by Carol Durand
“I am Detective Roberto Gonzales from the Cozumel Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions,” the man who had spoken explained with a heavy accent.
Having heard the commotion when the officers were knocking on Missy’s door, Chas flung open the door of his room and strode across the hall. “Excuse me, just what exactly is going on here?” he demanded of the men in suits.
Detective Gonzales measured him with a look. “And who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
Chas responded strongly in Spanish. Missy had no idea what he said, but whatever it was caused Gonzales to look at him, then her, and back to him again. He responded to Beckett, causing the detective to exclaim in a manner that seemed to encompass surprise, anger and disbelief. Feeling entirely superfluous since she couldn’t participate in the conversation, Missy turned to go back into her room and the other man in a suit grabbed her arm, stopping her and speaking to her in Spanish. Chas intervened, his hand locking on the man’s wrist. Gonzales barked an order that was unintelligible to Missy, but caused the other man to release his grip, shaking Chas’s hand off rudely in the process.
“You can’t go anywhere at the moment, Missy,” Chas said gently. “The detective needs to talk with you for a bit.”
“About what?” Missy felt the beginnings of alarm rising within her.
Chas sighed. “Your tour guide, Raoul was found dead on the beach this morning. Witnesses said that his body was draped over the lounger that you were sitting in when you had your altercation yesterday.”
Missy’s hands flew to her throat in horror. “Oh my, that’s horrible! I just saw him yesterday, I can’t believe he’s dead,” she exclaimed, wide-eyed. “But why do they want to talk to me? I don’t even know his last name.”
Beckett paused, looking into her eyes and wishing he didn’t have to say what he needed to say. “They think you did it, Missy. There were quite a few witnesses to your fight on the beach yesterday, including staff members.”
“But…there’s no way…I was angry, true, but I would certainly never kill anyone,” her eyes filled with tears.
“I know,” he nodded, trying to reassure her. “Just tell the detective everything that you know, and answer all of their questions. It’s going to be okay.”
Missy nodded numbly. “Can I get dressed first?” she asked.
Chas said something to Gonzales, who sighed audibly, then gave his begrudging assent. Missy didn’t need to speak the language to figure that one out and said thank you, disappearing into her room before the detective changed his mind.
The detectives took Missy to the nearest police station and questioned the frightened American at length, seemingly not satisfied with her answers. She answered everything truthfully, frustrated when Gonzales would ask the same question several different ways, even though the answer was always the same. They didn’t allow Chas to be present during questioning, and it was sometimes difficult for Missy to understand what her interrogators were saying, but she managed to communicate nonetheless, and finally, after several hours, she was allowed to go back to her room. She noticed that the portion of the beach where she had been the day before was marked with crime scene tape, and shuddered at the thought that earlier, Raoul’s body had been found at that very spot. All she wanted to do now was go home, but Detective Gonzales had been very direct in letting her know that if she tried to leave Mexico before the case was solved, she’d be arrested and jailed.
“Chas, what am I going to do now?” she worried, pushing food around on her plate at lunch.
“I’ve dropped out of the conference, and from now on, I’ll be working on finding out who killed Raoul so that we can clear your name and get you home,” he said, reaching across the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I know that it might be terrible of me to say this…or to even think it, but if Raoul was that aggressive with me, could he have done something similar to someone else who might have overreacted and killed him?”
“That’s my hunch,” he looked at her with admiration. “I’ll be interviewing fellow staff members and guests who saw what happened to see if they’ve witnessed anything similar with other guests. If we can establish that this is a pattern of behavior for him, it’ll take the suspicion away from you.”
“So, what should I do?” she asked again, miserable.
“Do what distracts you,” he suggested.
“I can’t go to the beach,” she shuddered at the thought of walking past the scene of the crime. “I don’t actually even want to leave my room,” she admitted, laying her fork down in defeat.
“Then don’t,” Chas shrugged. “Create some recipes. Your room has a full kitchen, bake some unusual cupcakes. Use this time to do what you came here to do. You’ve been exposed to some exotic foods and flavors, use that.”
Missy looked at him, eyes shining with a feeling that stirred deeply within her. “You’re so right,” she nodded. “From the time that I was a little girl, I’d bake whenever I’d get sad, or angry, or unsure about something. It’s the perfect thing for me to do right now. It’ll clear my head so that I can think straight and figure out how to find Raoul’s killer.”
Chas smiled at her naiveté. “Whoa, tiger. Let’s leave finding the killer to me, shall we? It’s kind of what I do,” he teased.
“Well you know that I’m not the type to just sit around and do nothing,” she reminded him.
“Yes, I know. So we’re going to go to a local market and stock up on baking supplies.”
“Okay,” she agreed, knowing that he was right, but hating the feeling of helplessness that consumed her.
Chapter 6
Missy went back and forth from the refrigerator to the cabinet, taking stock of the supplies that she and Chas brought back from the quaint little grocery store that they had found in a small village close to the resort. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the bottle of guava tequila that she had purchased at Casa Mission, and had an idea for her first cupcake. She could add the tequila to the batter, which would give the cakes an exotic fruit flavor and turn them a delightful shade of pink. There was no need to worry about the alcohol content; it would disappear when exposed to the heat of the oven. Picking up a large shard of fresh coconut, she had an inspiration for the frosting and went to work, measuring, stirring, baking, cooling and frosting. Her room smelled heavenly, and when she sampled her Tropical Guava Cupcake with Coconut Buttercream, the result was fantastic. A housekeeper came in just as Missy finished arranging the cakes on a plate, and, although she didn’t speak English, she made Missy understand that her creations both looked and smelled wonderful. In an impulsive gesture, she presented the entire platter to the housekeeper, who thanked her profusely in Spanish. Feeling a bit better after having a positive human interaction, Missy got busy on her next creation, losing herself in the comfortably familiar world of baking.
“What did you find out?” Missy asked eagerly when she met Chas for lunch, ignoring the cold glances from some of the servers in the restaurant.
“Not much, unfortunately. I’ve talked to some of the guests who saw your argument with Raoul on the beach, and most of them said that they didn’t see what he allegedly did, only your reaction to it,” he grimaced.
“What about the staff members? Are you having any luck there?”
“Not yet. There are a few more people that I want to speak with, but the attitudes I’ve encountered so far aren’t encouraging.”
“What do you mean? What attitudes?” Missy worried.
“The culture is very different here. The men are known for ‘innocent misbehavior.’ It’s to be expected and accepted. Women are supposed to be flattered and coy about it,” he shook his head, frustrated.
“Boys will be boys,” Missy intoned dully.
“Exactly,” Chas sighed. “But don’t worry about it, I’ll find something to go on, it’s just a matter of time,” he assured her. “How was your day?”
Missy filled him in on her
pleasant experience with the housekeeper, and the exciting new flavor combination that she had used, trying to sound enthusiastic, despite her preoccupation with trying to figure out who could’ve killed Raoul. After lunch, Chas walked her back to her room, eager to get on with his investigation. He had to be very careful to remain outside of the notice of the Cozumel Police because he hadn’t told them that he was an American detective. Taking Missy’s key from her, he tapped the auto-lock with it and the door clicked open. Missy stepped inside, turning back to Chas to thank him for lunch, and what he saw on her patio caused him to pull her back into the hallway, shutting the door firmly behind her.
“Chas…what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed.
He swallowed hard before responding. “There’s a body on your patio.” Missy’s knees shook as he opened the door to his room, leading her inside while he called Detective Gonzales. She was questioned at length again, this time in the more comfortable confines of Chas’s room, and was once again subjected to the suspicious glares of the Mexican authorities.
“This one has me baffled,” Chas admitted, shaking his head. “Apparently the woman who was killed was one of the housekeepers.”
A cold shiver ran down Missy’s spine. “What did she look like?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Chas described the woman, and Missy knew instinctively that it had been the sweet housekeeper that she had given the cupcakes to. “Yeah, and unfortunately, she was clutching a pink cupcake with white frosting in her hand,” he commented glumly.
“So, they think that I…” she couldn’t even finish her sentence, tears filling her eyes.
“They’re suspecting poison, but we won’t know until the autopsy reports get back.”
Missy suddenly had a horrifying thought. “Oh no, Chas! What if something was wrong with the tequila? What if I did accidentally poison her?” she whispered.
Beckett only paused for a brief moment. “Impossible.”
“Why? What makes you so sure?” she asked, desperate.
“Because you taste-tested them before she ever came into the room, right? Did you eat an entire cupcake?”
“Two actually,” she admitted. “They were really tasty.”
“Well, if the tequila had gone bad, you would’ve died long before she did. I don’t even know if it’s possible for tequila to go bad,” he mused.
“Okay, you’re right. Good,” she replied, sighing with relief. “But if she wasn’t poisoned, how did she die?”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t poisoned, I said that we won’t know until the autopsy comes back,” he reminded her gently.
“When will that be?”
“Hard to say…could be weeks,” Chas sighed.
“Weeks? It can’t be weeks! I have two businesses to run, I can’t just sit around here waiting on a report and miss the beginning of the holiday baking season!” she wailed, distraught.
“Don’t worry,” he squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do. I have some friends at the embassy here – they may be able to help.
Chapter 7
Missy wasn’t allowed to return to her room until the forensics team was done with their investigation, so the hotel graciously provided her with another room, right next door to Beckett’s. She had no access to any of her clothing, toiletries or baking supplies, so she went to the convenience center in the lobby to purchase some basic essentials like a couple of outfits, a swim suit, tooth brush, hair brush and a charger for her phone. Piling her items on the counter, she noticed that the American woman behind the counter treated her quite coldly, and surmised that she must’ve heard about Missy’s alleged involvement with her dead coworker.
“Your card is declined,” the woman said, handing it back to her.
“But, that’s impossible,” Missy replied. “Could you please try it again?”
The cashier looked at the card like it was a snake, sighed, made a face and snatched it rudely out of Missy’s hand, swiping it through the reader again.
“Declined,” she repeated flatly, giving Missy a dirty look and tossing the card on the counter in front of her.
“There must be some mistake,” Missy mumbled, embarrassed and pulled out another card, handing it to the rude clerk. Declined. And another card. Declined. Grabbing all three cards from the counter and ducking out of the convenience center in shame, Missy went back to her new room that was entirely devoid of any of her possessions and collapsed crying, on the bed. All she wanted was to be at home in her own bed, with Toffee at her side.
Chas went down to the convenience center and purchased all of the items that Missy had selected after finding out that all of her assets had been frozen pending further investigation of her involvement in the murders of Raoul and the housekeeper. He also replenished her baking supplies, thinking that the distraction of making cupcakes would be good for her. The rude clerk wasn’t on duty by the time he got there, and Missy burst into tears again when he brought his purchases to her room, grateful that he was being so thoughtful. He held her and smoothed her hair, assuring her that everything would be alright, hoping desperately that he was telling her the truth. If she were incarcerated by Mexican authorities, extradition would be extremely difficult.
Chapter 8
Chas left early the next morning to track down some of the hotel staff with whom he hadn’t spoken yet, and to pay a visit to the American embassy. Missy was at a loss. She couldn’t leave the resort, and didn’t want to show her face in any of the public areas after the treatment she’d received from some of the staff, so she was basically confined to her room. She looked over the ingredients that Chas had purchased for her, and, although she didn’t feel remotely creative and had no desire to bake, her alternatives were limited, so she sat down at the small table in the kitchen trying to focus on how to bring some tropical excitement to LaChance, Louisiana. Just the thought of her sweet hometown brought tears to her eyes, so she dove into the creative process, choosing not to dwell on things that made her cry.
Her baking tools were as limited as her ingredients, so she began her newest creation by zesting a lime with a fork and folding it into her batter with lime juice. The cupcake she was inventing was called Margarita Madness, and would be a light green cake with Vanilla Bean frosting and just the slightest sprinkle of salt. She went to work on the cupcakes in earnest and was happily surprised that when she was focused on her baking, she either forgot about her troubles with Mexican law enforcement entirely, or had great clarity in thought when trying to figure out the details of the case.
By the time that she was finished baking, frosting and arranging the delicious cakes on a plate, she was convinced that Raoul was probably killed by someone with whom he had flirted too aggressively. She also thought that there was a possibility that he may have used his connections in the community and with the resort to engage in some sort of illegal trade, and perhaps that’s what got him killed. In any case, it was preposterous to believe that she was even capable of such a thing. Feeling much more confident about her position in the case, she set the plate of cupcakes down in the center of her little table, licking a stray bit of frosting from her thumb.
Her thumb was still in her mouth, and she was crunching a salt crystal between her teeth, when she heard a commotion out in the hall. Opening her door, she was surprised and more than a bit alarmed to see Chas surrounded by Detective Gonzales, his partner and the two uniformed cops that had been present last time. He was arguing forcefully with Gonzales, and though Missy couldn’t understand what was being said, she knew that it didn’t bode well. Gonzales tried to grab Chas’s arm, and the American detective shook him off impatiently, chastising him in Spanish.
“Chas…what’s going on?” Missy asked softly.
He noticed her for the first time, glancing at her over the detective’s shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, Missy. It seems that since they can’t find concrete evidence to arrest you, they’re looking in my direction now,” he frowned at Gonzales. “I
’m going to the station with them to answer some questions. Go ahead and order some room service for dinner, and I’ll come see you when I’m done.”
“Okay,” she nodded miserably, so sorry that Chas had gotten dragged into this mess.
Missy pushed her delicious dinner around on her plate, completely devoid of appetite while she waited for Chas to return. She had no idea what she’d do if they actually arrested him and put him in jail. She’d be alone in a country where she didn’t speak the language with no clue as to how to help her boyfriend or herself. “I’m never going on vacation again,” she vowed to herself, lower lip trembling. She turned on the TV, finding an American sitcom that she couldn’t even begin to pay attention to, but somehow she found the background noise comforting. After a couple of hours that seemed like years, there was a brief knock on her door, and she opened it, throwing herself into Chas’s arms, profoundly relieved to see him.
“What happened?” she asked, wide-eyed, as he closed the door behind them.
“Well, they were incredibly frustrated that you and I clearly aren’t guilty, but apparently, since they have no other leads to go on, we’re still under the microscope,” he shook his head grimly.
“So what happens now?”
“Now, we stay put. I talked to an advisor at the embassy, and not only is he going to lean on the coroner to get him a copy of the autopsy as soon as possible, but he has a guy on the inside that told him some of the particulars of the case, and it’s shaky at best, but sometimes the lack of evidence doesn’t really matter down here. I want to avoid having either one of us ending up in a Mexican prison.”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?” Missy was terrified.
“Well, now that the embassy has been made aware of the situation, it’s less of a possibility, but we can’t be too careful. I spoke to some hotel employees that had interesting tales to tell about Raoul, so I’ll be following up on that.”
