Praline Murder

by Sandi Scott

  Once the computer finished booting up, she navigated to Brent's blog and looked at the posts again. Scrolling through the comments, she noticed one frequent poster who disagreed with all the “he's so sexy” comments from the others.

  Wow, she thought. I don't know who this 'Chances#1fan' gal is, but she definitely doesn't like Brent. She kept scrolling, reading the poster's opinion that Brent was overrated and that Chance was the real star of the show.

  “These things are getting bizarre!” she murmured softly. “And, holy cow—that last one sounds like a threat: #BlunderingBrent needs to leave the show before someone decides to cut him out. I wonder if Luna's seen this?”

  After a few seconds of considering, Ashley clicked through the layers to find the user profile for Chances#1fan. Calling on the skills she developed back in her IT days, she found the images the user had posted on other sites—all pictures of Chance. Ashley was startled to realize that the GPS coordinates on the posted pictures made it clear that all the messages were coming from Seagrass. I definitely need to make sure Luna knows about this, she thought. She glanced at the clock and realized that it was still the middle of the night, so she decided to bake up a batch of treats for him to smooth the way to their conversation—cheating a little with a semi-homemade recipe for a sugar-free cake that was loaded with dried fruit and nuts. While the oven preheated, she mixed together a sugar-free yellow cake mix, sugar-free vanilla pudding mix, eggs, pumpkin puree, and water. Then, she added chopped dried cherries and walnuts before dividing the batter into mini fluted cake pans. She loved using the small pans to give every serving the yummy browned edges everyone seemed to prefer, and using them meant she didn't need to add frosting to the cakes. While the cakes baked, Ashley headed to the shower and dressed for the day. She decided to head to the Seagrass Sweets kitchen and work on the food for the show until a decent hour to contact the detective and share what she'd learned.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As she pulled into the parking area behind the Fresh Start Kitchens building, Ashley held her breath, hoping that Dizzy had found her way there and that she would be waiting at the back door. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the goofy dog, and Ashley felt her heart drop.

  “You'll find her,” she whispered to herself. “She's going to turn up, and she'll be fine.” Flipping light switches as she passed through the storage area and into the cooking space, she headed straight for the coffee station and started a fresh pot of strong, rich brew. With no sleep at all, she was going to need the caffeine boost to get through the day.

  Ashley leaned against the counter and realized that she didn't have the energy to bake anything. Checking the walk-in freezer to see what was in reserve, she pulled out brownies, apple bread, and pumpkin muffins, and looked in the refrigerator for candies and found some peanut butter truffles and white chocolate candy bark—enough for the crew that day. Still feeling restless, Ashley decided to make a batch of chicken enchiladas, Ryan’s favorite, and her special green dip for the evening—aware she had treated Ryan badly, worse than he deserved, and wanting to make amends. They would be a good peace offering. Although she was not quite ready to make up yet, by evening she probably would be. If not, the dish would freeze well and keep until a more forgiving moment. Setting a pot of water on the stove to boil while removing the husks from the tomatillos, Ashley seeded and deveined several jalapenos, peeled and quartered some onions, and, when the water started boiling, dropped the tomatillos into the water to soften them. The deboned meat from a roasted chicken in the cooler produced a large shredded pile—even though the hands were busy the mind was thinking about the case. What was the motive for Brent's death? No one really seemed to benefit. If Chance had been killed, she thought, I'd have a whole slew of motives—and suspects. But Brent? He just didn't seem to stir up enough emotion for anyone to bother killing him. Mixing chopped green onions, the shredded chicken, and some grated cheese with softened cream cheese; filling warmed corn tortillas with the mixture; rolling the enchiladas; and placing them seam down in a baking dish was therapeutic. While blending the tomatillos, peppers, and onions, Patty came in and touched Ashley’s shoulder, startling her.

  “Ack! I didn't hear you over the blender,” Ashley shrieked. “I was off in a whole other world. You scared me half to death.”

  “I noticed,” Patty snickered. “I called your name several times, but you just stood there, finger on the pulse button, staring at the wall. What's on your mind?”

  Ashley poured the sauce over the top of the enchiladas and topped them with more grated cheese while she talked.

  “First, Dizzy's missing. Ryan took her walking on the beach yesterday, and she ran off into the marsh. As a result, Dizzy is lost because Ryan was afraid to chase her into the ‘gator and snake infested swamp. I was really mad at him last night, but I realized this morning that I was being unreasonable. That's why I'm making enchiladas. There's tons—why don't you and Smoke Daddy come by for supper tonight?”

  Patty hugged her friend. “Oh, honey, that's awful! And I'd have been mad at Ryan, too; it might not be fair, but it's how you felt! As far as supper goes, Smoke Daddy will be in seventh heaven when I tell him. He loves those enchiladas almost as much as he does barbecue!”

  Ashley laughed and nodded. “Our guys will definitely be happy with the menu. Let me tell you what I found out about the murder case last night.” She scooped the flesh out of several avocados and added them to a blender with more cooked tomatillos, a garlic clove, and some red onion, pulsing them together until smooth, then poured the dip into a lidded container.

  “There, we'll have chips and dip while everything finishes cooking tonight,” Ashley said. “Anyway, I couldn't sleep, so I took another look at Brent's blog. I couldn't believe all the comments about how sexy he was; I kept wondering if the women posting were really talking about the same guy I met.”

  Patty laughed and rolled her eyes while Ashley continued. “There was one female user, though, who totally slammed him. She called herself Chances#1fan, and she kept posting about how Brent wasn't all that great and about how much better Chance Fortune is. By the end, she'd gotten really bizarre and even a little threatening.”

  Patty looked surprised. “Really? I mean, I don't get all the excitement over Brent; he was cute, like a little kid, but 'sexy' definitely isn't a word I'd choose to describe him. But I, for sure, wouldn't call that director anything even approximating 'sexy'. He's one of the biggest jerks I've ever met. I'll bet this Chance's fan person never actually met him.”

  “I don't know,” Ashley disagreed. “I checked her user profile and did a little snooping about the pictures she posted. Patty, the GPS coordinates on all of them are from here in Seagrass! She almost has to be someone connected with the show, don't you think?” The friends continued to talk about the crew, the mansion, and the murder as Ashley arranged the now-thawed goodies on trays and helped Patty make tuna salad, grilled pesto chicken, and ham and Swiss sandwiches for lunch. They both agreed that there wasn't much point in getting fancy. As Patty pointed out, “The deputies will eat anything we serve them, and those Hollywood types on the crew don't eat much at all.” They added some homemade sweet potato chips to the boxes and loaded them in the van.

  “I'll go get Smoke Daddy, and we can go out looking for Dizzy if you'll take care of the food on set,” Patty said. “And don't worry, Ashley; she'll be back, none the worse for her little adventure. Remember when she disappeared last summer?”

  The friends laughed together just thinking about it. The two of them, along with Ryan, Smoke Daddy, and Dizzy, had been walking near the marina, headed to the beach for a picnic. Dizzy spotted a friend—a little Pug named Sassy—and ran over to greet her. The human friends continued walking until Ashley realized that she couldn't hear the dogs anymore. When they turned back, there was no sign of the canine pals, and they still hadn't turned up after the two couples had searched frantically where they last saw the pair.

  Later, someone appro
ached the friends on the beach while they sat around a small campfire, discussing where to look when it got light enough to resume the search. As he got closer, they recognized Daniel, one of Smoke Daddy's staff. In luck, Dizzy and Sassy had jumped onto Daniel's boat and snuggled up under some blankets in the shadows of the cabin. Daniel headed out for some late evening fishing and didn't discover the pooches for a couple of hours. Both dogs seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

  “Yeah,” Ashley sighed. “I'm sure we'll end up with a good story when we finally find her. I just wish that could be right now, though.” Patty hugged her friend again and reassured her once more, as she sent her on her way.

  Arriving at the mansion, Ashley found the driveway blocked by a large news truck that was still halfway on the highway. She stepped out of her van and walked up to the gate where a deputy was arguing with the truck's driver. As she looked around, she realized that news trucks lined both sides of the road leading to the house for several blocks, and the fence line was clogged with paparazzi, leaning over the rails and trying to climb over to create the best photo op. She stepped forward, planning to ask the deputy on guard about getting closer to the house to unload. At that point, she noticed Sheriff Mueller walking the perimeter, warning the climbers that they would be arrested for trespassing if they didn't get down off the fence and behave themselves.

  “Hi, Sheriff,” Ashley waved at him. “Been awhile since I've seen you around town. Things look a little crazy here. I guess word's out about the show and Brent?”

  “Yeah,” the gray-haired sheriff grumbled. “It's bad enough that every meddlin' news vulture from 500 miles around here is camped out along this road, but these lookie-loos all trying to get 'up close and personal' with some minor celebrity and catch a glimpse of a ghost are driving me crazy! What are you doing here? I always thought you had too much sense to fall for this kind of fake hero silliness.”

  Ashley laughed. “Oh, I'm not looking for a hero connected with this show, that's for sure. I'm the caterer—one of the caterers, with Patty—and I have lunch and pastries for your deputies and the show's crew in the van. I was heading over to ask Charlie over there if I was going to be able to drive up close enough to unload when I saw you coming over and wanted to say hello. Also, I have a favor to ask; Dizzy ran away last night and she's still missing. Would you mind keeping a watch out for her when you're around town?”

  “I surely will,” he agreed. “More than that, I'll radio all the patrols with her description and have them look for her while they're driving around. A lot of my team is out here; the dad-burned media people have overrun my office, so we've set up a field office here for this investigation and pretty much everything else. We can actually provide better security for the evidence out here right now.” He glared at the truck in the driveway before rolling his eyes and turning back to her.

  “Jump back in your van and back up a little,” the sheriff said. “That news truck will be moving shortly—either by choice or on the back of a tow truck. I've already told that same guy twice that they aren't allowed on the property. This is the last time I plan to tell him; after this, he and his passengers can cool their heels in jail. You can pull around them in a minute and go on up to the house.”

  After thanking him, Ashley went back to the van and pulled out of the driveway, far enough to make room for the truck to back out. She rolled the window down just in time to hear the sheriff giving Charlie, the deputy, his instructions.

  “If he tries to get in again, shoot out his tires and call Jimmy's Tow and Go. After that, cuff 'em all and call Ronnie to haul them back and book them for trespassing, interfering with a police investigation, and whatever else she can think of. Don't argue with them; just kill the tires and get on with it.” The sheriff raised his voice enough to be sure the driver and passengers heard every word.

  Ashley snorted as she watched Charlie turn his head to keep the driver from seeing his struggle not to laugh; she and the deputy knew the sheriff was playacting the role of country rube, but there was no reason to let the news crew in on the joke.

  Finally, she could pull up to the mansion although she heard cries of protest behind her. “Why does she get in, if we don't? A little favoritism for a local cutie, sheriff?” the driver sneered. Ashley waited to hear the sheriff's response, knowing he'd already had enough from the outsider.

  “All you need to know is that I'm the law here, and I let her in. But, to satisfy your nasty curiosity—even though it's none of your business—it so happens that she works on the set,” the sheriff barked. “Now, get this truck off private property and back where you were told to park or step out and get ready to go to jail. I don't much care which you choose, but you'd better do it fast before I lose what little patience I have left.”

  Ashley parked as close to the front door as she could and jumped down from the driver's seat to grab the first tray of food from the back. She was barely over the threshold when Luna appeared in front of her. He looked exhausted and exasperated, like he was in over his head. He walked back to the van with her and helped carry the rest of the food inside, updating her on the situation as they walked.

  “My deputies won't be back until late tonight so I'm still on my own for the investigation. I'd sure be glad to have some help with questioning witnesses and suspects,” he hesitated. Ashley read him like a book. He wanted her help again, but he wasn't going to ask. Hiding a small smile, she pretended to fall for his ploy.

  “I’d be glad to help if that would do you any good,” she offered. “I know I'm not a trained investigator, but I do know most of the people involved, and I did okay with Lucy, right?”

  He waved her off, pretending to dismiss her offer. Then, he tilted his head as if considering the possibility. “Well, I guess it would be okay if you sat in while I talk to people—only to take notes, you understand, if you can spare the time. I can't very well have a civilian conducting my interviews for me, but it would be helpful to have someone writing things down so I can focus on the questions,” he replied with some reluctance.

  Ashley smiled inwardly as she followed the detective into the small morning room he was using as an office. She looked around at the pretty room, with sunlight pouring in through the French doors that opened onto the garden and soft yellow shiplap on the walls. There was an antique Rococo scrolled desk along one wall, along with a trio of matching armchairs upholstered in fabric with tiny navy dots on a creamy background. She figured she might as well let him think she was fooled; at least this way, he wasn't warning her off the investigation. She pulled the steno pad she always carried out of her purse and sat down next to Lucy, who was waiting for them.

  “Hey, Lucy,” she said, taking the risk that Luna wouldn't get too angry if she greeted the widow. “How are you holding up?”

  Lucy smiled thinly before replying, “I'm as good as I can expect to be. Thank you again for stopping by yesterday. It helped to have someone to talk to, and the food was delicious.” Even as she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. In Ashley's opinion, this was a grieving widow, not a murderer feeling guilty or nervous.

  Luna cleared his throat and looked at Ashley, clearly communicating that he didn't want her taking the lead in the conversation.

  “Thank you for coming out here, Mrs. Redstaff,” the detective said in a kind voice. “I know it was inconvenient, but I thought it would be easier for you than trying to get through the reporters surrounding the sheriff's office, and I'm hoping it will take the reporters longer to descend on you if they don't see our cars near your home. We're finding it much simpler to work from here, on private property, instead of dealing with them hanging out on public sidewalks and parking lots.”

  “It wasn't a problem, and you're right,” she said. “I definitely don't want to deal with the media even though they've already found the apartment. They were pounding on my front door at six o'clock this morning, and they wouldn't leave me alone. My neighbor finally came over and scared them all away. He's a gentle
man, but he looks pretty intimidating, and his voice is very commanding. He told them he didn't appreciate the fact that they were disturbing me or his family, including his newborn daughter, and that he thought it would be a good idea if they went back to the sidewalks. Apparently, he convinced them; they stopped hanging around before I needed to leave to meet with you.”

  “If they become a nuisance like that again, call me,” Luna said, handing her his business card. “I'll send a deputy to move them along. In fact, I'll have one of the patrol cars swing by your place now and then to check. Now, Mrs. Redstaff, I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind.”

  “Should I have an attorney with me, detective?” Lucy's question sounded more resigned than defensive or nervous.

  “That's up to you, Mrs. Redstaff,” he explained, “but I'm really just looking for some background information. For now, everyone connected with your husband or with the show is still a possible suspect, but this meeting isn't about interrogating a suspect. I'm hoping to learn more about your husband, to help me know who might have had a reason to want to harm him. You obviously knew him better than the show's crew or 'talent,' I think they call themselves, so your information is going to be important.”

  Lucy nodded, acknowledging the sense of his words. “Of course. I'd rather have my husband back, but since there's no chance of that, I'll do anything I can to help you find the person who hurt him. We didn't always agree, and there were times when he aggravated me completely, but I love . . . I loved him, and I wanted to spend my whole life with him. Someone took that dream, took him, away from me. They need to be held accountable.” Her voice broke with the last words, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Ashley placed her hand on the woman's shoulder without speaking. She hoped she could comfort Lucy without breaking the flow of the conversation.