Cookie Dough Killer

by Summer Prescott

  “Well, like you said, she just wanted to do things herself. It probably has nothing at all to do with you,” she reassured her.

  “I don’t know…it might be because I sort of told her off in our first planning meeting,” Muffy bit her lip.

  “Told her off? About what?”

  “Well, I’m really sorry for saying this, because it’s going to sound terrible, but…I think having a circus theme for a gala is an awful idea, and when she brought it up at the meeting, I said so. I mean, not in so many words, but…” Muffy trailed off.

  “Well, that was brave,” Missy grinned.

  “Or crazy,” Muffy sighed. “She tried to turn the board against me, saying that I didn’t support the entire idea behind the event. Fortunately, she lost that battle, because I’ve worked with the other board members before.”

  “Then let’s show them that they made a great decision in making you co-chair. Let’s make this our best donation year ever,” Missy encouraged.

  “And find some way to not allow Allivia to take the credit for it,” Muffy snickered.

  “Right. Is charity work her only endeavor? I was kind of surprised that she had a home office. I always pictured her as a lounging by the pool kind of gal, and that’s not a bad thing,” she clarified hastily. Missy never, ever, wanted to be thought of as judgmental.

  “Oh, you don’t know?” Muffy’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Know what?”

  “Allivia has her own business. She’s a talent agent. She finds people for acting jobs, singing, and other performance arts, then she negotiates their contract for them, making sure that she always makes more money from their talent than they do,” Muffy confided.

  “That’s awful,” Missy’s eyes went wide. “Is that how she has the connections to get a big-name celebrity here next year?”

  “I have no idea. I kind of think that she’s not telling the truth about that, but I guess we’ll see,” Muffy shrugged. “So how are we going to get started with all of this?”

  “Well, let’s take the list of last year’s donors and see who’s on it. Then we can add more names. I’ll talk to the people that I know, and you can talk to the people that you know, and we’ll regroup when everyone has been contacted. How does that sound?”

  Muffy smiled with relief.

  “It sounds wonderfully cooperative, which is an unusual thing when it comes to working with Allivia. I just wish she would give up doing these things and leave them to people who actually care about the community.”

  “You don’t think Allivia cares?”

  Muffy’s mouth twisted. “Allivia only cares about herself and how to stay several steps ahead of the Joneses,” she muttered.

  “Well then it’s up to us to take care of the Gala,” Missy said in a firm voice, wanting to head in a more positive direction. “Would you like some cupcakes to take with you?”

  **

  Echo knocked on the door of a modest house, and was surprised when an extremely handsome man, dressed quite casually, answered it.

  “Blaze Sutton?” she inquired, hoping that she had the correct address.

  “Echo?” he reached out a hand and she shook it.

  “Yes, it’s so nice to meet you,” she smiled, relieved that she was indeed in the right place.

  “Won’t you come in? I was just taking a bit of a break. I have a piece that I’m working on, and every once in a while, I just have to walk away from it so that I maintain my perspective,” he explained, showing her into his sparely furnished home.

  “Sounds like parenting,” she joked, laughing self-consciously.

  “I’m sorry?” he looked confused.

  “Oh, that was a bad joke,” Echo blushed. “I had a discussion with someone yesterday about why I take my daughter to daycare, and I realized that it’s much easier to be a good parent if you’re not with your child 24/7. You both get a break and some socialization. I didn’t want to accept that at first,” she shrugged, embarrassed at such a personal revelation.

  “No, I get it,” Blaze nodded graciously. “That totally makes sense.”

  “Oh, wow, is that what you’re working on?” Echo’s gaze traveled to a door at the end of the hall, through which she saw an interesting sculpture.

  “Uh, yeah,” it was his turn to blush. “It’s a work in progress. Can I get you anything before we get started? Water or something?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Okay, well let’s get started then.”

  He gestured to a spot on the couch and Echo sat while he retrieved a thick folder from the mid-century modern desk in the corner, then returned to sit next to her.

  “You’re a minimalist,” Echo observed. “I like it.”

  “Thanks,” Blaze grinned. “I’ve found that simple living makes it easier to create my art.”

  “I bet. My husband is the same way. I like little knick-knacks and fabric draped everywhere, and rugs covering every available surface, and he likes a much more basic look, probably for the same reason.”

  “Your husband is incredibly talented. I really enjoy his work.”

  “Thank you, I’ll have to tell him that you said so. Is that the plan for the gala?” Echo pointed to the folder that he’d brought and laid out on the coffee table.

  “Yes, this is it, so far. I’m sure you heard about the choice of theme for this year,” Blaze looked dismayed.

  “Yes. You have quite the challenge on your hands.”

  “Indeed,” he laughed quietly. “But, with your help, I’m hoping that we can pull this off in a manner that is neither garish, nor clownish,” he opened the folder.

  “I hope so too,” Echo nodded, turning her focus to the sketches and fabric swatches in the folder. “Wow, Blaze…this is spectacular. I can’t believe that someone could actually come up with tasteful ideas to make this theme come to life, but you’ve nailed it,” she approved, paging through the file.

  “Thanks. I try not to shy away from a challenge,” he smiled.

  “I’m impressed, but a little confused,” Echo admitted.

  “About?”

  “About why I’m here. Allivia assigned me to you, but it looks like you have everything completely under control, so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Well, what Allivia would like you to do is be her little watch dog. She wants someone to monitor my every move to make certain that I follow orders.”

  “If she didn’t trust you…why did she give you this position?” Echo frowned.

  “She didn’t. The board did. I’ve been doing this for years, and she knew that I wouldn’t be pleased with the choice of theme this year, so she tried to get me replaced, but thankfully, the board wouldn’t have it. Now, I either have to succeed profoundly and watch her take the credit for it, or let the gala fail miserably and watch her go down in flames with it,” he said mildly.

  “Which are you going to do?” Echo whispered, shocked at the intrigue surrounding the charity event.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  **

  Missy was on the phone with Allivia for the fourth time this week. The woman spoke so quickly that she could almost never get a word in edgewise, so she just settled for making affirmative and interested noises whenever it seemed necessary.

  “Oh, shoot,” she exclaimed, looking at her watch.

  “I’m sorry?” Allivia actually paused her flow of directives.

  “I just noticed that I have to pick up my daughter in a few minutes, so I really have to run,” Missy said, relieved.

  “Oh? Is she in school?”

  “No, she’s at daycare,” Missy held the phone to her ear with her shoulder while she searched in her purse for her keys.

  “Really. Where does she go?”

  “It’s an in-home place called Little Lambs,” Missy was distracted, but finally found her keys in the bottom of her purse.

  “Oh dear,” Allivia sounded horrified.

  “What?” Missy’s heart skipped a b
eat.

  “I…don’t want to say anything, but please, please, for your own good, check out the owners,” she whispered, and the line went dead.

  Filled with dread, her stomach clenched with worry, Missy dashed to her car.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  “She’s not going back there until you’re able to check on Kendra,” Missy said in a low voice.

  She and Chas sat on the floor in the family room, watching Kaylee play with her plastic building blocks. The little girl was so intent upon her task, that she seemed not to even notice them, though they were mere feet away.

  “You said you did your homework on all of the daycare centers and that she was licensed and had nothing but good reviews,” Chas reminded her, his eyes on their daughter.

  “I did, but it’s not like I did a background check on her,” Missy whispered, clearly upset. “What if she has a violent past or something?”

  “If she had a violent past, she wouldn’t have received her license,” her husband pointed out reasonably.

  “Are you going to check this out, or should I just call Spencer?” Missy challenged.

  Spencer Bengal was a young Marine veteran who worked for Chas at his private investigation agency, and who was like a son to the couple.

  Chas returned her bold look with a much softer one.

  “I’m not saying that I’m not going to check it out,” he reached over and rubbed her knee as she sat, arms folded, chin quivering. “I’m just saying that nothing has happened to our sweet girl, and you’re going to make yourself sick with worry,” he said tenderly. “I’ll take care of this, and in the meantime, you relax and enjoy your day with Kaylee.”

  “Kay-wee,” the little girl repeated softly, looking over at them.

  The couple exchanged a joy-filled glance. Any time that their daughter spoke was a time of celebration.

  “Kaylee! Yes! What a good girl,” Missy praised her.

  “Good job, Kaylee,” Chas chimed in.

  Kaylee smiled and went back to building her tower of plastic blocks.

  “It’s going to be a good day,” Chas kissed his wife, who nodded, too overcome to speak.

  **

  “What do we have today?” tall, dark-haired Spencer Bengal asked when Chas came into the P.I. agency.

  “Something a bit personal,” Chas replied gravely. “Can you go grab Ringo and meet me in my office?”

  “You got it,” Spencer was on his feet immediately.

  He’d started out his career as a personal security agent for Chas, because the detective was heir to a huge fortune, and the young man took safeguarding him and his family quite seriously. If whatever he was investigating was something personal for Chas, it would be his first priority.

  Ringo, their resident computer hacker, was sound asleep in an office chair in the agency’s control room when Spencer opened the door. A half-eaten pizza sat open on the desk beside a laptop, which was flashing with some sort of alert, and a wrapper from a candy bar laid on Ringo’s chest flapping back and forth with every inhale and exhale. The rumpled lad wasn’t known for his tidy habits, but his hacking skills were among the best in the world, so the agency cut him some significant slack.

  “Up and at ‘em,” Spencer barked, standing in the doorway.

  He didn’t want to take a chance on fouling the soles of his fine leather Italian shoes with the remnants of anything that Ringo might have discarded.

  “Geez, dude,” the hacker clutched his chest dramatically. “You can’t just wake me up like that, you’ll give me a heart attack,” he groused.

  “No, I think your diet has that taken care of,” was the dry reply. “Chas needs you in his office.”

  “What for?” Ringo blinked, then rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to do your job?” the Marine raised an eyebrow.

  “Tell him I’ll be there in ten,” the hacker stretched, then cracked his knuckles.

  “Make it five,” Spencer replied, not awaiting a response before heading back down the hall.

  “Everything’s a rush,” Ringo muttered. “Where’s the flippin’ fire?”

  **

  Chas reached across the desk to hand a piece of paper to the rumpled computer whiz in front of him.

  “Her name is Kendra Henderson,” he explained. “I need every bit of info that you can find on her and any known family, friends and associates, and I need it yesterday,” the detective instructed grimly.

  “Intense,” Ringo pursed his lips. “Who is she?”

  “That’s what I expect you to find out.”

  “You got it Boss Man. Any food being delivered today?” the junk food junkie asked hopefully.

  “I’m sure we can work something out,” Chas looked at Spencer, who nodded.

  “I’m on it,” Ringo promised, slowly rising to go.

  “How long have you worn those clothes?” Spencer frowned, taking in the stained, hooded sweatshirt and threadbare jeans.

  Ringo looked down at himself and shrugged.

  “Who knows? I don’t really pay attention to that stuff, you know?”

  “We’ll have something sent up for you to wear,” Chas dismissed the matter.

  Hygiene wasn’t a huge priority for the young man, and Chas would bet a month’s salary that his receptionist, Holly, was in the control room at the moment, spraying it down with air freshener while she had the chance. Ringo was the best in the biz, though, so the agency accommodated his…unique needs as best they could.

  **

  “Spence, I need to talk to you for a minute,” Chas gestured for him to sit, after Ringo had shambled back to the control room to do his magic.

  “Sure thing,” he sat and leaned forward, concerned. “Everything okay?”

  “As far as I know,” his boss sighed, tapping his forefingers on the leather desk blotter. “As you know, Missy is in a delicate condition now, and I don’t know how well she’s going to be able to handle running a business, caring for a three-year-old, and maintaining her health and energy, so I’m just going to labor under the assumption that I’m going to be needed at home way more than I previously have been. I’m also committed to working on homicide cases for Calgon PD until a replacement is found for the lead detective, which means I’m going to need to count on you much more around here. You’ll basically be running the place until further notice. I’ll be here as much as I can, but you’re the point man for any cases that come in. You good with that?”

  Spencer nodded. “Of course. Whatever you need, you know that. It’s going to be a bit of a challenge running the agency as a one man show,” he pointed out.

  “You know anybody?” Chas frowned.

  “Let me check with some guys,” Spencer replied, already sorting through possibilities in his mind.

  “Take your time, and if we have to scale back on our caseload here for a while, so be it.”

  “Not on my watch,” Spencer stood.

  “Good man,” Chas reached across the desk and shook the younger man’s hand. “Just let me know what resources you need.”

  “Will do.”

  **

  Spencer tapped a number into his phone that he hadn’t used in a very long time. He hesitated, thinking, then took a breath and hit “Send.” It only rang once.

  “Long time,” the voice on the other end was tense.

  Spencer Bengal never called unless there was an urgent need…usually a life or death need.

  “Too long,” Spencer agreed. “Can you come down here?”

  “Give me a couple days?”

  “If that’s what you need.”

  “See you soon.”

  “Appreciate it,” Spencer hung up, hoping he’d done the right thing.

  **

  Chas and Spencer were in a conference room at the agency, sorting through the files of a cold case that had been handed over to them by the Calgon PD, when Ringo sauntered in and dropped a file folder the long folding table that they wer
e using to review evidence.

  “Wow, Boss Man, that’s quite a soap opera you had me look up,” he commented, flopping into a chair and sinking down, his feet splayed out in front of him.

  He was wearing the clean clothes that Chas had ordered from a nearby men’s store, but still managed to look disheveled.

  “Give me a rundown,” Chas directed, putting down a photo that he’d been examining, and sitting across from the hacker.

  Spencer sat down as well.

  “Well, the chick herself is pretty clean. She got a parking ticket downtown a couple of years ago, but that’s the end of her criminal behavior,” Ringo chuckled, drawing irritated looks from Spencer and Chas.

  “The husband though…now, there’s a story,” he blew out a breath and shook his head.

  Impatient, Spencer made a face. “Spit it out, already,” he directed, his unusual show of temper surprising his boss.

  “Wow, chill, dude,” Ringo raised his hands defensively. “I was getting there,” he muttered, pouting. “So, anyway, the husband,” he looked in the file. “A Mr. Brantworth Henderson, was charged years ago with possession of narcotics, and intent to distribute.”

  “What?” Chas demanded, sitting ramrod-straight in his chair.

  “Well,” Ringo held up a hand to reassure his boss. “It sounds really bad, but it might actually not be such a big deal. The dude was seventeen. An anonymous tip was called in to his high school, and they found a baggie of prescription pills in his backpack,” the hacker explained, pushing long locks of hair back from his face.

  “He was dealing drugs?” Spencer clarified.

  “I don’t think so. He denied it of course, and then it came out that the pills belonged to his mom. She told the cops that he stole them from her medicine cabinet, and pressed charges “for his own good,” Ringo made a face.

  “His own mother threw him under the bus?” Spencer frowned.

  “If you ask me, I think that she was the one who called in the anonymous tip.”