Irish Creme Killer: Book 1 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series

by Summer Prescott

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A malignant presence lurked outside the window of cottage #1968, as the occupant inside fretted about what was happening to her beloved husband.

  Missy was worried to death. Chas had been taken to the police station in connection with the murder of yet another resort guest, and she hadn’t heard from him in hours. Echo and Kel had gone back to their cottage for the evening and she didn’t want to disturb them, and Spencer was nowhere to be found, so Missy paced back and forth in front of the television, telling herself to sit down to watch a movie but entirely unable to comply.

  She missed Toffee and Bitsy, her golden retriever and maltipoo, who were at home in Florida, under the watchful eye of Maggie the innkeeper. Missy just wanted to go back to her normal life, baking cupcakes and meeting guests from all over the country and the world at breakfast each morning. Life as the wife of a super-wealthy detective wasn’t especially difficult when one wasn’t constantly surrounded by reminders of the differences in their backgrounds. Chas’s life in New York had been an entirely different experience from anything to which she’d ever been exposed, and she was clearly an outsider.

  Needing something to calm her jittery nerves, Missy went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. The marble tile floor was cold on her bare feet as she stretched to reach a fine crystal glass, which she set on the granite countertop while she looked for a corkscrew in one of the many kitchen drawers. Finally finding the elusive tool, she selected a full-bodied red, and poured it, wondering whether or not she should take her wine out to the hot tub for optimal relaxation while she waited for Chas to come home.

  She heard the knob on the back porch door rattle, and looked up expectantly, thinking that it would certainly be Chas; however, when she saw a man in a black mask burst into the kitchen, her wineglass shattered on the floor. Missy fled the room, wincing as she stepped on broken crystal on her way. She ran as fast as she could toward the guest bedroom, hoping to hide in the closet before the intruder navigated his way around the kitchen island and down the hall to catch up with her. She heard footsteps pounding through the kitchen after her, but she made it through the bedroom and into the closet without the frightening stranger catching up with her.

  Her heart beat so loudly that she feared he’d hear it from the hallway, so she tried to slow her breathing, making as little sound as possible from behind Chas’s suits and her dresses. There was silence for a very long time, then she heard someone moving around in the guest bedroom, the footsteps seeming to head directly for the closet where she was hiding. The sound that came next—a dark, sinister chuckle—made her blood run cold.

  **

  Muffy Fairchild sat across the interrogation table from the chief of police and Chas Beckett, whom she’d idolized from the time that she could walk. Her clothing was stiff with Irving Chapman’s blood and her hands bore cuts from the knife with which he’d been killed. The socialite had certainly had better days.

  The chief asked her questions, but her answers were always directed toward Chas, the young man who had briefly dated her sister and stolen her heart at an impressionable age.

  “Did you kill Irving Chapman?” the chief asked somberly.

  “No, I didn’t. I really didn’t. You have to believe me, Charles… ” she began, stopping when the detective held up his hand.

  “Let’s allow the chief to ask his questions, okay?” he said calmly, hoping to get Muffy to focus.

  “Okay,” she nodded, twisting her bloodstained hands in her lap, the murder weapon laying on the table in front of the chief.

  “Who killed Irving Chapman, Miss Fairchild?”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Chas leaned forward, not wanting to lose momentum.

  “Muff, who did this? Who put you in this situation?” he asked in his kindest older brother voice.

  His kindness was her undoing. “Adam Vance,” she blurted, bursting into tears which combined with the streaks of blood, sending crimson rivulets down her cheeks.

  Spencer, who was standing silently in the corner with his arms crossed, looked at Chas, who then looked at the chief, while Muffy sobbed hot red tears into the sleeve of her expensive sweater. Clearly, the name didn’t ring a bell with any of them.

  “Muffy, look at me,” Chas urged, trying to get more information out of her. When she complied, sniffling, her breath hitching, he began again.

  “Who is Adam Vance?”

  “He worked for Mr. Chapman. He took care of his cars and drove for him in races and exhibitions,” she explained, taking the tissue that Chas handed her, and gazing at it in horror when she saw the streaks of blood.

  Noticing her sudden pallor, Spencer went out into the hall and came back with a cup of ice water, and put it in front of the shivering socialite.

  “Why would he kill his boss? That doesn’t make sense,” the chief interjected as Muffy took small sips from the paper cup, looking a bit stronger.

  “Because Chapman knew…” her voice trailed off and she stared miserably at the tabletop.

  “Knew what?” Chas and the chief asked in unison as Spencer’s eyes bored into the back of the young woman’s head.

  “That Adam had… had…” Muffy burst into tears again, and Chas had to pause and take a breath, despite his frustration.

  When she’d had a few moments for tears, he tried again.

  “What did Chapman know?”

  “That Adam had… killed Judge Gordon. But it was an accident. He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t­—he’s actually very sweet. Chapman had told him to cut the brake line on the judge’s car so that he’d drop out of the race, and there’d be minimal damage to the car, but when Adam cut the lines, the judge drove it anyway and then there was the crash and…” she trailed off again, sniveling.

  “Why would Chapman want the judge dead?” the chief wondered aloud.

  Muffy shook her head. “He didn’t want him dead, he just wanted his car. The death was an accident.”

  “Does the “accident” have anything to do with why you tried to break into my family’s estate after the race?” Chas asked quietly.

  The young socialite was startled and stared at the chief wide-eyed.

  “How…?” she stammered.

  “It wasn’t terribly difficult to figure out. We caught a glimpse of someone with your build on the security cameras, and I’m betting that those jogging shoes that you’re wearing match the footprint left outside the wall. Why were you trying to break in?”

  “Because Adam had told me that I needed to plant the pair of bolt cutters that he’d used on the judge’s car somewhere that would make it look like you had done it,” the redhead admitted miserably.

  “And when you got startled at the estate…” he led her.

  “I left them on the porch at your cottage,” Muffy finished with a sob.

  “I still don’t understand… why did Chapman want the car so badly?” Chas asked, baffled.

  “Because he’d lost almost all of his money in failed speculation. The car that he had would’ve financed him for years if he could eliminate all of the others. He planned to buy the judge’s then try to find some way to get you to part with yours. He was going to destroy them both, making his valuable enough to give him some leverage in buying back into the market. He didn’t care about the cars, it was about the money for him,” Muffy’s head dropped to her chest.

  “That explains why Chapman accidentally killed Judge Gordon by having Adam cut the brake lines, but it doesn’t even come close to explaining why Adam killed Chapman,” Chas stared her down. “What could possibly have made him murder his employer? That’s rather self-defeating, don’t you think?” he challenged.

  “Adam killed Chapman because Chapman said that he wanted to go to the police and tell them the truth about the judge’s murder. He planned to blame the entire thing on Adam, and they would’ve believed him, because of the influence that he still had. Adam refused to go back to prison, so I guess he just de
cided to take care of things his own way,” her shoulders bowed inward, as though she bore the weight of the world on them.

  “And why, exactly, if Adam killed his boss, were you the one fleeing the scene with the murder weapon?” the chief asked skeptically.

  “He told me to get rid of it. He said he’d sell the car and that we could go to the Caribbean and live our lives on the beach,” she said wistfully.

  “So you were in an intimate relationship with Mr. Vance,” the chief drilled her with a glance.

  “I… uh, yes… we… dated,” she said lamely, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “But, if his goal was to sell the car for the highest price, what was he planning to do about my car?” Chas asked, a horrible realization dawning.

  “I…” Muffy’s eyes filled with tears, her mouth agape.

  “Missy,” Spencer said grimly, bolting from the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Missy began to feel faint and guessed that it may have had something to do with trying so hard to control her breathing.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a thin male voice taunted from outside the door. “Thought you were clever, didn’t you? You might have been able to successfully hide in the closet, if it hadn’t been for that pesky trail of blood that you left. Look down, doll. Your very lifeblood is seeping out under the door. You might say it’s a ‘dead’ giveaway,” he emitted that awful chuckle again.

  “I’m going to count to three,” he began, as Missy swayed within the closet, faint from blood loss. The cut on her foot had been deeper than she’d realized, and it had betrayed her.

  “And once I’m done, I’m going to come in and cut you up into little tiny… OOF!” the madman’s threat was cut off and Missy heard the sound of two bodies hitting the floor before she slumped there herself, unable to hang in there any longer.

  **

  Spencer and Chas burst through the cottage door, stepping over a discarded wetsuit on the front porch with barely a passing glance. They ran through the living room, saw the trail of blood that led to the guest room, and stumbled quite literally over the prone form of Adam Vance at the foot of the bed, unconscious and neatly bound with duct tape. Chas spotted the pool of blood seeping under the closet door and opened it to find Missy slumped inside.

  Dashing to her side, he took her in his arms and she stirred, causing him to exhale with relief. Spencer had knelt beside the couple, his trained eyes assessing her overall condition. Glancing over at the still-inert form of Adam Vance, his jaw tightened and he started to rise, but Chas’s hand on his arm stopped him. The detective said nothing, just gave a brief shake of his head.

  “I’m guessing that whoever did the handiwork with the duct tape might not want to be discovered,” Chas said meaningfully, eyeing the madman.

  Spencer nodded, then quickly moved to Vance and removed the duct tape, taking it to the trash in the garage. By the time he came back into the guest room, the police and an ambulance had arrived and were dealing with Missy and Adam.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The black stretch limo carrying Echo, Kel, Spencer, Chas, and a bandaged and subdued Missy pulled up to the front gates of the Beckett estate. After a brief stop so that Chas could meet with Chalmers, the friends were headed to the airport for their flight back to Florida. As the limo glided up the private drive, Spencer fixed his attention on a transaction that was taking place on the front steps of the mansion, between Chalmers and a scarred, long-haired young man with a military backpack, who looked like a vagrant.

  The servant handed the young man a bundle, and after receiving it, he locked eyes for a brief moment with Spencer, who had the window of the limo rolled halfway down, then disappeared into the forest.

  “Friend of yours?” Kel nudged the Marine with a grin.

  Spencer shook his head, saying nothing as Missy gazed at him, her brow furrowed.

  They piled out of the limo, taking advantage of their last few minutes on the estate, and Chas approached Chalmers.

  “Helping the homeless?” he asked the servant with a concerned frown.

  “No, Master Charles, at least not in that particular case,” he nodded toward the woods where the young man had disappeared. “The lad took care of some things around here for me. I was merely paying him what I owed him. He might not look like it, but he’s quite a reliable chap, sir,” Chalmers assured him.

  “Well, I certainly trust your judgment in these things,” Chas smiled at the creased and crinkled man who had been a constant in his life.

  “Your father would have approved, sir,” he replied enigmatically, glancing briefly at Spencer.

  “Master Bengal, may I speak with you for a moment?” he asked.

  Spencer moved wordlessly to his side and followed the elderly servant into his office, returning a few minutes later.

  “What was that all about?” Missy blinked at the Marine, feeling as though she was watching the surface of a pond ripple, while underneath a battle of sea creatures raged, unseen.

  “Oh, he just wanted to thank me for my service,” Spencer smiled politely, then looked away, as Chas gazed at him speculatively.

  “How is it that he knew you’d served?” Kel wondered aloud.

  “His military bearing, obviously,” Chas dismissed the question. “Look at that posture… it’s evident that that came from training. Everyone ready to go?” he changed the subject, putting his arm around Missy’s waist as she leaned on her crutch.

  “More than,” she sighed, leaning into him.

  Chas took her crutch from her, handing it to Spencer, and swung his bride up into his arms, gingerly carrying her to the limo and setting her inside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Is it weird that I’m much more relaxed here in Florida than I was when on vacation?” Echo asked, sipping her coffee as she, Kel, and Missy gathered around their favorite bistro table in Cupcakes in Paradise.

  “It’s not weird at all,” Missy shook her head. “I feel the same way. Even though I have day-to-day responsibilities, I’m so glad to be home. I wish I fit in better with Chas’s family, though,” she mused ruefully.

  “I don’t think he would have married you if you did,” her friend snickered.

  “There certainly is something to be said for being a mere peasant,” Kel chuckled. “It’s much easier on the soul, I think.”

  Echo nodded, taking a bite of her cupcake, and Missy giggled.

  “Well, this particular peasant had plenty of time to rethink the path that her life is taking…” she began.

  “And?” Echo prompted, setting down her coffee cup.

  “And… I’m not going to close the cupcake shop. I love what I do, and if I start feeling overwhelmed again, I’ll hire some help,” she said firmly, her mind made up.

  “That’s great! I’m so happy for you,” Echo grinned. “But I can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for making you feel overwhelmed,” she sobered.

  Kel frowned. “I know you dear ladies are attached at the hip, but how on earth could Missy’s stress be your fault?” he asked, incredulous.

  “I’d like to know that too,” Missy leaned forward, puzzled.

  “I used to help out here every day, and then, when I started working as Kel’s gallery manager, I only worked mornings. Now that I have my candle shop, I only come in for coffee. I feel like if I had been more loyal, you wouldn’t be so stressed out,” she confessed, her eyes pleading for understanding.

  “You silly goose,” Missy reached over and hugged her best friend. “Not only were you here when I needed you most, you even moved here from California because I wouldn’t stop hounding you. You’ve helped me build everything that I’ve built here, and I couldn’t be happier that you’ve finally found your own groove. Your candle shop is amazing, and I’m so happy that you’re successful and happy­—I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she reassured her.

  “You sure?” Echo asked.

  “Positive,” Missy nodded happily. �
�I’ll even let you help me choose a new employee when I need one.”

  “Can he be as hot as Spencer?” Echo teased, with a sidelong glance at her fiancé.

  “Umm… I was thinking a nice, grandmotherly woman, actually,” her friend chuckled.

  “I second that,” Kel piped up, looking at his bride-to-be with mock admonition.

  “I think I’ll need the help sooner rather than later,” Missy said seriously.

  “Oh, why?” Echo asked.

  “Because my dear, you and I have to go to Louisiana to plan Grayson’s wedding, and we have to start looking at plans for yours as well.”

  Missy had given the cupcake shop that she’d run in LaChance, Louisiana to Grayson, who had been one of her trusted managers and had become like a son to her. He’d asked her to plan his wedding and she’d joyfully agreed.

  “Right, forgot about that,” Echo joked as Kel sputtered indignantly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Spencer’s mind was far away as he headed toward a remote spot that had become a bit of a refuge for him. He didn’t have to think about where he was going, he just drove on instinct, his thoughts elsewhere. He drove down the overgrown dirt path as far as he was able, then parked the car and started jogging toward the cabin that had become a symbol of sanity and hope in a sometimes less than sane and hopeful world.

  He carried with him a six-pack of ice-cold craft beer in a small nylon cooler, and his stride was so smooth as he ran that it didn’t jostle the bottles at all. He reached the clearing in front of the small building in short order, despite having taken the time to watch carefully for snakes, gators, and other dangerous wildlife along his route, and climbed the porch steps.

  As a matter of habit, he eased himself onto the bare wood of the porch, his back against the rough-hewn siding. He closed his eyes and knew before he opened them again that he wasn’t alone.