Star Spangled Killer Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  STAR-SPANGLED KILLER

  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

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STAR-SPANGLED

  KILLER

  Cupcakes in Paradise

  Book 2

  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.

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  STAR-SPANGLED

  KILLER

  Cupcakes in Paradise Book 2

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  Melissa Gladstone Beckett slid a tray of her latest creations, star-spangled cupcakes, into the commercial oven. The Fourth of July was right around the corner, and she was trying out different recipes for the many orders she’d received for the holiday. These particularly delectable cakes were made from a moist, decadent white cake, filled with mixed-berry cream cheese, and topped with fluffy vanilla buttercream frosting. The finishing touches included fresh blueberries and strawberries, a drizzle of blue glaze, and a sprinkling of white candy stars. She’d been trying out new red, white, and blue recipes all week, and this one was a definite favorite.

  “Mmm… something smells amazing in here.” Missy’s best friend Echo Willis came in through the back door with her sweet and sound-asleep baby, Jasmine, strapped to her front.

  “You’re in luck. I had a hunch that you ladies would be dropping in this morning, so I baked the vegan version of my new recipe first,” Missy gestured at a large tray of the cakes that were on the counter. “If the little lady stays asleep for a bit, you can help me frost them and be my guinea pig to see how they taste,” she offered, grabbing the ingredients that she needed for vegan frosting.

  “Twist my arm,” Echo grinned. “I’ll get started with the frosting if you grab the coffee.”

  “Perfect,” Missy agreed, as her friend began assembling the frosting bag and tip.

  The women settled in on barstools at the prep counter, frosting and catching up with each other’s lives, as they tried to do at least a few times a week. A tentative knock sounded at the back door of Missy’s cozy little shop, Cupcakes in Paradise, surprising them. It was early in the morning, well before the shop opened, and they weren’t expecting anyone. Raising her eyebrows at Echo briefly, Missy set down her frosting bag, pulled off her nitrile gloves and went to the door.

  “Hi,” she greeted the thin, muscular brunette with a smile. “Can I help you?”

  The younger woman was clean, but her simple outfit of jeans and an olive green tank top looked worn. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, and she had a bandana around her neck. Missy thought that the poor thing must be uncomfortable in the sweltering heat of a Florida morning.

  “Hi,” she smiled sweetly. “I don’t mean to bother you. I wanted to drop by when there weren’t any customers around so that I wasn’t interrupting anything. I used to work in a commercial kitchen, so I figured you’d be here quite a while before you opened for business. May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Missy motioned toward the spotless interior of her kitchen. “It’s no bother at all. You can even try some of my latest batch of cupcakes if you’d like. Freshly baked this morning.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” the young woman replied. “But I can’t. Health reasons,” she shrugged apologetically.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Missy’s gaze was sympathetic. “I’m Missy, this is my friend, Echo, and her sleeping little one is Jasmine.”

  “So nice to meet you all. Jasmine is precious,” she craned her neck to get a better view of the dozing infant. “My name is Angel Tucker, and I work at the Refuge, downtown.”

  “The Refuge?” Echo asked. “Is that a bar?”

  Angel covered her giggle with her hand. “No, definitely not. It’s a place for the homeless to sleep and get a good meal.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Missy nodded, smiling at Echo’s mistake. “Y’all have a very good reputation.”

  Having moved to the sleepy seaside town of Calgon, Florida, a little more than a year ago, Missy still retained a shade of her native, southern-Louisiana drawl.

  “Thanks,” Angel blushed. “We try to do all that we can to get folks back up on their feet with the few resources that we have.”

  “That’s great,” Echo nodded appreciatively.

  “And that’s why I’m here, actually…” the younger woman, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, and seemed to be quite shy, began.

  “Oh! Of course,” Missy exclaimed. “Let me go get my purse.”

  “No, no,” Angel protested. “I’m not soliciting donations, at least not monetary ones.”

  “Okay,” Echo stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

  “I was wondering… what do you do with the leftover cupcakes at the end of the day?” Angel asked.

  Missy blinked at her for a moment before answering. “Well, it depends on how many there are. If there are only a few, I send them home with family and friends. If there are several, they usually end up in my freezer at home, why?”

  “Well, I was brainstorming the other day. My boss at the shelter had a cupcake from here, and she was going on and on about how amazing it was. It made me kind of sad, because we have barely enough money to cover soup and some vegetables and bread for the homeless, so they almost never have the chance to experience a normal treat, like a cupcake. So I wondered if maybe, since you close at five o’clock, which is right before the dinner hour at the shelter…”

  “That we could donate the leftover cupcakes at the end of the day!” Missy
exclaimed, finishing her sentence for her. “What a great idea,” she grinned. “Would you be able to pick them up, or would we need to drop them off?”

  “Oh, I’d be happy to pick them up, and I know that the guys and gals at the shelter would be so grateful for them.”

  “How many people do you have eating and sleeping there, generally?” Echo broke in.

  “Usually we have between thirty to fifty people seated for dinner, but only twenty to thirty who actually stay overnight in the shelter.”

  “Where do the rest of them go?” Missy asked, eyes sad.

  “Under bridges, behind buildings… some of them even sleep beside dumpsters,” Angel said softly.

  “Oh, how awful. Well, yes, I’d like to help in any way that I can, and I hope that at the end of the day, I’ll have enough cupcakes to go around,” Missy decided.

  “If not, we can at least make sure that the children get a piece of cupcake,” Angel reassured her.

  “Children. Wow, I didn’t even think of that,” Echo hugged Jasmine a little closer and kissed her downy, sweetly scented hair.

  Angel nodded sadly. “About a third of the homeless that we see on a daily basis are kids. They try to keep up with their homework even though the shelter environment can be chaotic at times.”

  “I’m so glad you came to me,” Missy said, her heart hurting. “If my cupcakes can help brighten the day of a homeless child, I’ll be so happy about that.”

  “I think once Jazzy is a bit older, I might like to volunteer there,” Echo mused. “Whom should I contact?”

  “That would be amazing,” Angel glanced at her old-fashioned wristwatch. “Oh dear, they’re going to be missing me. So, what time should I stop by tonight?” she turned to Missy.

  “Anytime between five and five-thirty will work.”

  “Great! See you then, and thank you so much. These little things mean so much to people who have nothing,” Angel smiled and headed for the back door.

  “What a nice person,” Missy mused after Angel had gone.

  “There’s a story there,” Echo observed. “I wonder if she’s been homeless herself.”

  “Maybe so,” Missy nodded. “If that’s the case, it’s even more wonderful that she’s helping others and has found her way.”

  Jasmine gurgled and cooed, warming the hearts of both women, who immediately interrupted their frosting again in order to play with the beautiful child.

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  “Man troubles?” the kindly man with a heavy New York accent asked Izzy Gilmore, world-famous horror author.

  “No,” she muttered. “Why would you even think that?”

  The man paused for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re in a bar in Manhattan during the middle of a workday, sipping your second scotch?” he asked, not judging, just observing.

  He picked up a towel and dried off the top of the bar in front of her.

  “Lots of people come through here, and everyone has a story. Usually, when they have an expression like yours, it’s relationship troubles or a bad job situation. You get fired?” the bartender tried again.

  Izzy snorted. “Definitely not. The one stable thing I have in my life is my work. It’s always there. At least I can depend on that one thing never changing,” she sighed.

  “So if work is steady, and you don’t have man troubles, what’s a knockout like you doing so down in the dumps?” he gave her a smile of encouragement.

  “It’s complicated,” she placed her elbow on the bar and rested her chin in her palm.

  “That’s what they all say. I’ve heard some sad stories in here,” the bartender moved a stack of clean glasses, setting them underneath the counter.

  Izzy was saved from answering by the timely arrival of her micromanaging publisher, Miranda Banks. The aging dame’s frizzy white hair had been dyed a shocking shade of red, and her turquoise eyeshadow perfectly matched her peacock-themed wrap. Completing the look with turquoise pumps and nails, she stubbed out her cigarette at the doorway of the bar and made a beeline for Izzy.

  “You’ve been here, what—two minutes? And you’re already boozing it up?” Miranda surveyed her young hotshot author from head to toe. “You look like something the cat dragged in,” she proclaimed, then turned to the bartender. “A sloe gin fizz, pronto,” she waved an overly-accessorized hand at him.

  “Now I understand,” he told Izzy, nodding. That got a smile from her.

  “Hello, Miranda.”

  “Don’t you ‘Hello, Miranda’ me, young lady,” she stuck a gnarled finger out and shook it, her perfume enveloping Izzy in a floral fog. “You disappear without a word, buy a house in the swamp, and don’t communicate with anyone other than to send your manuscripts in, we got a problem, you and me,” the disgruntled publisher huffed, sliding daintily onto a bar stool.

  The bartender set her drink in front of her and she wrinkled her nose. “More lemon,” she pushed it back to him and turned to Izzy. “What kind of place is this? Girl can’t even get a decent drink,” she shook her head. “So, what are you doing back here? If you came back here to quit, you can’t. We have a contract and it would be very expensive for you to try and…” Miranda began, her voice rising with every word.

  Izzy held up her hands to shush the woman. “Miranda, no. Don’t worry, I didn’t come back here to quit.”

  “‘Don’t worry’, she says,” Miranda shook her head, looking at the bartender for sympathy.

  He put her fresh drink down and busied himself at the other end of the bar.

  “I’m not worried,” she continued. “I’d just make a call to my attorney, Marty Shapiro, and that would be that,” Miranda waved her hand, and her turquoise nail polish gleamed in the low light of the bar. “Where you staying? I’d offer my guest room, but Louie sleeps in there, and he doesn’t share.”

  Louie was Miranda’s cantankerous Persian cat. He hated everyone, including Miranda, but she doted on him. Izzy wouldn’t be surprised if she willed her entire publishing business to him upon her death.

  “I kept my old apartment in the city, so I’ll be staying there.”

  “For how long?” Miranda demanded, taking a healthy gulp of her drink, then grimacing a bit. “Too much lemon. What a ham-fisted bartender,” she sighed.

  “I don’t know yet. I… missed being in the city, so I thought I’d come back for a while.”

  Miranda’s gilded eyes narrowed. “Missed the city? I thought you moved away because you hated the city.”

  “I didn’t hate it, I just wanted a change of pace, that’s all.”

  Her phone, sitting on the bar, buzzed. She looked at it, rejected the call, then looked back at Miranda.

  “So I’m not the only one whose calls get ignored, huh?” the crone raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t come here to get back to the city, you came here because you’re running from something. That’s your MO,” Miranda nodded slowly, pleased with herself at figuring it out. “You on the lam?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Izzy put her empty scotch glass down on the counter and began digging in her purse. The ever-observant bar tender came over.

  “Refill?” he asked, tilting the glass at her with a kind smile.

  “No, thanks. Just the check please. I’ll get hers too,” she glanced quickly at Miranda, who was smiling at her like a predatory animal, then looked away again.

  “Hmm… buying me a drink… that’s a good start. It’ll be good having you back in town again, where I can keep an eye on you,” Miranda nodded. “Hope you work out whatever you’re running from… or should I say, whomever?”

  When she got no response from the young author, she chuckled softly. “We’ll get some real work done now.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Young, handsome Marine veteran and highly trained personal security agent Spencer Bengal was beginning to wonder what was going on. He’d tried texting and calling Izzy several times, and she never responded. He went
by her house on his lunch hour, and both she and her lovable Leonberger, Hercules, were gone. Striding out of the elevator at Beckett Investigations, where he worked side by side with Chas Beckett, Missy’s husband and independently wealthy owner of the company, he headed straight for the technology room.

  Ringo, their resident hacker, had his feet up on a computer tower, fiddling with his laptop, which he’d balanced on one knee. There were assorted food wrappers and associated debris scattered around the odd young man’s chair, and he was so intent upon scrolling through masses of data that he never heard Spencer come in.

  “I need you to look something up for me,” Spencer announced, flopping into a chair across from Ringo.

  The young man gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Geez dude, you gotta stop using that ninja stealth around here. You scared the crud out of me,” the hacker exclaimed, tossing his head to the side to move a limp lock of hair out of his eyes.

  “There was no stealth employed in this maneuver,” Spencer commented dryly. “You really need to work on your situational awareness skills.”

  “Not my department,” Ringo declared through a mouthful of cherry chocolate doughnut.

  “Whatever.” Spencer was trying really hard to keep a lid on his impatience. “I need you to check passenger lists for all transportation leaving Calgon and the surrounding areas.”

  “Easy enough,” the young man shrugged, now tearing into a bag of corn chips. “Who are we looking for?”

  Spencer stared at him for a moment. “Izzy Gilmore. Do you ever eat real food?”

  “The horror author? Cool. What’s it like dating a famous creepy chick?” Ringo grinned slyly, but when Spencer merely continued to stare, he reached into the bag for another chip.

  “Fine, geez,” he muttered.

  “Thank you,” Spencer’s response was clipped, and he headed for the door.