by Carol Durand
There was no one in Darryl’s Donuts when Missy entered the sweet-smelling shop, save for the fresh-faced teenaged girl behind the counter.
“Hey, Ms. Gladstone!” Darryl’s niece, Debbie, sang out.
“Hi Debbie,” she replied with a smile. “How have you been?”
“Pretty good,” the bubbly girl responded. “I mean, you know, it’s been kinda tough around here without Uncle Darryl and all, but we’re doing okay I guess,” she shrugged, determined to hold on to optimism.
“I bet,” Missy sympathized. “Your Grandmama told me that folks have been coming by to talk to y’all about what a good man he was.”
Debbie nodded vigorously. “Yep, there’s one lady who has stopped in here every morning for a really long time, and she still comes in every day. I think of her as “Strawberry Cheesecake,” because she gets our Strawberry Cream Cheese Danish every day at 7:20 – it never fails. Well, almost never, I didn’t see her this morning,” the teenager mused, as a lightbulb suddenly snapped on within Missy’s mind.
Strawberry Cheesecake??? The rude woman who stopped into her shop this morning ordered a Strawberry Cheesecake cupcake – was it possible that she had killed Darryl and was now setting her sights on Missy? Missy had to find out more about this mystery woman – she just might be the key to cracking Darryl Davis’ murder. After all, doing the same thing every morning for years at a time…wasn’t that a bit pathological? Of course, people have habits, but Strawberry Cheesecake’s habit was unhealthy and seemed…obsessive. Missy’s fevered brain tried to wrap itself around this new revelation while still appearing to focus on the chattering girl behind the counter. She made mindless conversation for a few more minutes, just to be polite and not seem suspicious, but she was anxious to get away in order to think through her next move. She needed to find out more about Strawberry Cheesecake. Should she investigate on her own? Should she call in Detective Beckett? It seemed to her that every lead that she turned over to the detective led to a dead end, so maybe she should arm herself with more information before alerting him to a potential new suspect. Missy had never even considered the fact that the killer could be a woman. Had Darryl made a nuisance of himself with Strawberry Cheesecake the way that he had with Missy’s beloved little sister? Or worse? And if that were the case, why would the woman have anything against Missy? She needed to think, so she headed home to make a cup of tea, grab a snack and form her plan of attack. The fact that a woman who was known for ordering the same thing every morning from Darryl and that a rude woman came into Missy’s shop and ordered a cupcake version of the same thing, could be just a coincidence, but with the strange events of late, Missy wasn’t taking anything at face value. “Strange coincidences” seemed to be the norm these days, and she was going to chase down every possible clue.
Sitting in the sunny nook of her kitchen’s eating area with Toffee curled up at her feet, Missy sipped at her tea, nibbled at her small bowl of pretzel crisps and pondered the events of the day. Darryl’s mother had mentioned that someone was leaving a single hydrangea blossom on his stoop every morning. Perhaps that person would have had a close enough relationship to Darryl to know something about who might have the motive to kill him. All she would have to do is hide away somewhere near Darryl’s house, and when the mystery visitor came to drop off the flower, Missy could start a sympathetic conversation that could lead to more clues. Never having been involved in any sort of intrigue, she had no idea about the potentially dangerous situation that she could be putting herself in. It seemed that the Cheesecake lady might provide more relevant info than the mysterious flower giver, because her behavior seemed more bold, so Missy vowed to be parked near Darryl’s Donuts by 7:20 tomorrow morning in order to follow her to see what information could be unearthed. For now, she would make notes regarding her findings in a notebook that she had been using to keep track of information that seemed relevant. Quickly jotting down dates, times and “facts”, she didn’t notice the passing of time, and was surprised when she at last looked up, to see that the sun had begun its descent and the air had cooled rapidly. Drawing on a sweater to combat the chill, Missy was startled when her phone rang.
“Ms. Gladstone?” Detective Beckett’s serious tone was inescapable. “I need to speak with you…now. I’ll be at your door in ten minutes, we need to talk.”
Missy’s heart beat fast, wondering if the detective had finally found out something crucial to cracking the case. Chas was somber and frowning when she opened the door to admit him.
“Have you found something?” Missy asked breathlessly, leading him to the kitchen table to have a seat.
“I’ve found enough to make a difficult case seem even more difficult,” he sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair, ruffling the thick locks in a tousled manner that made him even more attractive, Missy noted. He glanced over at the notebook that she had been keeping and leaned closer to glance at the pages, so she discreetly closed the cover and put her mug of tea on top of it, using it as a coaster.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked, trying to divert his attention.
“No, I’m fine thanks,” he responded, getting down to business. “Do you wear lipstick, Ms. Gladstone?” Missy was baffled.
“On special occasions,” she replied, mystified. “I’m more of a lip balm gal – it’s much more practical…why?”
“Could you please bring me any tubes of lipstick currently in your possession?” his request sounded much more like an order. Taken aback, Missy opened her purse and extracted a tube, then told the detective that she’d be right back. As she emerged from her bedroom carrying two additional tubes, Chas was examining the first lipstick and making notes in his ever-present flip-pad. He took the next two tubes from her and did the same.
“Mind if I borrow these for a couple of days?” he asked, pulling a small plastic bag out of his trench coat pocket.
“Of course not,” Missy consented immediately. “But why on earth do you want my lipstick?”
Ignoring her question, Beckett demanded to know if she had any other tubes. When she told him no, he stood to go.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on here?” she demanded, beginning to get upset at his reticence.
“Just following up on some leads,” he said dismissively. “I’ll let you know if we find anything significant.” He strode toward the door, ending the conversation. Missy was entirely befuddled.
“Wait!” she called out, stopping him in his tracks. He turned slowly to face her. She wasn’t going to give him an inkling about the Cheesecake lady, she was following up on that one on her own. But perhaps she could be more efficient by having him track down the mystery hydrangea giver.
“Darryl’s mother told me something today that might be important,” she said urgently, walking toward where he stood unmoving by the door.
He quirked a disapproving eyebrow at her. “And why, exactly, were you speaking to Mr. Davis’ mother?” he demanded, his displeasure evident.
“She was a friend of my parents,” Missy hedged, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. “Don’t you want to hear what she said?” she challenged.
“Fine,” Beckett sighed. “What did she say?” he reached into his pocket, bringing out the flip-pad. Missy related her conversation with Widow Davis, leaving her other activities of the day deliberately absent. Chas took notes here and there, then snapped the flip-pad shut, fixing Missy with a piercing gaze.
“Stay away from this, Ms. Gladstone,” he warned soberly. “You aren’t making your circumstances any better by interfering with my investigation,” he admonished.
“My circumstances?” she exclaimed. “This has nothing to do with my circumstances,” she asserted. “I’m just trying to help you find Darryl’s killer,” she frowned, bothered by the detectives detached demeanor.
“Respectfully, Ms. Gladstone…when I want your help, I’ll ask for it,” Chas assured her wryly, opening the door, exiting and closing it firmly behind him. Mi
ssy mechanically went through the motions of locking the door knob and securing the deadbolts. She didn’t know what was wrong with Chas Beckett, and why he was treating her as an enemy rather than an ally, particularly in light of the lovely dinner they had shared, but she was determined to move forward in her plan to gather more information that might just help find a killer.
Chapter 15
Adrenalin, along with a not-inconsiderable amount of caffeine, made Missy’s heart race as she prepared for her first stake-out. She wanted to look as inconspicuous as possible, so she dressed more casually than she typically would during a workday, donning comfy yoga pants, a thick sweatshirt and running shoes. She didn’t know what she might encounter, so it made sense to be comfortable. There was a thin crust of frost on her windshield, which was unusual this time of year in Louisiana, and, because she didn’t own an ice-scraper, she tidied the frosty windshield with a spatula, the cold air seeping right through the thin fabric of her yoga pants. Shivering a bit, she cranked the heater in the pre-dawn morning and headed for Darryl’s Donuts. It took her a few minutes to find a vantage point from where she could watch the shop, unobserved. She parked the car and turned off the engine, snugging her hand-knitted scarf tighter around her neck, determined to follow Strawberry Cheesecake wherever she might lead. Missy had arrived at 7:15, not wanting to miss the obsessed patron, and was soon rewarded as she saw the angry woman from the cupcake shop get out of a sleek maroon sports car in front of Darryl’s Donuts. Her heart pounded as she held her breath, waiting for the woman to emerge from the shop. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long, catching sight of the woman heading back to her car, coffee in one hand, a small bag in the other. Missy waited just long enough to be unobtrusive, before starting the car and pulling into the lane behind the woman at a safe distance.
Strawberry Cheesecake had a tendency to exceed the speed limit, making it a challenge for Missy to keep up, but keep up she did. The Cheesecake lady pulled into an alley, parking behind the Fleur de Lis flower shop. Missy parked down the street, just far enough where she could see without being seen, and watched carefully as the woman pulled keys from her purse and unlocked the door to the flower shop. So apparently, the surly woman with a penchant for pastry was the proprietor of the Fleur de Lis. Thinking fast, Missy turned off the car, and after waiting for 15 minutes or so to allow the woman to get settled into her morning routine, she got out of the car, heading for the flower shop. Small bells above the door tinkled merrily as Missy was engulfed in the glorious scent of multitudes of domestic and exotic blossoms. It smelled like paradise and she was almost distracted from her task, but was sharply reminded when the woman behind the counter spoke.
“Oh my, you’ve found me,” she lamented, shocking Missy profoundly. This woman remembered her? Could it be because she had been watching, stalking or terrorizing her? “Listen, I’m so sorry,” she continued, “I know I was positively rude when I came into your store yesterday. My blood sugar was low, I was running late and didn’t have enough time to stop at the place where I typically get breakfast, and my behavior was inexcusable – I’m so sorry. I’m not normally like that,” she assured Missy contritely.
Missy faked a giggle. “Oh, that’s okay, I see people before they get their morning coffee all the time, it’s not a pretty sight.” She couldn’t help but wonder if this woman had been the person lurking around her house at night. A realization exploded into her brain and she devised a tactic to test a new theory that had just occurred to her. “I actually didn’t “find” you at all,” she reassured the harried woman. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and I need an arrangement of flowers for my niece – she’s in the hospital,” Missy lied smoothly, desperately hoping that this woman didn’t know that she had no niece. She really was not skilled in subterfuge and was internally kicking herself for blurting out something that could easily be discovered as a lie.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman responded with ersatz sympathy. “Is she going to be okay?” she inquired politely.
“She’ll be fine,” Missy continued to lie. “I just wanted to brighten her day.”
“What a lovely sentiment,” the cold woman smiled, feigning interest. “What sort of arrangement would you like?”
“Well,” Missy began, swallowing a bit convulsively. There was no turning back now. She might be tipping her hand, but she had to get to the bottom of this.
“Her favorite color is blue, what would you suggest?” she asked, trying to sound innocent.
Flowers were clearly the remote woman’s joy in life, her face lit up at Missy’s question, as she pondered the wealth of possibilities.
“Well, we have some lovely irises that are a bluish-purple, and we could put some white roses in for an elegant touch, and fill out the rest of the arrangement with hydrangeas, I have a new shipment in that is the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen!” she finished enthusiastically. Bingo. That was the information that Missy was looking for.
“You have hydrangeas? I just love hydrangeas! I think the arrangement sounds perfect, when can I pick it up?” Missy asked, excited at the realization that her ruse had worked. She had just put together that Strawberry Cheesecake and the flower giver might just be the same person.
“Absolutely,” the woman gushed, “my shop is the only one in the area that carries hydrangeas. I’ll have my assistant, Andrew, start on your arrangement as soon as he gets in and it should be ready for pick-up around noon, sound good?”
“Perfect,” Missy responded slyly, pleased with herself and exhilarated to think that she might have made a breakthrough in the case. She paid in advance, with cash, for the arrangement that she had no intention of picking up, not wanting this woman to have any of her information. It dawned on Missy that her life might be in danger now more than ever, but she was determined to proceed. Besides, if Strawberry Cheesecake knew that Missy was suspicious, it might make her more cautious, buying her and Detective Beckett more time to solve the case. She knew that she should be sharing her findings with the now entirely-professional, and clearly romantically-uninterested detective, but she wasn’t ready just yet, she had one more stake-out to conduct.
Missy left the shop and went through the rest of her day in somewhat of a haze, focused exclusively upon the resolution that her plan for the next day might bring. She felt absolutely certain that, one way or another, the truth would be revealed, sooner rather than later, and if she was the only one with the tenacity to see it through, so be it.
Sitting at the vanity, brushing her blonde curls carefully while mulling over the day’s events, Missy was utterly lost in thought when her phone buzzed insistently. Startled from her reverie, she snatched up the noisy instrument and answered it immediately when she saw Ben’s number on the screen.
“Hi Ben!” she sang out cheerfully; always glad to hear from her faithful assistant.
“Hey Ms. G,” Ben returned dully, sounded tired and depressed.
“What’s wrong, Ben?” Missy asked, worried. Her loyal sidekick hadn’t been quite his normal upbeat self since the death of his cat and she was concerned that he might be slipping into a depression.
“I found out something pretty disturbing tonight,” the young man began, haltingly.
“Disturbing?” Missy was really worried now. “What is it, Ben, what happened?”
The young man continued softly, “the lab tests that they did, when, you know…” he trailed off, referring to the death of his cat. “The tests came back and they indicated that it actually was poison that killed Rocky...rat poison.”
Missy expressed her horror and sympathy, trying her best to support the emotionally wounded youth, while questions raced through her mind. Rat poison killed Darryl Davis, and now it had killed Ben’s cat. Another “mysterious coincidence” that she couldn’t ignore. She had seen the large box of rat poison in Andretti’s bakery, but he had a solid alibi, so while it seemed more likely that a man with ties to the mob might be responsible for the death of a compe
titor and an innocent animal, the intelligence that Missy had managed to gather seemed to point to a cranky florist with a sweet tooth. She was more determined than ever to execute her last covert mission under the cover of early morning darkness, and after a virtually sleepless night of tossing and turning, she once again pulled on her yoga pants, paired with a black turtleneck sweater this time, and tucked her blonde curls into a soft black beanie cap. She couldn’t allow herself to be discovered by a potentially dangerous human being, and would take every precaution for her safety. Missy felt a bit silly in her all-black garb, but loaded up a bag with a snack, a flashlight, and a first-aid kit (just in case), and headed for her car. She had parked in a remote corner of the parking garage because all of the good spots were taken by the time she arrived home after closing the shop the night before. She played out the strategy of her plan over and over again, trying to prepare for whatever scenario might arise. She was going to park down the block, behind Darryl Davis’ house and watch for his daily hydrangea delivery in the pitch dark of pre-dawn. When the mysterious person (whom she now assumed was the Cheesecake lady), delivered the blue blossom, she would maintain a safe distance and follow with her lights off so that she could either verify that it was indeed Strawberry Cheesecake, or not. If the flower deliverer and the Cheesecake lady were one and the same, it didn’t seem too far of a stretch (at least in Missy’s fevered imagination), to assume that she was the killer. What Missy couldn’t figure out was why the unpleasant woman would target her. As far as she knew, she had never met the woman, aside from their encounter in the cupcake shop. She shrugged off her doubts, firmly believing that if she could just provide Chas Beckett with the killer, he’d be able to dig up enough information to prove her guilt, so she set out to do exactly that. So engrossed was she in thinking through the details of her plan, that she failed to notice the dark shadow occupying the back seat of her tiny blue car.
