German Chocolate Killer (Cupcakes in Paradise Book 11)

by Summer Prescott

  “Calgon PD, break it up,” Chas shouted to get the attention of the combatants. “Break it up,” he grabbed Bart’s shoulder and toppled him off of the young man writhing below him.

  “Andrew?” Chas was astonished when the surfer flipped over on his back, seeming ready to pummel the middle-aged accountant.

  “This miscreant caused a ruckus in my office, spouting off nonsense about my wife, so I had to take matters into my own hands and then he accused me of murder. Arrest him immediately,” Bart Kimbrel thundered.

  “Settle down,” Chas warned, raising a hand. He then turned his attention to Andrew Koslowski.

  “He killed my sister, man,” Andrew snarled, his hands balled into fists.

  The two started another shouting match and Chas stepped between them to prevent yet another physical altercation. A police unit pulled up, and two uniformed cops charged onto the scene, one subduing Bart, the other restraining Andrew.

  “Murphy,” Chas spoke to the cop who had Bart by the arm. “Get a statement from Kimbrel. Take him inside. I’ve got this,” he dismissed the other cop, asking him to go talk to witnesses in the building.

  “What’s going on, Andrew?” he asked the young man, who calmed down considerably once Kimbrel was out of sight.

  “I told you that I was going to find out who killed my sister,” Andrew’s jaw flexed and he looked down, crossing his arms over his chest. “So I found out where Kimbrel lived with his snooty wife. I stalked their house for a couple of days until I finally saw her. They have a kid, you know,” he looked up, eyes blazing.

  “Yeah, I know,” Chas said quietly.

  “Their kid looks just like Brock. You can’t miss it. Same coloring, same features, same expressions. That piece of garbage wouldn’t give my sister a baby but he gave Kimbrel’s wife one,” he spat bitterly.

  “People make mistakes, Andrew.”

  “Yeah, and his mistake killed my sister. I put it together. Kimbrel must’ve figured out that Brock had an affair with his wife, and he wanted to get revenge, so he killed my sister,” Andrew ground out.

  “You can’t know that. What if Mrs. Kimbrel is the murderer? We don’t have any evidence that either one of them did anything, and if one of them did, you may have just tipped them off to the fact that they’re under suspicion. This is why you let me do my job and you stay out of it,” Chas insisted, eerily reminded of his conversation with Missy.

  He knew that Andrew’s intentions were good, but he may have done more harm than good in taking action.

  “Will you at least check it out?” Andrew asked sullenly.

  “I had planned on it, yes.”

  “So now what?”

  “My guess is that Kimbrel will want to file charges against you, so I’ll have the guys take you down to the station and I’ll stay here to try to talk him out of it. But I’m warning you, if you do something like this again, I’m not going to intervene, are we clear on that? I have enough to keep me busy without worrying about a vigilante out here.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I just can’t stand doing nothing,” Andrew shook his head.

  “You’re going to have to try, because while it seems like nothing is happening, I’ve got people working around the clock on this case. You gotta trust me, Andrew.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he nodded reluctantly. “I’m not under arrest or anything, am I?”

  “Not yet. Once I talk to Kimbrel, I’ll let the guys down at the station know what they need to do. Just be cooperative and you’ll be fine,” Chas assured him.

  **

  Spencer perched on the edge of Grace’s desk, outside Brock Treadworth’s office, chatting and flirting with the secretary like they were old friends.

  “Not an easy guy to work for, eh?” Spencer chuckled.

  “Well, now that I finally have him figured out it isn’t so bad,” Grace waved a hand, feeling free to talk since her boss was out of the office for the day.

  “You figured him out? So what makes him tick, how do you deal with him?”

  “He has an ego a mile wide, so as long as he thinks that I worship him, he’s fine. If he screws something up, I somehow figure out how it was my fault and I apologize. He yells and rants and then he’s fine. I’ve saved his behind multiple times by knowing his calendar and commitments better than he does,” she shrugged.

  “I heard you saved the day on his anniversary with some quick thinking,” Spencer smiled.

  “Oh yes, he always forgets birthdays, holidays and important occasions. His wife would never get anything if it wasn’t for me.”

  Spencer lowered his voice and leaned toward her, trying to give the appearance that he loved office gossip. “How were the two of them together? I mean, really? I’ve heard that they weren’t happy.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Grace’s eyes widened. “She was just so demanding and needy. She’d starve herself until she fainted, so that he’d have to come rescue her. It’s a wonder that the poor guy got any work done,” she shook her head.

  “Is that why you sent candy? Trying to fatten her up a bit?”

  “Well, I figured it couldn’t hurt,” Grace rolled her eyes. “She would’ve thrown an absolute fit if she’d known about Brock’s daughter.”

  “She didn’t know?” Spencer mused, just learning of it himself, but not showing it.

  “Oh goodness no! She constantly begged for a child and Brock told her he wasn’t ready because he knew that she couldn’t handle having a child.”

  “Sounds like he would have been better off without her,” Spencer commented, disgusted at having to keep up the subterfuge.

  “I often wondered that,” Grace nodded.

  “You don’t think that he…?”

  The secretary smiled a strange smile. “No, I don’t think so, but I guess stranger things have happened.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  Andrew Koslowski walked out of the Calgon Police Department a free man, but his manner was oddly subdued, and instead of making his way back to the marina, he headed for Chas’ investigation firm. He knew that the detective was still dealing with Bart Kimbrel, because he’d called the station from the accountant’s office, but Andrew didn’t particularly want to talk with Chas anyway. The information that he had was sensitive, to say the least, and he felt more comfortable sharing it with someone who wasn’t a cop.

  “What can I do for you?” Spencer Bengal asked the surfer who was only a few years younger than him.

  “Dude, this is going to sound really strange,” Andrew said dully. “But I want you to hear me out, and think about it, because if you don’t believe me, I don’t know who will.”

  “I’m listening,” Spencer nodded.

  And listen he did. Andrew Koslowski told a tale that seemed far too disturbing to be true, but when he was done, and sat drained in front of the investigator, he was more than believable.

  “Anything is possible,” Spencer said carefully. “Let me do some checking, and in the meantime, watch your back.”

  “Thanks, dude,” Andrew was so exhausted that it was a struggle to get to his feet.

  “You need a ride somewhere?” Spencer was concerned.

  “Nah. I need a bus trip across town, where I can stare at the ocean all the way home.”

  “I hear ya,” Spencer nodded, handing him a business card. “Let me show you our back exit, so no one will see you leaving here,” he suggested. “You call me right away if anything strange happens. My cell number is on the back.”

  “Thanks,” Andrew replied, following Spencer down the hall.

  When Spencer trotted back up the stairs to the office suite, he headed immediately for the technology center. He normally dreaded going to Ringo’s lair, but he needed the hacker to find him some info immediately.

  “Hey, man,” Ringo yawned when he saw Spencer come in.

  “Ringo, how would you like a Triple Monster Box from Taco Cantina, with a chocolate shake and volcano fries?” he asked, trying to ke
ep the urgency from his voice. Ringo could be infuriatingly slow when pressure was applied.

  “You read my mind, bro. What do you need?” he cracked his knuckles and stretched.

  “Look up this person. I want everything you can find,” Spencer handed him a piece of paper.

  Ringo stared at him for a very long time. “You sure about this?” he pursed his lips.

  “Positive,” Spencer was adamant.

  “Whatever floats your boat. When does the food get here?”

  “Anytime now, I already ordered it,” Spencer headed for the door. “And don’t wait until you get everything in, I want updates as soon as they come in. Just call me with them.”

  “Sweet. Where ya going?”

  “I have some errands to run,” Spencer mumbled, picking up his pace.

  **

  “Hiya, handsome,” Fiona McCamish greeted Spencer when he strode into the morgue.

  Tim shot an irritated look in her direction. He was a stickler for protocol.

  “Hey, Fiona, I need a favor, if you can do it.”

  “Do tell,” she grinned.

  “You guys get a copy of the lab reports that go along with your autopsy cases, right?”

  “Not always, but we can access them for comparison, usually, why?”

  “Chas is busy with interviews, and I really need the lab reports. They weren’t in his file at the office,” Spencer explained.

  “Okay, anything specific?” Fiona made notes on the back of an envelope.

  “DNA profiles of all trace evidence found at the scene and locations of where the samples were found.”

  “Whew,” she whistled, eyebrows raised. “That may take a little while. How soon do you need it?”

  “Like, yesterday. Lives may depend on it.”

  Fiona glanced at her watch. “Okay,” she nodded. “At least you caught us early in the day. It might take some finesse to get all of that info at once,” she warned.

  “As the coroner, I can order the report and it’ll be here in two hours or less,” Tim said blandly, staring at a slide under a microscope.

  “Oh, that would be great, thanks,” Spencer was relieved. “I owe you guys.”

  “I’m good with that,” Fiona teased.

  “I’m sure you’ll extend us a professional courtesy someday,” Tim commented.

  “Timmy, you are just no fun,” Fiona chuckled.

  “Don’t call me that,” the coroner didn’t look up.

  “Okay, Spencer, I’ll get the paperwork drawn up, the dynamo at the microscope will sign off on it, and I’ll get it to you as soon as it hits my computer,” Fiona promised.

  “Thanks, Fi, you’re the best,” Spencer gave her a brief smile and turned to go. “See ya, Eckels,” he called out.

  “Good day, Mr. Bengal,” Tim mumbled, absorbed in his work.

  “He’s so cute and sweet,” Fiona commented, trying to get a rise out of Tim.

  No response.

  “I should invite him over for dinner sometime,” she continued the subtle ribbing.

  Tim wasn’t biting.

  “Maybe he could join us tonight,” she suggested. “I could make pasta…”

  “I never said that I was having dinner with you tonight,” Tim looked up and frowned.

  “Ha! Gotcha! I knew you were listening,” Fiona grinned triumphantly.

  “I’ve had dinner with you once a week for the last four weeks. I have no intention of either forming a habit or increasing the frequency of those dinners. You ply me with alcohol and work your feminine wiles on me,” he pushed his heavy glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

  Fiona laughed aloud. “Oh geez, Timmy, you sound like an old maiden aunt. Are you hearing yourself? You are vibrant and fun and I’m going to continue to ply you with wine, because you’re hilarious and adorable when I do. Now, what kind of pie are you bringing tonight?”

  “If you don’t stop with your incessant chatter, I’ll never finish up here and there won’t be pie for either one of us,” he muttered.

  Knowing that she had won, Fiona smiled to herself and began preparing the paperwork for Spencer.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  “This is bad, bro,” Ringo shook his head, letting out a long belch.

  “Let me see,” Spencer demanded, reaching for the file folder in front of the hacker. He’d printed out the results of his findings.

  “Easy man, I’m not keeping them from you,” Ringo handed the folder over, frowning at Spencer’s abrupt manner.

  Spencer flipped through the printouts, scanning and shaking his head. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” Ringo agreed.

  “Good work, Ringo. I’ve gotta run, but I’ll have Holly order you a pizza on my way out,” Spencer promised.

  “How about fried chicken?” the hacker called after him.

  “Done,” Spencer disappeared down the hall, in a hurry to get to his car.

  He was leaving the parking garage when he got a call from Fiona with the lab results. Perfect timing. He had two more stops to make, then he’d pick up the results and bring them to Chas. The information that he held in his hands sickened him, but at least he’d be able to bring Leigh Treadworth’s killer to justice.

  **

  Chas was in his office at the police station having a conference with Claire Robeson when Spencer strode through the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but this is important,” he announced. “I’ve had a breakthrough in the Treadworth case.”

  “That’s what we were just discussing,” Chas commented. “Have a seat,” he gestured to the chair next to Claire.

  “Thanks. I had a really interesting conversation with Andrew Koslowski this morning,” Spencer began.

  “Yeah, poor kid is so broken up about his sister’s death. He means well, but he has more enthusiasm than forethought,” Chas commented.

  “Do you guys want me to go?” Claire asked, starting to rise.

  “Not at all,” Spencer put a hand on her arm. “I’d really like your insight on some of my findings. Please stay,” he encouraged, drawing raised eyebrows from Chas.

  “What have you got?” Chas asked.

  “Well, I put together what Andrew had to say, with what the forensics showed, and then I conducted a personal search and an interview, and things came together quite nicely. By the time I’m done briefing you, we should be able to confidently make an arrest.”

  “Great, let’s hear it,” Chas prompted.

  “Andrew told me what had happened with Bart Kimbrel, I figured that the kid was just a loose cannon, and I wasn’t prepared to take him seriously, but he told me that while he was here, at the station, he saw something that jogged his memory,” Spencer got up and paced a bit, then rested against the door.

  “Oh?” Chas was intrigued.

  “See, Andrew had gone to visit his sister on the day of her anniversary. He didn’t stay long, because she shooed him out so that she could fix a special dinner for Brock. But…while he was there, Leigh’s doorbell rang. When she went to answer it, he followed, but didn’t stand in her foyer with her. Instead, he stood in the living room, where he could see her visitor when they walked away.”

  “He didn’t know the visitor, and when his sister came back into the living room, she said that it had been a strange encounter. The visitor said that they were there to give her flowers on behalf of her neighbor, Agnes Quisenberry. Andrew wondered at the time why Mrs. Quisenberry hadn’t just come over herself, but he and his sister had other things to talk about and soon forgot about the weird event.”

  “Anybody want some coffee?” Claire asked. “I’m falling asleep.”

  “No, that’s okay, this won’t take long,” Spencer waved her off.

  “So then I went to Agnes Quisenberry’s house and showed her a photo of the person that Andrew had seen, and it turned out that she’d encountered this person twice. The first time was when she saw them sneaking out of her potting shed with a p
air of pruning shears to snip off some of her prize roses, and the second time was when that person dismissed her from the crime scene,” Spencer nailed Claire with a glare.

  “Then I got the lab reports. It turns out that the saliva on the pieces of half eaten chocolate truffle and lamb chop matched the DNA profile of the blood that was found on Mrs. Quisenberry’s roses,” he stepped closer to Robeson.

  “Which also matched the DNA of the hair that was found under the body,” he stared down at Robeson.

  “You never moved the body when you showed up to the scene. The hair was under the body because you’re the one who strangled Leigh Treadworth,” he towered over the officer, who had gone deathly pale. “That fact is further backed up by the autopsy, which shows that Leigh’s killer had long, slim fingers. None of the men who were questioned in this case have long, slim fingers, but you do, don’t you,” he growled, ready to spring should she move. “Your fingerprints were on the doorbell from when you came to try to give her roses.”

  “You’re insane,” Robeson was outraged. “Why on earth would I come to Calgon, trying to get a job and kill someone? That makes no sense.”

  Chas looked at Spencer, who continued, his eyes dark with accusation.

  “It wouldn’t make sense, except for the fact that I stopped by the Calgon Hotel on the way over, and as luck would have it, the door to Room 413 was left open. When I went inside, guess what I found on the table? Articles about Brock Treadworth’s run for Treasurer, along with some high profile cases that he’d won as an attorney. Now, what better way for an up and coming homicide detective to win her dream job than to create a high profile case to solve, framing the most likely suspect?”

  “That’s a baseless accusation,” Claire’s voice was shrill.

  “Is it? Because I had a buddy look up your past exploits and found that you have a pretty shady past that you tried to cover up. Internal affairs was investigating you for extortion until the key witness turned up dead. I find that very coincidental. Clearly, you’re not above killing to get what you want in your career. The list goes on, shall I continue? I’ve got eyewitness testimony, physical evidence, motive and intent. Do you really need me to dredge up more of the past?” Spencer’s words were heavily laced with contempt.