Janssen’s military service had left him scarred, both physically and emotionally, and he usually tried to avoid human contact whenever possible. Spencer, knowing him better than most, knew that Janssen had to get involved with other people before he was lost forever, wandering the wilderness with no point or purpose. So here he sat, in the plush offices of Chas Beckett, PI, feeling out of place and uncomfortable.
“What do you need me to do?” the formidable veteran asked, hoping that he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone while carrying out his tasks.
“Well, we can start with…” Chas began, only to be interrupted by Ringo poking his head into the office, chewing on something.
“Hey boss man. I think I got something on your cold case. Dude, are you a hitman?” he turned to Janssen, eyebrows raised.
“It could be arranged,” Will Channing drawled, sizing up the pasty-faced hacker.
“Whoa, buddy. I’m with the good guys,” Ringo put both hands up, one of them wrapped around a drippy burger.
An idea occurred to Chas just then, and he turned to Janssen. “Why don’t you go with Ringo? He can bring you up to speed on what he’s found and you can determine if there’s anything that we need to follow up on.”
“Go with him?” Janssen was incredulous.
“Let me know when you find something,” Chas looked at him levelly.
“Yes sir,” Will grumbled, standing and moving toward the door.
“Wow man, do you like work out twenty-four seven or something?” Ringo asked, looking up at the man looming over him and taking a bite out of his burger.
Janssen shut the door behind him, blocking Chas from hearing his muttered reply.
***
Will Channing sat with his back against the wall in Spencer’s living room, a bag of pork rinds in his lap, a craft beer at his side. Once he’d entered Ringo’s lair, a computer room at the office, filled with machines, monitors and junk food, he’d had to begrudgingly admit that the little weirdo had some talent. He’d uncovered some inconsistencies in the victim’s bank statements that were worth following up on, as well as some details in the main suspect’s timeline that didn’t quite add up.
Will was thankful for the distraction. Anything that could take his mind off of missing his wife and kid was more than welcome. He’d missed them every day that he’d been gone, from the first moment that he’d been deployed, but having seen them recently had just driven the hot spikes in his heart that much deeper. His phone rang, startling him, and he took it out of his pocket, thinking that it’d be Spencer checking in. When he saw the actual number on the screen, the blood drained from his face and he tapped the answer button.
“Rossie?” his voice was hoarse.
***
Will’s heart beat faster than it had when he’d endured the unspeakable horrors which had been visited upon him in Afghanistan, and he’d broken out in a cold sweat. He entered the flower shop feeling like a stranger in a strange land.
“Hi!” the young woman working behind the counter said brightly when he walked in.
His response was a brief flash of what he hoped looked like a passable smile.
“Are you celebrating or are you in the doghouse?” she grinned, watching him wander around the shop, lost.
“Huh?” he blinked at her, his mind a million miles away.
His Rossalyn had called. She was here, in Calgon, and she wanted to see him. He had no idea how their meeting would turn out, but he tried to take comfort in the fact that she had traveled all the way from Illinois to Florida, just to see him. That had to be a good thing, right?
“Oh boy,” the young woman chuckled. “Either you’re seriously in the dog house, or you’re head over heels in love, but either way, let me show you our newest…”
“Pink roses,” Will cut her off, still in a daze. “They’re her favorite.”
The florist smiled and nodded. “Pink roses, you got it,” she told the scarred veteran, not picking up on the trembling in his hands and the fear in his heart.
***
Will had gotten a haircut, so the long locks that he’d used to avoid humanity were gone, and he was clean shaven. With the exception of the scars of war still prominent on his face, he looked much more like Will Channing than Darryl Janssen, his government-assigned name for covert work.
He dressed casually, trying to appear as he had before his life had been turned upside down by a special assignment that no amount of reasoning had been able to get him out of, despite his having a wife and kid. He wanted to look as much like the Will Channing that she remembered as possible. If things went well, he wanted to take her to dinner afterwards, but at this stage of the game, he had his doubts about whether he’d be able to eat a bite. He wanted nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her like he used to, but just the thought scared him. He hadn’t been that vulnerable with another human being for quite some time, and didn’t know if he’d be able to go back to that kind of openness with any real success.
More nervous than he had been when they’d raided government offices in the Middle East, Will sat on the park bench, nervously bouncing his knees up and down, holding his bouquet of pink roses so tightly that he had compressed the stems into a single thick unit. Then he saw her. She looked incredibly beautiful as she walked up the sidewalk toward him, the summer breeze catching the gauzy folds of her skirt and swirling it around her. How he’d missed those eyes… her hair… he only wished that she would smile her special smile, but uncertainty shrouded her features instead. He stood and handed her the flowers, not knowing what to do. His normal greeting would have been a hug and kiss, but he had no idea how that would be received, so he put his hands in his pockets.
***
Chas Beckett stood to shake hands with Will. “I’m glad that things are working out with your family,” he said warmly.
“We’re going to give it our best shot,” the veteran offered his first genuine smile in a long time.
“I wish you all the best.”
Chas walked Will to the door, just as Ringo, munching a burrito, was coming down the hallway.
“Looks like just you and me now, huh boss?” he commented, his mouth full.
Chas looked at him with amused disgust, hoping that he didn’t spill on the carpet.
“So it would seem,” he lifted his hand in farewell as Will stepped onto the elevator.
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
Spencer Bengal felt more than guilty leaving Chas in the middle of an investigation, particularly now that Will had gone back to Illinois to start his new life, but he hadn’t really had another choice. His former girlfriend, world-famous horror author Izzy Gilmore, had fled to her home in New York City weeks ago, and had refused to answer his calls and texts. He’d given up trying to contact her, assuming that she knew best whom she needed, or didn’t need, in her life. Then the call had come from her publisher, the irascible Miranda Banks, saying that she was missing.
Izzy’s majestic and gentle canine companion, Hercules the Leonberger, had been found at the animal control center, with a suspicious-looking knife wound on his flank. Spencer had paid a great deal of money to adopt the dog, just in the nick of time, and had been keeping him in the hotel with him.
Spencer had tasked Ringo with finding out whatever background information that he could on the author, which was no easy feat. Due to her celebrity status, Izzy had gone to great lengths to protect her privacy, but given enough time, Ringo was able to break through some of her safeguards and found things out about the enigmatic author that Spencer hadn’t even known. He was on his way upstate to meet Izzy’s brother for the first time. She’d never spoken about her family, and had always changed the subject whenever he’d brought it up.
Pulling up in front of a rundown ranch house, in a neighborhood full of ranch houses, Spencer double- and triple-checked the address for Ted Patterson. Apparently, Izzy Gilmore was a pen name, and he hadn’t known that either. He wondered what more in Izzy’s li
fe she was hiding, thinking that he had never really known her at all.
“Yep, this is it,” he murmured, confirming the address. “Here goes nothing.”
A bone-thin woman with frazzled hair and a toddler on her hip answered the door.
“We paid the rent already, this is harassment,” she snapped, her beady eyes taking in the massive man in front of her.
“Uh, hi,” Spencer put his hands up in a gesture of supplication. “I’m not here about your rent. I was hoping to speak with Ted,” he explained, hoping that the familiar use of the name would put the woman at ease. It didn’t.
“Who are you and whaddya want?” the woman demanded, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as the toddler began to mewl.
“I’m a friend of his sister’s.”
The change of expression on the woman’s face was immediate and impressive. Suspicion was replaced with a disgust so profound that it bordered on hatred. She rolled her eyes.
“Good luck with that. Ted can’t even stand to hear her name mentioned. He’s at the store. Should be back with my formula in a few minutes,” she informed him, stepping back and shutting the door in his face.
“I guess I’ll wait then,” Spencer said to the closed door, more curious and amused than annoyed.
The woman was quite a character, and had him wondering what Ted must be like, and why he doesn’t speak to his sister. He found out soon enough. A man with a receding hairline and a prominent belly lumbered toward the house, laden with plastic bags of groceries. He was halfway up the walk when he spotted Spencer.
“Want some help?” the muscular PI called out, rising from his seat on the rickety front steps.
“Who are you?” Ted frowned.
“Spencer Bengal. You Ted?”
“Who wants to know?” he backed up a step, looking as though he was considering making a break for it.
“Spencer Bengal,” he repeated. “I’m your sister’s friend.”
“I ain’t got no sister,” Ted sneered, staying rooted to the spot. He was mad, but he wasn’t stupid. Spencer outweighed him by about forty pounds of pure muscle.
A vein began to pulse on Spencer’s forehead. He was getting more than tired of the negativity toward a woman who was missing, a woman that he thought he’d known once.
“Look. You’re going to put your groceries inside and then you’re going to come back out here and talk to me about Izzy,” Spencer replied, teeth clenched. “You have five minutes, and if you’re not out here, I will come inside and snatch you out of there, in front of your wife and kids. Is that what you want?”
“Izzy, huh? You’re such a good friend that she didn’t even tell you her real name?” Ted taunted, stepping back from the advancing young man. “Hold your horses, tough guy. I’ll be back in a minute,” he muttered, giving Spencer a wide berth as he made his way into the house.
***
“I don’t know anything about Kinsey anymore. She’s too good for us now that she made it out of the neighborhood,” Ted made a disgusted face.
“When’s the last time you heard from her?”
“I asked her for a loan a few years back. She never said a word, but she sent a check. Haven’t heard from her since,” Ted shrugged.
“You ever get to the city to see her?”
“Why would I? She ain’t got no use for me.”
“What about your parents?”
“Sorry, bigshot, you want that story, you got to get it from her. I ain’t getting involved,” Ted shook his head and folded his arms.
“Do you have any idea where she might be if she wanted to just… disappear for a while?” Spencer persisted, despite his growing frustration.
“I dunno, you oughta try asking that loud-mouthed publisher of hers. That broad knows everything there is to know about Kinsey.”
“Who do you think sent me?” Spencer sighed. “Fine. Thanks for your time, I’m done,” he turned to go.
“Hey, hotshot,” Ted called out.
Spencer turned without saying a word, eyes narrowed.
“You might wanna check out her ex-fiancé’s cabin in the Berkshires. She used to go there to write after he died,” he smirked as he dropped his final bombshell.
Fiancé???
“What was his name?” Spencer’s exterior calm belied his inner turmoil.
“Spears, Jake Spears.”
“The interior designer?” Spencer was baffled. “But I thought that he was…”
Ted waved a hand. “Yeah, everybody thought that he was. That’s how he kept his private life to himself. Not a bad guy. Met him once.”
“How did he die?”
“Got mugged in the city. Stabbed. Didn’t stand a chance.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Spencer nodded curtly.
“You didn’t know about that one either, huh?” Ted’s voice had a cruel edge. “Kinda sucks when someone you thought you knew turns out totally different, don’t it?”
Spencer got into his car without looking back.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
Missy searched high and low for her car keys, frustrated beyond belief. She was crouched behind the counter, digging through a box of old receipts when the bells over the door jangled, startling her. Popping to her feet, she banged her head on the countertop. Tears sprang to her eyes and she touched her head to check for blood. Fortunately, there wasn’t any.
“Yo, I came to check on the status of my application,” Justin Fields, her first applicant muttered.
Today the scruffy young man smelled like dirty laundry, and was wearing faded jeans and a stained t-shirt with the logo of a cheap beer emblazoned across his chest.
“Oh, hello,” Missy touched her head and winced. “I’m sorry, I haven’t made any decisions regarding the position yet.”
That wasn’t a lie, since there hadn’t been any other applicants to consider.
“Well, when will you know?”
“I’m not really putting a time limit on hiring. I’ve been really busy,” she didn’t even bother trying to smile as her head throbbed. “Did you get a phone yet?” she asked, hoping that she could put him off by telling him she’d call if she wanted him to come in again.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you just hire me? I can start right now,” he stared at Missy in a manner that made his words seem more like a threat than a plea.
“I’m sorry, it doesn’t work that way,” Missy replied, perhaps more firmly than she would have if her head weren’t hurting so badly. “Would you like a cupcake before you go?”
“Nah, I don’t like cupcakes,” was the infuriating reply as Justin slouched his way toward the door.
Missy stared after him, shaking her head. She glanced at her watch and realized that it was time to close, so she locked up the front door, turned out the lights, then headed to the kitchen. After making certain that everything was tucked away properly, she donned a pair of industrial rubber gloves and headed for the outside trash bin to look for her keys. Standing on a stepstool, she peered over into the bin and pondered which trash bag to open, when a glimmer of metal in the corner of the bin caught her eye. There was no way that she could reach it without climbing in, but to see if it was worth her while she hauled out two plastic bags full of trash to get a closer look. Sure enough, her keys were against the back corner of the bin.
“Perfect,” she sighed, not relishing the task ahead. “I’m glad I didn’t wear a skirt today,” she muttered, looking down at her denim capris.
With one foot still on the stepstool, she braced herself on the side of the dumpster and swung one foot in, trying to find a solid footing among the slippery plastic bags. The damp smell of moldering trash assaulted her nostrils and she wondered how long she’d be able to hold her breath once she was inside.
“Here goes nothing,” she grumbled, swinging her other foot over and into the dumpster, nearly slipping and falling.
Missy caught herself, holding onto the edge of th
e bin for dear life, then made her way gingerly to the far side of the bin, where her keys gleamed as though they had a right to be there.
“How on earth did they get in here?” she asked, reaching for the set.
Thinking that all she had to do was pick the keys up, Missy was surprised when she met with resistance. When she pulled harder, the keys came loose, but had sticky pink strands attached to them.
“Seriously?” she groaned, realizing that the keys had been stuck to the inside of the dumpster with bubblegum.
“Well, it could’ve been worse. They could’ve been inside the bag on the bottom,” she sighed, trying to be positive, despite the headache and stench that were nauseating her more by the moment.
She teetered on the edge of the dumpster, but her foot finally found the stepstool and she sprung up and out as though her life depended upon it. No sooner had her feet hit the ground than the dumpster lid came slamming down, making her jump.
“That would’ve hurt,” she surmised, thankful for her massive rubber gloves, in which she held the sticky keys.
After cleaning the gum from her keys with commercial soap, Missy was finally ready to go home and was looking forward to a nice hot bath when she got there. She was halfway to her car when she saw that she had a flat tire. Standing in the parking lot, defeated and stunned, she started to cry. When she headed back toward her shop, Cupcakes in Paradise, she saw a slim figure across the street, walking quickly toward the next block. A slim figure that looked very much like Justin Fields.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Missy closed up shop a bit earlier than was typical on Saturdays. The gala at Kel’s new gallery was taking place later in the evening, and Echo would be coming over so that she and Missy could get ready together. Joyce Rutledge, the highly educated bookworm who ran Echo’s bookstore and candle shop, and who could make comfort food like no other, was bringing her Aunt Beulah over to Echo and Kel’s lovely contemporary home to babysit Jasmine during the gala. Aunt Beulah was a round woman with a hearty laugh who missed nothing, despite her advanced years. She wore her abundant white hair back in a proper twist, and was never without an apron, just in case.
Caramel Pretzel Killer Page 2
