Cookie Dough Killer Page 11

  “You alright?” he asked Missy, noting that she had paled considerably after Kendra left.

  “I…” she staggered a bit, reaching for the back of a chair to steady herself.

  Janssen was lightning-fast, moving to her side just as she fell into a faint.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  * * *

  “Nothing in her stomach?” Fiona remarked. “That’s so weird. There were wine glasses in front of her at the scene, and one of them had her lipstick on it.

  “It was staged,” Tim muttered. “It would’ve been easy enough for the killer to roll it across her lips.

  “Wait, did you see this?” Fiona demanded, the urgency in her voice causing Tim to actually pause and look up at her.

  “Undoubtedly, if you see it, I have seen it,” he remarked. “But to what are you referring, specifically?”

  “Look,” she held up a close-up photo of the murder weapon, a brightly-colored scarf.

  When Tim approached, she pointed at the manufacturer’s tag.

  “Yes. So?” he asked, a bit impatient that she had interrupted him for this.

  “This is a common brand, found at discount stores. My sister used to wear this brand because it was the only accessory that she could afford.”

  “My condolences. And?” he pushed his thick glasses up with the back of his wrist.

  “And…Allivia Dunham was filthy rich. No one who has the kind of money that she had would wear this brand,” Fiona’s eyes were bright.

  “Which means that…” Tim began, putting it together.

  “The killer brought it with him,” his assistant finished triumphantly.

  “Indeed,” Tim nodded, gazing at the photo more closely. “I wonder if this is significant,” he pointed toward a hand-embroidered set of initials on the scarf.

  “K.H.,” Fiona murmured, reading aloud. “Who on earth would go to all the trouble of putting their initials on a cheap scarf?” she wondered. “Do you think these are the killer’s initials?”

  “Either that or those of whomever the killer is trying to frame,” Tim mused. “Look at the position of the scarf on the body. It’s almost as if the initials were intentionally placed in an obvious manner, so they wouldn’t be missed. The folds of the scarf are neatly arranged. It doesn’t look like it just fell into place when the body was staged, it looks like it was deliberately placed there.”

  “Why would someone go to all the trouble to put Allivia in dirty old clothes, put glasses of wine in front of her, and stage the scarf to frame someone else?” Fiona frowned.

  “It was personal. Whoever did this wanted to embarrass the victim in death,” Tim deduced. “The filthy clothes, the cheap scarf, the equally cheap wine…” he began.

  “You took a sample of the wine?”

  “Yes, there are swabs from each glass. It was drugstore wine. Very cheap.”

  “So, whoever did this had a deep-seated hatred of Allivia,” Fiona commented. “They wanted to mock her standard of living, mock her tastes and her ego.”

  “Exactly,” Tim nodded.

  “Who would do that?”

  “Usually, this kind of hatred is reserved for significant others,” the coroner stared into space, thinking. “And don’t forget, she was kissed.”

  “The husband?” Fiona breathed.

  “Wouldn’t be unheard of,” Tim commented. “But…we’ll see.”

  **

  “Mr. Dunham, why did you neglect to tell me that you stopped at Muffy Benton’s house the night of your wife’s murder?” Chas wasted no time on niceties when Chester sat down across the desk from him.

  The recent widower, who, to the detective’s knowledge, hadn’t so much as shed a tear for his late wife, stared balefully at him, as though processing the question.

  “It was neither necessary, nor pertinent,” he hedged, never breaking eye contact.

  “Every detail in a murder investigation is necessary and as to whether or not it’s pertinent, that’s not your call to make. Why were you at Muffy Benton’s?”

  “I was dropping off paperwork for some project that she was working on with my wife,” he replied easily.

  “Really? I didn’t think you got that involved with your wife’s activities.”

  “It was a small errand that was on my way,” Chester shrugged.

  “Is that what you were doing at Muffy’s earlier this morning as well?” Chas challenged.

  Chester’s gaze flickered a bit, but he recovered quickly, giving Chas the impression that he must be one heck of a poker player.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

  The guy may have been rattled, but he was one cool cucumber. Was he cold enough to kill?

  “Mrs. Benton already admitted to having an affair with you, and she told me that you were at her house for roughly an hour on the night of the murder. I can only imagine what a jury might think that you were plotting during that time,” Chas leaned over the desk.

  Chester glared at him, unflinching. “Detective,” he stood, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. “I’ll not sit here any longer and be insulted by your vile insinuations. Any further questions that you have may be addressed to my attorneys,” he headed for the door.

  “So, you’re thinking you’re going to need attorneys?” Chas asked mildly.

  “We’re done here,” Chester Dunham shot him a look of contempt and walked out the door.

  **

  Janssen carried a still-limp Missy toward the sounds he heard coming from the kitchen. Beulah dropped a cupcake pan that she had been reaching down from a rack of clean pans, and it clattered on the floor in spectacular fashion.

  “Lord have mercy, what did you do?” she glared at Janssen, rushing to check on Missy.

  “She had an argument with a woman who may be a murderer and fainted afterwards,” Will said matter-of-factly.

  “Murderer?” Beulah whispered, eyes wide. “Watch what you say in front of this little one,” she shot a glance at Kaylee, who had grabbed hold of Missy’s hand as it dangled.

  “I doubt that she knows what that means. Can you please call Chas to see what he wants us to do?” his focus was on the task at hand.

  He’d taken Missy’s vital signs and found that she was breathing perfectly well. Aside from an elevated heart rate, probably due mostly to the fact that she had buckets of adrenalin coursing through her veins, she seemed fine.

  “What’s gonna happen next around this crazy place?” she muttered, hurrying toward the kitchen phone to dial the police station. The number was on a list taped to the wall by the phone. Her call was immediately re-routed to the detective’s cell, since his office phone was busy.

  Janssen carried Missy back to the small office in the back of the little shop, and placed her gently into a worn leather executive chair, while he opened the first aid kit that had been lying, unused, on top of a cabinet. He broke open a vial of smelling salts and waved it under Missy’s nostrils, bringing her around immediately.

  “Wha…?” she mumbled, blinking her eyes, her hand going to her face. “Wha happened?”

  “You fainted, but you’ll be fine. You didn’t hit your head or anything,” Janssen reassured her. “How do you feel?”

  “Creepy,” she frowned. “Sleepy, odd…”

  “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?” he asked, holding her wrist to take another pulse reading. Her heart rate had slowed to normal.

  “I don’t remember,” she confessed, looking sheepish.

  “Mr. Chas will be here in a bit,” Beulah came into the office carrying Kaylee, who smiled when she saw her mother.

  “Good,” Janssen took charge. “She’ll need some food and water right away. This entire episode may have been caused by the combination of adrenalin, low blood sugar, and a dehydration.”

  “And that baby that she got kicking around in there,” Beulah observed.

  “Oh, you’re pregnant? Yeah, that could definitely have been a factor. Has this happened be
fore?”

  Missy shook her head. “No, I’m normally very healthy. Where is that woman?” she asked suddenly. “Where is Kendra Henderson?” she demanded, clearly still feeling woozy.

  “You chased her off, it’s okay,” Janssen assured her, looking pointedly at Beulah, then at the door.

  “Kaylee, girl, you stay here with your mama. Old Beulah will be back in a minute with a snack for the two of you,” Beulah promised, setting the toddler down by her mother. “None for you,” she muttered at Janssen on her way by.

  He grinned, trying not to laugh out loud. The old woman was feisty, he gave her that.

  “Sit wif you,” Kaylee said, bracing herself on the desk and trying to climb into Missy’s lap.

  “Sure, sweetie-girl, c’mon up,” Missy beckoned, leaning back in the chair, pale and tired.

  “Are you sure?” Janssen’s rugged features were clouded with concern.

  “Yes, she’s fine. She doesn’t weigh more than dandelion fluff,” Missy smiled tenderly at her daughter as the little girl snuggled up. “I remember what happened now. How is it that you always seem to show up in the right place at the right time?”

  “Just dumb luck, I guess,” Janssen said evasively.

  Fortunately, he was spared from more questions by the arrival of Beulah, who was huffing and puffing under the weight of a tray full of food, which she put on the desk in front of Missy.

  “Here you go, little mama,” she said. “You got some water there, and a cup of tea, with some crackers, cheese and grapes. Try the grapes first to spike your blood sugar. You’ll feel better,” Beulah directed.

  “She’s right,” Janssen nodded, surprised.

  “Well, lookit that,” Beulah pursed her lips. “Rambo and I agree on something,” she stared him down.

  “Probably more than you might think,” he replied lightly, watching Missy nibble on the grapes.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” Chas burst into the room, going straight to his beloved wife. “How are you?” he asked, tenderly brushing the hair from her face.

  “I’m fine,” she said, shielding her full mouth with her hand. “I forgot to eat,” she shrugged, embarrassed at all the fuss.

  “Well, I think we should still take you to Urgent Care, just to make sure that you’re actually fine.”

  “Oh honey, no. I’m fine, really. I don’t want to go to any of those germ-filled places,” Missy protested.

  “We’re going to get you checked out. We can either go to Urgent Care, or to the Emergency Room, but we need to make sure that you and the baby are still okay,” the detective insisted.

  Missy sighed. “I can’t talk you out of it, even if I promise to stop forgetting to eat?” she wheedled.

  “Not a chance,” Chas was firm.

  “Fine. But at least let me finish my snack first,” she bargained.

  “We can take it with us. Beulah, can you keep an eye on Kaylee for a couple of hours?” he turned to ask the elderly woman, who hovered nearby.

  “I surely can, Mr. Chas,” she nodded, shooting Janssen a cat-who-ate-the-canary look.

  “Perfect. Janssen, Spencer is going to need your help on the Henderson case.”

  “Henderson case?” Missy asked. “Kendra Henderson was just here. I fainted right after she left.”

  “Kendra Henderson was here?” Chas asked, his gaze moving to Janssen.

  “I followed her here. I gave her a few minutes, then came in just in time to catch her in quite the catfight with your wife. She left, then Mrs. Beckett passed out.”

  “So, we don’t know where she went?”

  “No, sir.”

  Chas pursed his lips, frustrated. “Okay. Get with Spencer and Ringo. We need to find Brant Henderson as soon as humanly possible.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m on it,” Janssen nodded and headed for the door.

  “Thank you for rescuing me again, Will,” Missy called after him.

  “Always a pleasure, ma’am,” was the faint reply, as the Marine left the building in a hurry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  * * *

  Andrew Koslowski was disgusted with the weather. It had been cloudy and rainy for days, and it was killing his boat rentals. He sat miserably in his rental shack, just in case some desperate fishing tourists might happen along, playing video games on the small television that rested next to the cash register.

  A good-sized recreational craft pulled into the marina, and when its occupants disembarked, he jumped down from his tall stool, staring.

  “That’s the dude,” he remarked, to no one in particular.

  Pulling on a blue plastic poncho, he headed down the dock toward a guy who was not much older than him, who had just gotten off the boat.

  “Hey, you went out with a dude named Monty a few days ago, right?” Andrew asked, holding his poncho hood to keep the rain out of his face.

  “Yeah, so?” Brant Henderson replied.

  “There was a pretty scary looking guy looking for you the other day,” Andrew shrugged.

  “You got a name for him?”

  “Nah, he didn’t say. Just thought you might want to know,” Andrew shrugged.

  “Thanks,” Brant said dismissively.

  “Have a good day, dude,” Andrew turned to go.

  “Hey,” Brant called out.

  “Yeah?”

  “If you see the guy again, you never saw me, got it?”

  Andrew stared at him, confused and Brant reached into his pocket.

  “Hey man, I don’t wanna die!” Andrew threw up his hands and stepped back.

  “Relax,” Brant grimaced, pulling out his billfold and extracting some money. He held it out to Andrew, who took it and marveled.

  “Righteous bucks,” he nodded, sticking the cash into the pocket of his board shorts.

  “You never saw me, right?” Brant repeated.

  “Saw who, dude? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andrew grinned and sauntered away, already spending the money in his mind.

  **

  Janssen had more mosquito bites than he could count, and could feel sweat trickling down his spine as he crouched behind some shrubs in an access alley behind the row of houses which included Brant Henderson’s. He was far enough away that he could see just about anyone who came or went from the Henderson residence. He’d been there when Kendra had come in, looking furious, about an hour ago, slamming the back door after parking her aging car in the back yard detached garage.

  Fighting the sore muscles that he had from staying in a crouched position for the better part of two hours, Janssen perked up, adrenalin singing, when he saw Brant Henderson get out of a small black car and walk to his front door. Taking a picture of the car’s license plate, Janssen gave Brant time to get inside before standing and stretching.

  “Showtime,” he muttered, heading for the front door.

  He texted Spencer and Chas and rang the bell, surprised when Brant answered it within seconds.

  “Yeah?” Brant sighed, looking annoyed.

  “Brant Henderson?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Look man, I’ve had a long day. You’re coming to the police station with me. You can try to be a jerk about it, but I guarantee you, you’re going,” Janssen shrugged.

  “Okay, have it your way.”

  Janssen moved on him in a flash, securing his arms behind his back and pressing him nose-first into the cement of the front porch.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Brant protested, struggling.

  “Don’t even try, man. You’re not going to get out of this hold,” Janssen sat with his back up against the house, keeping Brant immobilized. “I tried to tell you, but did you listen to me?”

  “Who are you? I’ll call the cops,” Brant threatened.

  Janssen chuckled, seeing Chas and Spencer pull up. “Relax, Henderson, the cops are already here.

  **

  “If you keep running your mouth, we can have this conversation down at the station. I
have more than enough to book you,” Chas told Brant, sitting on the couch in the missing man’s living room.

  “Book me,” he barked a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t,” Chas said. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about the murder of Allivia Dunham.”

  Brant’s face went slack and he stared at the detective, then looked over at his wife, who wrapped her arms around her midsection and nodded.

  “What?” he finally stopped struggling. “My mother is dead? How did that happen?” he whispered, dropping his head into his hands when Janssen finally let go of him.

  “That’s what we’d like to know, Brantworth,” Chas said darkly.

  Brant stared at the detective, his mouth hanging open. “You can’t possibly think that I had anything to do with it,” his eyes were wide.

  “Where were you on Tuesday night?” Chas asked.

  “Out of town,” Brant’s eyes shifted away.

  “Uh-huh,” Chas refrained from rolling his eyes. “Where? When did you leave, when did you get there, and where have you been since then?” he demanded.

  “None of your business,” Brant folded his arms.

  “The name Larry Burnside mean anything to you?” Chas asked casually.

  The color drained from Brant’s face.

  “Yeah, nice guy. He lives at City of Refuge,” Brant’s voice had the slightest tremor.

  “He does,” Chas nodded. “He’s also the guy who sang like a canary and told us all about your little jewelry fencing enterprise that you’re running out of the yacht club. There are a whole lot of ladies who are ready, willing and able to press charges for that, but that’s small potatoes compared to what you’re going to be facing when you go down for your mother’s murder.”

  “I didn’t kill my mother. I didn’t even know she was dead,” Brant choked up, shaking his head.

  “Where have you been since Monday afternoon?” Chas asked again. “Your boss would like to know, your wife claims that she didn’t know. I find it more than odd that someone who was innocent would just disappear for days like that without telling anyone where he was going,” the detective commented.