Apple Crisp Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 30 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries)

by Summer Prescott

  “Fine. We don’t need this light stack for general lighting, it was for special effects, so we’ll just shift the light plan to the other side of the stage, which we can do from the console. You’ll be fine to finish out the show tonight, but this conversation is not over,” he ground out, glaring at Spencer, and stalked off, signaling to the crew to keep going.

  Gingham looked up at the Marine, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, before turning back to the audience, leaving him to cross behind the drum set and stand on his X once more.

  Chapter 7

  Spencer followed the band down the hall to the green room after the show, hating that he felt like a groupie, but eager to reach Gingham and make sure that she was okay. Carter shouldered past him, muttering about never allowing a non-crew member to help with set-up again.

  “Hey man, lay off,” Joey snapped at the manager. “You know that Spencer had nothing to do with what happened.”

  “What are you, his mother?” Carter snarled, pushing past, obviously trying to get to Gingham before anyone else could.

  “Don’t sweat it, dude,” Joey chucked Spencer on the shoulder. “He just has to try to show the world that he’s the boss.”

  “It must drive him crazy to work for a woman who knows how to call the shots,” the Marine mused.

  Joey grinned. “You know it.”

  The hallway was noisy with post-performance celebration – the rest of the show had gone off without a hitch – and it seemed to take a long time before Spencer finally entered the green room, where Gingham hugged the guys as they came in the door.

  “My hero,” she exclaimed when Spencer entered, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough, you saved my life.”

  “My instincts kicked in,” he replied modestly, mildly embarrassed by the attention.

  “How on earth did you see that in time?” she asked, handing him a bottle of water.

  “There was a guy that I had seen earlier, messing around near the bus. He was standing next to the light stack, and when he saw that I spotted him, he kind of pushed into it. It started swaying and I knew it was going to go down, so I had to get you out of there.”

  “Awfully convenient to blame some mystery man for the failure of the stack that you just happened to reposition,” Carter commented, knocking back a double shot of expensive tequila.

  “Dude, give it a rest,” Joey challenged the manager, eyes flashing.

  “Shut up, Joey,” Carter growled, pouring another shot.

  “Okay, this stops now, you hear me? I don’t want to hear another word about it. It happened, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, and it’s over, got it?” Gingham raised her voice, glaring at her manager.

  Joey nodded and Carter merely grimaced, giving Spencer a hateful stare but keeping silent.

  “Spencer, what did the man look like?” she asked.

  “Pale, medium height, orange comb-over,” he replied, alarmed when the color drained from her face. “What?” he asked.

  “Waldo,” she whispered.

  “I’m calling the cops,” Carter pulled out his cell phone.

  “I’m going to check over the shuttle,” Spencer headed for the back door.

  “I’ll go with you,” Joey followed him from the room.

  Spencer’s jaw clenched briefly. He didn’t like to be observed when he was assessing a situation, but he said nothing, hoping that the guitarist wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary regarding his methods. He circled the bus without getting too close, looking for anything that was out of place. When he determined that there was nothing of significance on the exterior of the bus, he moved closer, and dropped into a prone position, examining the underside of the bus with a small flashlight that he pulled out of the pocket of his jeans.

  Standing back up, he brushed off the tiny rocks and sand particles that clung to his shirt and jeans, and began systematically moving around the bus, running his hands up inside the wheel wells, along the interior of the bumpers, and underneath any surface that was hidden from view, while Joey stood, arms folded, watching.

  “Special Forces?” he asked, when Spencer finally finished with the outside of the bus and opened the door to go inside.

  Turning and giving him a strange look, the Marine didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, it was in the form of a question.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked, scanning the interior of the shuttle before stepping all the way in.

  “What you’re doing right now – the way you’ve been going about everything. You’ve had some sort of training. My dad was Special Forces – you remind me of him,” Joey looked at him carefully.

  “I’m younger than you, man,” Spencer chuckled, trying to change the subject.

  “You and I both know it’s not about age. It’s about training, and mindset, and all kinds of other things that civilians aren’t tapped into.”

  “I was in the Marine Corps. Went to Afghanistan, learned some things,” he answered shortly, getting back to focusing on the task at hand.

  “Uh-huh,” was the skeptical reply. “Just a regular old grunt Marine, huh?” Joey scoffed.

  Spencer was crouched, looking under seats, but stood and faced the guitarist. “Let me ask you something. Did your dad like talking about his training, his work, that kind of stuff?” he pierced the well-meaning band member with a steely gaze.

  “Nope. Said there wasn’t much he could tell,” he shrugged.

  “Right,” Spencer replied with a pointed look.

  Joey held up both hands and let it go. “I hear you, man. It’s cool, I was just curious. I’ve got all the respect in the world for guys who can do the kind of stuff that you do.”

  “All I’m doing is trying to make sure that everyone stays safe.”

  “Cool. What’s the verdict?” Joey asked, when Spencer stood up after checking beneath every seat and headed back toward the front of the shuttle.

  “We’re clear. I’ll stay here to make sure it stays that way, if you want to go back and round everyone up.”

  “You got it, dude,” Joey shook his hand and trotted back into the building.

  Chapter 8

  The band was subdued on the ride home, with the silence broken only by an occasional snore. Carter didn’t have much luck with the police, who suggested that Ms. Grant might want to employ private security to scare off her stalker once and for all. Back at the Inn, the tired troupe went straight up to their rooms to bed, foregoing the usual after concert get-together. Miami had been Gingham’s last concert for a couple of weeks, which is why she had come to the rather remote beachside Inn – she desperately needed some down time.

  After Spencer had parked the shuttle and retired to his basement apartment at the Inn, Detective Chas Beckett came in after working a long day. He headed across the spacious foyer, toward the owner’s wing of the Inn, when he heard a blood-curdling scream split the night. Dashing upstairs toward the sound, he heard Gingham Grant saying, “No, no, no! Help me!”

  Whipping out his master key, he let himself into her room, gun drawn, and found the singing star atop an antique bureau, dressed in a nightshirt, with a mud masque on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” the detective asked, hand on the weapon at his hip.

  Too terrified to speak, tears rolled down Gingham’s cheeks as she shook her head and pointed mutely toward the bed. Chas jumped a bit himself when he saw the source of her fear…a thick-bodied water moccasin that she discovered coiled up on the bed. Fortunately, the air conditioning in the room had kept the reptile cool enough that it hadn’t yet made an attempt to strike, and the detective wanted to keep it that way. Staying just inside the door, a safe distance away from the toxic animal, he texted Spencer, and tried to reassure Gingham.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll get this little guy out of here, and I’ll have Maggie change the bedding for you,” he promised. “Just stay ri
ght there, and we’ll get this taken care of.”

  Spencer showed up moments later with a heavy canvas bag that was attached to a long metal pole. There was a rope threaded through the mouth of the bag that ran up the pole and looked like it served as a pulley of sorts. The Marine’s eyes flicked briefly to the singer cowering in her nightshirt on the dresser, then focused on the snake in her bed.

  He edged closer, not wanting to startle the unpredictable creature and raised the bag in the air, lowering it slowly over the snake. Chas and Gingham both jumped when the water moccasin flipped violently inside the bag. Spencer kept the opening of the bag firmly against the bed until the snake calmed a bit, then he pulled hard on the rope, enclosing the gyrating reptile within the bag.

  He looked back at Chas, who stood near the door. “If you hold the pole, I’ll check the rest of the room,” he offered.

  Chas took the pole, fascinated by the writhing contortions of the snake that squirmed within it, that were visible through the heavy canvas of the bag. Spencer flipped back the covers on the bed, removed cushions from sofas and chairs, checked behind dressers, under tables and in closets, and even lifted the lid on the toilet, just to be safe.

  “We’re clear,” he announced, coming back into the room from the bathroom. He held a hand out to Gingham, helping her down from the bureau.

  “That’s twice in one day that you’ve saved me,” she murmured, gazing up at the Marine with large brown eyes.

  “I’m not much of a believer in coincidences,” Spencer replied grimly. “I have to wonder if the two events are related.”

  Chas gave him a questioning look as he handed him the pole with the snake bag on the end of it.

  “You got a minute, Chas?” he asked.

  “Of course,” the detective nodded. “Ms. Gingham, I’m terribly sorry that this happened, we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of this. Water moccasins don’t crawl upstairs and into beds on their own. Maggie will be up here in a moment to change your linens, just let her know if there’s anything else that you need.”

  “Thank you,” she said, standing alone with her arms hugging her middle, looking at the floor as though she expected snakes to spring up out of the carpet.

  “Would changing rooms help you feel better?” Spencer asked, noticing her discomfort.

  She nodded, biting her lower lip in that unconsciously fetching manner that she had.

  “Consider it done,” Chas said. “I’ll let Maggie know, and we can have Spencer move your bags over when he’s taken care of our little friend here.”

  Gingham nodded, crashing hard from the adrenalin dumped into her system all at once.

  **

  “What happened at the concert?” the detective asked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

  Spencer told him about the incident with the light stack and the sighting of Waldo as they waited out front for the animal control officer to arrive and take charge of the snake.

  “Sounds like this guy may be dangerous.”

  The Marine nodded. “He didn’t look it, but some of the most heinous serial killers look just like the boy next door, so we can’t be too careful.”

  “You know what to do,” the detective said quietly.

  “Yep, I do.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll find out everything that I can about this guy, so that we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  “Copy that.”

  Chapter 9

  “Oh my goodness, Mrs. Beckett, how on earth do you maintain that fabulous figure when you can bake cupcakes like this?” Gingham gushed, licking lavender-colored frosting from her thumb.

  After a restless night in a new room, the singer had risen early and made her way over to the cupcake shop before it opened, finding Missy there, baking a fresh batch of Purple People Pleaser cupcakes, a glorious concoction of berry batter, buttercream frosting and a berry drizzle. Without makeup and fancy clothes, the beautifully fresh-faced girl, munching a cupcake, looked far younger than her twenty-five years.

  “The stress balances out the sugar, I think,” Missy joked.

  “Sometimes I think it would be so nice to leave the music business and just do something simple and sweet like this, where no one is trying to manage you, or steal from you, or judge you…” she trailed off, looking sad for a moment.

  “Is it that bad?” Missy asked, squeezing purple frosting out of a pastry bag.

  “Sometimes,” Gingham nodded, taking another huge bite of cupcake. “I love making music, I love the excitement of the fans, but the business side of things, ugh,” she sighed, holding her hand in front of her mouth, chewing cupcake while she talked.

  “Doesn’t someone else handle that side of things for you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Carter does, but I still have to approve everything, and it gets complicated sometimes,” she shrugged. “I know I’m lucky, but if I don’t whine every once in a while, I couldn’t possibly justify eating all of these amazing cupcakes,” she grinned.

  Echo entered the kitchen, looking like she hadn’t slept well either. “Hey all,” she greeted them.

  Missy introduced her to Gingham, glad that the free-spirited Californian had no clue who the country music star was. To Echo, the sweet young girl was just another guest at the Inn. As usual during morning gossip time, Echo made coffee and poured mugs for each of them, allowing Gingham to temporarily take Kel’s place while he “gave Echo her space.” The three women had just gotten seated when Spencer came tearing into the shop. Seeing Gingham, he let out a big sigh and closed his eyes briefly. Gingham’s reaction to seeing him was quite different – the girl lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Hey Spencer,” she beamed at him. “Do you come over for cupcakes and coffee in the morning too?” she asked.

  “Only when I’m looking for country singers who disappear without telling anyone where they’re going,” he said dryly.

  “Oh! Were you worried about me? I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be up this early, so I just wandered over here and smelled freshly baked cupcakes. Who can resist that?” she asked, staring up at the Marine.

  “Good point,” he said, unable to maintain even a semblance of sternness with the bubbly girl. “Detective Beckett wants to ask you a few questions if you have a few minutes.”

  “Sure,” she was on her feet in an instant, grabbing another cupcake for herself and one for Spencer, handing it to him on their way out the door.

  “Wow, why can’t things be that easy between men and women at my age?” Echo sighed mightily. “She positively glowed the minute that he walked in the door, and I think I saw him blush.”

  “I wonder if they’re even aware that they like each other,” Missy mused with a faint smile.

  “Young love,” Echo chuckled.

  “I’m guessing that that means you haven’t decided what to do about Kel.”

  Echo’s smile faded and she shook her head. “I’m committed to the idea of getting to know each other, but things are just strange now. I want to look at him the way that someone in love looks at their partner, but I’m just…” she trailed off.

  “Afraid?” Missy supplied. “Don’t be. Kel’s a good guy. It’s not like you’re going to find out that he’s actually a serial killer or something,” she teased. “You already know and like him. Just enjoy his company.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “How’s the candle business going?” Missy tactfully changed the subject, sensing that Echo was becoming stressed.

  “Great! I need to do some painting at the new shop, then the flooring will go in, and I’m hoping to open by the end of the month.”

  “That must be a relief.”

  “Yeah, it is. For one thing, now that I’m no longer Kel’s Gallery Manager, I get to see him when I want to, not because I have to track him down to deal with a difficult client. I think not working together will do wonders for our relationship.”

  “I bet,” Missy smiled.

  The two women
looked up when the bells over the door jangled, signaling an arrival. A man they’d never seen before entered, looking timid and uncertain.

  “Good morning,” Missy greeted the man pleasantly, despite the fact that she didn’t officially open for half an hour. “Can I help you?”

  “Okay,” he said nervously, keeping his eyes on the floor and moving toward the display case.

  Missy gave Echo a puzzled look, shrugged and moved behind the counter.

  “I’ll take that one,” he said, pointing to a German Chocolate cupcake.

  “Certainly,” Missy said, reaching for the closest cupcake in the German Chocolate row.

  “No!” he exclaimed, pointing again. “I want that one.”

  The hairs on the back of Missy’s neck stood up, and she looked at the man curiously. Reaching down into the case, she stretched and reached in for the cupcake closest to the front of the case.

  “This one?” she tried to clarify, pointing to the one in the front.

  The man ran shaking fingers through one side of his hair in frustration.

  “No,” he growled low in his throat. “That one,” he pointed again.

  Missy moved to the second closest. “This one?”

  “Yes,” he replied, breathing loudly through his mouth.

  She quickly plated the cupcake and tried to hand it to him. He stared at her blankly, and when she set it down on the counter, he snatched it up. Glad that she wasn’t in the store by herself, she asked if he wanted coffee with the cupcake. He stared at her again, seeming paralyzed by the question. A thin sheen of sweat had beaded on his shiny brow, his pink skin seeming to glisten.

  “Okay then, that’ll be two-fifty,” Missy said with a painted-on smile, watching the man’s every move.

  He stared at her again, his mouth working a bit.

  “You know what, since you’re a new customer, this one is on the house, you just enjoy it, okay?” she said, her scalp tingling with prickles of fear.

  Missy Beckett loved people, and could hold her own against any rational person, but something deep down inside told her that this man was far from being a rational person, and she treated him the way her husband had treated the water moccasin, being very careful and knowing when to walk away. She looked over at Echo, who was staring at the man, mystified. Returning to her seat at the bistro table, she watched the strange man sit at a table next to the window and stare at the Inn.