Marshmallow Creme Killer: Book 7 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  “No! Maggie,” she protested hoarsely, the world beginning to spin around her.

  “It’s okay ma’am, we’ve got her,” a deep, but muffled voice assured her, before everything went black.

  **

  When Missy regained consciousness a few minutes later, breathing was still excruciatingly painful, but she was grateful for the oxygen that poured through the mask that had been placed over her nose and mouth.

  “Maggie,” she said weakly, her voice sounding strange within the confines of the mask.

  “Don’t try to sit up, just take it easy,” a uniformed EMT put a restraining hand on her arm.

  “But Maggie…” she protested, struggling a bit.

  “Your friend is being transported to the hospital for treatment and testing. The best way that you can help her right now is to take care of yourself, okay?” the tech said in a soothing voice.

  Missy finally relented, too weak to struggle anymore, and knowing that Maggie was still alive if she was being taken to the hospital. There was a conversation going on above her head. She heard the EMT’s voice, Echo’s and that of Jim Reubens. She turned her head to the left, and saw freshly turned up earth from the tire tracks made by the ambulance.

  “Detective Reubens,” she called, hoping that he’d hear her. “I know who killed Renee…”

  CHAPTER 27

  “Hey boss-man,” Fiona McCamish peered over the shoulder of Medical Examiner and town mortician, Timothy Eckels. “This body talking to you yet?” she asked, chomping a piece of gum.

  Tim turned to look at her, seeming deeply offended.

  “Remove that unpleasant filth from your mouth, and kindly stay on your side of the table,” he blinked at his assistant from behind his coke-bottle lensed glasses.

  “Aww…you don’t like gum? Were you a teacher in a previous life or something?” she asked sweetly, popping and snapping the offending mass on her way to the hazardous waste basket. She stepped on the foot lever to open the container and spit her gum in with deliberate, and fortunately accurate, force.

  “Perish the thought,” the reclusive man shuddered a bit.

  “Seriously though, what’s the story with this one?”

  “The strangulation was actually unnecessary,” he mused. The battering that she received caused massive brain and internal injuries. She would have died anyway.”

  “Then why do you suppose that they bothered to strangle her?”

  “My guess would be that they were trying to keep her quiet.”

  Fiona always hated asking the next question. “Was she…”

  “Sexually assaulted? No,” Tim answered, maintaining his focus on the victim in order to ease her discomfort.

  “Well, that’s good,” she murmured. “The lab called a few minutes ago, I forgot to tell you, and they figured out what was under her fingernails.”

  “And?” he stopped working to stare at her.

  “It’s weird…it was drywall compound.”

  “Makes sense,” he nodded, moving Renee’s hair away from her face to examine a series of wounds.

  “It does?” Fiona was confused.

  “Yes, it does. The blows to her head and body look as though they were cause by a board that had some nails in it…see the puncture wounds there?” he pointed to a flap of loose skin on the victim’s cheek.

  “How does that fit in with drywall compound?”

  “Based upon the other evidence that we’ve found on the body, I would guess that the victim was killed on a construction site. There are slivers of wood consistent with builder-grade plywood, she had abrasions that suggest she had been dragged across concrete or brick, and of course, there’s the drywall compound, board and nail. The ligature mark around her neck had a faint tinge of blue around it too, which, if you’ll forgive the pun, was a dead giveaway.”

  “Blue? What did that come from?” Fiona asked, peering more closely at the mark that her boss was indicating.

  “Chalk lines are used to make straight lines for cutting materials during construction. They pull the string out of a reel, and stretch it taut, then they give it a snap to make the chalk line. The blue substance on her neck is chalk. I’m sure that if you check with the labs, they’ll support that.”

  Fiona shuffled through the file, perusing the ligature pages of drawings, photos and notes, along with the lab results.

  “Yup,” she nodded. “It’s right here. Nice work, Timmy,” she grinned, impressed.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  **

  “Detective?” Missy said hoarsely, still recovering from her smoke inhalation. She was home now, after an overnight stay in the hospital for observation.

  The kitchen had been mostly untouched, the blaze was a pan on the stove that had caught fire when left unattended after Maggie’s assailant had knocked her out by hitting her with a rolling pin. There was some smoke damage, but thankfully, the fire department had arrived in time to put out the small fire before anything catastrophic happened.

  “Yes, hello Mrs. Beckett. What can I do for you? Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine. The fire department got here in the nick of time, but I wanted to talk to you about something else that I thought of while they were putting out the fire,” Missy replied.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know why…but for some reason, something keeps bothering me about when I went over to Carla’s house. It doesn’t make any sense, but I just can’t get it off of my mind,” she sighed.

  “What is it?” Detective Reubens held the phone to his ear with his shoulder, and took a pen out of the holder on his desk, jotting down the date, time and Missy’s name in his ever-present notebook while he listened.

  “Well, Echo and I went over there again not too long ago, I don’t remember the exact day…I know you told me not to, but I just couldn’t sit around doing nothing, so we went over to Carla’s to see if we could find anything. I told Richard that I might want to hire him as a contractor, and asked to see what work he had done so far.”

  “I see,” the detective was getting a crick in his neck from holding the phone with his shoulder, so he switched sides.

  “Anyway, when we had visited the previous time, Richard told us that Carla had hired him to do some foundation work and the closet. While I was outside, looking into the crawlspace to see his foundation work, Echo snooped around inside and saw that nothing had been done to the closet, but I noticed that the dirt in the crawlspace had clearly been turned over and walked on, so he apparently was finished with his work down there, and maybe just hadn’t started on the closet yet. I hate to be suspicious, I mean, he seems like a genuinely nice person, but, Jim, for some reason, I can’t get that freshly turned-over dirt out of my mind. Isn’t that crazy?” she asked, hoping that her husband’s colleague didn’t write her off as a paranoid lunatic.

  Jim Reubens put down his pen, and finished glancing through a lab report that had just been placed on his desk.

  “No, Mrs. Beckett, it’s not crazy at all,” he said, standing and reaching for his shoulder holster. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to run, but I’ll follow up with you on this just as soon as I can.”

  Missy felt ridiculous now. The detective had been so polite, but she could tell that he was just being nice, pretending to listen to her groundless worries. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering what to do.

  CHAPTER 28

  Chas Beckett stood at the bedside of a man he’d known his entire life. Chalmers’ eyes fluttered, then opened slowly. He blinked to bring the world into focus, and his astonished gaze traveled over his favorite Beckett’s face.

  “Master Charles? What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Is Master Reginald…?” the elderly man struggled to sit up higher, looking for all the world like he was ready to hop out of the bed and get things in order.

  “Easy, Chalmers,” Chas said gently, holding up a hand to still the agitated caretaker’s movement. “Everyone
is fine. Even you, though you had us worried for a while.”

  “I was fine and then that awful woman came in and gave me a shot of something rather vile,” he frowned deeply, trying to remember. “And now, I’m just waking up again. It’s been a disconcerting matter of days,” Chalmers sighed.

  “I hate to break it to you, but it’s been a disconcerting matter of weeks,” Chas replied.

  “Really? Good heavens, I have so much to attend to. Have Bonnie bring me my robe,” he requested, trying once again to sit up. Once again, Chas made him stay put.

  “Everything is fine for the moment, you need to concentrate on getting better,” he admonished the determined man. “You said something about a vile woman…did you mean the nurse?” Chas asked, on full alert.

  “Yes. I had just finished my lunch, and Bonnie was taking away my tray, when she came in and put something in the IV bag. In a matter of minutes, I was writhing in pain.”

  “I see,” Chas nodded. “Is that all that you remember?”

  “Until now, yes.”

  “Okay, I have to leave for a few minutes, but there is a pair of armed guards right outside the door, so you’ll be fine until I return,” the detective promised. “No one will be allowed in. If you see someone come through that door other than me, or Janssen, hit this button,” he instructed, handing Chalmers a small cylinder with a red button on one end.

  “What will it do?”

  “Let’s hope that we don’t have to find out,” Chas replied grimly.

  He left the room and gave the guards strict instructions not to allow anyone in or out of the room, then ran to the nurse’s station down the hall.

  “Where is the woman who was Chalmers’ nurse?” he demanded, a vein on his forehead pulsing.

  “I…uh…I…” the receptionist could only gawk at him, never having been this close to an actual Beckett, despite having worked in the underground facility for a couple of years now.

  “I’m sorry, but why precisely are you berating this young woman?” the nurse in question asked sharply, from next to his left shoulder.

  “You,” he said, teeth clenched. The woman backed up a step. “You had better tell me what you gave him to cause the reaction, and you had better hope that there was no permanent damage done,” he said quietly, steering her away from the gawking receptionist.

  The woman was undaunted.

  “For your information, Charles Beckett, I was giving him something for the pain. He was having the reaction as I came back into the room. Nothing I did caused him any discomfort or a relapse,” she jutted her chin forward.

  “And you expect me to believe that?” he raised an eyebrow, infuriated.

  “She’s telling the truth,” a voice from behind caused Chas to whirl around and see Chalmers’ private physician.

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked Dr. Snehar Patel, who stood coolly professional in the face of his rather intimidating client’s anger.

  “Because, after the fact, I retrieved both the vial and the syringe that had been used by the nurse and had them tested in the lab,” he gestured down the hall. “Both contained only the pain meds that I had prescribed. Chalmers’ blood showed the presence of an entirely different substance which was undoubtedly the agent which caused his distress and would have caused his death, had we not intervened.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was a floral extract that is quite deadly. It first causes muscles to seize, which is why Chalmers was in so much pain, then it begins to systematically shut down the organs of the body, usually causing death by cardiac arrest. Fortunately, we were able to administer the proper treatment before permanent damage was done.”

  “Where does this flower come from? Is it something local?” Chas asked.

  “No sir, it can’t be found in the United States,” Patel shook his head.

  “Then where?”

  “Ireland, sir.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Detective Jim Reubens glanced one more time through the file, and was satisfied that he had enough evidence for a warrant. He made a call to Judge Carlton Samuels and drove to the courthouse to pick it up, then headed for the killer. Thinking that he’d lull the lunatic into complacency by behaving in a friendly and non-confrontational manner, he pulled up in the driveway, got out of his car, and ambled toward the front door. He knocked in a laid-back manner, and waited. Nothing. Rang the bell. Nothing. Used his lock pick tools to get inside after disabling the alarm system. Still nothing.

  “He’s not here,” the detective pushed his fedora back on his head, frustrated, and took off for his car, calling for backup to come and secure the scene.

  **

  Echo was having a romantic dinner tonight with her fiancée, Kel, whom she hadn’t seen much of since he returned from New York, so Missy had been left to her own devices. She hadn’t been in the mood to eat, so she ordered pizza from a deli that delivered, and opened a bottle of wine. It was so strange being the only one in the entire inn. Maggie was still in the hospital recovering from the blow to her head that resulted in a skull fracture and sixty stitches to put her scalp back together, Paddy had disappeared without a trace, and Missy had ended up bringing Moose, Spencer’s cat upstairs so that she could keep an eye on him.

  Toffee loved the reclusive feline, and continually tried to draw him out whenever he dared to show himself. Bitsy on the other hand, found it an appalling affront to her doggie dignity to be living in the same household with a cat, and tried to make Moose’s life as miserable as possible, barking at him as he hid under the bed. The majestic feline growled and hissed from his hiding spot, and would swipe a warning paw out from beneath the bed skirt when Bitsy became too rambunctious in her posturing. The antics of the animals made Missy smile, and she vowed to have some cuddle time with Moose in order to make up for Bitsy being a poor animal hostess.

  The doorbell rang and Missy went downstairs with a handful of cash for the delivery guy. When she shut and locked the door behind him, the smell of spicy pepperoni and ooey gooey melted cheese made her stomach actually growl. She took the pizza to the kitchen, set it on the counter, and reached up into the cabinet for a wine glass, surprised that the dogs hadn’t come out, tails wagging, hoping that she’d accidentally drop a tasty slice. She figured that they must be truly transfixed by the poor tortured feline under the bed, and felt guilty that she’d get to enjoy her treat in peace at the cat’s expense.

  Missy made her way through half a glass of wine and two small pieces of pizza before she was stuffed to the gills and a little bit sleepy. Making her way over to the sofa, she plopped down and turned on the TV planning to look for a movie to watch. Behind her, the closet door opened just a tiny bit, the creak of the hinges lost in the sound of the television. Then it opened a bit further.

  Missy turned the volume all the way down on the television, listening. Yes, she was correct, she had heard something…a low whine was coming from down the hall. She turned the volume back up, stood, and made her way down the hall toward her room, where she found that the door had been shut. No wonder she hadn’t had canine company during dinner, they couldn’t get out.

  “You silly girls,” she grinned, opening the door. “How did you manage to shut yourselves in here?”

  Both dogs dashed passed her and tore down the hall, stopping in front of the closet to bark hysterically. Missy looked at the door puzzled. It was slightly ajar, and she knew that she hadn’t been in there at all recently. Since she’d moved the vacuum to the front hall closet, this one had been used only as overflow for guest coats when they had company. Figuring that Echo must’ve left it open before she left, Missy pushed the door shut, and was surprised when the dogs still wouldn’t stop barking.

  “Hey ladies, let’s have some manners, please,” she raised her voice to be heard over the cacophony.

  “Yes, let’s. Manners would be nice for a change, you meddling wretch,” a male voice hissed in her ear, as a rope tightened around her neck.

  The dog
s immediately switched their focus. Bitsy leaped forward and bit into the man’s ankle, causing him to cry out in pain and kick his foot at her. Every time he swung his leg back to kick, the suddenly vicious maltipoo lunged in and bit him again. He had tiny streaks of blood dribbling down his ankle, and she was relentless in her pursuit of his flesh. Sweet, gentle Toffee rose up on her hind legs and with a savage sound that Missy would’ve never dreamed possible, the precious girl bared her teeth and leaped at the man’s face. While he was caught off guard by the dogs, Missy got both hands up under the rope at her neck and took in grateful gulps of air. She threw her weight to the left as Toffee launched, causing the man to tumble to the ground with Missy on top of him. While Toffee kept him on the defensive by snapping her teeth mere centimeters from his face, Missy scrambled away, just as Detective Jim Reubens reached the top of the stairs.

  “Richard Morgan, freeze!! You’re under arrest for the murder of Renee Manta!” the detective bellowed, as Missy collapsed on the floor, shaking, crying and holding her sore neck.

  “Fine, just get this animal away from me before I kill it,” he yelled, his fear of dogs evident.

  Missy had heard enough, and when one of Richard’s loose feet flailed and sent Bitsy shrieking across the room, she dove at the murderer with a snarl, more than ready to throttle him with her bare hands. It took two uniformed police officers to pull her away from the murderer, while Richard calmly allowed Jim Reubens to handcuff him and lead him away from the crazy woman and her vicious dogs.

  Moose came out after the chaos had died down and leaped into Missy’s lap, purring and bumping the top of his head against her cheek. She held him to her chest and cried. The murderer had been found, but as yet, Carla hadn’t. Chas was still in New York, Spencer was gone, Maggie was in the hospital and she wasn’t even sure who Paddy actually was. It had been a really rough day, and she fell into an exhausted sleep, still clutching Moose, her “vicious” protectors keeping watch at her feet.