“I’m sorry, Mrs. Beckett, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Holly, I’m going to tell you some things in confidence, and I want you to understand that I’d never ask you to do anything that was wrong or illegal,” Missy opened the box of cupcakes and started eating one. Cupcakes and talking just went naturally together, it was a habit…or an occupational hazard.
“I believe that I may have identified the suspect in a recent homicide,” she began.
Holly’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s so amazing. I bet the police were grateful.”
“Uh, no. The police don’t know. They think that I’m a person of interest in the case. That’s why I need your help.”
Holly looked decidedly uncomfortable, but Missy continued, before she could say anything.
“There is a young woman who claimed to be the victim’s girlfriend, and I’ve uncovered a tremendous amount of evidence that points to her being the perpetrator.” Missy couldn’t bring herself to use the word killer.
“All that I would need you to do is follow her movements for a couple of days. Write down where she goes and when. You’d never have to have any contact with her at all.”
“Why do the police consider you to be a person of interest?”
“Because apparently, the victim had taken a bite of one of my cupcakes before he died, so they think that I might have been somehow involved in his death.”
Holly’s eyes flicked to the box on the counter next to her, then to the half-eaten cupcake in Missy’s hand.
“Who would run the office while I was out?” Holly surprised her by asking.
A little jolt of hope ran through her as she realized that at least the young woman was considering the possibility.
“We’d just close it down for a couple of days. There aren’t any clients coming in while Chas and Spencer are gone anyway.”
“What about Ringo?”
“He’d still have access if he needed it.”
“Would I get overtime?”
“Absolutely.”
“Would I be done at a reasonable hour at night?”
“You can be in bed by nine if you’d like.”
“And it’s just for a couple of days and there’s nothing illegal going on?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay,” the young woman nodded, surprising Missy again by taking a cupcake and nibbling at it. “What do I need to know about this girl?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
Amanda Bernsen, Andre Weisman’s cousin, had stolen a suitcase-sized amount of designer clothing, and an equally large amount of fine jewelry from Chez Vogue over the course of the past few weeks, never taking more than a piece or two at a time. She knew just which areas of the store weren’t monitored by security cameras, and at which angles to position her body so that she could pilfer items without being caught. She had access to all of this knowledge as a result of bringing one particular security guard lunch every day for a few weeks.
After pawning the jewelry at various shops outside of Calgon, the enterprising young thief had left the job one day without notice, never to return. She’d hitchhiked her way out of Florida, and with the money from the pawned jewelry, had been working her way up the East coast, stealing wherever she could, and getting away with it because her fine designer clothes made her look as though she belonged in the various boutiques where she scored her bounty.
Amanda stayed in hotels that were nice enough to have a wealthy clientele, and found that even many of the richest were still naïve enough to put their wallets in their back pockets. She rationalized her behavior, believing that she was doing them a favor by teaching them to be more careful in the future, and she was having an exhilarating time doing it.
“May I?” an older gentleman, with a finely tailored suit, gestured to the spot next to her at the counter of the well-appointed mahogany bar.
“Please,” she smiled, imitating the social graces of her long-dead mother.
“Sure is hot out there,” he blotted away the moisture that the Carolina sun and humidity had inflicted upon his brow.
“Nice and cool in here,” she purred, recognizing a mark when she saw one.
“You from these parts?”
“No sir, I’m a Yankee,” she simpered. “On my way home after a lovely holiday.”
“Well, I’d like to show you a little southern hospitality and buy you a drink,” he offered. “What’ll you have?”
“Surprise me,” Amanda flirted. “I’ll be right back, I have to powder my nose,” she winked at him and climbed down from her barstool, brushing against him on the way down. “Oh, excuse me,” she pretended to be embarrassed. “I’m so clumsy.”
“You’re also under arrest,” the man said gravely, securing her arms behind her in a flash. “I watched you steal three wallets with that move last night, but couldn’t get to you fast enough. Now you’ve stolen mine and you’re going to jail.”
When the southern gentleman, who was actually an undercover cop, finished tightening her handcuffs, a uniformed officer approached and led her away, reading her rights as they walked.
**
Holly had dressed casually for her assignment, donning denim shorts, comfortable sandals, and a breathable tank top. In that outfit, she could run if she had to, and she’d be comfortable going into most establishments if her surveillance had to be done on foot. Missy had told her to just stay in her car, but if the suspect went somewhere on foot, Holly wasn’t about to take a chance on losing her. She might not be certain about the wisdom of accepting this assignment, but by golly since she had committed to it, she was determined to do it right.
She’d waited in the neighborhood outside of Jenna’s house, until she saw the young woman leave. Giving her enough of a lead so as not to be noticed, Holly pulled smoothly out into traffic, never losing sight of the young woman. Apparently having a particular talent for not looking conspicuous, she had a smoothie at the bar in the gym while Jenna worked out, read the paper on a park bench while Jenna jogged, and stocked up on dry goods while Jenna grocery shopped. She wanted to go into the diner for lunch when Jenna stopped there, but didn’t dare because the venue looked too small for her to come in without being noticed.
Using a digital voice recorder so that she never had to take her hands from the wheel while driving, Holly diligently noted the precise time of Jenna’s every move, making certain to repeat each time distinctly, twice. At first, the assignment had been fun, but, since Jenna seemed to have a very ordinary existence, which involved an inordinate amount of time spent sitting in the car for Holly, the initial charm wore thin.
Jenna had gone to a non-descript grey cinder-block building after lunch, where Holly presumed she worked. The small plaque on the door, as seen through the zoom function of her cell phone camera, said simply A & E Model Works. Was Jenna a model? It would make sense, given her youth and fitness level, despite having a rather non-remarkable appearance. Holly did a quick search on her phone and found that A & E Model Works was actually a processing plant which churned out plastic parts for snap-together model planes, cars, and other vehicles to delight hobbyists.
“Oh boy,” she sighed, leaning her head against the window of her car. “Even her job is boring. She probably killed the guy just to break the monotony.”
After sitting across the street from A & E for three hours, her stomach protesting loudly at the lack of food, because she’d finished her bagged lunch hours earlier and had run out of snacks, Holly texted Missy to see if it would be okay for her to go grab a bite of dinner from a nearby taco stand. Of course, Missy told her to go ahead, so she got an order of shrimp tacos to go and came back to her nicely shaded parking spot to eat.
“It’s a picnic,” she commented optimistically, biting into the tender, spicy taco and savoring the combination of flavors.
Around nine o’clock, when Holly was starting to get more than a little drowsy, and had to pee so badly that she thought she’d burst,
Jenna and a handful of her coworkers emerged from the building.
“Quitting time,” Holly murmured, waiting to start her car until some of the others did as well, so that she wouldn’t call attention to herself. When Jenna’s car left the lot, she waited until three other cars fell in behind her before pulling out into the road and doing a u-turn to follow.
“She’s going home, what a surprise,” Holly yawned.
Missy had told her that she could call it a day anytime that she wanted, but she had a hunch that when Jenna went home for the evening, she might not stay there. After all, most crimes happened at night, and she didn’t want to miss any activity that might be significant.
There was a gas station just a couple of blocks from Jenna’s house, and when Holly couldn’t stand it anymore, she drove there for a bathroom break, grabbing coffee and a bag of trail mix while she was there. When she came back to her observation post up the street from Jenna’s home, she noted that a car had pulled up on the side street closest to her. Recording the make and model, because she couldn’t see the color very well, she watched a figure exit the vehicle and head for the alley behind Jenna’s house.
“What’s this all about?” she whispered, her heart beating faster.
She texted Missy to see what she should do, but received no answer. Deducing that Missy was probably asleep, she was left to figure out her next move on her own. The lights were on in what looked like Jenna’s living room, kitchen and upstairs bedroom, and when all were extinguished simultaneously, instinct made Holly’s decision for her. Heart thundering in her chest and adrenalin crashing through her veins, she slipped silently from her car and hurried toward the alley behind Jenna’s house, where the dark figure had gone.
**
Timothy Eckels had been busy from the time that his feet hit the floor. There had been a rash of deaths overnight, completely coincidental and not of a suspicious nature, and he and Fiona had been tagging and bagging all day. Summer was like that sometimes. He wondered if folks just got tired of fighting the heat. When he sank into his desk chair after a ridiculously long day, he opened his email, and the first item that caught his attention was the toxicology report on Andre Weisman.
Clicking on it, he scanned it first, looking for specific things, then nodding, he went back and reread it to make certain that he had seen what he thought he saw. Fiona appeared in the doorway, stifling a yawn.
“Hey boss-man, are we done yet?” she sighed, leaning against the door frame.
“I was right,” he looked up, eyebrows raised, ignoring her question entirely.
From the look on his face, she knew that their long day had just gotten longer.
“About what?” she perked up a bit.
“The poison. I know what it is now, and while it was the same poison that was used on the cupcake, it wasn’t delivered by the cupcake. It was ingested in a liquid form.”
“Just like you thought,” Fiona nodded. “Want me to get Detective Dufus on the phone?”
Tim shook his head, thinking. “I’d rather not, but I suppose we have no choice. Go ahead, call him.”
**
Art Solinsky hates it when crime happens after five o’clock. If his work phone rings after quitting time, it automatically puts him in a bad mood. When he saw the Coroner’s number appear on his screen after eight o’clock, he grimaced and considered not picking up, but decided to cover his bases and see what the creepy undertaker wanted.
“Solinsky,” he barked into the phone.
He listened for a few minutes, his sour expression growing darker by the minute.
“You called me at this hour to talk to me about lab results, when you haven’t even drawn up a report? What were you thinking, Eckels? The guy ain’t gonna be any less dead if you wait until morning to send over my report,” Solinsky grumbled before hanging up.
**
Timothy Eckels stared at the phone in his hand, speechless for a moment.
“Well, that went well,” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Now what?”
“If Solinsky isn’t interested in catching a killer, I know who will be. Get me Chas Beckett,” the Coroner replied grimly.
Fiona dialed the number, listened to a recorded message, and pushed End on her phone, frustrated.
“Chas Beckett is out of town. Any suggestions?”
“Call Melissa Beckett and see if she knows how to get in touch with him.”
“It’s that important?” Fiona hesitated.
“There’s a killer on the loose. Solinsky may not be overly concerned about that, but I will not have blood on my hands because I didn’t try,” the look on Tim’s face was grave.
“Okay,” Fiona nodded, looking up Missy’s number.
**
Missy and Echo had just come back in from a long walk with Jasmine and the dogs, when Missy’s phone rang.
“Timothy Eckels?” she murmured, glancing at the screen. “That can’t be good.”
“You don’t suppose that Holly…?” Echo left the question unfinished, her eyes wide.
“Hello?” Missy answered in a hurry.
“Mrs. Beckett, I’m sorry to bother you so late in the evening, but I would really like to get in touch with your husband, regarding a case that I’m dealing with,” Tim explained.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Tim, Chas is out of state at the moment. I know that you’re limited as to what you can tell me, but I have to ask…does this have anything to do with the Andre Weisman case?” she blurted.
His silence spoke volumes, so she continued.
“Okay, so I don’t know if you know or not, but I’m listed as a person of interest in the case, as is one of my dear friends, so I’ve been doing a little investigating on my own, because Detective Solinsky just won’t listen…” she began in a rush.
“I’m aware of that propensity in the detective,” Tim answered dryly, recalling his most recent conversation with Art Solinsky.
“Well, the long and short of it is that I’ve got a young woman who is following the person that I think is the killer, and if I’ve put that young woman in danger, then I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me. Did you find a clue during an autopsy or something? Anything that you could tell me would help,” Missy pleaded for information, worried about Holly and kicking herself for putting the receptionist potentially in harm’s way.
Another moment of silence from Tim, and then, “Is the person that you’re following a horticulturalist by chance?”
“I seriously doubt it, why?” Missy was mystified.
Tim told her about his suspicions, and what he’d discovered in the lab results, which didn’t really mean much to Missy, but when she related the information to Echo, after hanging up the phone, the blood drained from Echo’s face, and she clutched at the handle of Jasmine’s stroller.
“I know who the killer is,” she whispered.
“Oh no,” Missy glanced at her phone, seeing that she had missed multiple messages from Holly while she’d been on the phone with Timothy Eckels. “Tell me quickly, I have to call the police. I think Holly may be in trouble,” she worried, her heart skipping a beat.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
Holly shook with a heady combination of fear and excitement as she stayed within the shadows and crossed into the alley behind Jenna’s house. Moving as quietly as she could, she followed the path that the potential intruder had taken, and saw the fuse box for the house with its door hanging open. She briefly considered throwing the breaker back into place and lighting everything up to illuminate the dark figure she’d seen, but didn’t want to put Jenna in danger, so she dismissed the thought and continued on, hoping against hope that whoever was out there couldn’t hear her.
Crouching behind a bush, she saw the figure, who was quite large, so she assumed that it was a man, doing something at the back door. A few seconds later, the lock on the door released, and the intruder slipped inside. Thinking that this was way outside the scope of her duties, and tempted to just call 911 and le
t things work themselves out, Holly instead crept forward, staying low so as not to be detected through the windows. It might take several minutes for the police to arrive, and if she could distract the intruder somehow in the meantime, she might be able to prevent a tragedy from happening. Even if this was just a garden-variety thief, which she doubted, she might be able to scare him off somehow.
Holly was about three feet from the back door, when she heard a soft, hiccupping sound and realized that it was probably Jenna, scared out of her wits and crying. The sound was coming from an upstairs open window, which meant that, most likely, the intruder hadn’t gotten to her yet. Wondering how to capture Jenna’s attention without alerting the intruder to her presence, Holly quickly decided that creating a diversion might be the best way to go. She could make a noise, then run, drawing the intruder away. She was pretty fast, and would have a head start, so she decided to give the ill-conceived plan a shot.
Bending down, Holly picked up a large rock from beside the back steps and hurled it into the house, hearing it thud loudly against something. She turned to run and was suddenly blinded by a powerful flashlight.
“Calgon Police Department, stop and put your hands over your head! You are under arrest!” a voice came through a bullhorn.
“I’m not who you want, you dimwits!” Holly shouted back, putting her hands up as she was told. “I work for Chas Beckett. The burglar is inside, and the homeowner is trapped,” she yelled, fearing for Jenna’s safety.
She heard a loud bang behind her, then the sounds of a scuffle as police tackled the intruder. It took several of the officers to contain the intruder, and when they had him on the ground, the pulled off the ski mask that he’d been wearing.
Jenna, who stood back trembling and watching the spectacle in her foyer, gasped at the reveal. “Simon?” she was aghast. “How could you? You killed Andre, I knew it!” she hollered in a rage, charging over as though she wanted to attack him.
Salted Caramel Killer Page 6
