by Carol Durand
“Well, Toffee girl, if someone’s out there, maybe we should just go say hello, don’t you think?” She received a brief swish of a feathery tail in response, but the dog refused to budge from the window. Grabbing a jacket and a flashlight, she snapped a leash on to Toffee’s collar and headed for the door.
“Here goes nothing,” Missy said grimly through teeth which chattered from a combination of cold and fear, “If we go down, we go down fighting, right girl?”
Switching on the flashlight after opening the front door, Melissa and Toffee headed down the steps of the verandah and around the left corner of the house, where the bay window in the dining room bumped out over the immaculate lawn. Toffee put her nose in the air, sniffing, straining at the leash, whimpering.
“I smell it too, girl…cigarette smoke,” she observed, frowning. She let Toffee take the lead and the Golden practically dragged her immediately to the space outside the dining room window. The smell of smoke was even stronger the closer they got to the house. Missy shone the flashlight at the patch of grass below the window and saw a cigarette butt resting there. Taking a tissue from her pocket, scared and chilled to the bone, she carefully picked up the butt with the tissue and, folding the tissue around it, stuck it in her pocket. From the rear of the house, she heard what sounded like the crack of a brittle twig snapping, and Toffee’s low growl became a roar. Terribly startled, Melissa twitched Toffee’s leash to get her attention and ran for the front porch. Mounting the stairs two at a time with her faithful companion right at her heels, she charged into the house, locking the door behind her and securing the deadbolt. Shortly after slamming the front door, she heard the telltale screech of her cranky wrought-iron gate. Too terrified to even go the window to see who or what was leaving the yard, she crouched down and hugged Toffee tightly against her, burying her face in the reassuring warmth of her furry friend.
Chapter 2
“Thank you for seeing me, Detective Beckett,” Melissa said in a hushed tone, taking a seat across the desk from him.
“I was actually planning to call you and ask you to come in, so you saved me the trouble,” Chas replied politely.
“Glad I could help,” she smiled despite her worries, as usual receiving no response or encouragement from the handsome investigator.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to say, then I’ll have a few questions for you, sound fair?” he inclined his head, waiting for her agreement.
“Absolutely,” Missy nodded vigorously, nervous to explore her strange encounter last night. She told him all about the dog barking, the smell of smoke, the creaking of the gate and gave him the cigarette butt that she had pocketed, and was astonished when he proposed very commonplace explanations for that particular series of events.
“No, Detective Beckett,” she insisted vehemently, “my dog does not bark at squirrels, my gate does not come unlatched in the wind and none of my friends are smokers. There was someone lurking in the shadows around my house last night and I would really appreciate it if you’d help me get to the bottom of it!” Tenting his fingers beneath his chin, he studied her for a moment before replying.
“Exactly where were you on Monday evening between the hours of 8 p.m. and 1 a.m.?” he asked, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
“I was at home, where I always…wait a minute, what does this have to do with anything that we’ve been discussing? I told you where I had been the night before when we spoke at the shop. And I don’t see what that has to do with reporting an intruder,” Missy finished, eyes narrowing.
“Don’t you?” Detective Beckett questioned, leaning forward, so close that she could faintly smell his expensive cologne. “Doesn’t it seem awfully convenient to you that “coincidentally” there’s an intruder lurking around your house the night after your arch-rival is murdered across town?”
“That’s exactly my point, I could be next on the list!”
“And who would have a motive to harm you?” Chas quirked an eyebrow.
“I have no idea. Who would have motive to harm Darryl Davis?” she asked, firing back. He looked at her pointedly from across the desk, and she suddenly realized why he had wanted to talk with her today.
“You think I did this???” she demanded in a stage whisper, verging on tears. “How dare you?” she accused. “Darryl Davis and I had our differences to be sure, but I would never wish something like this on anyone! I don’t even know how he died, the paper didn’t say.” Her lower lip trembled and she crossed her arms across her chest, furious at Beckett’s rude insinuation.
The detective sat back in his chair, staring at her thoughtfully and sighed.
“You’re not being accused of anything at this time, we are merely treating you as a person of interest in this case due to the nature of your relationship with Mr. Davis,” he spoke in the least reassuring tone she’d ever heard. “Don’t leave town, even to go shopping, without letting me know where you’re going and why – we may need to ask you more questions.”
“Why on earth would I leave town? I have a business to run,” Missy was incredulous. “And let me tell you something Detective Beckett,” her grey eyes turned steely, “I have worked hard my entire life for all that I have, and I find your attempt to sully my reputation with your ridiculous accusations offensive to the extreme!” She stood, shaking slightly with the force of her indignation and dug in her purse for her keys.
“Noted,” he sighed, never taking his eyes off of her.
Beckett frowned after Melissa Gladstone stormed from the room. On paper, she was the obvious choice for primary suspect, but his gut told him that all was not as it seemed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was telling him that suspecting Cupcake Missy of a crime was seriously barking up the wrong tree. He still believed that there was most likely an innocuous explanation for the previous evening’s events, but decided to take the cigarette butt to the lab, just in case it turned up something interesting. He hated the thought that the feisty blonde might actually be in danger, so it only made sense to follow up on her story.
“No rush,” Chas told the bored lab tech at the evidence window, “check for fingerprints, DNA, chem, locators, the usual.”
Missy fumed all the way back to the store. How dare that arrogant icicle of a human being accuse her of committing a crime? Clearly, the police had no credible leads and were looking at her as an easy target. Well, she’d show them and show them good – if they were too incompetent to find Darryl Davis’ killer, she’d have to do it herself. Ben was a Criminal Justice major – surely he’d have some good advice for her.
“Stay out of it Ms. Gladstone,” Ben warned, shaking his head. “The police know what they’re doing and are trained to handle this kind of thing. Seriously, what are you going to do if you come face to face with a killer?” he raised his eyebrows at her.
“The police know what they’re doing? Are you kidding? The police think I did this! I have to prove them wrong, I’m not going to sit idly by while they ruin my life with false accusations,” she insisted stubbornly. “And I have no intention of coming face to face with a killer, I’m just going to figure out who did it and turn them in.”
Ben was nonplussed. “It’s really not that simple Ms. G,” he frowned, concerned.
“Sure it is honey,” she patted his arm. “I have the truth on my side, and the truth shall set me free, just you watch!” she nodded, determined.
Ben caved under pressure when he realized just how determined Melissa was to seek out Darryl Davis’ killer.
“Ok Ms. G.,” he began, talking around a mouthful of delicious Morning Glory cupcake, “the first thing you should think about is: who would do this and why? You need to figure out if the Donut Man had any enemies or bad debts, did drugs or engaged in any kind of risky behavior that would drive someone to murder. Lots of times the best place to start is by figuring out whether he was in a relationship or had an angry ex-wife or something,” the young man advised, washing down his mouthful of cupc
ake with a swig of coffee. “Wow, these are amazing today, what did you do differently?” Ben asked, holding up the last bite of his cupcake.
“I used dates along with raisins, it keeps them more moist,” she murmured absently, taking notes on Ben’s instructions. She left her sidekick to his cupcake and moved to the computer to do some research – looking for any info that she could find on Darryl the Donut Man Davis.
“Ben, c’mere and look at this!” Missy ordered excitedly from the back office at the cupcake shop.
“Hang on Ms. G., I’m just finishing up closing and then I’ll be back there,” he called while putting chairs upside down on top of the tables.
She looked at her watch surprised at how the time had flown. She’d been poring over local archives and articles for hours and finally found something that might be worth pursuing. Ben was puzzled when she pointed to a picture of 5 people holding trophies on a stage.
“What’s this all about?” he queried, confused.
“This is a picture of all of the winners of the contest that Darryl entered when he pirated my recipe and used it to make donuts.”
“Okay, so why is it significant?”
“Look at the guy standing on Darryl’s left – can you make out the look on his face?” she pointed to the screen.
“He doesn’t exactly look happy,” Ben observed.
“Of course he doesn’t,” Missy crowed triumphantly, “He came in second! If Darryl hadn’t stolen my recipe, he would have won.”
“But does he know that?” the youth asked, wanting to proceed cautiously and not jump to conclusions.
“I know for a fact that he does, because he and another contestant who was later disqualified for hygiene reasons overheard me when I confronted Darryl about it,” she finished, folding her arms to underscore her point.
“Wow. Well, that does seem like it’s worth looking into, just try not to get too excited until we have our facts lined up, okay?” he cautioned.
Chapter 3
“You want motive? Check out this motive,” Melissa smugly tossed a copy of the photo that she had found online onto Detective Beckett’s desk, along with several articles detailing the checkered past of the 2nd place winner, Giacomo Andretti, who was rumored to have ties with organized crime.
Chas raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, glanced at the pile of paper in front of him and advised, “You might want to have a seat and lower your voice, Ms. Gladstone.”
“Why would I want to do that? I’m working for the best interests of the general public – that’s something to be proud of,” she challenged, chin jutting out defiantly. Beckett stood to his full height then placed his hands on the desk, leaning toward where Missy stood, hands on hips tapping her foot. “From where a lot of these folks are sitting, it looks very much like you are working for your own best interests by trying to point the finger at someone else,” he said quietly. “Now for my part of things, I don’t believe you’re guilty of anything other than being slightly paranoid and having issues with authority figures,” he almost smiled, “but you can help me to help you by sitting down and showing me what you’ve come up with.” He locked eyes with her, then looked pointedly at the chair beside his desk. Chagrined, she sat, folding her hands in her lap.
She explained her findings to the detective, who became very attentive when she told him that Andretti had witnessed her argument with the Donut Man.
“I’ll check it out,” he promised, clearly impressed that she had done her homework. “Don’t get your hopes up, chances are he had nothing to do with this, but I’ll have a little chat with him and see where things go from there.”
Missy extended her hand, grateful to have seen at least a shred of human compassion in this tough cookie. “Thank you so much Detective, I really appreciate this,” she smiled and gripped his warm, iron-strong hand, butterflies fluttering madly in her midsection. She mused that it was truly a shame that this magnificent male never demonstrated any personality traits aside from impeccable professionalism.
Chas Beckett was mildly shocked by the tenderhearted reactions that this vivacious woman inspired in him. He’d never show it of course, he’d perfected the appearance of disinterested impartiality over the years, but his encounters with Melissa Gladstone rekindled an awareness of feeling in him that he would prefer remained buried for eternity. His life was straightforward, uncomplicated - he had no wife, no kids, no pets, nothing other than a fantastic wardrobe, a modest house and car and a job that consumed every waking thought. Just the way he liked it. Until recently, that is. More than once, his thoughts had touched upon the endearing qualities possessed by the tiny but tough blonde, qualities that had begun to tear at the corners of the impenetrable fortress that he had built around his heart years ago. Shaking off this dangerous train of thought, he focused on the task at hand and reached for the phone.
Beckett’s conversation with Andretti left him suspicious, but unconvinced. His gut told him that there were likely many things of which the baker was guilty, but as to whether or not the murder of the Donut Man was one of them was still a matter requiring further investigation. He received a phone call from an anxious Missy Gladstone that evening and reassured her that he would be looking into the matter further. He hung up the phone feeling a bit sad and very much aware of his singular status. His simple cottage was sparsely decorated in neutral tones and, while peaceful, was not exactly what one would classify as a cozy retreat from the outside world. He spent most of his time at home sitting at the desk in his home office, working on cases, puzzling over clues and looking for resolutions to loose ends. He worked out at the gym every day and jogged when the weather permitted it, but rarely indulged in personal time aside from those pursuits. He was smart enough to know that he was a shell of a man, empty inside, but trying to make a difference in the world, and he was mostly okay with that.
Melissa found herself trying to think of creative excuses to meet with the dashing detective more often, but refused to examine her feelings in the matter. She had been just fine on her own (thank you very much!) for years now, and the thought of allowing another person into her world was somewhat preposterous, particularly considering that the person in question was a human iceberg. She went through the rest of her week on automatic pilot, just going through the motions of daily life, while waiting to receive some semblance of hope from Detective Beckett.
Chapter 4
By Saturday morning, she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and decided to take matters into her own hands. Stepping out of her burgundy cube car in front of Bodacious Bakery, Giacomo Andretti’s somewhat dingy but well-known sweet shop that had thrived for years in a much larger town roughly 45 miles from LaChance, Melissa took a deep breath to steady her nerves and headed for the entrance. The teenager working behind the counter was quite friendly as she pretended to study the selection of cakes and pastries while surreptitiously glancing about, looking for something (anything!) that looked suspicious.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she cooed in her most motherly voice, “do y’all happen to have a ladies room?” She knew from having been in the bakery years ago that there were no public facilities.
The teenager leaned over the counter conspiratorially and said in a low voice, “I’m not supposed to do this, but I can let you use the employee rest room if you promise not to tell my boss.”
“My lips are sealed, darlin,” she beamed at him as he pointed, directing her to go down the hall and turn left. She went down the hall and turned right instead, heading for the kitchen. Entering the stainless steel commercial space, she quickly scanned shelves looking for clues of any kind. Bingo! There it was…sitting on a shelf below one of the massive commercial sinks was a large box of rat poison. How they were able to pass health inspections under those sorts of conditions is a mystery probably best explained by the plethora of friends in low places that Andretti had acquired over the years.
One of Ben’s fellow grad students worked part time at the mortuary, a
ssisting with embalming and preparations of the deceased. He had discovered in some carelessly stored paperwork that the deceased, one Darryl Davis, had been poisoned and that the tentative identification of the substance causing death was thought to be rat poisoning. And right here, right now, in Giacomo Andretti’s kitchen, she had discovered a big box of the stuff.
Taking her phone out of her purse in order to take a photo, Missy froze when she heard a raspy voice with a heavy Italian accent say, “And what is it that a beautiful lady is doing in my kitchen?” The words were friendly, but the voice had menacing overtones. Melissa’s heart pounded in her chest as she whirled to face the large Italian man. She plastered a wide smile on her face, fighting madly to keep her voice from shaking.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry – I wandered back here looking for the ladies’ room, am I going the right direction?” she feigned innocence, hoping that her performance was convincing.
“We don’t have a ladies’ room, but I’d be happy to escort you to my employee restroom if you’d like,” he offered, too smoothly.
Missy was not about to allow this man to escort her anywhere, but she once again worked up some sugar and spice, hoping to get out of there alive.
“You know what, I think I’ll just wait, I’m headed straight home after this anyhow,” she crinkled her nose flirtatiously, pulling out all the stops.
“You look very familiar to me…” the dark Italian observed, narrowing his eyes. “Have we met?”
She avoided the question deftly. “You know, people say that to me all the time – I guess I just have one of those faces.” She beamed at him one more time and moved toward the door which led to the front of the store, fingers crossed that he wouldn’t block her passage as she made her exit and got back in her car to head to see Chas.
