Vanilla Bean Killer Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  VANILLA BEAN MURDER

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  VANILLA

  BEAN

  KILLER

  Cupcakes in Paradise

  Book 1

  By

  Summer Prescott

  Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

  Author’s note: I’d love to hear your thoughts on my books, the storylines, and anything else that you’d like to comment on—reader feedback is very important to me. My contact information, along with some other helpful links, is listed below. If you’d like to be on my list of “folks to contact” with updates, release and sales notifications, etc.… just shoot me an email and let me know. Thanks for reading!

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  VANILLA BEAN

  KILLER

  Cupcakes in Paradise Book 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  Tears streamed down Melissa Gladstone-Beckett’s face as she stood on the steps of the stately bed and breakfast that had been her home and livelihood for the past year. The indomitable southern woman had moved from the only home she’d ever known in LaChance, Louisiana, to run the beautiful B&B on the beach in Florida, with her dashing new husband, Chas. Now the couple was selling the inn to their friend and interior decorator, Carla Mayhew, and it was an emotional moment when they formally handed over the keys.

  “You’re not changing your mind, are you?” Carla’s tone was playful, but there was a degree of nervousness in her steady gaze.

  “No,” Missy smiled through her tears, and put a hand on her friend’s arm to reassure her. “This place just holds so many special memories for us.”

  “And we’ll make memories in our new home too,” her husband reminded her gently.

  “I know,” she slipped beneath Chas’s arm, her head on his chest.

  “I’ll take good care of it for you, and you can come over and help me deal with cranky guests any time you’d like,” Carla promised.

  Maggie, the lithe, silver-haired innkeeper, had been showing Carla the ropes for weeks before she took possession of the inn, and the decorator had often been overwhelmed by the enormity of responsibility involved. Running an inn was more than greeting guests with coffee in the morning.

  “Well, I’ll be right next door, at Cupcakes in Paradise, if you find yourself in a bind,” Missy pointed out. She had converted a small house next to the inn into a cupcake shop popular among locals and tourists alike, and now that she didn’t have to run a busy bed and breakfast, she’d have more time to invent new recipes and focus on baking.

  “I’ll probably be living on cupcakes for the first few months,” Carla sighed. “Seriously though, I’ll be fine, I’ll have Maggie by my side, and I’m so grateful to have this place. It’ll be the first permanent thing in my life since the boys died.”

  Carla’s world had turned upside down when her husband, the Calgon police chief, and their only son had been murdered. She’d self-medicated with alcohol, and Missy had been there to throw her the lifeline of friendship that helped her through the worst of it and encourage her to get the help that she needed. Truth be told, the feisty blonde southerner watched her friend like a hawk for any signs of a potential relapse, and Carla loved her for it.

  “If you ever need anything…” Missy began.

  “I know,” Carla interrupted, hugging her. “Go on now, you’ve got a brand new home waiting for you, and the sooner that you get moved in, the sooner you and I can start talking about decorating,” she grinned.

  “Thank you,” Missy said, her eyes shining with tears as she said goodbye—to Carla, to the B&B by the ocean where she and Chas had spent their honeymoon, and to a life that had been exhausting and stressful at times, but also incredibly rewarding.

  ***

  “Well, here we are,” Chas reached over and squeezed his wife’s hand, his stunning azure eyes warm. “Our new home.”

  The lane that had once been untidy and overgrown with spiky, formidable Florida fauna was now a gracious entry surrounded by flowers, palm trees, and artfully arranged rocks, planters, and sculptures of seashells, all lying in beds of sweet-smelling cedar mulch. The landscaper had done a fantastic job of taming the wild growth that had crowded not only the lane, but the entire grounds of the now-gracious estate. The sprawling home had been a nightmare of repairs when they’d found it, but they’d loved the location, setting, and privacy of it, so Chas had surprised Missy by buying it after they’d first seen it. The former detective came from a family empire that had made him independently wealthy, but until recently, he’d found his meaning and purpose in police work.

  When he and Missy had made plans to sell the inn, Chas had resigned from the police force and opened a private investigation firm. He was still working part-time with the police force until the captain found a replacement, but candidates were being interviewed this week, so it wouldn’t be much longer before he’d be able to concentrate exclusively on his new business.

  “Oh Chas, it’s beautiful,” Missy breathed.

  She’d been so busy with helping Carla get accustomed to running the inn, along with doing a bustling business at the cupcake shop, that she hadn’t had a chance to visit her new home while it was undergoing extensive renovations. The anticipation that sang through her veins as the couple stood on the front plaza of their new home was real, and she looked up into her husband’s eyes with butterflies dancing merrily in her stomach.

  “Here we are,” Chas murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. “Ready to see our new home?”

  At her nod, he swiped a fob across a discreet panel next to the door, and when the grand double doors swung inward, he swept her up into his arms and carried her over the threshold, much to her amusement and delight.

  Missy’s mouth dropped into an O of awe once they were inside the gracious foyer. “Oh Chas, it’s just how I pictured that it would be,” she breathed, as a lump formed in her throat.

  “I told the crew to follow your instructi
ons to the letter,” he grinned down at his wife, who looked as though she had stars in her eyes. His smile sobered instantly however, when he saw her face change from awe to concern, her brow furrowing. “What is it?” Chas took her hand and brought it to his lips.

  There was a pained look in his wife’s eyes. “It’s beautiful…” she began, searching for words.

  “But… ?” her husband tucked a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear.

  “But… it’s too grand. I can’t live in something like this, Chas. You grew up this way, but I didn’t. This is a far cry from my little house in LaChance, Louisiana,” she bit her lip.

  Chas chuckled and drew her into his arms, kissing her hair. “My sweet Melissa, you do realize that we’ve been living in an antebellum mansion on the beach for more than a year, right?”

  “But that was different. Our little wing of the inn was more like a spacious apartment. The rest of the house was for guests,” she protested, her eyes large.

  “Honey, this is our home, we’ll make it comfortable and cozy, I promise. You’ve worked so hard your entire life, taking on a business at seventeen after your parents passed… you deserve this, you really do. It’ll be our little oasis away from the rest of the world,” he kissed her and held her close, knowing that she just needed a little time to let the panic pass.

  “I love you,” she murmured against his chest, taking her solace from the warmth of his embrace.

  “I love you too,” Chas placed a finger under her chin, tilted her head up and kissed her soundly. “Now let’s go see that bathtub that you wanted so badly,” he grinned.

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  In the inn’s guesthouse, young Marine veteran Spencer Bengal gathered the last of his few belongings, packing them into plastic tubs to transport to his new home in the former caretaker’s cottage on Missy and Chas’s new estate. He’d been working as a handyman for them at the inn long before the couple ever found out that he was a highly-trained professional who had been contracted by Chas’s late father to watch over the eldest heir to the Beckett fortune. Spencer had been groomed for quite some time, receiving an Ivy League education as well as specialized military and tactical training, and had been protecting Chas unknown and unseen for years before the former detective finally discovered his true identity. Now, he worked with Chas at the PI firm, and would still be providing personal security for him and Missy.

  The young Marine had lived in a basement apartment at the inn, and had enjoyed doing the various mechanical tasks in and around the mansion when he wasn’t directly needed for Missy and Chas, but he was looking forward to moving as well. It would be nice to have a detached place of his own, particularly since he’d recently started dating again. Spencer had asked permission to have a vegetable garden behind his cottage, where he could grow vegetables and herbs; Chas and Missy had been completely on board, so after he delivered his few worldly goods to the cottage, he’d be changing into work clothes and getting started on his project.

  He breathed deeply, taking one last look around the place that had been his home for the past year. His massive cat, Moose, twined around his legs, knowing that changes were happening, and not knowing what to make of them. Hefting the last two boxes in his arms, he opened the door and the obliging feline followed him out.

  “C’mon buddy, we’re moving out,” the Marine mused, closing the door for the last time. Moose trotted behind him to the company car that Chas had provided, and jumped in without having to be asked. Stowing the boxes in the trunk, Spencer slid into the driver’s seat and headed for his new home.

  ***

  Shirt off, with the Florida sun blazing down upon his broadly muscled back, Spencer dug into the semi-sandy earth, clearing a good-sized patch of land behind his cottage. He’d been at it for a couple of hours, and was just one row of dirt away from taking a water break, potentially followed by a dip in the pool, when his shovel struck something solid in the earth. He’d pushed it down particularly deeply, so whatever was down there wasn’t going to be easy to unbury, but his curiosity got the best of him and, after a few ice-cold gulps of water from a cooler that he’d set up nearby, the young man attacked the hole with renewed energy.

  Whatever was in the hole had a flat top, and seemed to be rectangular in shape. Spencer frowned for a moment. Surely there wouldn’t be a coffin in a backyard… would there? He was determined to find out, but as he dug his shovel in again, he heard a lilting feminine voice behind him.

  “Hey, Marine,” Izzy Gilmore called out, looking fresh and pretty in a white sundress with pink daisies on it.

  The semi-reclusive, world-famous horror author had been making an effort to get out of the house and dress up a bit more since she and Spencer had sort of resumed their on-again, off-again relationship. Spencer’s job as private security for the Becketts, along with some governmental connections that he’d been unable to explain to her, had scared her away, just when he needed her most… twice. She’d consistently made it known to him that she had been sorry and was willing to do whatever it took to make things work, so the young man had come around… slowly.

  “Hey pretty girl,” he returned the greeting with a smile, having no idea of the devastating effects of his dark good looks. “I’d give you a hug, but…” he gestured to the dirt all around him.

  “Yeah, I don’t think the earth tones would complement my dress,” Izzy laughed. “What on earth are you doing?” she glanced around at the swatch of turned-over dirt.

  “Hahaha, I see what you did there… what on ‘earth’,” Spencer nodded appreciatively at the pun.

  “Oh,” Izzy raised her eyebrows. “That was an accidental one, but I’m glad that you enjoyed it.”

  Spencer stuck his spade into the ground and reached for his t-shirt, which he’d tossed on top of the water cooler, slipping into it despite the sheen of sweat on his torso.

  “Don’t hide on my account,” Izzy said lightly, biting her lip in that way that made his heart speed up.

  Spencer blushed. “So, I found something,” he inclined his head toward the hole, deliberately deflecting her comment.

  Izzy stayed rooted to the spot, not wanting her wedge shoes to sink into the freshly turned earth. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I was about to find out when a beautiful girl came by and distracted me,” he teased.

  Now it was Izzy’s turn to blush. “Well, are you going to unbury it so I can see?” she pointed, color rising in her cheeks.

  “I’m not used to working with an audience, but I suppose it’ll be okay just this once,” Spencer grinned, picking up his shovel.

  “From here it looks like a big box, or a coffin or something,” she observed, standing on her tiptoes.

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t be something I’d be happy to unearth,” Spencer replied, digging in. “But we have to know what it is.”

  He found all the corners of the top of a box that measured roughly five feet long by two feet wide.

  “Well, if it is a coffin, it’s not a very big one, and it’s made of cement,” Spencer brushed some of the soil from the top of the box.

  “Like a grave liner?” Izzy asked.

  As a horror writer, she was more than familiar with such things, though she did find the possibility of looking down at one in real life to be a bit disconcerting.

  “Just like that,” he nodded. “I’m going to have to dig around the top some more so that I can slide the top over and open it. It’ll budge, but I need more room,” he grunted, shoving the heavy lid aside a couple of inches, causing a harsh, grating sound.

  “Do you smell anything?” Izzy asked, overcome with curiosity.

  “Nope, so that bodes well, although, if this is really old, there may be total decomposition inside,” the young man shrugged, using the back of his wrist to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  The author glanced at the slim watch on her wrist. “How long do you think it’ll take to dig it out so that you can get the lid off?” she
asked.

  “Conservatively, probably another hour,” he guessed. “Hey, you never said why you dropped by looking so amazing,” he observed.

  “Oh, I just thought you might be free for lunch in a little while, but I didn’t realize that you were busy.”

  “I’d rather go to lunch with you than to dig in the dirt…” the Marine began, but Izzy put up a hand, cutting him off.

  “No you don’t,” she interrupted. “I can’t wait to see what’s in that box; I may be able to use it in one of my books. You stay right here and do your thing. I’ll run home, change into more casual clothes and bring us both some lunch. Sound good?”

  “Sounds amazing,” he nodded.

  “Great,” she stepped back from the edge of the garden patch carefully, trying not to twist an ankle on the uneven ground. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Spencer had intentionally lengthened the estimate of when he’d be done. He wanted to see what was in the box before Izzy got back, just in case whatever it was turned out to be particularly gruesome. She might write about horror, but seeing decomposing flesh up close and personal might affect her in ways that she hadn’t anticipated. With diligence, he’d be done digging in fifteen to thirty minutes, and could have the cover shoved aside shortly thereafter.

  ***

  Izzy Gilmore had seen Spencer tackle a task before, and when he set his mind to something, he made it happen efficiently, so she knew that when he’d said he’d be done in an hour, it really meant more like thirty minutes. Keeping that in mind, she dashed home, slipped out of her dress, laying it on the bed to hang up later, and threw on a pair of cut-off shorts with a purple tank top, intentionally wearing dark colors in case she had to crawl in the dirt a bit to see into the box in the ground. Stuffing a plastic grocery bag with some fruit, two bags of pretzel crisps, and a handful of frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off, she ran out the door with her faithful Leonberger Hercules hot on her heels. The affable giant dog generally followed her everywhere she went, and today was no exception, particularly since she had slipped out without him earlier.