Frostycake Murder

by Summer Prescott

  “Of course I forgive you,” Echo’s tears flowed as well. “If you can forgive me for being a horrible friend and pouting instead of coming over to see what was wrong.”

  “I wish I knew,” Missy pulled back, wiping her face.

  “Missy, you look really pale…and like you’ve lost weight. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been exhausted lately, but I think it’s just all this holiday stress,” she admitted, hooking her arm through Echo’s and leading her to the kitchen, where they sat down at the breakfast bar.

  “Well, you need to relax a little bit. Beulah won’t let you fail,” Echo grinned sympathetically.

  “I know,” Missy nodded with a half-smile.

  “The house is beautiful,” Echo looked around appreciatively. Missy had decorated all of the rooms on the main floor and the Master bedroom upstairs.

  “Thanks,” Missy slumped wearily in her barstool.

  Echo looked at her with alarm.

  “When’s the last time that you ate?” she asked, a concerned frown creasing her brow.

  “I don’t remember, honestly. I’m probably just dehydrated,” Missy passed a shaky hand over her forehead, pushing her hair away from her face.

  “Well, you sit right there. I’m going to get you some water. You look like you may be coming down with something,” Echo fretted, going to the cabinet for a glass. She’d been in Missy’s kitchen so much that she knew it like her own.

  “I don’t feel so good, now that you mention it,” Missy sighed, swaying slightly on her stool.

  Echo set the glass of water in front of her friend and put a hand on her forehead.

  “Well, you don’t have a fever,” she bit her lip. “I think we should take you to convenient care just in case. There’s one over by the mall that’s open until nine,” she glanced at her watch and saw that it was only seven.

  “I can’t be sick during the holidays,” Missy groaned. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Maybe you just have a flu bug or a virus or something. If that’s the case, they can give you some meds and you’ll be good as new in no time,” Echo tried to sound optimistic.

  “I suppose it can’t hurt to go see,” Missy finally agreed.

  “I’ll drive,” Echo helped her friend to her feet and walked slowly to the door with her.

  **

  Echo played games on her phone, read every magazine in the waiting room, and had gone for brisk walks around the building several times before Missy finally emerged from the inner sanctum, looking shaken.

  “What?” Echo breathed, her heart in her throat. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” her eyes went wide.

  Missy shook her head, unable to speak, and handed her best friend in the whole world the sheet of paper on which her diagnosis and instructions for further treatment had been spelled out. Trembling, Echo took it, reading as she followed Missy out of the clinic. When they got to the car, both of them were crying.

  “Don’t tell Chas,” Missy murmured. “He doesn’t need to deal with this right now.”

  Echo shook her head slowly. “I won’t,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  Chas and Spencer stared at the evidence in front of them, trying to determine their next move. There had been trace DNA evidence found at the scene, a tiny smear of blood on the back door, which hadn’t belonged to Maureen Gatling. While none of the suspects had been an exact match, the DNA indicated that two of them, Maureen’s son Caleb, and her ex-boyfriend Roy, could be eliminated as definite non-matches, which left one possibility…Blake Mauzey, but they needed something concrete to tie him to the crime.

  “There are a couple of things that could come back to bite us on this one,” Chas mused, tapping a pen on the conference table.

  “Oh?” Spencer looked up, surprised at his boss’s pessimism.

  “Mauzey was an abuser, but he abused and stalked his girlfriends. I know he stalked Maureen, but it seems to me that he never really got close enough to her emotionally to be in a situation to abuse her,” Chas thought aloud.

  “I wondered about that too,” Spencer commented.

  “And while he stopped in at the gas station near her house quite often, there was no record of him being there on the day of the murder, so we can’t definitively tie him to the area at that point, particularly since he didn’t show up for work the next day.”

  “Right,” Spencer sighed.

  There was a soft knock on the door to the conference room and a young policeman came in, carrying a manila folder.

  “The Coroner’s office just sent this over. Said you’d want to see it,” he handed the report to Chas.

  “Thanks,” the detective replied, taking the report from the folder and flipping through it. “Hmm…that’s…odd,” he frowned, gazing at a page that was nearly halfway through the report.

  “What’s that?” Spencer asked, reaching for the stack of papers.

  “Look at this,” Chas handed it over.

  Spencer’s eyes quickly scanned the page, and realization dawned. “We’ve got him,” he looked up quickly, then stood. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going, exactly?” Chas asked, following his associate out the door. The fact that he trusted the young man absolutely was evidenced by his total lack of hesitation.

  “You said we needed concrete evidence. We’re about to go get it.”

  **

  “Something ain’t right with you, child,” Beulah shook a spatula at Missy, her kindly brown eyes missing nothing.

  “I’m just not feeling well, Beulah, I’ll be fine,” she nearly choked on the words.

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t be handling cupcakes,” Beulah gave her a look.

  “Well, today is the last Christmas order that we have, so after this, I think I’m just going to close the shop until after the holiday.”

  Beulah stared at her frail-looking boss. “You’ve lost weight,” she observed.

  “I’m fine. Will you be bringing anyone to the Christmas Eve dinner?” Missy deliberately changed the subject.

  “Well, my niece Joyce was wondering if she might not be welcome, since she and Spencer had a little misunderstanding. If she can’t come, I don’t think I should either. I wouldn’t want her to be alone on Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh, that’s right…I forgot about that. I wouldn’t worry about it though. Of course she can still come. Spencer is an adult and a decent human being, I’m positive he’d never do or say anything to make Joyce uncomfortable. We’ll just seat them at different ends of the table,” Missy assured her.

  “You sure you’re gonna feel like cooking for all them folks?” Beulah frowned, concerned.

  “I’m having it catered,” Missy said in a small voice. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” she said, fighting back tears.

  Beulah watched her go, her heart troubled.

  **

  Spencer pulled into the alley behind Maureen Gatling’s former residence and parked where his car couldn’t be seen from the house. He took Chas first to the opening between the hedge and the garage, physically showing him that a man Blake Mauzey’s size couldn’t have gotten through the space without breaking some branches. He then led the detective to the garage, and shone his light first onto two toolboxes which were sitting on a workbench in the front of Bart Chalfie’s truck.

  One of the toolboxes was filled with miscellaneous, dirty tools, the other was entirely empty, and it was the one that Spencer focused on.

  “See that?” he said in a low voice, shining the beam of his light on the toolbox.

  It was daytime, but the garage windows were heavily smeared with dirt and barely let in enough light to make moving around possible.

  “Blood?” Chas raised an eyebrow.

  “And hair. Hair that looks a lot like Maureen Gatling’s. I saw the tool boxes the first time I came in here the other day, but didn’t pay much attention to them. When I saw the coroner’s report, it sai
d that the blunt instrument used had a ninety-degree angle on it. I thought immediately of these.”

  “Why did you think of these?” Chas was impressed, but baffled.

  “Because of what I saw hanging out of the glove compartment. Come take a look,” Spencer led him over to the passenger side of the truck and shone his light through the window. “The coroner said that the killer had hacked off a chunk of the victim’s hair, probably to keep as a souvenir. See that?” he trained his beam on a lock of hair spilling out of the glove compartment. “I thought it was a wig, or a doll or something the first time I saw it, but I took a photo of it, just because I thought it was weird and might be something important. Bart Chalfie is thin enough to have slipped between the hedge and the garage,” Spencer proposed. “And I’m betting that the footprint over there is his. The forensics guys probably didn’t find the murder weapon because he most likely kept it in his truck before he moved in. He knew that the back door didn’t lock because he was the one responsible for fixing it, and he was able to enter the house that way with his toolbox to kill Maureen. The neighbors wouldn’t have thought it was anything unusual for a handyman to enter a house with a toolbox.”

  “Good work,” Chas nodded. “Let’s get him,” he said, just as the garage’s side door flung open, flooding the interior with sunlight.

  “I knew it!” Bart Chalfie screamed.

  Spencer ducked quickly, pulling Chas down with him, and they avoided being wrapped up in a heavy chain which flew by their heads, barely missing them. Both men drew their weapons and stood, pointing them at the tall, thin, maintenance man.

  “Freeze, you’re under arrest,” Chas shouted.

  “Oh no, you’re not taking me so that you can turn me into one of them government zombies!” Bart screeched, taking off the way he’d come.

  Spencer immediately holstered his side arm and sprinted for the door. Bart may have been thin and fast, but he was no match for the athletic veteran who pursued him. Spencer caught up with him easily and put him in a headlock so that Bart wouldn’t hurt himself or anyone else.

  “Calm down,” Spencer growled, tightening his hold as Bart struggled.

  “Bart Chalfie, you’re under arrest for the murder of Maureen Gatling,” Chas began to read him his rights, but Bart shouted over the top of him.

  “Yes, I killed her. I had to. I knew she was one of them. She had the whole placed bugged and was watching me and my dad and sending reports so that they’d come get us. I felt the radiowaves. She hurt my brain every day with the radiowaves,” he raved incoherently.

  Spencer grimaced, holding him back as Chas called for a squad car to come pick him up.

  **

  “She didn’t die, she went back to base. There’ll be more and they’ll get you too, I’m warning you,” Bart’s maniacal screams were cut off when the uniformed officer slammed the door of the patrol car shut behind him.

  “There’s an insanity plea in the making,” Chas remarked, watching the patrol car drive away.

  “Makes me wonder what he could’ve been,” Spencer said softly, staring into the distance and remembering his own struggles after returning home.

  “At least this way, he’ll hopefully get the help that he needs.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  Missy caught sight of herself in the dining room mirror, as she prepared to receive her Christmas Eve guests. Her stomach flopped nervously as she noted how gaunt and pale she looked, even in her lovely new emerald-green Christmas dress. The table was set, the candles were lit, and the catering staff was prepared to serve. Now, all she had to do was wait. Chas had closed his murder case finally, and was relieved to learn that his nemesis, Art Solinsky had finally been fired as a result of his negligence. He and Spencer had gotten done with paperwork just in time, and both men would be hurrying to make it to dinner, so Missy wandered the elegant dining room alone, her thoughts miles away.

  Echo arrived first, and enveloped her best friend in a hug so tight that it seemed she might not let go.

  “Merry Christmas, Missy,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

  “Merry Christmas, honey. I love you so much,” Missy clung to her.

  “I love you too,” Echo pulled away and brushed at her friend’s tears with a fingertip.

  “Evening ladies,” Beulah’s cheery voice boomed from the doorway.

  She and Joyce were given big hugs and seated at the table, despite the fact that what the woman really wanted to do was go check on the caterers to make certain that they’d prepared the food properly. Echo’s husband Kel came in, looking none the worse for wear, with his teenaged son, Scott, who was carrying baby Jasmine. Spencer came in next, and soon everyone sat at the table, sharing sweet conversation. Missy gazed at each of them, and her heart swelled with love, but something was missing, and she realized that Chas hadn’t come in yet. Getting up, she went to where Spencer was seated, with Jasmine on his lap, cooing and gurgling happily up at him.

  “Spence, sweetheart, where is Chas?” she bent down and whispered.

  “Oh, he said to tell you that he was sorry, but he’d be a little late because he had to pick something up on the way home. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

  “What?” Missy frowned. “Why can’t he just pick whatever it is up after dinner?”

  “I don’t know,” Spencer shrugged. “I’m sure he won’t be too much longer.”

  Fretting, Missy sat back down in her spot, next to Kel, who seemed to manage just fine, despite missing a small part of a couple of fingers.

  “You okay?” he asked, putting an arm around her thin shoulders and giving her a little squeeze.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she lied, feeling alone and sad.

  How could she possibly host a Christmas Eve party by herself? And more importantly, how could Chas leave her alone, just when she needed him most? Just then, the wide front doors burst open and everyone heard a jolly HO HO HO! Merry Christmas. Curious, the entire table got up to see what was happening and followed Missy into the foyer.

  One of the social workers from the Children’s Home, dressed as Santa, was standing in the foyer. Missy gasped and put her hands to her throat in joyous surprise when she saw Chas standing behind him, with little Kaylee in his arms, dressed like a Christmas angel, all in light blue and silver.

  “Santa has a gift for you,” the social worker boomed, handing Missy a large envelope. “Little Miss Kaylee’s adoption was approved! Merry Christmas!” his eyes twinkled.

  Chas strode toward his stunned wife, tears in his eyes. “Merry Christmas, my love. Our little girl is home to stay,” he kissed her and drew her into their first embrace as a family.

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even Santa had to pull a handkerchief out of his velvety red suit

  Sobbing, Missy held them both tightly for a moment, then pulled back. She kissed her husband, then kissed her daughter. “This is the best Christmas present I could’ve ever asked for,” she choked out at last. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mystified, Chas stared after his wife as she hurried from the room. He tried to catch Echo’s eye, but she avoided his gaze, burying her face in Kel’s chest. Missy came back into the room, holding an envelope.

  “Sweetheart,” she looked at Chas, her eyes filled with love. “I’ve been out of sorts lately, and I’m so sorry for that,” a tear slipped down her cheek. “But, I wanted to let you know part of what’s been behind that.”

  She walked up to him and handed him the envelope, then took Kaylee from him, and held her daughter tightly as he opened it. The card inside was blank. Puzzled, he opened it and saw a sheet of paper. The normally unflappable detective put a hand over his eyes to hide his emotion for a moment.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes filled with tears.

  Missy couldn’t speak, so she just nodded, clutching Kaylee to her like her life depended on it.

  Chas held up the piece of paper. It was a photo of a positive pregnanc
y test.

  “Looks like Santa gave us two children this year,” he announced, unable to contain his joy.

  The room erupted.

  COPYRIGHT 2017 SUMMER PRESCOTT

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED