S'more Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 19 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries)

by Summer Prescott

  “Why didn’t you confront your wife about these things? Or call Child Protective Services?” Chas asked, eyes narrowed.

  “Whenever I tried to talk to her about it, she’d either tell me that Sarah was lying, that she’d made marks on herself to try to get attention, or she’d justify what she’d done as being appropriate for the offense that Sarah had committed.”

  “Surely, as a thinking adult, you knew better than that,” the detective challenged.

  A fat tear slowly rolled down James’s cheek. “She had a way about her…” he shook his head. “When I listened to Ruth, what she said seemed to make sense at the time, and there was no arguing with her. That was out of the question.” Having been on the receiving end of a conversation with Ruth Jones, Chas understood how someone with a bit less backbone might be swayed by the woman’s fierce and insistent stance.

  “Were you afraid of your wife, Mr. Jones?”

  “I was afraid that she was going mad. I was afraid that her madness was spilling over into Sarah and me, but I had no idea what to do about it, so I just went along.”

  “Was your wife ever evaluated by a mental health professional?” Chas asked.

  “The last doctor she ever saw was the one who put the lifeless body of our stillborn son into her arms,” James’s lip trembled.

  “She didn’t go to the hospital to give birth to Sarah?”

  “Definitely not. She was convinced that the doctors had killed Isaiah.”

  Detective Beckett stopped and stared at James Jones, momentarily dumbfounded, but skilled at hiding it.

  “Did Sarah ever speak to her teachers or anyone at school about her mother?”

  “Sarah was homeschooled.”

  “I see. Has Sarah ever been to a doctor?” the detective’s eyes pierced the man in front of him.

  “No. Ruth preferred to use home remedies, even though Sarah is kind of a sickly girl. Sometimes if she seemed really sick, I’d sneak in some medicine from the store, and that seemed to help.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that your wife and child lived utterly isolated from the outside world, and you allowed it,” Chas couldn’t help but accuse the defeated man in front of him.

  “Not entirely. Once Sarah turned fourteen, Ruth allowed her to go for walks, as long as her chores were done. She didn’t care where she went, as long as she was back by dinner time, so Sarah would disappear for hours at a time, and come back seeming much happier than when she left,” James explained.

  Detective Beckett ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Do you know where she went when she left the house for her walks?”

  “No idea.”

  “Do you know what she was doing while she was gone?”

  “Walking, I presume. She never disobeyed her mother willfully.”

  The typically unflappable Chas Beckett needed a break. He needed time to process and time to step back from the judgmental lenses through which he was now viewing James Jones. He understood that the man was weak, but he was also a father, and any father who…

  “Okay,” the detective sighed. “Let’s resume this conversation at a later date. I’m sure you’re tired and need some rest. My team won’t be done at your residence for quite some time, so you can’t go home, but I will let you know that you need to stay in town. I’ve looked for you for several days, and I don’t want you to disappear again, are we clear on that?”

  “Yes,” James nodded. “I’ll check into a hotel and use the hotel phone to give you my room number,” he promised. “Where is Sarah?” he asked.

  “She’s in the hospital being evaluated. You won’t be allowed to visit her at present.”

  “Is she okay?” her father asked fearfully.

  “I have no knowledge of her current condition,” Chas replied, aware of privacy laws, and not quite feeling charitable toward the milk-toast parent who had failed to protect his child.

  Chapter 13

  “Poor girl,” Missy said, shaking her head after relating to Kel what had happened at the Jones house.

  “Do they think that she did it?” the artist was as somber as she’d ever seen him.

  “It looks that way, but she hasn’t had her full psychological evaluation yet. You can’t say anything about this to anyone though,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t even be telling you, but it’s just so heavy on my mind,” she sighed.

  “Isn’t it strange that her father disappeared for a while, then her mother was killed?” Kel mused. “Makes me wonder if that family might have some seriously sinister enemies.”

  “But how would they have enemies? From what I understand, the mother and daughter barely ever left the house.”

  “Yeah, that’s my understanding too, in asking about town,” the artist nodded. “Such a sad situation. I wonder what will happen to the girl once she’s released from the hospital.”

  “I have no idea. Maybe Chas will let her stay at the inn, where I can look after her.”

  “Are you telling me that you’d even seriously consider housing a homicidal young woman under the same roof with your guests?” Kel was astonished. “I know that you have a tender heart, dear lady, but that just doesn’t sound like a smart idea to me,” he shook his head, staring at Missy.

  “She just didn’t seem crazy or dangerous to me, you know?”

  “Many of the most clever killers don’t. Haven’t you seen the documentaries where everyone in their lives is shocked that such an innocent-seeming sweet person did such heinous acts?”

  “I know, but I just have a feeling…” Missy insisted.

  “Well, let’s hope for both of our sakes that your “feeling” is correct, but I would still caution you to not let that young, pale, face sway you from a harsh examination of reality,” her friend counseled.

  “I know,” she nodded. “It’ll be interesting to see what happens after the psych eval.”

  “So where is the lovely Echo this morning?” Kel asked, changing the subject.

  “I don’t know,” Missy frowned. “She hasn’t been in yet this morning, and I haven’t even received a text from her.”

  “I expect you’ll hear from her as soon as I take my leave,” he guessed, his eyes downcast.

  “She still hasn’t talked to you about the Carla thing?”

  “She hasn’t talked to me about anything. The woman is a wraith who has managed to successfully avoid and evade me ever since she saw us at the Thai restaurant,” he sighed.

  “Well, I promise I’ll make a point of talking to her about it today,” Missy said.

  “I appreciate your efforts, but fear it may be too late. She no longer sees me, just merely looks through me,” Kel stared morosely at the table top, then seemed to visibly shake himself out of his gloomy reverie. “Well then,” he stood, faking a smile that failed to convince his friend. “I’m off to start my day. Many thanks for listening, dear friend.”

  “Anytime, Kel,” Missy smiled.

  True to his prediction, he’d only been gone a matter of minutes when Echo called.

  **

  “Eat,” Missy commanded, setting down a plate of spaghetti squash primavera in front of her best friend.

  “Wow, that looks and smells amazing,” Echo said, inhaling the fragrance of the spicy dish.

  “Thanks. I even got the nutritional yeast that they mentioned in the recipe and sprinkled it on top. It’s supposed to taste like parmesan cheese,” Missy said, shaking salt onto her portion.

  “Aw, that was sweet of you,” her friend replied, twining some of the squash onto her fork. “Oh my goodness, this is fabulous,” she said, holding her hand in front of her mouth and talking while she chewed.

  “My pleasure,” she beamed, grateful that her first truly vegan dish had turned out well. “Now, where have you been, and why are you avoiding Kel?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

  Echo sighed and put down her fork. “I didn’t think that I cared about Kel in a way other than friendship, but when I saw h
im with Carla…I just wanted to tear her hair out,” the pacifist confessed.

  Missy couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t you always want to tear Carla’s hair out?”

  “Well, there’s that,” her friend commented dryly. “But, it made me realize that I do look at Kel as maybe more than a friend, and clearly, he’s not interested. The good news is that I’ve decided that we’re all adults and if he’s wanting to pursue a relationship with Carla, that’s his business and I’ll just do my job and leave it at that.”

  “Not interested in you? Are you blind, my dear?” Missy was astounded. “Phillip Kellerman has been interested in you since he first saw you. His meetings with Carla were strictly business, at least on his part, and he has utterly no interest in her, which you would know if you’d just sit still long enough to let him tell you,” she chastised her friend.

  “And how do you know that?” Echo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Because when you don’t show up for morning gossip, you become the object of it,” Missy teased. “Kel brought it up. He misses you and thinks that you’ve written him off. He was more quiet this morning than I’ve ever seen him.”

  Echo looked up from her lunch. “Really?”

  “Yup, and if you have any compassion whatsoever, you’ll let the poor soul talk to you, you big meanie,” Missy chuckled.

  “He’s the meanie, making me run into that vile woman,” she groused. “I’ll talk to him…right after my second helping,” she winked at her well-meaning, meddling pal.

  Chapter 14

  He watched as the pale, dark girl slipped past the unseeing eyes, through the labyrinth of halls and stairs and boxes and lights, out into the waiting night. Fleet as a deer she ran, not caring that her feet were being shredded by sawgrass, and her clothing was being torn by the daggers of palmetto bushes. She ducked, she slithered, she crept, until at last she found the spot that she was looking for. An abandoned closet in an abandoned house in a mostly abandoned neighborhood. He turned his eyes away as she shed the garments of her captivity and eased into the comfortable clothing of her new life.

  Easing between sheets that had been liberated months ago from a clothes line in a better neighborhood, she slept in the shuttered and musty house, oblivious to the eyes in the night that guarded her slumber.

  **

  Spencer Bengal worked hard to keep his body in top notch physical condition, not for anything even resembling vanity, but because the demands of his job and life necessitated it. He’d learned from personal experience that it was much easier to face obstacles from a position of readiness and strength, so he set out this evening for his daily jog, determined, as usual, to push his body to its performance limits.

  He ran through the city streets first, working his way out to some of the forgotten neighborhoods, which reminded him of some of the places that he’d lived in growing up. House after house looked much the same – paint peeling, porches sagging, blinds torn and bent. Some were occupied, others not, and it was difficult to tell which was which. He checked his watch to see what kind of pace he was keeping, and picked it up a bit.

  When he turned at the end of a block, he accidentally ended up in a cul-de-sac and intended to round the end of it and come back out again, but a flash of something caught his eye. He stopped, jogging in place, in front of a small beige house that looked abandoned. Spencer had caught a glimpse of someone running around the back side of the house, and thinking that they were quite possibly up to no good, the Marine took off after them, surprised beyond belief when he saw someone familiar throwing her shoulder against the back door, trying to get in.

  “Need some help?” he startled the girl by asking, leaning up against the worn siding, barely breathing hard.

  “No, I’m fine,” she muttered, attempting to hide behind a curtain of hair as she fussed with the doorknob.

  “You don’t have to try to hide your face from me,” he said quietly. “I’ve already seen who you are – the girl from the coffee shop.”

  She turned toward him slowly, her eyes filled with a bitterness that he didn’t understand.

  “Everything is your fault,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Spencer’s eyes opened wide. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he was utterly baffled.

  “You always have to be the hero, don’t you? Is that how you have to live your life in order to sleep at night? I know what it’s like to hide who I really am because if the rest of the world ever actually saw me, they’d see the monster in me and lock me away forever. Is that why you save people? Because it helps you hide the monster inside? You should have just let me die,” she seethed, her dark eyes flashing fire.

  “You are the girl from the beach,” he nodded. “Why didn’t you admit that when I saw you at the coffee shop?”

  “Would you admit that you were the crazy woman who tried to kill herself, looking like a goth nightmare?” she challenged.

  At a loss for words, Spencer just blinked at her.

  “Make yourself useful and open this door for me,” she sighed, exasperated, tired and hungry. “I’ve got some water inside if you want some.”

  “Is this your house?”

  “It is now, nosy. Just open the door.”

  Spencer took both palms, placing them on the door, giving a quick shove, and it popped open immediately. Sarah had been busy – the worn vinyl floors that were peeling at the corners had been swept clean, the windows were opened, so the smell of must and mold had diminished significantly, and the counters in the kitchen and tiny bathroom had been scrubbed clean. The place which had originally looked like it should have been condemned, now looked like a pretty typical rental home.

  “Nice place,” he remarked, looking around.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, staring at him.

  “You asked me to come in…”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she challenged, folding her arms and frowning at him. “You just happened to pop in at the coffee shop, and now you just happen to be jogging down my street? Give me a break. Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer shook his head. “I just saw someone running around this old abandoned house and figured that they were up to no good, so I came over to check it out,” he shrugged.

  “Boy Wonder always looking to do good, huh?” she mocked him.

  “Are you always this paranoid?” he asked, tired of being treated rudely when he’d only been trying to help.

  “Don’t say that!” her lower lip trembled. “I’m not like that…like her.”

  “Like who?” Spencer was confused.

  “My mother,” Sarah snarled, jaw clenched.

  Chapter 15

  Chas had taken Missy out for an early dinner to try to take her mind from the disturbing events of the week. He hadn’t wanted to share the details of Ruth Jones’s demise with her, but knew that if he didn’t, she’d read about it in the local paper. He watched his wife push the gourmet food around on her plate, trying to look like she was eating, when in reality, her mind was a million miles away.

  “You okay, beautiful?” he asked, feeling guilty about savoring his prime rib when his beloved wife was clearly preoccupied.

  “I just can’t stop thinking about Sarah,” she sighed, looking down at her plate of perfectly seared scallops with utter disinterest.

  “She’s getting top-notch care while the psychologists try to figure out whether she was sane when she…did what she did,” he said carefully.

  “So, you really think that she did it?”

  Chas nodded ruefully. “At least, at this point, she seems like the most likely candidate.”

  “Why haven’t they completed the evaluation yet? It’s been days…how long does it take?”

  “Well, if the subject is cooperative, it only takes a matter of several hours, but…”

  “Sarah isn’t cooperating?” Missy guessed.

  “She’s not
being unruly. She’s just either too traumatized to speak, or is simply refusing to say a word. So far the psychologists haven’t even been able to convince her to confirm her identity.”

  “I would think that finding your mother butchered in the family kitchen would be pretty darn traumatizing,” she remarked.

  “As would being the one responsible for the butchering,” Chas looked at her directly. “I know that it’s a horrible thought, but this certainly wouldn’t be the first time that a seriously abused child took out their angst on the abuser,” he said gently, taking her hand. “Nothing is to be gained by worrying about it,” her loving husband advised. “Eat at least a little bit of your dinner and then we’ll get some fresh air by taking a walk on the beach, okay?”

  Missy nodded and picked up her fork. She had just put the first small bite of scallop in her mouth when Chas’s work phone buzzed.

  “I have to take this, sweetie,” he said, apologizing as he rose from the table. Missy nodded and waved him on, washing down her scallop with a healthy sip of wine. She’d worked her way through about a quarter of her dinner by the time Chas came back to the table, looking grim.

  “Bad news?” she asked, putting down her wine glass.

  “Sarah Jones escaped from the hospital, and the Jones house is on fire,” he said, grabbing his sport coat from the back of the chair.

  “Oh dear,” Missy looked sad. “Well, you go ahead, I’ll finish up here and catch a cab back to the inn,” she said, accustomed to making such sacrifices as the wife of a busy detective.

  “Just call Spencer for a ride,” Chas suggested, giving her a goodbye kiss.

  “Great idea,” she agreed. “I’ll do that.” Signaling the waiter for a pair of to-go boxes, she looked out the window at the ocean and sighed.

  **

  “She didn’t do it, you know,” Spencer blurted on the ride home, when he couldn’t stand keeping quiet for a moment longer.

  “I’d like to believe that, sugar, but it’s really looking like that’s not the case,” Missy sighed.