German Chocolate Killer (Cupcakes in Paradise Book 11)

by Summer Prescott

  “What time would you say you left the crystal shop?” Chas asked, prodding a bit.

  “I don’t know. I was on my way out and I ran into a constituent who wanted to talk about the issues. I tried to politely leave several times, but she was determined to have her say. I have no idea how long I was trapped there,” Brock shrugged. “I can’t help but think that if I had left sooner, this whole thing might not have happened.”

  “Did you go home directly from the crystal shop?” Chas asked.

  “Yeah, I came in, parked in the garage, and when I saw that the house was dark and that I’d missed dinner, I felt really bad.”

  “So you came in through the kitchen?”

  “Yes, and then through the dining room.”

  “Did anything that you saw strike you as unusual?” Chas probed.

  Brock shook his head. “No. I did expect Leigh to be waiting for me. You can hear our garage door go up, so she usually greets me at the kitchen door, but I figured that she must’ve been in the bathroom or something.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I called her name, and when she didn’t answer, I figured that she must’ve been really mad at me, so I headed back to the bedroom to find her, and…you know the rest from there.”

  “What did you do when you saw her in bed?” Chas inquired.

  “I sat down beside her and called her name to try and wake her. When she didn’t respond, I touched her cheek, and it felt strange.”

  “Strange how?”

  “Like…I don’t know. Cold and papery I guess. So I panicked and tried to shake her awake. When she still didn’t wake up, I checked for a pulse. When I didn’t find one, I called 911,” Brock finished quietly.

  “Did your wife take any prescription medication?” Chas asked.

  “Not that I know of, although she’s been on a weight loss kick lately, so she may have been taking some kind of diet pills, I’m not sure,” Brock shrugged.

  “Any other health problems?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did she take recreational drugs or use alcohol to excess?”

  “No, definitely not,” Brock shook his head.

  “Did she have any ongoing conflict with anyone?”

  “Not really. The lady next door’s gardener was a guy she knew in high school, and she said something about him making her feel uncomfortable, but I don’t think there was any hostility there. Leigh was very involved in the community, and I think pretty much everyone she met liked her.”

  “Is there anyone that you can think of who might want to hurt her?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “How was your relationship with your wife, Mr. Treadworth?”

  “We had our issues, just like any other couple. I work too much, and she overthinks everything, but the good times outweigh the bad. Leigh was always very supportive of my career and my political ambition,” Brock said quietly. “She was willing to do whatever it took to help me get ahead.”

  “Did she work outside of the home?”

  “No, but she was always busy with community functions and charity work.”

  “And you have no children?”

  “No. That was a sore topic for her. She wanted kids and I thought we should wait until I actually had time to spend with them.”

  “Does she have any family members who might have reason to harm her?”

  “No, her family is great.”

  “Okay,” Chas nodded, closing his notebook. “I know it’s been a difficult day for you, so we’ll leave it at that for now. I’ll let you know when we make any significant discoveries in the investigation. Please feel free to call me if you have any questions, or if you think of something that might be relevant,” Chas stood and handed Brock a business card.

  “How long is it going to take until you guys are done here?” Treadworth gestured at the flurry of activity happening around him.

  “It depends upon how the investigation goes. We work as quickly as we can, but we don’t want to rush and miss something. You should plan on staying elsewhere for at least a few days,” the detective suggested.

  “Great. Perfect timing,” Brock sighed.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Chas replied, heading down the hall to check on Tim’s initial findings.

  **

  “What do we know so far?” Chas asked Timothy Eckels, who had taken all of the necessary photographs, and had made his initial assessments. He and Fiona were preparing to transport.

  “Homicide. Estimated time of death is somewhere between seven and nine o’clock,” Tim replied, bending over next to the body. He beckoned for Chas to join him. “We’ll do an autopsy, of course, but look at this,” he moved Leigh’s long dark hair away from her neck, and showed Chas the marks there.

  “Strangulation,” the detective murmured. “Looks pretty personal,” he observed.

  “My thought exactly,” Tim agreed. “Based upon the angle of the attack, she saw nothing but her attacker until she blacked out from lack of oxygen.”

  “Good work, Eckels. Let me know when your report is ready,” Chas directed, standing upright.

  “Of course,” Tim replied, zipping the body bag up the rest of the way.

  Fiona had rolled the stretcher into the hallway, and waited for Chas to clear out of the room before she and Tim loaded Leigh up onto it.

  **

  Once Leigh’s body had been removed, and her husband had left to find a hotel, Chas wanted to get out of the way of the forensics techs, so once he had done a thorough examination of the property, inside and out, he looked for Detective Robeson, wanting to see if she’d discovered anything.

  “Barnes,” he approached one of the uniformed officers out front. “Have you seen Detective Robeson?”

  The cop shook his head. “Nope. She left here a few hours ago and I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Chas hated to admit it, but he was relieved. He could catch up with Robeson in the morning. As it was, he only stood to catch a couple of hours of sleep before he had to be back in the office. It had been a long night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  “Good morning, Detective,” Claire Robeson tapped lightly on Chas Beckett’s office door. “Your receptionist said that I should just come on back,” she explained, entering.

  “Morning. Yes, please, come on in,” Chas indicated the chair across the desk from him. “What brings you to the agency?” he asked, wondering why she hadn’t just waited for him at the police station.

  “I was curious to see where you worked,” she shrugged. “I hope that’s okay. I’ve never been to a private investigation firm.”

  “Sure, no problem. I wanted to get together with you to talk about the Treadworth murder anyway. So, did you run across anything interesting last night?” he asked.

  “Is this a test?” Robeson chuckled.

  “Nope, just comparing notes,” Chas opened a file folder in front of him.

  “Should I be making formal reports?”

  “I think it would be good practice,” Chas nodded. “And we’ll also have record of your observations that way.”

  “Okay, sorry, I didn’t realize that, but I’ll write one up when I get back to the station.”

  “No worries. I’m assuming you took notes, right?”

  “Of course. What detective doesn’t take notes?”

  “Great, then let’s get started.”

  “Well, I uh…left my notes at the station too,” Claire confessed, looking sheepish. “But we can talk about what I remember, and you can ask specific questions which might jog my memory,” she suggested.

  Trying not to let his frustration show, Chas agreed.

  “Sure. Let’s start with the scene itself. Were you the first one there?”

  “No, I was the second car to arrive. Jensen and Baker arrived together before I got there.”

  “How did you know about the call?”

  “I was in the statio
n, talking to Barnes about something, and I heard the call come in. I knew that you’d want me to be there, so I just headed out, figuring I’d meet you there.”

  “What struck you about the scene?”

  “How clean it was. There was no sign of forced entry, no blood, no evidence of a struggle. The place was pristine.”

  “Where was Mr. Treadworth when you arrived?”

  “He was talking to Jensen and Baker in the living room, so I went back into the bedroom to start looking around.”

  “Anything unusual there?”

  “It looked staged. The victim was in a formal pose, like you’d see in a casket. Her hair wasn’t even mussed.”

  “Why would a perp do that?” Chas asked, actually testing her now.

  “Usually with homicides like this, it’s because he knew her. Maybe even loved, or at least respected, her,” Robeson shrugged.

  “Tell me about the husband’s demeanor when you saw him.”

  “He seemed…annoyed, maybe even angry.”

  “A rather unusual reaction after just having discovered that his wife had been murdered, don’t you think?”

  “You know as well as I do that spouses often end up being the culprit,” Claire sighed.

  “I think it certainly bears looking into. Did you talk to him at all?”

  “Briefly. I don’t even remember what was said, I’ll have to check my notes, but nothing set off any alarm bells, other than his manner.”

  Before Chas could respond, his police cell went off. He answered it, nodded and said, “Gotcha, I’ll be on my way shortly.”

  “Got a lead?” Claire sat forward, on the edge of her chair, when Chas hung up the phone.

  He stood and put his sport coat on.

  “Doubtful,” he said. “Treadworth’s neighbor is at the station, wanting to talk to me.”

  “Want me to come with?” Claire offered.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Go ahead and start checking into the background of the husband. See what you come up with,” Chas suggested.

  “Sure thing. When should we regroup?”

  “I’ll give you a call. I’m up to my neck in interviews today,” the detective headed for the door, with Robeson at his heels.

  “I hear ya,” she hurried down the hall behind him. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  **

  Agnes Quisenberry sat in the waiting room at the police station, clutching her purse in her lap. Chas introduced himself and led her back to his office, where he hoped she’d be more comfortable.

  “First time in a police station?” he asked with an understanding smile.

  “Oh my goodness, yes,” Agnes nodded, eyes as big as saucers. “I’ve never even known anyone who’s had a run-in with law enforcement.”

  “That’s true of most people,” Chas nodded. “Can I get you some coffee? Or water?”

  “Oh, no thank you. I don’t think that I’ll be here very long, young man,” she smiled at the detective.

  “What can I do for you today, Mrs. Quisenberry?” he asked.

  “Well, as you know, my lovely neighbor, Leigh…” Agnes sighed, momentarily unable to continue.

  “Yes,” Chas nodded his understanding so that she didn’t have to say the words.

  “Well, I can’t help but wonder who would do such a thing, but I came in to see if there was any way that I could help.”

  “I’m glad you came in, Mrs. Quisenberry, thank you. There are a few questions that I’d like to ask you.”

  “I’ll be happy to help,” Agnes volunteered.

  “Great. Do you happen to know Mr. Treadworth?”

  Agnes shook her head. “Not very well. It seems to me that he was hardly ever home. He was gone every morning before I woke up, and usually didn’t come back from work until I was already headed for bed. I’d see his headlights shine in my bedroom window when he turned into their driveway,” she explained.

  “Do you know what kind of relationship the Treadworths had?” Chas asked delicately.

  “They had their share of troubles,” Agnes pursed her lips and sighed. “That poor dear blamed everything on herself, but it seemed to me like she was the only one trying.”

  “You’re referring to Mrs. Treadworth?” Chas clarified, and Agnes nodded. “What sorts of things did she blame on herself?”

  “The two of them would have disagreements, and she would say that it was because she hadn’t cleaned the house well enough, or hadn’t cooked dinner properly, or that she’d gained weight. Silly little things really.”

  “Did you ever hear them when they would argue?”

  “No sir, they kept the windows closed year round. I never heard a thing, but when I’d see Leigh looking worried, I’d ask if she was okay and sometimes she’d share. She was always optimistic though. She thought that everything would work out. She baked me cookies yesterday,” tears welled in the dignified woman’s eyes and she dabbed at them with a fine linen cloth from her purse.

  “Do you know if either of them was having an affair?”

  “Goodness, no. At least…I don’t think so. If they were, Leigh never mentioned it. I guess it would explain a lot though,” Agnes shook her head, twisting her hankie in her knobby hands.

  “Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt Leigh?”

  “Hurt? No. I know someone who desperately wanted to love her and make her happy though,” Agnes replied softly.

  “Oh? Who is that?” Chas picked up his pen.

  “My gardener, Harley. He’s had a huge crush on that girl since the two of them were in high school. He makes excuses to go talk to her every time he comes over. I wonder how he’s doing. It had to be painful for him to hear it on the news,” she mused.

  “Did they ever date?” Chas asked.

  “No,” Agnes said with a faint smile. “They were from opposite sides of the tracks, Detective. I’m sure that Leigh was very nice to Harley, because that’s just who she was, but he wouldn’t have stood a chance with her, romantically. She hitched her wagon to a young man who was going places. The sad part is that he seemed to want to go there by himself, leaving his pretty young bride at home,” she observed.

  “So, her husband is successful?” Chas knew who Brock Treadworth was, but wanted to hear Agnes describe him.

  “Oh my, yes. He’s a big shot lawyer who’s running for County Treasurer. I wonder if his opponent had anything to do with this? I hate to cast suspicion on anyone, but it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “We’ll be checking out anyone who was closely associated with either Brock or Leigh,” Chas assured her, not answering the question. “Do you think Harley would ever harm Mrs. Treadworth?” he asked, re-directing the discussion.

  “I don’t know. He seems like such a sweet young man, but love can do strange things to people sometimes, Detective,” Agnes commented.

  “It certainly can. Do you know if Harley had any contact with Mrs. Treadworth yesterday?”

  “Yes, he did, briefly. He was working in the garden with me when Leigh brought my cookies over.”

  “Did they speak?”

  “Sure, just the ‘hi, how are you’ kind of thing.”

  “Was there any tension between the two of them that you could detect?”

  “Not any more than usual. Leigh has been holding Harley at arm’s length for years now, and the poor guy just doesn’t take the hint.”

  “Did she seem to be upset with him at all? Or him with her?”

  “Not that I could tell, but I can give you his phone number if you’d like to ask him about it. He really is a nice boy,” Agnes dug in her purse for a pen, and pulled a sticky note off of a stack on the desk to write on, handing it to the detective.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Quisenberry,” Chas took the note and stuck it to the inside cover of his file folder. “Is there anything else you can think of that might be important?”

  “No sir, I just feel so bad for Leigh’s poor brother. She’s all he had in the world. His paren
ts wrote him off when he didn’t choose to follow in his father’s footsteps. Such a sweet lad too,” she looked sadly at the desk top.

  “And what’s her brother’s name,” Chas’ pen was poised over his notepad.

  “Andrew Koslowski. He works at the marina.”

  Chas stared at her for a moment. He knew Andrew, and had talked to the laid-back young man several times. “I didn’t realize that Andrew had a sister,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “I’ll talk to him,” he reassured the kindly woman across the desk from him.

  “Thank you dear,” Agnes stood. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’m just so sick about this. Do you think I have any reason to worry? Does it seem like a killer just randomly wandered into our neighborhood?” she placed a fluttering hand on the collar of her blouse.

  “Murder is very rarely random, Mrs. Quisenberry. You shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Just keep your doors and windows locked until we get to the bottom of this, and you should be fine,” Chas walked her to the lobby and waved as she went out the door. His list of people to talk to had just grown longer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  “My neighbor was murdered,” Agnes Quisenberry announced, without preamble, when she came in for her German Chocolate cupcake.

  Missy gasped. “Leigh Treadworth was your neighbor?”

  “Yes, she was, and I miss her dearly already,” was the sad reply.

  “Oh, that’s awful. How terrifying for you,” Missy commented, handing her the boxed cupcake. “How are you holding up?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I’ve been working in my garden, even though Harley hasn’t been answering his phone or showing up,” Agnes shrugged. “I suppose he took the news pretty hard.”