by Carol Durand
“Don’t act innocent with me, you hayseed simpleton,” the redhead spat like a wet feline.
The woman’s utter rudeness, coupled with Missy’s lack of sleep and constant state of stress, prompted a defensive response. “Now you just listen here, little Miss Thing…” she began, hands on hips.
Just as Chas tried to intervene with a quiet, but firm, “Ladies, let’s not do this,” the snooty redhead stepped forward and pushed Missy with all of her might. Stunned, Missy’s arms flailed as she balanced precariously on the edge of the pool deck before plummeting into the cool water, fully dressed. The rude woman sneered in satisfaction as Chas leaped to his feet, jumping into the water, and Missy surfaced, sputtering and furious. She turned on her heel, and sashayed out of the pool area, hips swaying, as Chas helped Missy to the stairs leading to the pool deck.
Missy mounted the stairs as quickly as she could, despite being hindered by a wet, soggy, sundress, and moved to follow, saying, “Now you just wait right there, honey!”
Chas held her back by the arms, murmuring in her ear, “Let her go. Just let her go.”
Missy struggled at first, wanting to break free of his grasp and run down the hateful woman who had pushed her into the pool, but once she saw that her efforts were useless in the face of Chas’s iron grasp, she stopped struggling and whirled to face him.
“Why didn’t you let me at her?” she demanded, eyes flashing. “I fully intend to give that woman a piece of my mind and a lesson or two in manners,” she fumed.
“You obviously don’t recognize who she is,” Chas observed quietly.
“What do you mean I don’t rec…?” Missy sputtered angrily. “Wait…who is she?” her eyes narrowed.
“You met her last night,” the detective reminded her. “Amanda Heatherington. Giles Heatherington was her husband.”
Understanding dawned, and Missy’s anger quickly ebbed. “She thinks that I killed her husband,” she said dully, gazing at the ground, ashamed. Chas nodded, and she burst into tears. “Oh Chas, I should never have come here. I don’t belong, and I just want to go home,” she cried, finally expressing all of the angst that she had felt since her arrival at the imposing mansion.
“Don’t be silly,” he chastised gently. “This has nothing to do with you, and I’m working on proving that. I’ll be getting copies of the evidence and the autopsy report. We’ll get this all cleared up and everything will be fine, I promise,” he hugged her to his bare, bronzed chest.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered.
“Me too, sweet Missy, but for now, we can’t.”
**
Chas walked Missy to her room so that she could change, and when she said she was going to rest for a bit, he headed back to the pool to continue working on the case. He was compiling a list of people who were at the party that he wanted to speak with regarding the murder, and would most likely be busy for the rest of the day.
Changing into jeans and a light summer top, she flopped back onto the satin-clad bed, her heart heavy. She had been secure in the thought that she and Chas had some sort of future together, although what that looked like exactly was something they’d not yet discussed, both hesitating to ruin a good thing by over-thinking it. Now, however, she saw that they really did come from very different worlds, and she wondered what kind of impact that would have on forming some type of future. How on earth could she hope to compete with the society girls that she’d seen casting fawning glances in the handsome detective’s direction?
Perhaps when they returned home to sweet, uncomplicated, LaChance, Louisiana, she should walk away, leaving her beloved Chas to explore more realistic and appropriate options for a mate. By dating her, he’d been slumming, and had just been too sweet and polite to acknowledge or mention it. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and tears coursed down her cheeks as she contemplated doing the most difficult thing she’d ever have to do. The stress and exhaustion of the day caught up with her, and she fell asleep weeping for the man to whom she’d never had the chance to express her love.
Chapter 9
Missy awoke, feeling though her head was stuffed with cotton. She had no idea how long she’d slept, but her growling stomach clued her in to the fact that, however long it was, she apparently had missed a meal or two. There was a soft knock at the door, and she sat up slowly, blinking.
“Pardon me, lass, it’s Maggie, might I come in for a bit?” she heard the stout, middle-aged, Irish maid inquire politely.
“Of course, come in, Maggie,” she called through the door, not yet steady enough to move off of the bed.
The maid came in bearing a tray with a bowl of soup, a basket of bread, and a pitcher of iced tea. “Oh, darlin, ya look like you’ve been through somethin, alright,” the sweet woman clucked, shaking her head and setting the heavy silver tray on the nightstand. “We need to get some food and drink in ya, dear. You’ll feel better in no time,” she asserted. Looking around as though to make certain that no one could hear her, Maggie leaned in and said in a low voice, “And if ya need somethin’ a lil stronger than that tea, I can help ya with that as well.”
Missy smiled wanly at the woman’s kindness, thanking her. The homemade soup was delicious and actually did make her feel a bit better. She dunked chunks of freshly baked bread in the broth and nibbled at them, quieting the gurgles in her tummy. Maggie bustled about the room, opening the curtains to let in the sun, and humming to herself while she tidied up.
“You know, lil Missy, there’s folks in the kitchen who saw some things that might help ya out with yer dilemma,” she offered casually, taking the empty soup bowl and placing it on the tray.
Missy’s ears perked up and she sat up straighter, leaning against the tufted head board. “What do you mean, Maggie?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Well, lass, ya dinna hear it from me, but there’s folks saying that the deceased had quite the spat with his missus before the festivities, on account of Mr. Charles Beckett,” she raised her eyebrows pointedly before resuming dusting the window sills.
“Amanda and Giles fought about Chas before the party? But why on earth would that happen? He hasn’t been back here in a very long time,” Missy pointed out.
“Ohhhh…lass,” the maid shook her head, seeming to pity the fragile-looking woman in front of her. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” Missy asked, baffled.
The woman sighed, clasping her hands together in front of her and leaning in confidentially. “Mr. Charles…he was supposed to marry that fiery woman,” she grimaced in disapproval.
Missy’s heart plummeted to her stomach. “Chas and Amanda were engaged?” she whispered, the color draining from her face.
“Not formally,” the maid explained in a hushed voice. “It was more of an understandin’ between the two families. Lotsa money between those two families, dear,” she nodded sadly.
“I see,” Missy murmured, destroyed.
“But, don’t you fret none, lass,” Maggie reassured her. “I know the look that Mr. Charles gets when he looks at you, and he ain’t never had that look for that evil woman.” She collected the remains of Missy’s lunch on the tray, placed a glass of iced tea on a coaster beside the bed, and left the room quietly, sensing the distress of its occupant. “You let me know if ya need anythin’ at all, lass,” she instructed with compassion, closing the door behind her.
Chapter 10
Missy had dressed for dinner, which tended to be a dressy affair in the Beckett household, and sat beside Chas, saying little.
“You okay?” he asked, taking her hand.
She left her hand in his grasp, but didn’t respond to his touch. “Fine, thanks,” she replied quietly, reaching for her water goblet.
It looked as though Chas was going to pursue the matter further, but was prevented from doing so by the timely arrival of Reginald, who greeted Missy with a kiss on the hand before taking a seat across the table from the couple.
“Is your father goin
g to be joining us?” Missy asked, making conversation.
“No, Pops headed back up to the funny farm this morning,” Reggie grinned wickedly.
“Not funny,” Chas responded, sipping his wine.
“Oh lighten up, Chas. Why do you always have to be such a stiff? I was just joking, trying to lighten the mood. This place has been like a morgue since Giles bit it,” he complained as Missy stared at him, not knowing what to think.
“What about you, southern belle? Has my big brother put this murder nonsense to rest yet?” he asked, taking a rather large gulp of his wine.
“I…uh…” Missy faltered.
“We’re working on it,” Chas replied.
“I don’t see what’s so difficult, other than maybe narrowing down the long line of people who would’ve been more than glad to see the insufferable bloke snuffed,” Reggie observed, refilling his glass.
“What do you mean?” Missy asked, feeling a glimmer of hope.
“As you learned firsthand, Giles Heatherington is…excuse me…was, a posturing, pompous arse who had the insane ability to get on the nerves of nearly everyone he met,” he explained dryly.
“Lose one too many wagers to him, Reggie? You’re sounding a bit bitter,” Chas raised an eyebrow.
“Merely stating fact, dear brother,” Reggie drained his glass again, shooting daggers over the rim at his brother, who was observing him with keen interest.
“Just where did you disappear to last night?” Chas asked.
“Don’t even start with me, Charles. I may have despised the pathetic fool, but my life is far too good to risk being put in a cage for the rest of my life,” his brother warned, sounding bored.
“Who do you think did it?” Missy asked, ignoring a frustrated glance from Chas.
“If I had to place bets, I’d guess that it was the senator who backed a bill that was written for the sole purpose of benefitting the Heatherington enterprises globally. The bill was passed, and somehow the donation that had been earmarked for the senator’s campaign disappeared, leaving the poor sap high and dry. He ended up losing to some grass-roots yokel. But what do I know?” he finished sarcastically, shooting his brother a withering glance.
“Was the senator at the party last night?” Missy persisted, and this time Chas was listening intently as well.
“Of course. He was trying to court Beckett funding for another run at the seat in the next term,” Reggie shrugged nonchalantly.
Missy found herself feeling even more out of her league. Politician’s tried to curry favor with Chas’s family when considering a campaign for office.
“I’ll check it out,” Chas said begrudgingly, while his brother smiled in triumph.
“What about his wife?” Missy asked, in a small voice.
“What?” Chas responded before his brother could.
“Isn’t it kind of like a police rule or something that if someone dies, the first person to be questioned is the spouse or significant other?” she asked, fearing the detective’s reaction to the accusation that she was sort of suggesting about his former fiancée.
“Impossible,” he proclaimed dismissively, making Missy wince.
“Why impossible?” she persisted.
Reggie decided to weigh in on the discussion. “Because, sweet lady, Amanda married that sow Giles because he was the next wealthiest choice after Charles.”
“Reginald!” Chas barked a warning.
“Ohhh…you hadn’t told her yet, how clumsy of me,” he said, sounding not the least bit apologetic. “At any rate, that woman is one hundred percent gold-digger, despite her family’s considerable net worth. There’s not a chance in the world that she’d jeopardize her bank account or social standing just because she hated the fop that she had the misfortune to marry after my dear brother spurned her,” Reggie finished lightly, pouring yet another measure of expensive French wine into his goblet.
The dining staff came in to serve as he finished his explanation, leaving Missy staring miserably at her plate and pretending to eat the exquisite repast.
Chapter 11
Missy had gone to her room right after dinner, claiming a headache and feeling utterly devastated. The more experience that she had with Chas, his family and friends, the more she realized that she was entirely out of her league. She longed to return home to the simple comforts of dear, hard-working people and the busy oblivion of her businesses, which would be a welcome respite.
She had received a call the evening before, while at dinner with Chas and Reggie, from Althea Browning, the lovely bride-to-be that Mayor Felton had sent to Missy for wedding planning. To take her mind off of the ugly situation in which she currently found herself, she returned Althea’s call the next morning, set a time to get together upon her return, and began to talk about some preliminary details. Immersing herself in a world of flowers, dresses, catering and space planning did her a world of good, restoring her perspective, and renewing her sense of purpose. It was also a relief to hear a voice from home, that had the same subtle twang as Missy’s.
There was a knock on the door to her room and Chas poked his head in. “Hey, beautiful, would you like to join me for breakfast?” he asked, coming in and moving toward her for a kiss.
Missy turned her head quickly, so that his kiss grazed her cheek. “Sure, I’d love to,” she said too brightly, putting her phone in the pocket of her jeans and heading for the door. Chas caught up with her and placed a hand on her arm, making her turn around to face him. His eyes searched her face with concern.
“Missy, what’s wrong?” he asked, his hand cupping her cheek.
She averted her eyes, not trusting herself to respond.
“Look, sweetie, we’ll get this mess cleared up, I promise. I’m having lunch with the senator that Reggie mentioned last night, I have a lead that someone on the kitchen staff might’ve seen something, and I’ll be meeting with Amanda Heatherington this morning.”
At the mention of Chas’s almost-fiancee’s name, Missy turned quickly, slipping out of his grasp and going to the window as though she had a sudden compulsion to view the gardens. Blinking away tears, she wrapped her arms around her midsection, trying desperately not to fall apart. Chas appeared instantly behind her, concerned and confused. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she stood as pliable as stone, not turning to face him as tears coursed freely down her cheeks.
“Sweetie, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” he said softly in her ear. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”
The feel of his strength, being immersed in the clean, masculine scent of him, made Missy’s heart ache. She stared out the window, seeing nothing, but not looking at her beloved when she responded. “I’m sorry Chas,” her voice sounded as frail as she felt at the moment. “If I’d had any idea of who you were, I would have never begun anything. I know that there can’t be any future between us now. You’re so far out of my league that we shouldn’t even be breathing the same air. You don’t have to worry about me for the rest of the time that we’re here. You can be there for Amanda, and when we go back to LaChance, we’ll just go our separate ways,” she said, her voice breaking as sobs overtook her.
Chas took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him, making her look at him. His heart broke at the sight of her tearstained face, but what she had said frustrated and angered him.
“You’re making a lot of assumptions here that have no basis in fact,” he said firmly. “I have no interest whatsoever in Amanda. We went on a few dates as teenagers and people in both families made too much out of it. I could never, ever, shackle myself to someone like that, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I left this pretentious society garbage behind me a long time ago. As far as not knowing who I am…you, Melissa Gladstone, know more about me and who I am than any other human on this planet. So don’t try to tell me who I can and can’t be with just because I happened to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth that I spat out at the first opportunity,” he said quiet
ly. “If you want to leave because you can’t handle being in a relationship, then do what you have to do, but don’t even think about blaming it on me. I’m in this for as long as you want me, and I’ve never, ever said anything even remotely close to that to anyone else.”
After probably the longest speech he’d ever made in his life, Detective Chas Beckett dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, never dropping his gaze. “I won’t impose myself upon anyone, Missy. I’m leaving now. Whether I come back is entirely up to you.” The hurt in his deep blue eyes was unmistakable, and Missy’s heart lurched, knowing that she had caused it. He turned from her and walked out the door, and she let him go.
Chapter 12
Missy stayed in her room for the next few days, not venturing out even for meals. Maggie brought her anything she needed, continually admonishing her to eat.
The maid entered Missy’s darkened room just before 11:00 am, and shook her head. “Wake up, lil miss,” she sang out, throwing the curtains open wide to let in the sunlight. Missy sat up in bed, blinking at the bright light streaming in. “You’re gonna take a stroll in the gardens today, and then I’m gonna serve yer lunch to ya right out there among the trees and flowers. Yer fadin’ away to nuthin’ and I’m not gonna let you turn into a pale slip of a girl. I’ve laid yer clothes out fer ya, and I’ll be back to check on ya in 15 minutes. If ya haven’t dressed yerself by then, lil miss, I’ll be dressin’ ya, mark my words,” she advised lovingly.
Missy did as she’d been told, mostly because there were few alternatives and she didn’t want Maggie to worry about her. She had lost weight in the past few days, barely eating, unable to sleep other than when she passed out from sheer exhaustion after another gut-wrenching sob session. The beauty of the sculpted gardens escaped her notice as she wandered listlessly toward the willow tree where Maggie had promised that her lunch would be waiting.
True to her word, the compassionate Irish maid had set two chairs and a bistro table with a feast under the gently swaying branches. Tears swam in Missy’s eyes, thankful for the concern of the stout, motherly woman. She sat in one of the chairs, took a bottle of pinot grigio from the ice bucket, and poured herself a glass of wine.
