Toffee Apple Killer: Book 11 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series

by Summer Prescott

  The horror author shivered, feeling a sudden sense of dread, and picked up her phone to look at it.

  Want to come outside and play?

  The message was from a number that she didn’t recognize, and her eyes flashed to the nearby window. The light geometric-patterned drapes were pulled shut, but she could swear that she had seen a shadow passing in front of them. She knew that it was her mind playing tricks on her, of course, because it was dark outside, so she couldn’t possible have seen a shadow from the outside, but the thought that she did caused adrenaline to course through her veins as her heart thudded in her chest.

  “I know that I write horror stories for a living, but it seems that I get more than my share of weirdness in my life,” she muttered, setting her laptop aside.

  In the past few months, she’d been kidnapped, but escaped, losing the tip of one pinkie in the process; and she had fallen hopelessly in love with a man who had been part of a governmental organization that was so covert and dangerous that he couldn’t even tell her what he did for a living. She’d pushed him away twice when he’d opened his heart to her, and when she decided that she was ready for a relationship with him, it was too late. He’d turned away from her, unwilling to risk his emotions again if she changed her mind.

  Izzy thought about Spencer, and about how she’d blown her chances with the most amazing man that she could ever hope to meet, fat tears plopping into her lap. She was jolted out of her pity party by a sound that made her blood run cold.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Someone actually was on the other side of the darkened window pane, apparently. Izzy froze, her hands at her throat, not knowing what to do. She picked up her phone, ready to call the police, then realizing how foolish she’d look if they came out and no one was outside. There was nothing that said she had to actually call the police… she could simply pretend to have that conversation, a bit loudly, and hope that whoever was outside her cozy little pink cottage would disappear.

  “Yes, hello,” she said into her phone after pretending to dial. “There’s someone tapping on my window, could you send someone out to get them? Yes, yes it is. Five minutes? That would be great, thank you. Please hurry,” she said, her voice much louder than normal.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Apparently her ruse hadn’t worked. She sat stock-still in her chair, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She’d been scared when a man had come to her house and kidnapped her, hoping to use her as bait to bring Spencer out into the open, but she had been more worried about Spencer being hurt than she was for her own safety. This time was different. She hoped that it wasn’t Thomas Blevins outside her window, but if it was, that meant that this was… personal. He wasn’t here because he needed to know where Spencer was staying. He was here because… she didn’t even want to think about it, and shook her head. Dread filled her as she wondered whether or not she’d remembered to lock all the doors and windows. She was typically very vigilant about such things, but her current situation was causing her to be a bit more paranoid than usual.

  From her spot on the chair, Izzy visually checked the front door, the dead bolt was locked, and the windows closest to her, they were securely latched… but what about the back door? She eased herself to the floor, thinking that she should stay low to the ground for some reason. She crept into the kitchen, staying behind the large island, and peeked at the back door. It too was locked, as were both sets of large windows. Heaving a sigh, she leaned back against the island and closed her eyes.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The sound came from the kitchen window this time, right behind her. Her eyes went wide, and her breathing sped up. It was almost as if they could see her.

  “Stop being paranoid, Isabel,” she whispered to herself. “They can’t see you.”

  Her phone buzzed with another text. She didn’t want to see what it said, but didn’t want to stay in the kitchen with someone tapping on the window either, so she made her way slowly back to the living room and picked up her phone.

  You look pretty tonight.

  Izzy dropped the phone like it had suddenly turned into a live cockroach and backed away from it, then realized that she needed it. Paranoid or not, she had to call the police. If she ended up looking foolish, so be it.

  Of course, by the time that a patrol car arrived, there was no one to be found outside of Izzy’s cottage, but officers did find matted down grass and impressions in the dirt of her garden that, while they weren’t clear enough to be used for identification purposes, certainly indicated that someone indeed had been outside the house. The police were kind and concerned, taking her statement, and investigating as best they could in the dark, but when they left, all they could tell her was to lock her doors and windows and to call them if the intruder came back.

  Izzy had given them Thomas Blevins’s name and explained the circumstances of their meeting, blushing as she did so. On the one hand, she hoped that they would talk to him and get him to stop harassing her, but on the other hand, if he wasn’t the one bothering her, aside from the deluge of texts and phone calls, she hated to point blame at him. She’d done what she needed to do, and would just have to wait to see what turned up.

  ***

  Izzy’s favorite smoothie shop was just a few short blocks from her house, and she often enjoyed walking there in the morning, getting her Caribbean Sunrise smoothie, and meandering home, enjoying the colorful tropical gardens in her neighborhood on the way back. She skipped the smoothie for a few days after her encounter with the window tapper, but, on a particularly lovely Florida morning, she decided that the storm of drama had passed and she’d be safe to give her morning ritual a try.

  She took a different route than usual, trying to stop herself from looking behind every tree but jumping at shadows and skittering lizards. Once in the shop, she relaxed and enjoyed a brief conversation about the weather with the gal who made her smoothie. Sipping with satisfaction, she became emboldened by her success and defiantly decided to take her usual route home. She was nearly halfway done with the smoothie when Thomas Blevins stepped from behind a tree two blocks from her house and stood on the sidewalk, facing her.

  Izzy stopped in her tracks and stared at him, not saying a word, condensation from her smoothie cup dripping down her hand.

  “That’s not the way adults handle things, Izzy,” he said mildly, his eyes searching her face.

  “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her steady voice belying the trembling of her insides.

  “You walked out on me at the coffee shop.”

  “You deserved it. You were rude. I paid for my own coffee, it’s not like I owed you anything. Things didn’t work out, that’s all there is to it. Adults handle things by moving on when they’re not interested,” she stated calmly, not dropping her gaze.

  “What if I was interested?” his expression was mocking.

  “Your comments were not the comments of someone who was interested. But it doesn’t really matter, I wasn’t interested. End of story.”

  “End of story… interesting way to put it,” his tone, while calm, seemed somehow menacing.

  Izzy quickly calculated how far away she was from the smoothie shop, versus how far away she was from home, and was dismayed to realize that if she fled in either direction, he would most likely be able to catch her… if he chose to. She decided that the best way to defeat a bully was to stand up to him, so, for better or worse, that’s what she was going to do.

  “Thomas, let me make this quite clear to you. I’m not interested. You were the first person that I dated from that service, and after the way that turned out, I may lose interest in dating altogether. I’m going home, and you’re going to stop calling me and texting me, and if you ever show up at my house again, you’ll have to worry about a whole heckuva lot more than just the police,” she threatened, her eyes narrowed and shoulders squared.

  “Think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you? How glamorous it must be,
being a famous author. Makes you way too good for just about everyone, doesn’t it,” he raised an eyebrow.

  Izzy ignored him, gave him a wide berth, and walked past, head held high. She held her breath for a bit, hoping against hope that she didn’t get tackled from behind… or worse. She made it home without incident, and when she stood on her front porch and turned to look behind her, there was no sign of Thomas Blevins. For the moment at least, she was safe.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  Joyce Rutledge stood atop a ladder, placing books on shelves in the fiction section of the bookstore side in Echo’s shop. Spencer Bengal’s muscles barely flexed as he held a box of books over his head so that she wouldn’t have to come down the ladder every time she placed a book.

  “So, I was thinking about tonight, and I thought of something that you might be able to help me with,” the attractive young woman said coyly to the Marine below.

  “Oh? What’s that?” Spencer asked.

  “I have a great big lemon chiffon cake that desperately needs to be eaten, and I just can’t do it all by myself,” she mused.

  The young man grinned, shaking his head at her obvious ploy.

  “Is that so?” he played along.

  “Mmhmm…”

  “I try not to eat sweets you know. It’s bad for my physique.”

  “Honey, ain’t nothing wrong with what I’m seeing, and I have a spectacular view from up here, so you could stand to eat some of the best lemon chiffon cake that you’ll ever taste in your life,” she boldly looked him up and down, her deep brown eyes dancing merrily.

  The Marine blushed to the roots of his hair.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he chuckled, looking anywhere but at the flirtatious, mocha-skinned minx atop the ladder.

  “And I don’t take no for an answer,” she commented archly, shelving another book.

  “Well, I can’t just eat cake. My body requires more protein and fiber than that,” he protested.

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to be there early. We’ll have coq au vin for dinner… I’ve been practicing my French cooking skills.”

  “Really? I love French food,” he blinked in surprise.

  “I’m classically taught.”

  “You never cease to amaze me,” he admitted, eyebrows raised.

  “Oh honey, you’d better just get used to that,” she winked at him.

  Missy and Echo walked in, moving slowly. Echo felt perfectly fine and ready to take on the world, since she’d been out of the hospital for a few days, but everyone around her made certain that she followed the doctor’s orders to take it easy.

  “Joyce, the store looks wonderful,” Echo exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “You changed some things.”

  “Yes I did, Miss Echo. There’s a better traffic flow through the fiction and non-fiction sections now, and it leads the bookstore folks right into the candle store, and the candle store folks right into the bookstore,” Joyce beamed, proud of her accomplishment. “Spencer did all the heavy lifting.”

  “I’m not surprised,” the happy owner replied, giving Spencer a hug.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, his cobalt eyes concerned.

  “I’m fine, and please don’t treat me like a china tea cup, I get enough of that at home,” Echo rolled her eyes and grinned.

  “Don’t listen to her, Spence,” Missy warned. “You watch her like a hawk and make sure that she doesn’t do anything that she shouldn’t.”

  “What is it that she shouldn’t be doing?” Joyce paused, book in hand.

  “Basically, she can sit here, look pretty, and chat with customers, nothing more. No lifting, no strolling around the store tinkering with displays, and no standing on her feet for long periods of time.”

  “Miss Echo is a paperweight on a chair, got it,” Joyce teased, shooting her boss an affectionate look. “We’ll take good care of her, and if she doesn’t behave, Spencer will scoop her up and carry her home so Mr. Kel can give her a good talking to,” she promised, chuckling.

  “Perfect. I’m going to head back to the inn. Spence, can you give Echo a ride over after she’s done here? Chas won’t be home this evening. He’s working on a big case, so we’re going to have girls’ night,” Missy explained.

  “Sure thing,” the handsome Marine nodded. “What’s the big case that he’s working on?”

  “A young woman was murdered in her home,” Missy sighed. “It’s so awful. Who would do such a thing?” she shook her head.

  “Did you know her?” Spencer asked. Calgon was a small town, chances were good that someone he knew probably knew the victim.

  “No, I didn’t, but she seems like she must’ve been a wonderful young lady. She came from a nice family here in town, had a good job, and was out on her own. It’s just such a shame.”

  “Murder is always awful,” Echo made a face.

  “Does he have any leads?” Joyce asked, sliding books into place like the pro that she was.

  “I don’t know. He really hasn’t been home long enough to talk about it, but I do know that usually these types of things involve someone that the victim knows,” Missy shrugged.

  “Which makes it even worse,” Joyce commented.

  “Exactly. Well, I’d better hit the road. Y’all take good care of my gal,” Missy admonished, giving Echo a hug and heading for the door.

  “I thought she was Kel’s gal,” Joyce called after her with a grin.

  “He thinks so, too. Isn’t that hilarious?” Missy shot back with a jaunty wave.

  A middle-aged man with a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache and carefully combed short auburn hair came into the shop as Missy was exiting, and she thanked him for holding the door for her.

  “Hello,” Echo greeted the man with a smile, as she settled herself into a chair behind the counter on the candle side of the shop. “How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  The man seemed nervous, and kept plucking the side of his jeans, which, while clean, were clearly well-worn.

  “Can I help you find something?”

  His eyes darted right and left, and before he could open his mouth to reply, Spencer appeared at his side.

  “What she meant is, can I help you find something. She’s going to stay right where she is,” he gave the man a friendly smile.

  “Uh… I… umm… is one of you the owner?” he asked, causing Spencer to take a closer look at him.

  “I am,” Echo supplied. “Echo Willis,” she extended her hand across the counter so that he could shake it. “Purveyor of candles and books. What can I do for you?”

  “I… uh, I’m hoping that there’s something that I can do for you,” he looked down and cleared his throat. “I’m kinda new in town, and I need a job. I wondered if there might be something that you needed help with. I’m a hard worker and I’ll do just about anything,” he said earnestly.

  “Oh, well… I’m not really looking for anyone right now, but maybe I’ll need someone to fill in every now and again after I have the baby,” Echo mused. “Let me get you an application, and…”

  “I can fill in when you need someone,” Spencer said quietly, not taking his eyes off of the stranger.

  “Well, it won’t hurt to keep this gentleman’s name on file, in case I decide to hire someone. Who knows, with the holidays coming up, we might be swamped,” she smiled, puzzled at the Marine’s reaction. “What did you mean when you said you were “kinda” new in town?” she turned her attention back to the stranger.

  “Well…” he paused, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “I’m from Calgon, and I… went away for a while. But now I’m back, and I really need a job.”

  “Why did you go away for a while?” Spencer asked, not waiting for Echo to respond.

  The man gazed at him for a moment, his expression a strange combination of sadness and resignation. He sighed and swallowed hard before answering.

  “I was gone because I was paying my debt to socie
ty. Now, I know that when I say that, most folks just look away and don’t want nothin’ to do with me, but I’m willing to work hard, and I promise I’ll be an honest man who does his best every day. I had some hard times in the past, but that’s done now. I’m older and wiser, and you wouldn’t have anything to worry about, ma’am.”

  Spencer started to speak, but Echo held up a hand, stopping him.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Rodney. Rodney Benton. Most folks who still talk to me, call me Rod,” the man looked down at his shoes.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Rod. No one here is going to judge you unfairly. That’s just not who we are. Spencer will get you an application, and you can fill it out for me. We’ll have an interview after you finish, and if I need extra help, I may give you a call. Would you like some coffee while you fill out your app?” she asked, ignoring Spencer’s frustrated look.

  “That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am,” he nodded, ducking his head.

  “Not a problem. Make yourself comfortable over in the reading area, and we’ll bring your application and a steaming cup of coffee over for you.”

  Rodney lumbered toward the seating area in the book store, while Spencer and Joyce exchanged a worried look. Echo started to get up and Spencer put a hand up to stop her.

  “I’ve got this,” he said kindly. “You stay here, like the doctor ordered, and I’ll get him all set up.”

  “Be nice, Spence. We don’t know what he’s been through,” the tenderhearted woman said softly, glancing toward the seating area, where Rodney sat straight up, hands on his knees, as though he was afraid to touch anything.

  “Yeah,” the Marine sighed, keeping his thoughts to himself. The guy looked familiar, but he couldn’t figure out why.

  When Rod finished filling out his application, Echo made her way to the seating area of the book store, and sat in a comfy chair beside him. She looked over the application and saw that he had marked yes on the question that asked about having been convicted of a crime. He’d filled out the explanation, stating that his crime had been grand theft.