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

by Summer Prescott

  “I can’t tell you how I know, but trust me when I tell you, she didn’t do it,” he asserted again.

  Missy turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Is there something that you need to tell me, Spencer?” she asked.

  “I…no. I just…she didn’t do it, okay?” his jaw muscles worked.

  Missy gasped. “You know where she is, don’t you? You’ve talked to her!” she accused. “Goodness gracious, young man, please tell me that you did not help that sick girl escape from the hospital,” she demanded.

  “Of course not,” Spencer frowned. “She’d be much safer in there, not to mention the fact that if she had stayed, the shrinks and analysts and cops could find out the truth.”

  “You do realize who my husband and your boss is, right?” Missy reminded him, before he could say anything incriminating.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do,” the Marine replied.

  “Do you…have any theories as to who might have killed Sarah’s mother?” she asked carefully.

  “Yes, I do ma’am, and I’m really hoping that you might be able to help me with that,” he said, staring straight ahead, watching the light traffic.

  “Oh boy.”

  Chapter 16

  James Jebediah Jones was fast asleep at the Rest Easy Motel, when Chas Beckett pounded at the door just after midnight.

  “Hang on,” the timid accountant said, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to shake the cobwebs from his brain. He opened the door, saw Chas standing there, and his mouth hung open with confusion. “Detective?”

  “Mr. Jones. May I come in?”

  “Sure. Come on in,” he mumbled, leaving the door open so that Chas could follow him into the small, shabby hotel room. The man was clad only in a t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms that he’d purchased at the discount store when he was told that he couldn’t go home.

  “Have you seen your daughter today, Mr. Jones?” Chas came straight to the point, remaining standing when James took a seat on the end of his rumpled bed.

  “No. You told me that I couldn’t go to the hospital and see her,” he replied, frowning.

  “She’s no longer in the hospital, Mr. Jones,” the detective informed him.

  James Jones cocked his head to one side. “Then where is she?” he asked.

  “That’s what we’d like to know. Can you think of anyplace that she might go?”

  “No. As far as I know, she never went anywhere, really, other than on long walks,” James began to look alarmed. “What if she gets lost? Or assaulted? She’s way too innocent for the real world,” he worried.

  “Not exactly the word that I’d use, but I get your meaning,” Chas remarked. “Where have you been this evening?”

  “I went to Lily’s Diner for dinner, because their ham and bean soup is nice and thick, then I went to Jack’s bar for quite a while,” he blushed slightly. “Then I came back here and went to sleep.”

  “About what time was that?” the detective asked.

  “I have no idea,” James shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the time.”

  “I understand,” Chas nodded. “Where were you when you went on vacation last week?”

  The timid accountant looked sheepish. “Here,” he said. “In this very room. My vacation consisted of sitting on the beach, going to bars, getting sloppy drunk and starting all over again the next day,” he admitted. “It’s not something that I’m proud of, but it’s the truth.”

  “Did you see your daughter during that time?”

  “No, I would never want her to see me like that.”

  “Didn’t you think that she might be worried?”

  “Sarah kept to herself. She stayed in her room a lot. Honestly, I didn’t think she or Ruth would notice if I disappeared for a few days,” he said sadly.

  “Weren’t you afraid that your wife might hurt your daughter without you there to keep an eye on things?” the detective persisted.

  “No. Sarah had become really good at pacifying her mother and being able to determine when she was in a foul mood so that she could stay out of her path. I’m hoping that, once the evil person who killed my wife is found, Sarah and I can make a brand new start. Maybe even take the plastic off of the furniture and paint the walls a bright color.”

  “Mr. Jones, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  Chapter 17

  Echo and Kel had a long talk about Carla, and the nature of their relationship, and the universe and everything, and were once again on friendly terms with a bit of flirtation thrown in for good measure.

  All was quiet in the gallery, as Echo drew up flyers on the computer for their latest advertising campaign, and Kel worked on his latest sculpture in the studio. Echo was so immersed in her graphic art project that she jumped when the chime at the door sounded. Looking up to greet the new arrival, her heart dropped to her stomach when she saw Carla sashay in, head held high.

  “Well, you’re just everywhere these days, aren’t you?” the decorator smirked.

  “Umm…no. I’m mostly here, this is where I work,” Echo explained, as though to a child.

  “Hmm…what a dreary existence,” Carla made a face. “I need to see Kel,” she demanded, before Echo could respond.

  “Sorry, he’s working and doesn’t want to be disturbed,” Echo, the Gallery Manager, asserted with more than a bit of satisfaction.

  “Nonsense. A visit from me would never be considered a disturbance,” the decorator smiled with daggers in her eyes.

  “That’s a matter of perspective, but at any rate, if you need to see Kel, you’ll need to make an appointment,” was the firm reply.

  “This is ridiculous. Get on that phone and tell him that I’m here, this instant,” Carla demanded.

  Echo’s patience was at an end and she stood to her full height, towering over the diminutive decorator, red hair ablaze with light and curl.

  “That’s not how it works. As the Gallery Manager, one of my primary functions is to protect Kel’s creative time and space. I do that by making appointments for him and turning away those who are determined to be a distraction. If you want to get to him, you have to go through me, take it or leave it,” she challenged, hands on hips.

  “Well, my, my, my, aren’t you just the territorial little snip,” Carla resorted to mocking. “It must just rankle that he prefers my company to yours,” she smirked.

  “If that’s true, then clearly his taste in art is far more refined than his taste in women, which is none of my business,” Echo smiled sweetly, enjoying the flush of anger that rose in the decorator’s cheeks.

  “You haven’t seen the last of me, you cocky little clerical worker,” Carla arched an eyebrow in disdain. “You may even get fired after I have a little intimate chat with your boss,” she threatened.

  “Give it your best shot,” Echo laughed at her, inflaming her temper further.

  The decorator left in a huff, leaving a trail of far too much perfume in her wake. As the door closed behind her, Echo was almost certain that she heard a guffaw of laughter coming from behind the door of the studio. What she knew that Carla didn’t, was that Kel had monitors in his studio that enabled him to hear any conversation that he chose, in complete privacy. She turned to the nearest security camera, raised her hand in a V for victory sign and giggled as she sat down to resume working on her flyers.

  **

  Echo wondered where the time had gone when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was nearly four o’clock.

  “Hey boss man, it’s time to come down and cover the desk for me,” she said, depressing the intercom switch on her desk phone.

  “Be right there,” was the clear-as-a-bell reply.

  “I’m heading out to look at houses,” she reminded Kel when he came through the glass security doors that separated the studio from the gallery.

  “Glad you reminded me,” he nodded. “I was so lost in the sculpture that it totally slipped my mind. Have fun,” he said, shooing her away from the computer
so that he could play spider solitaire while waiting for it to become five o’clock so that he could close up and go home.

  **

  Echo followed the pert young realtor into a tiny home in a neighborhood that had looked promising in the real estate book, but less so in reality.

  “This one has been vacant for quite some time, so forgive the mess, but it should be a great fixer upper,” the bouncy brunette assured her, flipping on the light switch.

  Both women were startled at what they saw.

  “Are you sure that this is vacant?” Echo asked, taking in the tidy kitchen, clean-swept living room and hall.

  “It’s supposed to be,” the young agent said, flipping madly through her stack of listing sheets. Stepping further into the kitchen, they saw the back door partially ajar, and looked at each other awkwardly.

  “Hello?” the agent called out, heading down the hall to the back of the house. The bathroom was also sparkling clean, and there were no traces of dust or cobwebs anywhere.

  “Maybe the owner cleaned up for the showing?” Echo suggested.

  “The owner lives out of state,” the realtor shook her head, shiny hair dancing.

  They stepped into the Master bedroom and saw a mattress on the floor with clean sheets covering it. Opening the door to the tiny closet, Echo noticed that a floorboard looked loose and bent down to examine it. When she leaned on one end of the board to get a closer look, it popped up out of its spot, revealing something quite surprising beneath it. She and the agent looked at each other, not knowing what to think.

  “Maybe we should call the police?” the young woman suggested.

  “I think we should,” Echo agreed.

  Chapter 18

  Missy and Echo had decided to meet up at Afternoon Tea at the inn. They would have a few snacks, mingle with the guests a bit, then disappear so that Echo could fill her friend in on how the house-hunting went. Missy glanced at her watch, wondering if she was going to make it before Tea ended at five. Just as she was about to give up, the flame-haired beauty rushed in, looking a bit frazzled. Spencer, who was serving drinks, handed them both a glass of wine with a wink and a smile.

  “I was beginning to think you had changed your mind about coming out,” Missy said, gratefully accepting wine from Spencer as he passed by. “Did you make an offer on something?”

  “No, but I made a pretty bizarre discovery,” she said, filling her friend in on what had happened when she saw the supposedly vacant little home.

  Spencer paled and rushed from the room without explanation, and the two friends watched him go, puzzled.

  **

  The Marine waited by the back door of the coffee shop, knowing Sarah’s schedule well enough to know that she’d be coming out soon. He startled her by speaking from the shadows the moment that she came out.

  “Sarah, we need to talk,” he said in a low voice.

  “Oh geez, you scared the heck outta me. Lurking again?” she asked, mildly irritated.

  “They’ve found your house.”

  The young woman’s demeanor changed instantly from irritation to fear. “What?” she whispered. “What are you talking about? How do you know?”

  Spencer explained to her what he’d overheard Echo telling Missy at tea, and there was no doubt in either of their minds that they had been discussing the house where Sarah had been staying.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  “You can’t go back there,” he insisted. “They’ll find you and they still think that you killed your mother. Did you happen to see a newspaper today?”

  “No, why?” she wrapped her stick-thin arms around herself.

  “Someone burned your parents’ house to the ground last night,” Spencer said gently.

  “Good riddance,” replied the bitter woman-child.

  “I was wondering something…” the Marine began, not wanting to make the already emotionally charged girl even more angry.

  “What?”

  “How is it that you can go to your job and work without them finding you?”

  “They’re looking for Sarah Jones. That’s not who I am at work.”

  “Okay…who are you at work?”

  “My mom used to let me out of the house to go on walks. Sometimes I went to the library, sometimes I’d just go sit in the appliance store and watch TV, since we didn’t have one. It’s how I found out what normal life is like. Once I discovered the internet at the library, my whole world changed. I learned that in order to get a job, I’d need a social security number, and I also learned that people who want to use a different name can find ways to adopt a dead person’s social security number, so that’s what I did. I searched death records in other states until I found a Sarah who was roughly my age, then I became Sarah Bascomb, barista extraordinaire. I went to work every day, and, other than buying clothes and makeup that would allow me to blend in with the rest of the world, I saved every penny of it. I knew that at some point, I would want to escape the jail that my mother put me in every day, and my job would allow me to save up enough money to do that,” Sarah explained.

  “That’s pretty amazing. Illegal as heck, but amazing,” Spencer remarked, gazing at her with new admiration. “How bad was it at home?”

  “My mom sewed all of my clothes from this really rough fabric. Everything was either black or grey – she used to say that colors were for vain peacocks. I couldn’t cut my hair, or even think about using cosmetics. She bought me bras that smashed down any sign of femininity and made my ashamed of my curves. I wasn’t allowed to eat much at all. Apparently the love of food was a bad thing, and being fat was even worse, so if I took an extra bite of bread at dinner, because I was still hungry, my mom would drag me to the bathroom by my hair and stick her fingers down my throat to make me throw up what I’d just eaten. She made me scared of fats, sugars and anything else that might “warp my figure.” She was convinced that the sun would give me cancer, which is why I look like a ridiculous ghost, and any foods that weren’t grown or prepared by her could be potentially dangerous.”

  Spencer stared at the thin, yet beautiful young woman before him, and shook his head. “So when did you figure out that she was crazy?” he asked, not judging, just sympathizing.

  “Pretty early on, actually,” Sarah shrugged, pragmatically. “My dad would try to warn me when she was in a particularly strict mood, or if something had happened to make her angry. Then, when I went on my walks and actually got to see more of the real world, I realized that it wasn’t me who was sick, and gross and deviant, it was her. I envied my dad, because at least he had an excuse to leave home every day. If the weather was bad, or Ruth was feeling particularly contrary, I wouldn’t be allowed to go on my “walks,” I’d have to stay home and read the few books that she approved of, or clean something, or sit quietly,” Sarah looked down, the memories overwhelming her.

  “I’m not judging you at all, okay? But…why, when you were out on your “walks,” didn’t you just talk to a policeman, or a social worker, or send an email to Child Protective Services, or something?” Spencer asked.

  Sarah thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t know. I guess there was a part of me that knew my mom was just sick, and I didn’t want her to be “in trouble,” or something, but then, if I’m honest…there’s kind of a thrill to living two different lives, to keeping secrets, to beating the system and rebelling against my mother…even if she didn’t know it. Guess I’m as messed up as she was, huh?”

  “Not even close,” Spencer shook his head. “But at the moment, we have to figure out what we’re going to do with you, now that they’ve discovered your house.”

  “If they found the money, I’m screwed. My entire savings was beneath a floor board in the closet. I have small stashes in other places around town, but the bulk of it was in that house – thousands of dollars that I saved from working at the coffee shop,” Sarah worried.

  “I think it’s time for us to bring in reinforcements – c’mo
n,” he took her by the arm and started walking, keeping close to the backs of buildings until they were out of the main part of town.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “My place, you’ll be safe there. It’s one of the few places where I actually feel safe.”

  Chapter 19

  Chas knocked again on the hotel room door of James Jones, but apparently no one was home.

  “Got him!” the detective heard from an officer that he had sent to guard the back of the motel. James Jones had tried to crawl out his bathroom window and escape, and the officer had taken him down in short order. Chas jogged to the back of the shabby establishment and saw the uniformed officer dragging a half-dressed and wild-eyed James Jones to his feet.

  The man was obviously drunk, and his words were slurred as he tried to make sense of the situation.

  “Hey!” he said, staggering so profoundly that the officer had to hold him up to keep him from face-planting into the asphalt. “Whass goin’ on here?” he demanded.

  “James Jones, you are being arrested for murder in the first degree of Ruth Jones, willful neglect and medical neglect of a minor, Sarah Jones, and arson in the first degree of your personal residence. Read him his rights,” Chas directed the officer who was keeping the criminal upright.

  **

  “What made you suspect that shy, introverted man?” Missy asked Chas after he got home from busting James Jones at his hotel.

  “There were several things actually,” the detective began. “He was never able to maintain eye contact, and when he did look at me and answer questions, the unconscious movement of his eyes indicated that he was lying. He showed no sadness when he learned that his wife was dead, and seemed relieved that his daughter had disappeared from the hospital. He was also way too willing to paint his daughter out to be a potential suspect, particularly because he considered the circumstances under which she lived to be proper justification for homicide.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem to be very much to go on,” Missy said softly.