purely maternal.

  After making some notes in handwriting that could only be described as chicken scratch, Detective Beckett snapped his notebook shut and tucked it back inside the flap of his coat. He handed Missy a business card with instructions to call him if she thought of any details regarding Ben or his whereabouts last night that might be of interest. Locking the door behind the detective – she’d really have to start being more diligent about keeping it locked when she was there alone in the morning – Missy pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her stylish but practical jeans and dialed Ben’s number.

  Detective Chas Beckett drove away from Missy’s Cupcakes and More deep in thought. His encounter with the owner, Melissa Gladstone had been entirely positive. If she was hiding something, she was a master of deception. The total lack of guile in those enormous kitten-grey eyes had him stumped. How could someone who was so close to the main person o
f interest in the Davis murder be entirely innocent? Still, he’d met his share of skilled liars in his time, and she just didn’t fit the profile.

  He had a full day ahead - now that he’d interviewed Ms. Gladstone, it was time to track down her seemingly squeaky-clean assistant for questioning. Depending upon how the conversation with Ben Radigan played out, he’d either be booking a suspect, or further investigating the crime scene evidence.

  This one was going to be messy. Beckett had been called out in the middle of the night after one of the uniforms on patrol discovered that someone had left the lights on in the back room of Darryl’s Donuts. When the officer went to investigate and found the rear entrance door ajar, he entered the sweet-smelling premises and nearly stumbled over the body of its owner, Darryl “The Donut Man” Davis slumped on the floor. Darryl was not sleeping, he was not unconscious, The Donut Man was dead, and still clutching a half-eaten chocolate crueller. Careful examination of the scene revealed no obvious cause of death – there were no signs of trauma, no tell-tale blood stains and no evidence that a struggle of any kind had occurred, yet Beckett was suspicious. He’d seen quite a few stiffs in his 22 years on the force, and something about this one wasn’t quite right. He’d ordered a full forensics work-up, including a comprehensive search for trace evidence, fingerprints and an autopsy of The Donut Man, staying on the scene personally, observing the careful gathering of evidence, making sure that the crueller was taken gently from Davis’ grasp and bagged as well, which made for a very long night.

  The results of the autopsy would take a while to come back – the local coroner didn’t have much in the way on his case list, but the testing and lab results could take a few weeks. Chas received a call from the lab while en route to interview Melissa and discovered that preliminary tests had come back on the half-eaten crueller and indicated that Darryl Davis had been poisoned. Further tests would be conducted, but the tech on the phone with Beckett speculated that it was common rat poisoning. The case had just leaped in classification from “Suspicious Cause of Death” to “Homicide.”

  Maybe he should’ve taken Melissa Gladstone up on her offer of coffee and a cupcake – he’d certainly had more than a passing thought about how he wished the two could’ve met under more pleasant circumstances. The lovely, curvaceous southern belle had definitely piqued the interest of the somewhat taciturn detective. He’d had to consciously resist her charm and hospitality in order to do his job effectively. Having interviewed friends and family members of Darryl the Donut Man, Beckett discovered that there had been some contention between the portly, jovial fellow and Melissa Gladstone over a prize-winning recipe. According to those who should be in a position to know, Darryl had somehow obtained a cupcake recipe of Missy’s that he altered just slightly to make a donut version and entered it into a national competition, winning a significant amount of money which allowed him to expand and advertise his business. Melissa, being a woman who believed in dignity (and the exacting repercussions of Karma), didn’t pursue legal action against Darryl; but advised him never to speak to her or set foot in her establishment again. Finding it impossible to believe that this sweetly diminutive woman would exact any sort of physical vengeance upon her cross-town rival for the affections of the breakfast crowd, speculation naturally fell to Ms. Gladstone’s fiercely loyal assistant, Ben. The boy had no family in town and didn’t have much spare time to pursue friendships, so his ties with Melissa Gladstone were definitely significant. How significant remained to be seen. Sighing audibly and running a hand through his lush, jet black hair, Beckett turned his thoughts reluctantly away from the beautiful blonde and back to the tasks at hand. He pulled into the drive of the small rental home that Ben inhabited when not at work or school, and put his game face on.

  “Ben!” Missy hissed into the phone, frightened, “What on earth is going on?”

  “Huh?” Ben mumbled, confused. He had just woken up after a night of studying and couldn’t fathom why his boss was calling him so early. “What do you mean? Am I late?” he yawned hugely.

  “You need to come to the shop right now, we need to talk,” she replied, urging him on, her voice clouded with worry.

  Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes, not comprehending the seriousness of Melissa’s directive. “Mmmm…okay,” he muttered sleepily. “I’ll grab a quick shower and be right there,” the clueless youth promised.

  Missy sighed, frustrated, “Okay, but hurry Ben, please?”

  His curly mop of mocha-colored hair still damp from the shower, Ben Radigan went about his morning routine with no more sense of urgency than if Melissa had never called. He figured that whatever it was that she needed to talk with him about could at least wait until he fed his cat, threw his laundry in the dryer and had his first two steaming mugs of coffee. After all, he reasoned, if it had been really important, she would’ve told him about it on the phone, right?

  He took his aromatic cup of java to the dining nook and sat down to begin the process of waking up and starting his day. Surprised by the ringing of his doorbell, followed by an insistent pounding on the front door, Ben shambled to his small entryway and peered out the peep hole. Much to his surprise, his line of sight out of the peep hole was blocked by the shiny chrome of a police badge, and he quickly moved to open the door.

  “Get your shoes Mr. Radigan, I’m bringing you in for questioning.”

  Chas Beckett tapped his pen against his desk blotter in consternation. Ben Radigan was no longer a suspect or even a person of interest in The Donut Man murder. He had guilelessly given Beckett a detailed accounting of his whereabouts between the hours of 6:30 p.m. until 2:30 a.m. and had his story corroborated by two professors, a librarian and her assistant and six members of his study group. The kid really was as squeaky clean as he seemed – which left the detective the unpleasant task of considering who might have the motive to poison Darryl Davis. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he would have no choice but to question Melissa Gladstone again, she had just become a primary person of interest.

  Melissa had heard of the demise of Darryl The Donut Man from one of her early morning regulars shortly after Detective Beckett had left. Caught up handling the morning rush by herself when Ben failed to appear, she didn’t even have time to try to call her young assistant again until it was nearly lunchtime, and was dismayed when he didn’t answer. She didn’t believe for an instant that the dear boy had anything to do with the tragedy at Darryl’s Donuts, and would fight tooth and nail to help prove his innocence if necessary.

  Missy was turning the lock on the front door, preparing to head for home when, finally, Ben drove up in his time-worn little blue car.

  “Ben!” she exclaimed with utter relief. “Thank goodness you’re okay! Where have you been?” she demanded, worried.

  They went back inside to catch up and Ben relayed the story of his experiences with Detective Beckett and the police department. Melissa was relieved to hear that he had been cleared of any wrongdoing, but still troubled by the fact that a scary tragedy had occurred in their quaint, cozy town. Locking the shop securely behind them, she and Ben went their separate ways, determined to put the unpleasant day well behind them.

  The brisk Fall breeze and the thought of a dangerous person in town caused Missy to shiver involuntarily and she pulled the lapels of her light coat up around her neck protectively as she walked from her driveway to her front door, keys in hand. She lived in a lovely part of town that was quintessentially Southern, (right down to the massive magnolia tree in the yard), in a sprawling, turn-of-the-century Victorian that was a vibrant yellow with white trim. Her corner lot was bordered by an ornate wrought-iron fence that complimented the intricate scrollwork on the house itself. The house had been in rough shape when she first purchased it several years ago, but she lovingly restored every inch of the grand dame, and she knew every rustle, creek and sigh that the elegant lady made in protest of growing older.

  The day had drained Melissa. Too tired to even think ab
out preparing dinner just yet, she started water for a pot of tea and ran a warm bath in her oversized clawfoot tub. After tending to the needs of her exuberant Golden Retriever, Toffee, she sank gratefully into the bubbles of her bath, mug of tea in hand, eighties music on the stereo. Closing her eyes, basking in the relaxing warmth of the water, she turned the events of the day over and over in her weary mind. Why would someone have killed Darryl? He might not be the most scrupulous of people, but he certainly didn’t deserve that! Who could’ve done such a heinous thing? And why on earth would anyone have suspected sweet, innocent Ben of such an act? Melissa was baffled and vowed to not think about it anymore, at least for tonight. Letting her mind drift peacefully to warm beaches and sunny days (her favorite mental vacation), she was startled out of her reverie by the loud, ferocious barking of the dog.

  “That’s strange,” Missy mused aloud, “Toffee almost never barks.” A chill went through her as she tried desperately to remember if she had locked the front door when she came in. What if whoever killed Darryl is targeting local business owners? What if she was next? “Calm down, be reasonable,” she counseled herself, intentionally taking deep breaths in and out. “You have no idea what prompted that reaction from Toffee, just be calm,” she tried to reason with her fears, with limited success. She quickly pulled the stopper, draining the water from the tub and silently slipped from the bathroom into her bedroom, pulling on the first warm clothes that she found. Hitting the button on the stereo remote, she turned off the music, listening intently as Toffee alternately barked savagely and whimpered.

  “Hey darlin’, what’s got you so riled up, huh?” she cooed to the glossy Golden, whose hackles were raised as she stared fixedly out of the dining room window. When Toffee turned back briefly to glance at her, the whites of the agitated dog’s eyes were showing, clearly indicating distress. Moving to the her gentle pet’s side, Melissa peered out into the darkness, seeing nothing, hearing nothing but Toffee’s low throaty growls.