Buttercream Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 7 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries)

by Carol Durand

  Missy’s cheeks flamed as she bit back a snide response. Plastering an entirely fake smile on her face, she suggested a cupcake that had the most ‘fat’ calories per bite in the entire shop. Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the transaction, though she’d be hard pressed to recount any further conversation, and moved through the rest of her day in a haze. Chas texted her on the drive home, inviting her to dinner, and after staring at the text with silent tears rolling down her face, she put down her phone without answering.

  Chapter 4

  Avoiding someone who makes a living solving crimes was no mean feat, but Missy managed to elude Detective Chas Beckett for quite some time by changing up her normal routine, and keeping strange hours. Since she couldn’t sleep anyway, she did much of her baking late at night, sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. Her staff was puzzled by her behavior, but said nothing and accommodated her schedule. Deliveries went out on time, daily sales continued to increase, and Missy kept to herself, crying when no one was watching, working her fingers to the bone. She had been intentionally avoiding Echo as well, knowing that her free-spirited and perceptive friend would have no qualms about giving her the third degree to determine what was wrong and how she could help. Missy was about to scoot out of the Dellville shop well before closing time when the text tone on her phone chimed.

  “Hey girl! Thanks for sending over today’s Sweet Crème Sandwich. I wanted to eat it, but another customer came in wanting one, so I sold it to her. Hey, did you know that Carlos is on leave? Donna said that some guy named Brice brought my Sweet Crème Sandwich over when he came in with the dry goods order. Anyhoo…I’d love it if you could stop by sometime soon – miss you! E.”

  Missy was puzzled. She hadn’t sent a Sweet Crème over for Echo, though she was a bit embarrassed to admit it. She asked Ben and Chris if they had, and they hadn’t either. Echo said that the new dry goods guy, Brice had brought it over, but Missy hadn’t seen him since the first time that he’d been in her kitchen. Worried, she dialed Carlos’s number at the supplier’s office and was sent to voicemail. Perplexed, she made a note to try to call Carlos again tomorrow if she hadn’t heard back from him. She headed to the LaChance store to make sure that Cheryl had everything she needed for closing, then drove home, dismayed to see Chas Beckett sitting on her front steps with Toffee. She knew that her car could be seen the moment that she had turned on to her street, so backing out to avoid him wasn’t an option. Sighing, she decided to suck it up and face him, her stomach turning somersaults at the thought.

  Toffee charged over to the car as usual, not understanding why her favorite person wasn’t responding the way that she typically did. Missy led the loyal canine to the front porch where Chas was now standing, looking achingly handsome.

  “Care to tell me why Toffee is the only female at this address who’s willing to give me attention these days?” he asked without preamble, his tone light, but his eyes serious.

  “Maybe the rest of the females at this address figure that you have your hands full of female attention across town,” she responded tartly.

  “What?” Beckett was befuddled. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” his eyes narrowed, trying to puzzle out what she was talking about.

  Missy was exhausted from her strange hours and trying to hide her emotions at every moment, and made a split-second decision to just be brutally honest. “Chloe Beauregard came by the shop last week,” she said, exasperated when Chas didn’t react.

  “And?” he asked, not understanding.

  Missy put her hands on her hips, astonished that someone so intelligent was being so obtuse. “And she told me how incredibly helpful you were being in her time of need,” she tapped her foot, staring at him accusingly.

  “That’s good,” he replied, blinking. “So why is it exactly that you’ve been avoiding me?” he asked, still not getting it.

  She was frustrated beyond belief that he was actually going to make her say it. “Because she also told me that she thought that you had taken quite a shine to her,” she spat, tears beginning to well.

  Chas’s eyes widened in astonishment. “What?? That’s utterly ridiculous. I’ve treated her with nothing but professionalism…Wait, do you mean to tell me that you believed her?”

  Missy’s glare dimmed a bit. “Well, she seemed pretty darn sure of herself,” she pouted, crossing her arms and dropping her eyes.

  Chas stepped forward and took Missy gently in his arms. “Wasn’t it you who told me just how manipulative she is? Don’t you think I’d recognize that? Besides…I don’t even notice other women. You’re the only woman I’m thinking of.” He tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. “Trust me, someone like Chloe Beauregard can’t hold a candle to you, sweet Melissa.” He kissed her forehead, her nose, and each cheek, before finally, tenderly capturing her lips with his. “You have nothing to worry about from Chloe or anyone else…understand?” he whispered.

  Tears flowing freely now, Missy nodded. “I should have known better. It’s just, I’ve been so busy, and I’ve missed you, and I’m working all these weird hours, which makes me so tired…” she babbled until he put a silencing finger to her lips.

  “Shhh….I’m here, and you’re going to be okay. Let me take you to dinner?” he asked with a gentle smile. Missy nodded, and together they led Toffee into the house, locked the front door and headed for Chas’s car.

  Now that things with her dashing detective were back on an even keel, Missy made sure to maintain a healthy balance of work and personal time, scaling her hours at the shops back a bit. Sweet Crème Sandwiches were such a hit that people from neighboring towns were coming in to try them, and the lines on Fridays often wound around the block. Missy had just recovered from dealing with one such rush when a well-dressed man approached her, carrying a briefcase.

  “Melissa Gladstone?” he inquired politely.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Missy answered with a sweet southern smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Jonathan Michener, and I’d like to speak with you for a moment if I may,” he replied.

  “Not a problem,” she indicated a seat at a nearby table. “Can I get you something? Coffee? A cupcake?”

  “How about one of your famous Sweet Crème Sandwiches?” he grinned.

  “Sure thing – I’ll be right back.”

  Returning with two of the treats, because it just wasn’t polite to let a guest eat alone, Missy presented Mr. Michener with the Friday special Sweet Crème Sandwich – one of her Strawberry Dream Cupcakes, filled with Echo’s Lemon Chiffon Cream, topped with whipped vanilla icing and a fresh, plump strawberry.

  “This looks delicious,” he exclaimed, taking a large bite. “Mmmm…mmhmm…” he nodded with pleasure, his mouth too full to speak. “Thank you so much,” he said, upon recovering from the bite. He held up the Sweet Crème Sandwich and looked at it reverently. “This,” he said, turning the treat from side to side, viewing it from multiple angles, “is why I am here.”

  Missy was amused and puzzled. “Well, that’s why most of my customers drop by,” she joked, nibbling at the dessert.

  Michener polished off the rest of his cupcake sandwich in three huge bites and finally explained his purpose for seeking Missy out. “I represent the Creamy Delight frozen treat company, and I was sent here specifically because one of my managers happened to be passing through Dellville and tried what she described as the best ice cream dessert that she had ever tasted.”

  “Awww…well that was certainly sweet of her to say,” Missy smiled. “You wanted to try one so badly that you came out here from…where, exactly?”

  “Our corporate offices in New York City. And while my curiosity was certainly piqued, I was sent for a specific purpose, Miss Gladstone,” he leaned forward.

  “Which is?”

  “Creamy Delight wants to replicate your Sweet Crème Sandwiches on a grand scale,” he announced proudly. “We would purchase your recipes and those of Ms. Will
is across the street and mass produce them for nationwide distribution. Miss Gladstone, my company is fully prepared to make this deal more than worth your while. We would buy the rights to the name and use the story of how you started running your shops at a young age to promote the product. You may be headed for an early retirement if you wish,” he grinned broadly.

  Missy was shocked. Creamy Delight was a household name, and she was amazed, not only that her little shop had come to their attention, but that somehow they seemed to know quite a bit about her. “Wow, that’s very flattering, Mr. Michener.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way Miss Gladstone,” he rubbed his hands together happily and unsnapped his briefcase. “I just have a few documents for you to review and then we can proceed with the arrangements.”

  “Umm…I think you misunderstand me. I’m flattered that your company took such an interest in my creations, but there’s no way in the world that I would agree to have them mass produced. Part of what makes them so good is the fact that each one is freshly hand-crafted and homemade. It’s just how we do things down here in the South,” she explained.

  Michener placed his palms together, tenting his fingers under his chin and staring at Missy totally nonplussed. “I don’t think you understand just how much money we’re talking about here, Miss Gladstone,” he reiterated in a low voice.

  “Actually, it doesn’t matter, Mr. Michener, money isn’t what drives me,” she shrugged in response.

  “Oh don’t be naïve,” he snapped, losing patience. “You Southerners haven’t cornered the market on quality. I’ve spent my entire career working with Creamy Delight, and I can tell you, we know what the public wants and we give it to them by the gallon, to the tune of billions of dollars a year,” he huffed. “Everyone has a price, and if you’ll just give me the courtesy of reviewing these documents, I’m sure you’ll agree that we’ve more than met yours.”

  “Everyone has a price? Well, if that’s the case, Mr. Michener, let me put this in language that you’ll understand…you can’t afford mine. Now perhaps you’ll show me the courtesy of seeing yourself out,” she stood, picked up their dessert plates and walked to the kitchen, leaving a frustrated Jonathan Michener in her wake.

  Chapter 5

  Chas invited Missy to dinner that night and soon took her mind off of corporate takeovers with his charm and wit. The misunderstanding of his encounters with Chloe Beauregard was well behind them, and they’d moved past feeling awkward about it. The busy detective’s phone rang just before their coffee and dessert arrived and he sent the caller to voicemail, but when it rang again, he apologized, stepping outside to take the call. Missy had to forcibly will her mind to not jump to silly conclusions. She tried to convince herself that the call had to be related to his work, watching him pace outside with a stern look on his face. When he came back to the table, his face was grim.

  “There’s trouble,” he proclaimed quietly, sitting down very close to her so that he wouldn’t be overheard. “We need to go to the police station immediately.”

  “The police station?” she whispered, a bit frightened. “Why?”

  “There’s been a murder.”

  In the car on the way to the station, Chas told her that a middle-aged woman had died with a half-eaten Sweet Crème Sandwich in her hand. The cause of death had not yet been conclusively determined, but it appeared that she had been poisoned as a result of eating the Sweet Crème. Missy was horrified of course, but felt absolutely certain that there was no way one of her treats had been poisonous. She wanted to call Echo, but was informed that a patrol car had been dispatched to give her a ride to the station. Both of Missy’s shops as well as Sweet Love would have to be closed until the case was solved, effectively killing their holiday business. Missy was somewhat alarmed when Chas told her that, because of their relationship, she’d have to be interviewed by another detective, but relaxed when he let her know that he’d still be present for questioning, and actively working on the case.

  When they arrived at the LaChance Police Department, Chas took Missy to a tiny conference room and seated her in a green plastic chair, asking if she wanted water or coffee. When she demurred, he left, promising to be back soon. She tried to distract herself by checking social media sites on her phone, but couldn’t focus, so she eventually gave up and sat quietly, waiting for Beckett to return. When he did come back, he was accompanied by a very tall man with a light blond crewcut and muscles for days, alongside a very pale and stressed Echo. He indicated the seat next to Missy for Echo, then seated himself across the table from the friends, the large man eclipsing the chair beside him.

  “Missy, this is Detective James Rousseau. He’s going to ask you some questions,” Chas instructed, keeping his tone neutral.

  Missy nodded at him and turned to Rousseau. “Hello, Detective,” she said quietly, receiving a curt nod in return. Echo sat, observing the exchange, her eyes wide. She’d been introduced to the detective earlier, garnering the same response.

  “Ms. Gladstone, Ms. Willis, I have a few questions for you,” he began gruffly.

  The next three hours consisted of Rousseau grilling them regarding enemies that they might have had, asking specific questions about their business practices, their employees, their habits and personal lives and a host of other questions designed to try to determine guilt or innocence. After his interrogation was complete, the drained and worried women were free to go, pending further investigation. Chas offered to give Echo a ride home, and the three piled wearily into his car.

  “Chas, you don’t think that they believe we did this, do you?” Echo asked, frightened.

  “Generally, in a murder investigation, the most obvious suspects are questioned first, and unfortunately, because of the presence of your product, you two are at the top of the list, but we’ll also be looking into the life of the victim – any enemies that she may have had, any recent altercations, that sort of thing.

  “So, what should we do?” Missy asked numbly.

  “For now, nothing. Catch up on your reading, take Toffee to the park, and decorate your house for the holidays. I’m sorry that your businesses are going to take a hit during the busy season for both of you, but that’s just how it has to be for now,” he advised.

  They dropped Echo off and headed for Missy’s house, trying to puzzle out what had happened.

  “The unfortunate thing is that we have so little to go on with this murder. She died at home, nothing was out of place, there were no signs of struggle, and, as far as we can tell, she had little drama in her life and kept to herself. Her daughter will be coming to town tomorrow to pick up her cats, and we’ll talk with her, but I don’t have much confidence that she’ll have anything of significance to say. It looks to me like a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Are there murderers who kill simply for the sake of killing?” Missy asked, horrified at the thought.

  “Yes, but it’s rare. Usually there’s a personal issue involved,” Chas replied, sighing.

  Missy was silent, realizing the implication of his words. In the absence of a personal motive, the obvious suspect remained the focus of the investigation. She knew that she had to find out what happened in order to clear her name and Echo’s, so despite Chas’s warning, she spent the rest of the ride home trying to think of people to talk with and clues to discover. Their hands were tied until the autopsy came back and proved or disproved that the woman had been poisoned, but there had to be something that she could do in the meantime.

  Seemingly reading her thoughts, Chas directed, “Don’t even think about trying to get involved with the investigation. You need to just lay low and let me do my job, sweetie. Trust me?” he asked, giving her a pointed look.

  “Of course,” she nodded, not deterred in the least.

  Chapter 6

  Missy pondered and pondered who could have murdered an ordinary citizen who just wanted to be left alone with her garden, her books and her cats. It seemed
such a shame that someone who had done no harm to anyone had been killed without rhyme or reason. She turned the situation over and over in her mind, frustrated at the lack of any sort of clue or direction. Deciding that some fresh air would do her good, she gathered a backpack filled with a water bottle, collapsible water dish, two tennis balls, and a baggie of treats, called Toffee and snapped on her leash, leading the exuberant animal outside. Perhaps a romp in the park would clear her head, giving her better ideas about the case.

  They trotted down the sidewalk, heading to the park, and Missy’s phone rang from the cell pocket built into her jacket. Pulling it out, she failed to recognize the caller’s number, but decided to answer anyway. It turned out to be Jonathan Michener, calling both to apologize for his behavior the previous week, and to continue in his quest to gain Missy’s approval on a joint venture with Creamy Delight. Missy was polite but firm, and Michener’s frustration was once again evident by the end of the call. Shaking her head in disgust, she tucked her phone away in her pocket once more. Creamy Delight may well be the biggest ice cream supplier in the world, but that didn’t mean that Melissa Gladstone was going to be a pushover and give in to their demands. She fumed, thinking about the conversation and replaying it in her head, and suddenly, stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth dropping open with a shocking realization. Hands shaking, she pulled her phone back out and dialed Chas’s number.

  “Chas, I think I know who the killer is!” Missy blurted out, upon hearing the detective’s deep voice on the line.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” he remarked dryly. “What are your thoughts?”

  She recounted her somewhat hostile meeting with Jonathan Michener, and the subsequent phone call. Beckett listened intently, taking notes, occasionally stopping her to ask questions.

  “Did he actually threaten you in any way?”

  “Well, no, but he seemed very upset,” Missy insisted.