Irish Creme Killer: Book 1 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series
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“You’re not thinking of racing are you?” Missy asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“It’s not really a race, sweetie,” he assured her, tracing a finger under her chin. “There’s a track that runs around the property, and guys who want to drive their favorite cars around for the tourists donate to a designated charity for that privilege. It’s all in good fun.”
“Which means that you are going to participate.” Missy couldn’t hide her concern.
“I am. As is Kel, and we’re going to be perfectly fine,” Chas pulled her into his arms. “Let’s get ready for dinner.”
Dinner at Chas and Missy’s “cottage” went surprisingly well. Reggie tried to capture Echo’s attention until he discovered that she was engaged, and Livvy made some catty remarks about her being vegan, but the feisty chandler put her firmly in her place, much to the delight of the social maven’s younger brothers.
The chef and servers presented the group with a delicious meal, and once a bit of wine had been served with the appetizers, everyone lightened up and enjoyed themselves. Spencer, taking careful note of the family dynamic, made certain to keep a still mildly bristling Olivia engaged in conversation about her tennis game, her golf scores, the country club, and anything else that made her feel better about herself, much to Chas’s relief.
“You going to let me enter one of your beauties in the Classic tomorrow, old boy?” Reggie asked his elder brother, taking a huge gulp of wine.
“Not a chance, Reg. I know how you drive, and there’s a reason that Father left the collection to me,” the detective replied without batting an eye.
“Well, you may have been the favorite, but I’ve had more fun,” the playboy smirked, leaning back in his chair.
“We have very different definitions of fun,” Chas sipped his wine, giving Missy a glance that made her blush.
“Eww… I’m going to leave before this conversation gets any worse,” Olivia announced. “Spencer, would you mind escorting me out? You never know who might be lurking in the bushes,” she asked, clearly loving the attention of the much-younger veteran.
“It’d be my pleasure, ma’am,” the Marine stood, excusing himself and offering his arm to Chas’s sister.
“Are you two going to plan on attending the Classic tomorrow?” Chas asked, before Livvy made it to the door.
“Heavens no,” his sister wrinkled her delicate nose. “All that noise and the smell, plus being surrounded by the unwashed masses… no thank you. We’ll have lunch at the club before you go, Chas. Melissa, it was lovely to see you again,” she waved breezily in Missy’s direction. Missy stood up to give her sister-in-law a hug, but the woman was gone before she could make it to the other side of the table.
“I’ll be there, sport. If for no other reason than to critique your driving,” Reggie announced smugly, rising from his chair to give Missy the hug that she’d missed from their sister, lingering long enough that Chas stood as well.
“Some things never change,” the detective muttered with a thin smile.
He shook Reggie’s hand, and walked his brother to the door, making certain that he had a driver, because there was no way in the world that he’d let him drive home, after the copious amount of fine French wine that the younger man had consumed.
Spencer was heading back up the steps to the porch, when Chas and Reggie came out, and the detective placed a hand on the Marine’s arm. The young veteran stayed on the porch while Reginald Beckett climbed clumsily into the back of the waiting limo.
“I saw what you did in there. Thank you,” Chas said simply, raising a hand to wave as his brother’s limo pulled away.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir. I was just entertaining a pretty lady,” Spencer grinned, knowing exactly what the detective meant.
Chas chuckled and clapped him on the back. “Whatever. I owe you a beer,” he promised as they headed back inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You’re sure that you don’t want to take a spin around with us?” Chas asked Spencer, pulling on his driving gloves. “I’ll take care of the donation.”
“Nah, I’m good,” the Marine replied. “Somebody has to keep the ladies company in the good seats,” he joked. “Good luck to you both, though.”
Chas and Kel thanked him, and the young man headed out of the lineup area, moving past classic, antique, and exotic cars of every color and stripe. Some of the participants clearly were there for the adrenaline rush of trying to pull ahead of the pack, while others were content to preen like peacocks, strutting about the track in their perfectly polished vehicles. Kel was intent upon testing his driving skills against the other roadster drivers, whereas Chas was merely out to enjoy a few leisurely laps around the track.
Spencer stopped short when he came upon a car that looked just like the one that Chas was driving.
“I can certainly appreciate you stopping to gawk at this fine beast, dear boy. She’s only one of three left in the world,” an older man in a jaunty herringbone cap remarked, amused at Spencer’s expression.
“And two of them are here… figure the odds,” the Marine replied, not at all rattled by the older gentleman’s mockery.
“Really?” the thought seemed to stop the man in his tracks. “I honestly thought that no one but I would be bold enough to drive an asset like this in a somewhat public venue.”
“Asset?”
“Yes, of course. While this lovely car is appreciated for her performance and appearance, she’s also worth quite a pretty penny. Last year, when the fourth that was in existence was totaled by a drunken sot who didn’t have enough sense to use a driver, the value of the remaining three nearly quadrupled.”
“Wow, so one man’s misfortune led to an increased value for three others?”
“That’s how these type of assets work, dear boy,” the man shrugged, and proceeded to ignore him while polishing an imaginary spot on the fender with a special cloth.
Closer to the front of the lineup, Spencer saw yet another car that was identical to the one that Chas was driving, marveling that there were only three of them left in the world, and all of them had somehow ended up here. He headed for the box seats that were awarded to a handful of special guests at the resort, while those who had purchased tickets to come in and watch the spectacle stood at the fence that surrounded the track.
The yearly charitable event was a logistical nightmare for the top-notch security team that was tasked with protecting high-profile guests at the resort. Every team member would be serving multiple shifts until the event was over, and every last non-guest had been politely escorted from the stately grounds. There were extra personnel manning the wall around the resort, and plenty of heavily armed ladies and gentlemen in suits who circulated among the guests during the event.
Spencer took his front row seat with Missy, Echo, and Chas’s brother Reggie, accepting a tall glass of iced tea from a server. The day was cool, but not chilly, and the sun shone brightly on the early spring day. After a few minutes, the participants’ engines revved, indicating the imminent start of the race. When the flag lowered, allowing the pack to surge onto the track, some cars flew by, while others set a more sedate pace.
The Marine saw the first car that looked like Chas’s take off as though it were jet-propelled. The second look-alike came flying out of the gate as well, while Chas came out more slowly, but still faster than many of the cars around him. The pack rounded the first corner, with the sporty models taking the lead and the sedans trailing behind in a dignified stroll. The crowd gasped, and Spencer stood when he saw a car that looked like Chas’s go careening from the track, slamming into a towering sugar maple to land with an eardrum-shattering crash of metal and glass.
A collection of cars swerved, slammed on the brakes, and eventually came to a halt past the horrific incident, while the cars in the front continued on, completely unaware that they’d lost one of their own. Spencer placed both hands on the top of the fence separating him from the track and v
aulted over it, taking off for the wreckage in a dead run as Missy and Echo stood watching in horror.
“That wasn’t Chas’s car, was it?” Missy whispered, clinging to her best friend.
“I don’t know,” Echo shook her head as both women fixed their gaze on the smoke that was beginning to rise from the site of the crash.
Spencer was still several hundred yards away from the balled-up metal remains of the car, when he saw its license plate and verified, to his profound relief, that the car didn’t belong to his boss, but unfortunately to the older gentleman that he had met not half an hour ago. He scanned the parking lot of cars on the track behind him, as an ambulance and fire truck whipped past, and saw Chas heading toward him.
“You okay?” he asked, trotting over to his boss.
“Fine. How bad is it?” the detective glanced toward the mangled car, which was shielded from view, surrounded by first responders who were trying to extricate the driver.
“I didn’t get close, but it doesn’t look good,” Spencer replied grimly.
“I wonder who it was,” Chas said quietly as the two men headed closer to the scene.
“Older guy. I met him after I left you, before the race.”
“Great dresser? Rather biting sense of humor?”
“Yep, that’s the guy,” the Marine nodded. “You know him?”
“I knew of him. He offered to buy my father’s car collection after the funeral. I refused, obviously, and he seemed quite bent out of shape about it. Didn’t seem like a bad guy, though,” Chas explained with a sigh, shaking his head.
Their conversation was cut short by the repeated blaring of a golf cart horn, cutting through the crowd and headed right for them. Aboard the tiny vehicle were Missy, Echo, and Reggie. The cart had scarcely come to a stop before Missy leaped from it, making a beeline for her husband.
“I was so worried,” she blurted, throwing her arms around his neck.
“I’m okay, sweetie,” Chas assured her, while Spencer thanked Reggie for bringing the golf cart out onto the track so that Missy could get to her husband.
“Where’s Kel?” Echo asked softly, her face white.
No one had to answer when the artist came jogging over, picking up his fiancée and hugging her tight.
“Chas, I’m so sorry. I tried to steer away from all of the traffic, but I got sideswiped by the diamond-finish Mercedes. It’s definitely fixable, but your cherry bomb has more than its share of diamond sparkle at the moment,” Kel explained ruefully.
“No worries,” Chas squeezed his shoulder. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. Reggie, go ahead and take Kel and the girls back to the cottages. Spencer and I are going to see if there’s anything that we can do,” the detective instructed.
“Be careful,” Missy cautioned, kissing her husband gratefully before heading back to the golf cart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A somber mood permeated the resort after the crash that killed Judge Ian Gordon. The crowds of spectators had been ushered out quietly, and the entire area had been roped off while crews investigated the wreckage and cleaned up the debris. Missy and Chas were sipping coffee on their back porch, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, when their housekeeper came out, clearing her throat to get their attention.
“Pardon the interruption, sir,” she addressed Chas politely. “But there’s a gentleman at the front door to see you.”
Chas and Missy looked at each other, surprised.
“Is it my brother?” the detective asked, setting his coffee mug on the wicker table next to his chair.
“No sir. It’s a Detective Wallace Charlton.”
Chas grimaced. He and Charlton had gone through the police academy together, and Charlton made a point to mock his Ivy League-educated classmate at every turn. He’d been bitter about Chas’s privileged upbringing and jealous of the stellar progression of his career.
“Thank you. I’ll be right there,” he dismissed the housekeeper.
“What’s this about?” Missy asked, reaching for her husband’s hand.
“I’ll find out. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure,” he soothed, kissing her lightly before disappearing through the french doors leading into the cottage.
**
“Wallace,” Chas greeted the detective, extending his hand politely.
“Beckett,” Charlton responded, ignoring the outstretched hand.
Chas raised an eyebrow at the man’s rudeness, and dropped his hand. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak with you for a few minutes. May I come in?” the detective asked, his expression just two shades shy of being overtly hostile.
“No. I’m here on vacation with my wife. If you need to speak with me about something, we can do that on the porch,” Chas replied firmly, stepping outside and indicating that Wallace could have a seat across from him, on an elegant wrought iron chair.
The detective might have valid reasons for his visit, but after behaving so rudely, the conversation would take place on Chas’s terms.
“You up here visiting family?” Charlton asked, a bit too casually, after taking his seat.
“None of your business, Wallace. Let’s get to the point, shall we? Why are you here?”
The bitter detective sat forward, and eyed Chas with a predatory glare.
“Actually, your reasons for being here might end up being quite relevant,” Charlton bit out. “Judge Ian Gordon was murdered, and you know as well as I do that there was more than a little bit of animosity between you and his Honor,” he sneered. “If you had anything to do with the judge’s death, it won’t matter how many billions your daddy left you, you’ll be going to jail.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Charlton,” Chas began, deadly calm. “You don’t come to me with threats and accusations that’ll get you nowhere but in some very hot water when you’re proved wrong. I have nothing to say to you, but I will be having a conversation with your chief as soon as you get out of my sight, which needs to be sooner rather than later. Am I being clear?”
Wallace Charlton’s eyes narrowed to slits and a vein pulsed on his forehead. He leaned toward Chas in what could be considered a menacing manner, and was about to speak, when a shadow passed over them, catching their attention.
“Is there a problem here?” Spencer Bengal, Marine veteran, asked quietly, having appeared out of thin air.
Charlton sat back and shook his head.
“You’ve got hired goons taking care of you now? Makes you wonder why a man who isn’t doing anything wrong would hire protection. What are you afraid of, Beckett?” he snarled, mocking.
Spencer glanced at Chas, who continued to stare down the ill-mannered detective.
“This man is a member of my family,” Chas replied, his eyes locked on Wallace’s. “I don’t need protection, and I’d be happy to prove that to you by personally escorting you from the premises if you’re not gone in the next few seconds.” He rose to his feet and towered over the smaller man, who suddenly seemed much less confident.
Wallace slid his chair back and stood, faltering under the watchful gaze of his career rival and the ever-vigilant Marine. He started to speak but seemed to think better of it and turned to go.
“How much did you hear?” Chas asked Spencer, when the surly detective’s car had disappeared down the private drive.
“Enough. You want me to get Kel and the ladies home?”
The detective shook his head. “If there’s been a murder, none of the guests will be allowed to check out until they’ve been questioned. I’m going to call the chief and see what they’ve got. In the meantime, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. If there’s a killer in the resort, we don’t know who he might target next, or if this was something personal between him and the judge.”
Spencer nodded. “Will do.”
Chas’s cell phone buzzed, indicating that a text had come in, and when he read the message, he frowned, his forehead creasing.
“Bad news?”
“You got it, sir,” Spencer agreed without hesitation.
CHAPTER NINE
Missy had been up late, baking a new cupcake that she’d created after hearing that Chas had been questioned regarding the murder of Judge Gordon. Inspired by the sugar maple trees dotting the mountain slopes of the resort, she’d come up with a new maple custard cupcake that had the entire cottage smelling like the world’s best breakfast.
She, Echo, and Kel sat down to their customary morning coffee and cupcake chat while Spencer went for a jog. Chas slept in after being up for much of the night talking with the police chief regarding the attempted breakin at his father’s estate and the murder of the judge.
“I was really hoping that we could get away from crime and death and drama on this vacation,” Missy mourned, picking apart a luscious cupcake topped with fluffy maple buttercream.
“Well, the sooner we figure out precisely what happened, and who killed that poor man, the sooner we’ll be able to get back to the business of relaxation,” Kel pointed out, optimistically.
“We’ve been pretty good at solving these things in the past,” Echo added. “Let’s put our heads together and do this.”
“But we don’t know anyone up here. Even Kel doesn’t have many contacts,” Missy reminded them.
“Melissa Gladstone-Beckett, I’ve never known you to shy away from a challenge,” Kel scolded gently, taking a huge bite of his cupcake.
Missy smiled, knowing it was true, and dove right in.
“Okay, so, after talking to Chas, here’s what we know so far: the brake line in the judge’s car was cut just before the race. A puddle of brake fluid in the staging area backs that up.”
“So, whoever did this had access to the staging area,” Echo mused.