Frostycake Murder

by Summer Prescott

  “Wow, there’s something I haven’t smelled in a while,” he kissed the back of Missy’s neck, hugging her from behind as she stood at the stove.

  “Oh honey, you haven’t even seen the half of it,” she switched on the oven light. Chas stooped down to peer in.

  “Are those your special biscuits?” he asked, his stomach growling.

  “Indeed, they are, and there’ll be homemade potato salad too,” she smiled coyly.

  “What did I do to deserve this?” his smile nearly brought tears to Missy’s eyes, as she realized that she’d been taking this wonderful man for granted.

  “You always deserve this, darlin,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Go get changed, and I’ll open one of these for you,” she reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer.

  “If you insist,” he grinned with delight and headed toward the bedroom.

  While he changed, Missy dished up the hot, fresh chicken, the biscuits and the potato salad, lit the candles on the table and poured two beers. She normally wasn’t a beer gal, but figured that the bubbly liquid might provide a bit of courage for her. She was embarrassed at what she had done, and a little bolstering surely couldn’t hurt.

  “What is all this?” Chas asked, sitting down across from his wife at the dining room table.

  “I haven’t been doing a very good job of showing you how special you are to me, lately,” Missy confessed, her eyes moist.

  Chas held her gaze and waited for her to continue.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about…about lying to you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I’ve been kicking myself every day about all of this,” she admitted.

  “I’d noticed that you’ve been much more quiet than usual,” he nodded.

  “So have you,” Missy whispered. “Have I hurt you so much that you don’t want to be with me anymore?” she finally asked the question that had been festering within her.

  “Don’t ever think that,” Chas reached for her hand and frowned. “I love you with all that I am. Nothing will change that. Ever. You could throw me aside and leave me and I’d still love you,” he assured her, bringing her hand to his lips, as she began to cry.

  “I was so worried,” she choked out, and he drew her into his lap, holding her tightly, his face buried in her hair.

  “I was too. When I found out that you didn’t tell me the truth, I thought you had left me. I was a wreck,” Chas shook his head as Missy sobbed.

  “I would never leave you,” she pulled back and looked into his eyes.

  “I know that now,” he nodded, brushing her tears away.

  “Having you is more important than having a child,” Missy told him, meaning it.

  “Does that mean that you don’t want to adopt Kaylee?” Chas was clearly shocked.

  “No, not at all. I love that little girl to pieces, but if you think that we’re not ready, and you want to wait, I’ll wait,” her lower lip trembled and she took in a shaky breath.

  “Let’s wait and see what happens with Kaylee’s aunt and uncle. If they want custody, and the court awards it, it’s all a moot point anyway.”

  “Okay,” Missy agreed, trying to regain control of her emotions. “Chas?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you, and I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are, baby. Me too,” he whispered, kissing her gently.

  “One last thing,” she took a deep breath.

  “What is it?”

  “We can’t let these biscuits get cold, that’s a southern sin,” she smiled shyly.

  Chas grinned. “Then get off my lap, woman. Let’s eat!”

  Missy sat back in her seat and the two munched contentedly on the delicious food for a few minutes before she spoke again.

  “Oh, I have a minor mystery for you to solve,” she announced, gesturing with her fork.

  “In my spare time,” he groused, amused.

  “This shouldn’t take long. A woman came in to buy cupcakes today, and left in a hurry. When she left, her wallet was lying on the counter. I couldn’t find any contact info, so I was hoping that you might be able to track her down and get it back to her,” she explained.

  “It’ll cost ya,” Chas teased.

  “Oh? And what exactly is it that you want, kind sir?” Missy flirted.

  “Dessert, of course.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  Chas gave Maureen Gatling’s information to Ringo, the hacker that he employed at his private investigation firm, and had all of her contact info in hand within minutes.

  “Thanks,” he told the disheveled young man, when he tossed the file folder onto Chas’s desk.

  “No problem, dude,” Ringo replied, his voice muffled by the huge bite of corndog that he was currently chewing.

  “Interesting breakfast,” Chas commented.

  Ringo stopped in his tracks. “Is it morning?” he asked, seeming astounded.

  “Have you been up all night again?” Chas inquired, familiar with the hacker’s habit of keeping odd hours.

  “I guess so. Man, I’m gonna have to lay off the energy drinks for a while,” he shook his head and wandered out of the office, leaving Chas staring and shaking his head.

  Chas picked up the phone on his desk and dialed Maureen’s cell number. There was no answer and no voicemail set up, so he hung up and tried her work number. She worked as a community education teacher for a local junior college. Again, he received no answer, and this time he left a voicemail.

  His day was filled largely with documenting instances of improper police procedure that he’d witnessed from the detective who’d originally been hired to replace him when he opened his PI agency. Art Solinsky had been making bad decisions since he joined the Calgon PD, so the Chief had enlisted Chas’s help in providing enough evidence to fire him, before someone really got hurt by his incompetence. In the meantime, Chas was spearheading all major homicide cases, along with managing the PI agency.

  It was nearly quitting time when he realized that he still hadn’t heard back from Maureen Gatling, and he tried both of her numbers again, with the same results. Missy had said that when Maureen dashed out, she had seemed agitated, and that, coupled with her lack of response, was setting off alarm bells for the detective. Looking up her address in the folder of information that Ringo had provided, he decided to swing by her house on his way home, hoping to deliver her wallet and to make sure that she was okay.

  An uneasy feeling gripped the detective as he pulled up in front of the modest ranch home that Maureen Gatling rented. It seemed strange to him that someone who seemed to have a good job would live in such a humble home, in one of Calgon’s shabbier neighborhoods. It wasn’t exactly a place where a single woman would typically live, but it was convenient to her workplace, so it made sense on that level at least. The college was only five blocks away.

  There was a car in the driveway, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary about it, so Chas made his way to the front door, rapping on it when he saw the doorbell hanging from exposed wires. It looked like it had been broken for a long time, and the entire house seemed a bit faded and tired. Ringo’s file had indicated that Maureen owned a Yorkshire Terrier named Belle, and Chas found it odd that a dog whose breed was known for sounding a clarion call when strangers approached, hadn’t even made so much as a soft growl at his insistent knocking. Perhaps Maureen and Belle were in the back of the house, so he entered the back yard, through an unlatched and swinging chain-link gate, intending to knock on the back door.

  Just as he raised his hand to knock, a spot of something on the step caught the detective’s eye. Squatting down, he took a closer look.

  “Blood,” he commented, his concern growing.

  He tried to knock on the door, but it gave under his touch, swinging inward.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Ms. Gatling? This is Detective Chas Beckett, with the Calgon Police Department,” he announced, carefully pushing th
e door the rest of the way open with the toe of his shoe. The smell hit him immediately. Death. Blood. It was a scent he knew well, having encountered it more times than he could count.

  Before entering the house, he pulled out his phone and called the department, requesting forensics techs and the coroner. Once arrangements had been made, he drew his weapon, just in case, and stepping carefully, so that he didn’t disturb any biological evidence, he entered the home. The kitchen was clear, but had a smear of what looked like blood on the front of the sink. Moving quickly from room to room, his back to the wall, Chas cleared other rooms, the smell, as he went toward the east side of the house getting stronger and stronger.

  The last room that he checked was the master bedroom, where he found the corpse of Maureen Gatling. Her lifeless body was sprawled on the floor beside the bed. A broken lamp lay on the side table above her, indicating that a struggle had taken place, and there was no doubt in Chas’s mind that the coroner would declare this death to be a homicide.

  **

  Funeral home owner and Calgon County Coroner, Timothy Eckels, was just putting the finishing touches on the makeup of Remington Stokes, a former packaging tech whose funeral would be happening later in the evening, when his spunky assistant Fiona came barging in, startling him.

  “What?” he barked, frowning at her from behind coke-bottle thick lenses.

  “Don’t be cranky with me,” Fiona dismissed his brusque manner. “We got a call from County. Chas Beckett is on scene and needs a stiff evaluated. Just between you and me, I think this one is suspicious,” she mock-whispered.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Tim sighed, putting down his makeup brush.

  “He looks pretty good already,” Fiona peered at the body on the prep table. “You gonna let me finish him up when we get back?” she asked hopefully. Her fascination with death and thirst for learning made her the perfect assistant, though her boss would never tell her so.

  “Absolutely not. We’ll be pressed for time and I won’t have you making a mistake because you’re rushing,” he wheeled the table over to the refrigeration drawers. “Let me get him stored and meet me at the car,” he instructed.

  “You got it, boss man,” she practically skipped from the room.

  Aside from watching Tim examine the bodies during autopsy to gather clues, her favorite part of the job was arriving at crime scenes and taking photos while her boss assessed the nature of the death. Timothy Eckels was the best in the business, and watching him work was both educational and thrilling. Much to his surprise and consternation, the attractive young woman had a pretty significant crush on the pasty, thin-haired, somewhat paunchy coroner. She delighted in taunting him and always seemed to know how to get a reaction out of him. The two lived next door to each other and commuted to work together every day. It was an odd arrangement, but it worked out well for both of them.

  “Can I drive?” Fiona asked, as usual.

  Tim gave his standard response. “No, you may not.”

  “You’re no fun,” she grumbled with a wicked grin.

  “I’ve never claimed to be fun,” was the mild reply.

  When the duo arrived on scene, Chas Beckett was there, but the forensics team was not, for which Tim was grateful. His preference was being able to work in relative peace and quiet, and the irreverent bustle and buzz which inevitably came with a gathering of people, even professionals, was something that he found distracting.

  Before Fiona even started taking photos of the body, Tim had done enough of an assessment to confirm what Chas had already suspected.

  “Suspicious circumstances, most likely homicide,” he muttered, squatting next to the body. Preliminary assessment as to cause of death is blunt force trauma to the skull. Further assessment will be noted after autopsy.”

  “Just as I suspected,” Chas nodded.

  “Hey, what in the Sam Heck is going on in here?” a male voice bellowed, as a man who looked to be in his early thirties came barging into the room.

  Chas put a hand out to stop him in his tracks, but the man looked past him and shook his head.

  “How did I know?” he asked bitterly. “The wages of sin is death. I told her that, I told her!” he yelled, raking a hand through his hair.

  Chas flashed his badge. “Detective Chas Beckett. Who are you, sir?” he asked, taking the man by the arm and leading him from the room.

  “Caleb Parker. I’m Maureen Gatling’s son.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  “I don’t understand why you have to talk to me here. It’s not like I’m a criminal or something. I’m the one who tried to point out to her the error of her sinful ways,” Caleb said sullenly, sitting across the interrogation table from Chas.

  “We’re here because it’s less emotionally taxing for you to be here than to be at the site of your mother’s murder,” Chas said firmly. “Now, what do you mean that you tried to point out the error of her ways?”

  Caleb’s face twisted in disgust. “She was living a sinful life, carrying on with a foul, ungodly man, and she didn’t understand that a situation like that could only end in ruins,” he shook his head. “I told her and told her.”

  “She had a boyfriend?” Chas clarified.

  “If that’s what you want to call it,” Caleb sneered, folding his arms.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Roy. Roy Tuggle, and he’s a no-good moocher.”

  “Moocher? What do you mean by that?”

  “He hasn’t had a job in years, and he was using my mother for her money.”

  “Was your mother wealthy?”

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “Not even close. Money went through her hands like water. She was not what you’d call a good steward.”

  “How old is her boyfriend?”

  “He’s about eight years older than her, or so.”

  “So, he doesn’t work because he’s retired?”

  “In order to be retired, you have to have a job first,” Caleb growled.

  “So, you didn’t get along with your mother’s boyfriend?”

  “That’s an understatement. I have no use for that succubus.”

  Chas stared at him for a moment.

  “Did he and your mom get along well?”

  “No, he treated her like dirt. I think he was even cheating on her.”

  “Did you talk to either one of them about that?”

  “I don’t talk to him, ever. He’s not worth my time, and my mother never listens to me. She’s so easily deceived,” Caleb sighed.

  “Was she in contact with your dad?”

  “No, my dad died years ago,” Caleb stared down at the tabletop.

  “Do you have any knowledge of someone who might want to hurt your mother?”

  “Roy Tuggle probably took all her money and killed her,” Caleb shrugged, frowning deeply.

  “Can you think of anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “How was your relationship with your mother?”

  Caleb raised his eyes and gave Chas a look that could only be described as hateful.

  “Are you kidding me? I’ve just told you who I think killed her, and now you’re trying to turn it around on me?” he was incredulous.

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, Caleb,” Chas replied mildly. “The more information that we have about your mother’s life, the better. Were you two close?”

  “It’s hard to be close to someone who is clearly headed down the path to destruction and refuses to see it.”

  “Path to destruction? What do you mean?”

  “She lived dangerously. Going out and carousing, not caring about her reputation, it was shameful,” Caleb shook his head.

  “Yet you’re comfortable enough with her to just walk into her home unannounced,” Chas commented.

  “I’m her son. Technically, her house is my house.”

  “Is it?” Chas pounced.

  “Is what?” Caleb frowned.

  “Do you inherit
the house in the event of your mother’s death?”

  “I have no idea. She could’ve left everything to her stupid dog for all I know.”

  “Where is her dog? Do you know? It wasn’t in the house when I arrived.”

  “I have no idea. Good riddance, wherever it is. She used to bite my ankles.”

  “The dog didn’t like you?”

  “Believe me, it was mutual.”

  “Did you and your mother argue occasionally?”

  “All the time. She just wouldn’t accept reality.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. She was so naïve.”

  “Are you upset that she’s gone?” Chas asked pointedly.

  “How dare you? My mother was just murdered, and you have the audacity to ask if I’m upset about it?” Caleb stood up abruptly, and a rather large uniformed cop who’d been standing in the back of the room stepped forward.

  “Have a seat, Caleb,” Chas directed, raising an eyebrow.

  The man looked between Chas and the hulking officer and plopped inelegantly back into his chair, folding his arms like a five-year-old.

  “How long is this going to take?” he demanded.

  “Could take all day, depending on your attitude,” the detective shot back.

  “Fine. What else do you want to know?” he muttered.

  “Did your mother have an attorney?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Who is the executor of her estate?”

  “Estate? Seriously? After hanging out with Tuggle, she probably has nothing left.”

  “Who is the executor?” Chas repeated, his patience growing thin.

  “I have no idea. Can I go now?” Caleb sighed.

  Chas stared at him for a while, until he literally started squirming in the silence.

  “Yes, you can go. For now. But don’t even think of leaving town anytime soon.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  Chas checked his GPS one last time, to make sure that he was pulling into the correct lane in the middle of nowhere, which was mostly overgrown with palmetto and creeping vines.