“So you’re in charge of building maintenance?” Chas asked.
“Yep, for the whole campus.”
“And what does Mr. Mauzey do for you?”
“He’s the Assistant Maintenance Supervisor. Basically, he does all the field work and reports back to me. If someone tells me that a water heater has been replaced, Blake goes out to inspect it, then signs off on it and brings it to me for a final signature.”
“The buck stops here, huh?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. Why are you looking for him? Did someone finally rat him out?”
“Rat him out? About what?”
“The guy always seems to have problems with women. The ones he dates fight with him in a big way, and usually end up getting roughed up, and the ones he doesn’t date feel uncomfortable around him.”
“Why do they feel uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know. He weirds them out, so they avoid him. None of the women on my staff will talk to him, they come to me instead,” Rick explained.
“So, why do you keep him on?”
“He does his job and he’s good at it,” Seibold shrugged. “What’s going on in his personal life is none of my business.”
“Has he had complaints filed against him?”
“Nobody who works here has filed a complaint, but I know the cops have come out to talk to him about domestic violence, and I think he may even have a restraining order on him from an ex-girlfriend.”
“Do you know the reason behind the restraining order?”
“I think he was stalking her. Like calling constantly, showing up at her work, that kind of stuff.”
“Do you know any of the women’s names?”
“Nah, I try to stay as far away from all that stuff as I can.”
“I’d like to take a look in his office, would you mind?”
“Not a problem, follow me,” Rick said, coming around the desk and heading out the door.
He lumbered down the hall, going to the very end and turning left at the T.
“Why is his office so far away from yours?” Chas asked.
“Have you ever smelled a building maintenance guy?” Seibold asked, continuing down the hall.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, let’s just say that sometimes they tend to encounter some ugly situations and we don’t want them that close to the executive end of the building.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Here we are,” Rick stopped in front of a plain door with the number M2 on it. He tried the knob and it opened easily.
The two men stepped inside and Chas noted that Seibold’s office was pristine compared to the overcrowded, filthy confines of Blake Mauzey’s office. There were empty fast food wrappers overflowing from the sticky-looking trash can, and documents of every type littered the floor, desk top and every other horizontal surface in the room. Even his computer screen was smudged with fingerprints.
“Here you go, have at it,” Rick gestured at the room and headed for the door. “You need me for anything else, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks. Want me to lock up when I’m done here?”
“Nah, don’t bother. Blake clearly didn’t care too much about security,” was the dry response.
Chas moved behind the desk, and removed a stack of file folders that occupied the only chair in the room. Sitting down at the desk, he moved the computer mouse to bring the screen in front of him to life, only to find that the computer was password protected. Opening the top drawer of the desk, he saw mostly just mundane office supplies, a tin of breath mints, and a packet of matches, which he took a picture of on his phone.
Moving on to the left-hand drawers, he found more of the same, nothing which seemed significant. When he opened the bottom drawer on the right-hand side however, it was a completely different story. Behind the hanging file folders in the front of the drawer, something caught his eye, so he moved the folders close to the front to get a better look, and pulled out his phone to snap more pictures.
There were stacks of photos of women, who clearly didn’t know that they were being photographed. Some pictures were entirely innocent – women hanging laundry out to dry, or running into a coffee shop, or walking their dogs - but others were of a more personal nature. Chas flipped through the sizeable stack, taking a picture of each one, then he replaced them in the spot that they’d been in, and moved the file folders back as well. He’d just pushed the file drawer shut when Rick Seibold appeared in the doorway.
“You’ve been back here a while,” he commented, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “Find what you needed?”
“For now, yeah. Thanks,” Chas said, heading out of the claustrophobic little room.
“Alright then. If you happen to run into Mauzey, you let him know that if he wants to keep his job, he’d better start showing up.”
“I believe I’ll let you handle that,” Chas said lightly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
Blake Mauzey’s home was not at all as Chas had expected, after having seen the state of his pathetic office. The house was small, but was well-kept and had a sizeable lawn with mature trees which gave it privacy from neighboring homes. The lawn was freshly-mowed, and flower gardens near the front porch didn’t have a single weed marring the spotless beds. Perplexed, the detective approached the front door, which had a shiny brass knocker, and rang the bell.
When no one answered the door, he pounded on it, his frustration coming to the surface. He heard some grumbling inside and waited. Chas had just raised his hand to start pounding again, when he heard someone sliding back a deadbolt. The door, which obviously had a security chain on it, opened a few inches, and a rather large man growled from behind it.
“Whaddya want?”
“Detective Chas Beckett, Calgon Police. Are you Blake Mauzey?” Chas held his badge up to the opening.
“Yeah, so?”
“Either I’m coming in or you’re coming out, you choose,” Chas rested his hand on his weapon.
“I’m sick,” Blake rasped. “If you come in here, you might catch something.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Chas rolled his eyes. “Open up.”
“Jus’ a minute, I gotta get my robe on,” Blake grumbled.
“No, open up now or I’ll break it down,” Chas had no idea what he might encounter, and he didn’t want to give Mauzey the time to go get a gun.
“Geez, there ain’t no need for that,” Blake whined. “Fine, hold your horses.”
He shut the door briefly and slid the security chain out of its track, then opened the door all the way this time.
“There. Ya satisfied?” Mauzey challenged, holding his arms open wide to expose his bare hairy chest over a bulbous belly. He wore only light grey pajama pants which looked like he’d spilled food on them.
Chas followed him into the house, which, rather surprisingly, was even more immaculate than the yard.
“You have a housekeeper?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
Mauzey made a disgusted face.
“Yeah, sure. Right now, she’s at brunch with the maid and the butler,” he mocked the detective. “What do you want with me? I ain’t gone near her. I’m not stupid, you know.”
“You haven’t gone near who, exactly?” Chas paced the living room slowly, looking for anything that might stand out as being odd, but it seemed that Blake was a bit of a minimalist.
“Amy. Ain’t that who you’re here to hassle me about?”
“Remind me again of Amy’s last name,” Chas said casually, glancing behind a healthy potted plant.
It was odd. There was nothing on the floor, not a speck of dust in the place, and not even so much as a smudge near the light switches.
“Thought you guys were supposed to keep track of this stuff. Bennington, Amy Bennington. There, ya happy? I ain’t been near her.”
“What about Maureen Gatling? You been near her?” Chas mimicked his speech pattern.
“
Are you kidding me? She better not have filed a restraining order. That’s just bull. If I can’t go near her I can’t even go to work and I gotta be able to make a living. This stuff is ridiculous. All these hysterical babes losing their minds and making up stuff,” Blake shook his head.
“As far as I know, she hasn’t, so relax,” Chas gave him a look. “When’s the last time that you saw her?”
“I don’t know. I see her practically every day that I’m on campus, so probably…three days ago or so,” he shrugged. “Why?”
“What was the nature of your last interaction with her?”
“We don’t really interact. We went out on a couple of dates, but I wasn’t too interested in her, so that’s about it. Now we just kinda smile and wave.”
“Why weren’t you interested in her?”
“Well, for one thing, she lied and said that she had a boyfriend.”
“How do you know that she didn’t?”
“Everybody knows. Stuff like that gets around on a small campus like that,” Blake hedged, looking uncomfortable.
“Have you ever been to Maureen’s house?”
“Sure, once. I picked her up for our second date.”
“Have you ever met her son?”
“Yeah, he was there. What a nut job,” Blake mused.
“Oh? How so?”
“He was controlling, like he wanted to be the man of the house. Seemed like he just didn’t want to see his mother have any fun. What’s this all about anyhow? If she didn’t file a restraining order on me, why are you asking me all of these questions?”
“Mr. Mauzey, where were you on Monday night?”
“I was here. I’ve been sick.”
“How long have you been out sick?”
“Three days.”
“So, you stayed home Monday through today?”
“Yeah, so? I got some sick time coming,” Blake was defensive.
“Your boss says you’ve been out two days.”
“Why have you been talking to my boss?” his eyes narrowed.
“Looking for you. So, who’s lying, him or you?”
“Oh, automatically someone’s lying? Give me a break. Like I said, I’ve been sick. Maybe it’s three days, maybe it’s two. Do you keep track of that stuff when you’re sick?” Mauzey challenged.
“Yes, like most people, I do.”
“Well, ain’t you special? Sorry, but when I’m not feeling good, I don’t keep up on my calendar.”
Chas stared at him.
“Mr. Mauzey, I’d like to take a look around your house, if you don’t mind,” his gaze never wavered.
Blake stared right back. “Nope, absolutely not. You wanna check out my place, you come back with a warrant, Detective.”
“You’re saying that you don’t want to cooperate?”
“I didn’t say that, you did. All I said was that you ain’t raiding my house unless a judge says so.”
“Don’t leave town, Mr. Mauzey,” Chas warned, going to the door.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Blake shot back. “Have a wonderful day,” he sneered, as Chas left the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
Missy’s heart thumped in her chest as she approached the front doors to the county Children’s Home. She’d brought with her dozens of cupcakes decorated like snowmen and reindeer for the kids, along with a stack of books for the library, and a wrapped Christmas gift for each child to put under the Christmas tree in the dining hall. Dropping off all of her goodies in the office, she met with one of the social workers before going in to see Kaylee.
“I want to make sure that you’re still committed to taking Kaylee in, if her birth family decides not to exercise their rights, or if they’re otherwise disqualified as applicants for adoption,” the kindly older woman looked seriously at Missy over the top of her reading glasses.
“Of course we are,” Missy smiled and tried to keep the tremor from her voice.
At this point, she had no earthly idea whether or not Chas would agree to the adoption process, but she wasn’t about to ruin their chances, just in case.
“We’re delighted at the thought of having that little sweetheart in our home.”
“Good,” the social worker nodded. “That’s what we like to hear. All of your family assessments went well, so it’s still just a matter of waiting to see what happens with Kaylee’s extended family. I noticed that she’s begun to call you mama,” the woman smiled.
“Is that okay? I haven’t been discouraging her because I love hearing it,” Missy confessed.
“It’s fine and it’s perfectly normal for little ones to call any caregiver mama, particularly with what she’s been through.”
“Okay, good,” Missy was relieved.
“Would you like to go see her now?”
“Oh yes, very much.”
“You know the way,” the social worker gestured to the door.
Every time Missy met with Kaylee, she was filled with a mixture of joy and despair. She loved being with the tiny tot, and giving her lots of love and attention, but she was always afraid that the little girl might’ve forgotten her, or worse, that she might remember and might have to go live with her father’s family.
Missy found the room that Kaylee shared with two other little girls her age, and found it empty. Knowing that, at this hour, it could only mean that the children were in the playroom, Missy headed for the brightly colored center of activity. Sure enough, Kaylee was by herself, building a tower out of blocks, while other children swirled and swarmed around her, each doing their own thing. Just as Missy approached her and bent down to say hello, a little boy who was missing several teeth came running by and swatted at her tower, knocking it down. One of the blocks hit Kaylee squarely in the forehead, startling her, and she began to cry.
“Oh, it’s okay honey,” Missy cooed, reaching out her arms.
Kaylee launched herself into Missy’s embrace, burrowing her tiny face into her shoulder, spreading her tears onto the thin cloth of Missy’s blouse.
“Oh, I know, sweetie-pie,” Missy held her tight, smoothed down her hair, and rubbed tiny circles on her back until the child calmed down.
Pulling away, Kaylee regarded Missy, her huge eyes still wet with tears. She put her chubby hand on Missy’s cheek and said “mama,” melting Missy’s heart.
“Yes, that’s right sweetpea, Mama’s right here,” she whispered, kissing Kaylee’s forehead and holding her close.
“Mama play?” Kaylee asked quietly, her head on Missy’s shoulder, one hand twined in her curly blonde locks.
“Sure, we can play,” Missy held her tears at bay, kissed the child and set her down, taking her by the hand. “Do you want to play blocks again?”
Time flew quickly, and before Missy knew it, it was time for Kaylee’s nap. She took the tot back to her room and tucked her in, then kissed her and slipped out the door as the little girl curled up beneath the covers. The entire drive from the Children’s Home to Cupcakes in Paradise was spent in tears. Missy cried for the tragedy that had befallen the poor child, she cried at the thought that Kaylee’s father’s family might be awarded custody and she cried about the uncertainty of it all. Even if she and Chas were granted custody, would her husband think that they were emotionally ready for a child. If not, would it tear her apart to choose her beloved husband and walk away from the little girl? She had more questions than answers and she let it all out in the car.
When Missy pulled into the parking lot behind Cupcakes in Paradise and dried her eyes, she looked into the rearview mirror and knew that Beulah, who missed nothing, would know that something was wrong. She had to pull herself together before she went in, or she’d never be able to pretend to be okay in the face of her elderly employee’s inquisition.
“Hey Beulah, anything important happen while I was gone?” Missy asked, as cheerily as she could manage.
“I didn’t know if you was gonna be back in time to deliver the cupcakes to the old folks
home, so I called and asked Mr. Spencer to do it,” Beulah commented as she shook candy snowflakes onto a batch of Frostycakes.
“Oh good, that way we can bake for the girl scout gathering tonight. It’ll be good to see Spencer, it’s been a while,” Missy put on her apron and tied her hair back.
Spencer Bengal was a young, handsome Marine veteran who had first served as Chas’s personal bodyguard (the detective came from old money), and had later been hired by him as an Associate Private Investigator. Right now, they agency didn’t have many cases, so Spencer helped out Missy and Echo whenever he could. He’d been casually dating Beulah’s niece, Joyce, who was Echo’s general manager at the bookstore and candle shop, for a few weeks now.
“You been crying?” Beulah asked, without looking up from her work.
“What on earth makes you say that?” Missy was actually astounded.
“I can hear it in your voice, honey. I may be old, but I ain’t deaf, and you been carrying the weight of the world on those thin little shoulders lately,” the elderly woman observed, all-too-accurately.
“I’ll be fine, Beulah. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” Missy sighed. “I cry at the drop of a tissue, and I am not in the Christmas spirit at all. It’s my favorite holiday and I just can’t get into it. I haven’t even started my shopping yet.”
“Sounds to me like you need to go home and make yourself some cocoa, with a little bit of peppermint in it, put up your Christmas tree, while singing carols, and get in the merry old spirit. Then take that handsome husband of yours out for a meal and do your shopping. Don’t forget to kiss him under the mistletoe either,” Beulah chuckled.
“I’m supposed to go take Echo some food tonight, but I’m guessing she doesn’t want to see me,” Missy murmured, her cheeks coloring.
“That don’t sound like Miss Echo. What’d you do to her?” Beulah turned around, eyebrow raised.
“We had a fight…over nothing, really. I feel awful.”
“Well, you know how to fix that, it’s just a matter of saying you’re sorry and meaning it,” she turned back to her cupcakes.
Frostycake Murder Page 4
