Toffee Apple Killer: Book 11 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 10

  “I haven’t bought flowers in years, but I hear that Rosie’s Roses is a good place. Becky gets fresh flowers for her desk at school once a week, and that’s where she goes.”

  “Okay, I’ll have to check it out. Thanks.”

  Their food came, and Izzy was pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was. As they ate, she caught sight of a class ring on Stanley’s finger.

  “That’s really cool, is it from Georgia?” she asked, pointing to the ring.

  “No, that’s a Calgon High School ring. It’s silly that I still wear it, but I’ve always thought of it as a good luck charm.”

  “I don’t think it’s silly, it’s very nice.”

  “Thanks. Maybe someday I’ll meet a girl who’ll put up with me long enough for me to give it to her.”

  “You’d give away your class ring?” Izzy munched on a spring roll.

  “I’d make whatever sacrifice I needed to for the right woman,” Stanley shrugged, giving her hopeful glances. She could barely contain her shudder.

  “That’s sweet,” she forced a smile and put down the spring roll.

  “Are you okay? You look kind of pale all of the sudden,” he observed.

  “I’m actually feeling a bit ill,” she said honestly. Something about this man just put her off, despite the fact that he’d done nothing overtly menacing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like me to drive you home?” he offered, causing a wave of nausea to wash over her.

  “No, I’m good to drive, thanks, but I think that I should leave now. You stay here and finish your meal. I’m so sorry,” she said, rising to go.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” he asked, seeming concerned.

  “Yep, I’ll be fine,” she nodded. “Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch,” she lied, heading for the exit.

  He stood to follow her, and Missy popped up from her table to block his path. “Excuse me, sir? I seem to have dropped my contact lens… can you help me find it?”

  “I really need to…” he began, glancing toward the exit.

  “Oh please?” Missy manufactured some tears. “I can’t afford new ones. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t find it,” her lower lip trembled convincingly, and Stanley clamped his lips shut and peered at the spot on the floor that she pointed to.

  “I think it’s down there somewhere,” she said tremulously, watching Izzy get all the way out the door before relaxing and joining the man who might be a killer on the floor, looking for a phantom contact lens.

  Izzy made it outside and swayed as the world turned suddenly fuzzy. A plainclothes cop came up behind her, catching her just as she fainted, and loaded her into his unmarked vehicle, while his partner kept an eye on Stanley Bartles.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  Timothy Eckels had graduated from his wheelchair to hobbling about with the help of a cane. He still had to depend on Fiona’s help more than he liked, but he was getting his work done, even if it took him a bit longer. He had just finished preparing the body of an eighty-three-year-old grandmother, who had slipped and hit her head on the bathtub, doing her hair in a manner to hide the sculpting he’d had to do to her skull and scalp. Fiona came trotting down the stairs from the main floor of the mortuary, disturbing his peaceful work space.

  “What is it now?” he sighed, glad that he’d at least been able to finish Bessie Martin’s preparation without interruption.

  “Lab results came in for the Leslie Mikels autopsy. I thought you’d want to see them before I sent them over to Detective Beckett,” she replied, handing him a manila folder.

  He hobbled over to the downstairs desk, eased carefully into the rolling chair, and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose with one finger, opening the folder.

  “Look at this,” Fiona pointed to one of the sheets of paper. “That one surprised me.”

  “I had suspected as much,” Tim nodded.

  “Really?” his assistant was astonished.

  “Didn’t fit the usual pattern. No evidence of sexual assault, careful preservation of the face. It fits, even down to the angle and types of blows that were inflicted. I’m glad that I took those fingernail scrapings.”

  “When are you ever going to teach me to notice all of this stuff?” Fiona didn’t even try to hide her amazement. Her boss might be odd, but he was also a genius when it came to death.

  “You’re learning every time you come to work,” was the enigmatic reply.

  ***

  Roger Sessman rapped briefly on detective Chas Beckett’s door before entering.

  “Hey, Beckett, you’re not going to believe this one,” he tossed the report that the ridiculously attractive young woman from the coroner’s office had brought over onto Chas’s desk.

  “Few things surprise me anymore,” Beckett replied dryly, opening the folder.

  He skimmed through the report, his brow creasing with each passing page. When he got to the end, he closed the folder, shook his head and looked up at Sessman.

  “Told you,” the officer said.

  “There’s a young woman in danger,” Chas thought aloud, Izzy’s face flashing through his mind. “Go pick up the perp, and I’ll join you in the interrogation area after I check on the next intended victim.”

  ***

  Izzy had been beyond angry that Stanley Bartles had drugged her during dinner. She was thankful that police had spirited her away to the emergency room before the perverted teacher could find her, passed out, outside the restaurant. She had wondered why the water had tasted so different, and now she knew. Drug screens performed at the hospital had confirmed that she’d had a substance in her body which she hadn’t intended to consume. She didn’t know if Stanley would be arrested for his mean trick, but if he was, she would probably press charges, just on principle.

  The fuming young author went upstairs to take a nice hot herbal bath, letting her head drop back, and closing her eyes as she soaked in the fragrant warmth of the water. Her muscles relaxed and she felt herself calming down, thankful for the cup of chamomile tea perched on the edge of the tub. She planned on getting into her fuzziest pajamas and slipping into oblivion under the covers for a very long time. Sitting up after a good long soak, Izzy was about to pull the stopper out of the antique clawfoot tub when she thought she heard a noise. She cocked her head toward the door, listening hard as her heart beat sped up a bit.

  She had just about convinced herself that she was being paranoid, when she heard another sound, which seemed closer this time. How could it be? She’d locked all the doors, and all the windows were secured as well. Izzy stood up ever so slowly, trying desperately not to make a sound. She raised one foot up over the side of the tub and placed it silently on the fluffy pink bath rug, then did the same with the other foot, bracing herself with both hands on the side of the tub, fervently hoping that she wouldn’t slip.

  Stepping off of the bath mat, she slowly crossed to the towel rack and slipped one of the heated towels off, drying as quickly as she could while listening and remaining silent. Her heart in her throat, she had a terrible thought, and quickly glanced over at the knob on the bathroom door, painfully relieved to see that it was locked. She had gotten into the habit of locking all doors these days, and was glad that today had been no exception. If someone had gotten inside, they must have broken in while the water for her bath was running and she couldn’t hear them.

  Izzy waited for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time, wrapped in the thick chenille robe that she always kept on the back of the bathroom door. It too, was pink, her favorite color, and was usually a source of comfort for her, but at the moment, she felt anything but safe and comfortable. She felt vulnerable and alone. It seemed like hours had passed, and she hadn’t heard anything, so she began to feel a bit foolish, being trapped like a caged animal in her bathroom simply because she was being paranoid. She walked over to the door and pressed her ear against the crack, listening and hearing nothing. Mostly satisfied that
she was just being silly, she put her hand on the antique door knob and began to turn it, slowly.

  Izzy turned the knob all the way to the right, and the door swung open silently. Feeling exposed, and a little embarrassed, she stood in the open doorway, listening, then ventured out into the hall, peering down the stairs. When she saw and heard nothing, she crept slowly down the stairs, wincing when one of the treads squeaked, and standing stock-still, listening. Hearing nothing again, she continued. When she reached the bottom, she moved silently from room to room, noting that everything in the house seemed to be just as she had left it. The lights were on, the doors and windows were still securely latched, and nothing was broken or out of place.

  “I must be losing my mind,” the horror author shook her head, wrapping her arms around her body.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a sudden and violent pounding at her front door.

  “Izzy, it’s Chas, open the door, right now!” the detective ordered.

  Hearing his tone, she did exactly that, and the sequence of events that happened next were a blur of frenzied activity. Chas grabbed her hand and dragged her from the house, securing her in his car while a fleet of police cars swarmed her house. There were shouts coming from the back yard, and Izzy could make out a team of officers muscling someone into the nearest patrol car.

  Sessman came up to Chas’ window, panting with exertion. “We got the perp,” he gasped, catching his breath. “Came out of an upstairs window. Had a ladder.”

  “Good work. Send forensics in to process the scene.”

  “This one was close,” Sessman commented.

  “Too close,” Chas agreed. “Go check around inside, see if you find the rose. I’d start upstairs.”

  “What the heck just happened?” Izzy asked fearfully, when Sessman had trotted up the front steps to her house.

  “We just caught a murderer,” Chas replied grimly. “Are you okay?”

  Izzy went a little green. “Oh man,” she murmured when realization hit. “I was looking for an intruder downstairs, and they were waiting for me upstairs the whole time? I was about to go up and get ready for bed when you knocked on my door. If you hadn’t gotten there…” she trailed off, eyes wide.

  “They’re going to be collecting evidence here for a while. Why don’t I take you to the inn and you can have cupcakes and tea with Missy,” the detective suggested gently.

  Izzy nodded mutely, overwhelmed. A killer had been in her house. She’d been that close to death. The traumatized young woman was overcome by the shakes, and Chas turned the heater and radio on, taking her to the comfort and safety of Missy’s kitchen.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  * * *

  Wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt borrowed from Missy, Izzy sat at Cupcakes in Paradise the next morning, sipping strong coffee and trying to make sense of what Chas had told her last night. Echo came in and she and Missy spoke in low tones before joining Izzy at their favorite bistro table.

  “Izzy, I’m so sorry that you had to go through all of this,” Echo leaned over and gave her a hug. “How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly… I’m numb, and I feel… betrayed,” her lower lip trembled a bit, and she wrapped both hands around her coffee mug, needing the warmth.

  “I can only imagine. It hurts when someone you trust turns out to be nothing like you thought they were. First Stanley Bartles drugs you, then his colleague tries to kill you,” Echo shook her head. “But why you?”

  “Becky Wray was in love with Stanley, and he wouldn’t give her the time of day, romantically. She’d gone with him the day that he bought the couch at Leslie’s garage sale, and helped him carry it to her truck. According to what Stanley said, she must have heard him ask Leslie out. Leslie refused, but that didn’t prevent Becky from killing her.”

  “That’s so strange, but how did they figure out that it was Becky who killed Leslie, and not Stanley or the other guy?”

  “Thomas,” Missy supplied.

  “Yes, Thomas. The jerk,” Echo nodded. “How did they know that it wasn’t one of those two?”

  “Well, Stanley knew the name of Becky’s favorite florist, who was able to confirm that she came in at least once a week, and that her favorite flowers were roses with the thorns still attached, which turned out to be her undoing,” Izzy explained.

  “How so?” Echo was baffled.

  “When she killed Leslie, she placed a rose under her body, and the forensics guys found blood on a couple of the thorns. The DNA testing of the blood sample matched the DNA testing of the skin cells underneath Leslie’s fingernails, and both matched Rebecca Wray. She had been so nice to me too,” Izzy mused.

  “They also found hair samples that they had originally thought belonged to Leslie, but which turned out to be Becky’s. The imprint of Becky’s college class ring was embedded in the victim’s skin, and it turns out that Rebecca Wray’s hobby is lifting free weights, so, even though she’s female, she was more than capable of inflicting the damage done to poor Leslie’s body,” Missy added.

  “And she wanted to inflict that damage upon my body too, apparently,” Izzy shivered and took a sip of her coffee.

  “So, Stanley drugging your water at the restaurant had nothing to do with Becky’s plan?”

  “Nope, nothing at all.”

  “And the rose that Thomas gave you was just…?”

  “A weird coincidence, nothing more.”

  “Wow,” Echo selected a cupcake from the tray in the middle of the table. “You just have the worst luck with men.”

  “Tell me about it,” Izzy rolled her eyes.

  “But it was a woman who wanted you dead,” Missy reminded her.

  “I’m just not fit to function among other humans.”

  “Nonsense,” Missy leaned over and gave her a squeeze. “We love you, and because we love you, we’re going to shamelessly pick your creative brain to help us come up with a menu and decorating plan for Thanksgiving,” she grinned, then reached over and refilled Izzy’s coffee.

  “But I don’t think that I’ll even be…” she started to protest, but Echo held up a hand to stop her.

  “Don’t even think about saying that you’re not coming. I’m the pregnant lady who always gets her way, and I insist that you come to Thanksgiving at the inn. It wouldn’t be the same without you,” she decreed. “Besides,” her tone was softer now, and far more compassionate. “I talked to Spencer, and he wants you to be there too.”

  “But I… does he… I mean…” the young woman stammered.

  “Honey, your guess is as good as mine. None of us knows where that dear boy’s head is at, but you and I both know him well enough to know that he will go out of his way to make you feel comfortable, even if that means not going anywhere near you,” Missy patted her hand.

  “I just think it would be so excruciatingly awkward,” Izzy murmured, staring into her coffee.

  “Only if you make it that way, sunshine,” Echo remarked, eyebrows raised. “Spencer has said that he’s willing to socialize, now you need to pull up those big girl panties and do the same. Calgon is a pretty small town, you might as well accept the fact that you’re going to run into him every now and again, and deal with it.”

  The author blinked in the face of Echo’s blunt statement, but had to admit the truth of it.

  “I suppose so,” she sighed. “But why can’t I just stay home and forget about Thanksgiving this year? I can still help you guys plan, but…”

  “Not on my watch, darlin,” Missy shook her head vehemently. “No one that I care about, who lives in such close proximity, is gonna be alone on a holiday, no ma’am. I just won’t have it,” she crossed her arms.

  “You two planned to ambush me this morning, didn’t you?” Izzy smiled wryly.

  “Of course we did,” Echo grinned. “We love you, and we’re not about to let you wallow in that pretty pink cottage while we’re busy feasting.”

  “Alright then,” the young woman finall
y caved and reached for a cupcake. “Let’s get started.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  * * *

  Carla Mayhew had never seen so much food at a family gathering in her life. There were vegan dishes for Echo, as well as the traditional Thanksgiving fare, and the widow felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven. Carla had been Missy’s decorator when she and Chas had redone the inn after purchasing it just over a year ago, and she’d also been her only friend when the newly wed Louisiana native had moved to Florida to run the inn. Missy had helped Carla get through the dark days following her husband’s death, when she had turned to alcohol to self-medicate, and the dear decorator was forever grateful.

  Glancing at the friendly and familiar faces around the table, Carla sighed with contentment. It felt good to be a part of a family celebration, even if she wasn’t technically related. She waited until everyone was seated around the table, Chas at the head, with Missy on his right and Spencer on his left, Echo and Kel, Kel’s son Scott, Izzy, Maggie the innkeeper, and two new additions this year: Tim the mortician, and his darkly hilarious assistant, Fiona. Joyce, Echo’s right arm at the bookstore and candle shop, had gone home to New England to be at her sister’s house. Carla gazed at Missy from across the table, and her friend gave a slight nod.

  Standing, Carla tapped on her crystal wine goblet with the tines of her fork, making a merry tinkling sound, which captured everyone’s attention and stilled the happy chatter.

  “I think we all have much to be thankful for, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked, raising her glass to a chorus of yesses and hear-hears.

  When everyone had quieted again, she took a deep breath and plunged right into what she needed to say.

  “Missy and Chas have asked me to make an announcement today, with family and friends gathered to celebrate. They’re letting me make the announcement because it gives me even more to be thankful for this year.” Everyone regarded her with rapt attention, wondering what was happening.