by Carol Durand
Lola answered the door, accepting the cupcakes gratefully on behalf of her employer, and Missy decided to walk around a bit, even though it wasn’t the same without Ian’s quick wit and catty remarks to keep her entertained. Heading toward the lunch tent, she heard the unmistakable throaty chuckle of Ivana Cherie, and not wanting to be seen by the disagreeable diva, she ducked behind a bush just as the actress came around the corner of a nearby trailer, her arm linked with Chas’s. Missy’s heart dropped to her knees as she observed her beloved, snared in the clutches of that evil woman. She ducked her head coyly, saying something that Missy couldn’t quite hear, and Chas smiled in response. Waiting behind the bush like a fugitive until they passed, tears rolled silently down Missy’s cheeks. Chas had no idea that he had stepped into a spider’s web of dangerous deceit, and the only way to prove it to him would be to find the killer herself.
She texted Cheryl, and Ben, the manager of her Dellville store, Crème de la Cupcake, to let them know that she’d be tied up for the rest of the day, and headed for the lunch tent.
Chapter 8
Conversations with the cast and crew, as she wandered through the site, shed some light on why Ivana Cherie might be trying so hard to frame Missy for Ian’s murder. Apparently, the bitter actress had been dating Ian for quite some time, and had a wide jealous streak. On past shoots, she’d been known to sabotage other actresses with laxatives in their food, bleach in their shampoo bottles, and even poison ivy in one unfortunate actress’s underwear drawer. Ian was a harmless flirt, who, as best as anyone could tell, had never actually cheated on Ivana, despite her rather difficult disposition.
When Ian had befriended Missy, Ivana started asking the cast and crew questions about her. Missy had mentioned to many of her new friends that Chas was her Significant Other, and when the actress heard that she had a boyfriend, she vowed to seduce him, use him, and throw him away if she ever had the opportunity. It made Missy’s heart ache to realize that the vile diva wasn’t even actually interested in the handsome detective, she was just putting him under her spell as revenge for Missy becoming friends with her lover.
After the murder, Ivana went on the warpath against Missy, blaming her for Ian’s death to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. She’d concocted an elaborate story which she felt fully explained Missy’s motives, method and madness, and spread the tale far and wide. Unfortunately, the local media got wind of it, and, smelling a scandal, put out a very speculative story which implied all sorts of inappropriate (and perhaps even criminal) conduct on Missy’s part.
People looked askance at her in the grocery store, and ladies whispered to one another, giving each other knowing looks when her back was turned, but Missy was undaunted. She didn’t answer calls or texts from Chas, thinking that he was unreliable now that he seemed to be buying into Ivana’s ridiculous stories. She also didn’t spend much time at either of her shops, knowing that she could trust Cheryl and Ben to effectively run the show while she was gone. She delivered her cupcakes daily, as required by her ridiculous contract with the actress, and each time, unless the door was opened by Lola, she said absolutely nothing as Ivana smiled her Cheshire Cat smile, thinking she’d won.
**
“Hello!” Missy smiled brightly, approaching the Props Master, who had just returned to work after taking a week off to recover from the news of Ian’s murder.
“Can I help you?” the weary man asked, not sounding at all as though he wanted to help.
Missy paused for a moment. “I…I just wanted to come by and say how sorry I am about the whole “props” thing,” she said softly, moving closer. “That must’ve been just awful for you.”
The thin man looked at her closely for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t even here. I was out scouting for a certain kind of riding saddle for the equestrian scene when it happened. My assistant set-up and double-checked everything before filming started, but I keep kicking myself, thinking that maybe if I had been here, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said sadly, shaking his head.
“I’m so sorry, Mr…?”
“Al, just call me Al,” he said quietly. “I don’t have enough dignity left at this point to be called Mister anything,” he shrugged.
“Oh no,” Missy shook her head. “This was so not your fault, Al. If someone wanted to hurt Ian, they would’ve found a way whether you were here or not,” she said, trying to make him feel better. She had thought, at first, that he might be the killer, but after talking with him for just a few minutes, she could tell that was clearly not the case. The more people that she heard from, the more she was convinced that Ivana Cherie had killed her own lover out of jealousy. Now she just had to prove it.
She talked with Al for a few more minutes, then told him that she had to go.
“You know, there are a lot of people around here who think that you might have done this,” he said quietly as she turned to leave.
“I know,” she nodded sadly. “But Ian was my friend,” she said facing him for a long moment, then walking away.
Chapter 9
Missy decided to take a break from the doom and gloom of investigating Ian’s murder, and took her golden retriever, Toffee, and her rescued malti-poo, Bitsy, to the park for an extended game of fetch. The trio arrived home after their excursion, panting with heat and exertion. Missy filled the tail-wagging, happy canines’ bowls with water, and gave them each a treat before going upstairs to shower off her outdoorsy glow.
Feeling much better after her shower, Missy sat down at the kitchen table with a glass of wine to record some of the info that she’d gleaned in talking with actors and tech people at the movie site. She’d filled two pages with notes when her doorbell rang. She lifted her head from her work, startled by the sound and wondering who would be calling on her at nearly 9:00 at night. She tiptoed to her door and peeked out of the peephole, surprised to see Chas on the other side of the door.
“Open up please, Missy,” he said tiredly. “I know you’re looking at me right now because I heard the squeak in your floorboards.”
She leaned against the door and sighed, frustrated at having been caught by the overly-observant detective. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him yet, partially because it hurt had her so badly to see him laughing and chatting with Ivana Cherie, and partially because she knew that he could see right through her and she didn’t want to tell him that she was doing her own investigation in order to clear her name. She hesitated a moment too long, and he knocked on the door, startling her from her thoughts.
“C’mon, Missy, open up. This is business,” he said, his tone serious.
She wondered what business he could be talking about, thinking nastily that perhaps his precious Ivana may have asked him to renegotiate her contract.
“Hello,” she said politely, upon opening the door.
“May I come in?” his manner was grave, formal.
“Are we really back to that kind of formality?” Missy asked, hurt by his detached air. She opened the door wide and gestured for him to enter, noting that he ignored her question.
“I have to ask you some questions,” he said, heading for the kitchen table. Missy brushed past him and tried to appear nonchalant as she gathered her notes and stuffed them in a drawer.
“New recipes?” he asked, following her movements with eyes that missed nothing.
“Mmhmm…” Missy kept her back turned as she fibbed to the love of her life, whom she was afraid she was losing to a Hollywood barracuda. “Your friend Ivana keeps me on my toes,” she said, sounding lightly passive-aggressive.
Again, he ignored her barb.
“Would you like some wine?” she asked, returning to the table with the bottle and topping off her glass.
“No, thanks, I’m working,” was the toneless reply.
Missy raised her eyebrows in inquiry, looking at him but saying nothing.
“I have a few questions for you,” Chas said, pulling a note pad out of an inside
pocket in his sport coat, his cool manner breaking her heart into a million pieces. When she’d avoided his calls and texts, eventually he had just stopped trying, not even bothering to try to talk to her about what was wrong.
“Ask away,” she said dully, taking a large gulp of her wine and immediately kicking herself for it. If she was going to keep her investigation hidden from the detective, she’d have to be on her toes.
“Where were you around 11:00 the night before Ian Carson was murdered?”
“Seriously, Chas? Where would I be at 11:00 at night? I’m sure I was sleeping,” Missy looked at him incredulously.
“Do you have anyone who could verify that you were at home, sleeping on that date and at that time?” he asked, not looking at her.
“I used to,” she whispered, her gaze accusing.
“Who was with you when you baked the cupcakes for Ivana Cherie the day before the murder,” he asked after looking at her for a long moment.
“No one. Normally Cheryl and I bake together, but I had to get in so early to meet the diva’s deadlines that I refused to ask Cheryl to get out of bed that early,” Missy muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Did you take photos of, or make notes about, the cupcakes that you baked that morning?”
“No,” she answered, not looking at him.
“Was anyone at the store when you left with the cupcakes that might’ve seen them?”
“No, Cheryl was up front with Grayson,” she mumbled, wishing he’d just leave so that she could have a good cry.
“Are you familiar with firearms at all,” he asked, his pen poised to make notes.
“You know I’m not, Chas. I’ve never touched a gun in my life, and don’t ever plan to,” she shuddered, remembering when a hunting accident had claimed the life of a high school classmate.
She wrapped her arms around her torso, as though in pain. “Are we done yet?” she asked, refusing to even glance in his direction.
“For now,” he replied, closing his notebook and tucking it back into his blazer. “I’ll let myself out.”
Missy held back her tears until he’d drawn the front door closed, then ran upstairs, sobbing, and irrationally running bathwater to cover the sound, despite having just taken a shower.
She soaked in the tub for a while, hoping it would relax her and make her somewhat able to sleep tonight, despite the unbearable aching of her heart. She wished that she could linger in the warm water until all of the pain went away, but resigned herself to the reality of having to take the dogs out one last time and getting ready for bed. She had two shops to run, in addition to having to do her own detective work to throw off the shackles of unfair accusation that were weighing heavily upon her.
Trudging back up the stairs after Toffee and Bitsy had a quick romp around the back yard, Missy was bone-tired, but quite certain that she wouldn’t be getting any sleep anytime soon. She went to her dresser to grab a summer nightgown, and noticed a scrap of lace sticking out of her underwear drawer. The neat rows of panties had clearly been rummaged through, and she counted them, thinking that one was missing. Sure enough, there were only 19 pairs, when there should have been 20 because she’d just done laundry the day before. She looked behind the dresser, under the bed, and in and around the washing machine, to no avail. It surprised her that she had left her underwear drawer in such a state, but she’d been so tired and busy lately that anything was possible. Puzzled, but not worried enough about it to bother searching any further, she sank into bed, dreading waking up to another grim and joyless day.
Chapter 10
Missy had to deliver dozens upon dozens of cupcakes to graduation parties all over town, so her amateur sleuthing had to be put on hold for longer than she’d anticipated. It was five o’clock before she knew it, and the growling of her stomach alerted her to the fact that she hadn’t had anything to eat since a hastily consumed blueberry cupcake and cup of coffee around 4 a.m. Heading home for dinner and to walk the dogs, Missy had to pull over onto the shoulder of the two lane road that ran through the heart of town. A long line of vehicles which included an ambulance, a fire truck, and six patrol cars zoomed by with lights and sirens ablaze. She looked in her rearview mirror to see if there were any large plumes of smoke behind her, but seeing none, once the emergency vehicles had passed, she pulled back onto the road thinking nothing more of it.
Toffee and Bitsy were more than excited to see Missy, and frolicked happily at the park for more than an hour. Leading the two joyfully tired canines home, Missy’s thoughts turned to what she might want to fix for dinner. There had been a text from Chas earlier in the day, which had said simply, “We need to talk.” Not wanting to be rude, but still needing to avoid him while her emotions were raw and there was an investigation to pursue, she’d merely responded, “K,” with no intention of making arrangements to see him anytime soon.
She’d been spending so little time at home lately, that her refrigerator and pantry were pretty sparse. Grabbing a sandwich and a bunch of plump, chilled grapes, she sat at the kitchen table, reviewing the notes she’d taken regarding Ian’s murder. Everything that had been turned up pointed to Ivana as the culprit – jealous comments, irrational behavior, temper tantrums, and other suspicious acts that unfortunately had no direct physical evidence tying them to Ian’s murder. There had to be something that she was missing. Missy tapped the notebook with her pen, trying to read between the lines and figure out her next move.
It was no use, she had to gather more information before she could successfully shift the focus off of her and onto Ivana. Carefully stashing her notebook and papers back into the kitchen drawer, she grabbed her keys and purse, tossing treats to Toffee and Bitsy on the way out, she headed for the movie site. On her way out of town, she saw the emergency vehicles again, headed in the opposite direction, moving equally as fast.
“Hi Charlie,” Missy greeted the private security guard standing at the entrance to the site. “How are you this evening?”
“Hey, little lady,” the rugged Texan drawled amiably. “You just missed all the excitement around here,” he said, sucking on a toothpick clenched between his teeth.
“More excitement?” Missy chuckled. “What on earth could have happened now?”
The guard’s expression darkened. “It’s bad, ma’am. One of the detectives, who’s been spending quite a bit of time “interviewing” Miss Ivana, took a knife right in the back. Don’t know how bad he was hurt, but he wasn’t moving when they took him out,” he shook his head.
Missy’s heart pounded and her stomach lurched. “One of the detectives? Which one?” she clutched at Charlie’s arm.
The guard looked at her curiously. “It was the LaChance guy – tall, dark and handsome – looked like he was one of the actors.” He looked at Missy with concern as she swayed unsteadily in front of him. “Ma’am, are you okay?” he called, as she turned and fled toward the parking lot.
Chapter 11
If Missy had been even remotely conscious of her actions, she would have realized that she was breaking nearly every traffic law that ever existed, running red lights, speeding, and weaving in and out of what little traffic crawled down the streets of town as she rushed to the hospital. Fortunately, the good folks of LaChance tended to roll up the sidewalks of the sleepy town at around 9:00 every night, so there was nearly no traffic, and almost every law enforcement vehicle was currently at the hospital, awaiting news about Chas.
Missy could barely breathe, her heart was in her throat and tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she parked her car and ran for the hospital lobby. She managed to convince the sweet elderly ladies at the help desk, to whom she had delivered cupcakes for more than one social, to divulge Chas’s location. He was currently still in surgery for the knife wound, but the ladies were unable to provide information about his condition. Taking the elevator to the surgery waiting room, she saw a roomful of policeman milling about, looking grim, and approached an officer that she recognized va
guely from having stopped by the station numerous times to pick up Chas, to ask if he’d heard anything about the detective’s condition. The officer looked at her strangely and shook his head dismissively.
Missy started to panic. The love of her life was in surgery for a knife wound and no one was telling her anything. Shaking, she approached the officer again.
“Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but please, if there’s anything that you can tell me about his condition, anything at all…” she pleaded, before being abruptly cut off.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, lady,” the cop said, shaking his head in disbelief. “If you think I’m going to give you the time of day, you’re crazier than we thought, and if anything…” the angry officer swallowed hard. “If anything happens to that man in there,” he jabbed a finger in the direction of the surgical unit, “there’ll be hell to pay. Mark my words.” The officer turned away, leaving Missy scared, heartbroken, and utterly mystified. She couldn’t fathom why the cop was so angry with her, and why no one would tell her anything.
She fled the hospital, and not knowing what to do, she picked up her dogs and an overnight bag, and drove straight to her friend Echo’s house, desperately needing to talk to someone. Echo was a free-spirited ex-Californian who owned the vegan ice cream shop across the street from Crème de la Cupcake. Her soothing manner and practical wisdom was something Missy could really use a super-sized dose of at the moment. When her beatific, red-haired friend opened the front door to her bohemian cottage, Missy fell into her arms sobbing. She’d tried to be strong, but seeing that loving, familiar face broke through all of her defenses, and the tears that she’d been suppressing for days flowed freely.
