Cookie Dough Killer Page 12

  “I couldn’t tell,” Brant mumbled, staring down at the floor.

  “Excuse me, what did you say?”

  “I said I couldn’t tell,” Brant spoke loudly, with exaggerated enunciation.

  “Oh? And why is that? Because you were hiding out after killing your mother?”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “Stop saying that.”

  “If that’s not what you were doing, tell me where you were,” Chas challenged. “Last chance, Brantworth. Spill it or I’m taking you in.”

  “I was on a boat,” Brant clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles twitching.

  “A boat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where was the boat and what were you doing on it?” Chas demanded.

  “I…” Brant began, only to be interrupted by the ringing of the detective’s cell phone.

  Annoyed, Chas took it out of his pocket and stared at it for a second. “I have to take this,” he looked at Spencer and Janssen, then turned his gaze to Brant. “Don’t even think about moving,” he warned.

  **

  “Sorry to bother you, Detective,” the young lab tech on the other end of the line apologized. “But the DNA results for the Dunham case just came back in, and they weren’t quite what we were expecting.”

  “Oh?” Chas asked, surprised.

  The tech gave him an abbreviated rundown, leaving him shocked. “Are you sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “The probability is greater than 99%, Detective,” the tech assured him.

  Chas nodded. “Okay then. Thank you,” he said quietly, then hung up.

  **

  “What were you doing on the boat?” Chas asked Brant again, before he even sat down.

  “I went to meet with some guys.”

  “What guys? And what were you meeting about? Come on, Henderson, we don’t have all day. I have a cell with your name on it just waiting for you,” Chas threatened.

  “I was meeting with…people who weren’t Americans. They had heard that I knew how to…sell things, and they wanted me to sell things for them.”

  “Sell what?” Chas asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Drugs,” Brant sighed.

  “And?” Chas prompted.

  “And what?”

  “Did you agree to do that?” the detective persisted.

  “No! I don’t sell drugs and I darn sure didn’t kill my mother. I may be a small-time thief, who steals from people who can afford to lose things anyway, but I have my limits,” Brant ground his teeth together.

  “How did you get your mother’s jewelry?”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t have any of my mother’s jewelry,” Brant frowned.

  “Of course you don’t. Larry took it to the pawn shop Wednesday morning.”

  “That’s impossible. I was on the ocean from Monday until today, and I haven’t been near my mother for years,” he shook his head vehemently.

  “Do you recognize this piece?” Chas showed Brant a photo of the diamond heart bracelet that he discovered in the small family room down the hall.

  “No, should I?” he asked.

  “You didn’t get that for me?” Kendra asked plaintively.

  “No offense, babe, but I can’t afford that kind of bling. If that thing is real, it’s worth at least twenty thousand,” Brant shrugged.

  Spencer and Chas exchanged a glance. Kendra looked scared.

  The detective took out his phone. “I need a forensics team out here ASAP,” he said urgently, giving the dispatcher the Henderson’s address.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  “Okay, we’ve got the fingerprints from the windowsill at the Henderson’s, the DNA from around the victim’s mouth, a hair from her clothing that didn’t belong to Larry Burnside, a partial print on the Allivia’s bedroom door, where the actual murder took place, and…” Chas was running down a list of evidence that he would be using to make an arrest in the Dunham case, while Spencer tracked it on a checklist. He glanced up, annoyed when the front desk sergeant knocked briefly, then opened his office door.

  “Detective?”

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Some guy in a suit just dropped this off for you. Said it might come in handy in the Dunham investigation,” the sergeant shrugged, handing a large manila envelope to Spencer, who handed it to Chas.

  “Really? What did he look like?” Chas was curious.

  The sergeant shrugged. “I dunno, really. We were booking an unruly guy, so I didn’t get too close of a look at him. Rich-looking guy with an attitude.”

  “Did you go to academy?” Spencer frowned.

  The sergeant glared at him for a brief second before stepping back out into the hall and closing the door behind him.

  “Was that necessary?” Chas raised an eyebrow at Spencer.

  “He wouldn’t have lasted a day in my unit,” Spencer muttered. “What’s in the envelope?”

  Chas opened the flap, reached in and pulled out a notebook with a pale pink cover on it. “Looks like a journal.”

  He opened the notebook and flipped to a page that had been marked with a yellow sticky note. Reading for a few minutes, he slowly raised his gaze to Spencer.

  “We’ve got the murderer,” he announced, handing the book over to Spencer. “This account further underscores the physical evidence.”

  Spencer skimmed a few pages and agreed.

  “Shall we go?” he suggested.

  “We shall,” Chas said grimly. “Never would have seen this one coming.”

  “Funny how things work out sometimes.”

  **

  Echo heard a knock on her office door and jumped up to answer it. She and Blaze had just been going over the final design boards for the Gala, and her cheeks were glowing with excitement at the beauty of it all.

  “Chas and Spencer, how awesome to see you,” she hugged them both, then noticed the grim looks on their faces. “Oh dear, please tell me nothing has happened to Missy,” she paled and her hands rose to her throat in horror.

  “No, Missy is fine,” Chas assured her, looking past her to where Blaze Sutton sat, looking on curiously.

  “Blaze Sutton?” Chas asked.

  “Yes, have we met?” he gave the detective a puzzled smile.

  “Briefly. Detective Chas Beckett,” he flashed a badge.

  “Oh, right. A big donor,” Blaze nodded. “Nice to see you.”

  “Blaze Sutton, you’re under arrest for the murder of Allivia Dunham.”

  “What?” Echo swayed, reaching out for the back of a chair. “Murder? Blaze? There must be some mistake.”

  High color rose in the cheeks of the artist.

  “That’s preposterous,” he said weakly. “Why on earth would I kill Allivia?”

  “We’ll let you fill in those blanks down at the station,” Chas said, taking a pair of handcuffs from his sport coat.

  “Handcuffs, really? That’s so barbaric,” the corner of Blaze’s upper lip rose a fraction.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Chas assured him. “Before the night is through, your indignities are going to get much worse. Echo, I’m sorry we had to disturb your evening,” he said, escorting Blaze out and reviewing his Miranda rights.

  “No worries,” she murmured, still stunned and shaken.

  **

  “Here is a photo of your car in the parking lot at the club on Tuesday night,” Chas tossed a picture on the table in front of Blaze as he sat fuming in the interrogation room. “The Club’s video surveillance shows you arriving and then leaving just before the victim was murdered. Here is the picture of Allivia Dunham’s jewelry, three pieces of which had your fingerprints on them. And here is the photo of the piece that you left at the Henderson home, when you broke in to try to frame them for the murder.”

  “Oh, now I’m breaking and entering too?” Blaze mocked the detective. “What next?”

  “You broke in twice, actually. We have fingerprints from the windowsill where you broke in to
get Kendra’s scarf to commit the murder, and we know that you took it for the murder, because she recalled having noticed that it was missing on the night in question. We also have an eyewitness account from a neighbor who identified you as a man they saw climbing out of the bedroom window with the scarf hanging out of your pants pocket. Apparently, the bright colors attracted their attention. Then we have the fingerprints from the window in the family room where you planted the bracelet in an attempt to implicate the Hendersons.”

  “Well, isn’t this just turning out to be a tidy little conspiracy,” Blaze rolled his eyes. “Are you done wasting my time yet? Everyone in this town knows that Brant Henderson hated his mother and wanted her dead. His wife did too.”

  “Nice try, but we also found one of your hairs on the victim’s clothing. All the other DNA on the clothing pointed to the homeless man that you stole them from, but the hair was definitely yours, as was the saliva sample taken from the mouth of the victim. There was a partial print on the wine glass that you staged in front of Allivia to make it look like she’d had a date, and that was yours as well. Her clothing was found in a dumpster that was conveniently located mere blocks from your home.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Blaze’s cool affectation had begun to break. He ran a finger around the collar of his shirt, as though it were too tight. “You need a scapegoat and you chose me. That’s deplorable.”

  “And as if the mountains of physical evidence weren’t enough, we have Allivia’s journal, where she outlined the instances of you stalking her, harassing her, and threatening her. The last entry that she made was the night of her murder, where she indicated that you were coming over and that she was going to tell you to get lost once and for all, or she’d bring the authorities into the picture. Sound vaguely familiar?” Chas asked dryly.

  Blaze Sutton dissolved in front of their very eyes, realization hitting him hard. He dropped his head down onto the table and sobbed. “She kept a journal?” he cried, not lifting his head. “Did it say how much I loved her? Did it say that I would’ve died for her? I never got anything from her but callous rejection, and we were meant to be together,” the artist sobbed.

  “So, if you couldn’t have her, no one could?” Chas suggested.

  “It was an accident. Why did she have to be so mean to me?” Blaze raised his head and whispered. “All I wanted was to love her.”

  “Well, you sure had a funny way of showing that,” Chas commented. “Why did you kill her?”

  “I just wanted a kiss. She wouldn’t even give me a small kiss. Thought she was better than I,” Blaze said bitterly.

  “But you got your kiss after all, didn’t you,” Chas leaned forward. “Did you kiss her before or after you watched her die right in front of you?”

  “After,” Blaze whispered. “It wasn’t nearly as sweet as I suspected it would be,” he sounded disappointed, staring into the distance, remembering. “She was so cold. Colder than she had been in life,” a maniacal laugh erupted from him. “The only thing that could make her more of a cold fish was death.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  * * *

  “You are a brave girl, taking on the project all alone now that Blaze is in jail,” Missy told Echo as the two of them walked through the park with their daughters in strollers.

  “And you’re even braver, taking on the Chairmanship now that Muffy resigned in disgrace. I hear she and her husband are getting divorced,” Echo shook her head sadly.

  “You know, I can’t help but think that Allivia would’ve absolutely loved all the drama that her death left in its wake,” Missy mused. “Is that awful of me?”

  “Nope, I think you’re absolutely right,” she agreed. “The husband whom she never loved got humiliated, as did his lover, who stands to lose everything. Her stalker went out in a blaze of glory, no pun intended, and her son and his wife got nothing but bitterness out of her death. I think that’s exactly how she would’ve wanted it if she had choreographed the events herself.”

  “What if she did?” Missy wondered.

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, doesn’t it seem just too perfect? Like something out of a book or movie or something? What if she set Blaze up to take the fall so that she could go out in precisely the manner that she wanted, leaving a trail of emotional casualties along the way?” Missy proposed.

  “You think she was that evil?”

  “I think it’s a distinct possibility,” Missy nodded.

  “Well, whether she set it up or not, Blaze did the deed. That was his choice, and he did it, so he’s going to pay the price. As for the rest of them, except for Brant and Kendra, I kind of think that they got what they deserved,” Echo confessed.

  “I hate to say it, but I think so too. Are you going to take Jasmine back to Kendra now that all of this mess has blown over?” Missy asked.

  Echo shrugged. “I have no idea what to do, what do you think?”

  “I think that you and I should just pitch in and hire a nanny for both girls. We work the same hours, and that way, they could grow up together, along with whoever this little angel turns out to be,” Missy patted her softly-rounded tummy.

  “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe we never thought of that before,” Echo exclaimed. “That’s the best idea ever,” she enthused. “We’ll contact an agency and find someone.”

  “I think I’ll be much happier that way, after we’ve thoroughly screened each candidate.”

  “Yeah, no more scandalous families,” Echo gave her friend a crooked smile.

  “Kendra really showed her true colors when she thought her husband was in trouble. I don’t want Kaylee to be around that,” Missy admitted.

  “I don’t either,” Echo agreed.

  “Oh gosh,” Missy stopped pushing her stroller and stood stock-still for a moment.

  “What? What is it? Are you okay?” Echo immediately went into panic mode.

  “I’m actually hungry,” she grinned. “Wanna go get a cupcake?”

  “Now you’re talking,” Echo’s relief was evident and the friends headed back to Missy’s car.

  **

  “What do you think? Are you going to be able to stay a while?” Spencer asked Janssen as the two young men lounged next to the Becketts’ pool, cooler of beer between them.

  “I don’t know, life is pretty rough around here,” was the good-natured sarcastic reply.

  “Yeah, you could do worse,” Spencer chuckled.

  “I think my wife is coming down here in a couple of weeks. She wants to talk,” he shrugged.

  “Talking is good,” Spencer nodded.

  “Talking is overrated.”

  “You can always babysit again,” Spencer teased. “I’ll give you that assignment.”

  “There’d have to be hazard pay involved,” Janssen muttered.

  **

  “Go figure, Aunt Beulah,” Joyce complained, shaking her head. “The one guy I meet who likes to read the same books I do, turns out to be a murderer.”

  “Well, isn’t that the way it usually turns out in those kinds of books? The last one you suspect is always the one whodunit?” her aunt cackled. “Don’t you worry none, child. There’s a wonderful book-reading man out there somewhere, and when you find him, you better marry him quick, cuz you ain’t getting no younger.”

  “Aunt Beulah! You make me sound like an old maid,” Joyce giggled.

  “Back in my day, if you wasn’t married by this age, all the menfolk would be wondering what was wrong with you.”

  “I wonder the same thing myself, Auntie,” Joyce sighed and reached for a cupcake. “Someday my prince will come.”

  “Maybe he’ll bring a foxy old king with him when he does,” Beulah laughed again.

  “You looking for a man, Aunt Beulah?” Joyce was shocked.

  “Heavens no, child. It’s been so long, I wouldn’t know how to put up with one. I’m just gonna focus my efforts on getting you all settled and having babies before I die,” she promised.

&nb
sp; “Oh boy,” Joyce rolled her eyes.

  **

  “You were right,” Fiona looked at Tim in astonishment. “It was the wannabe lover, not the husband who killed her,” she showed him the article about Allivia Dunham’s murder, which had made the front page of the paper.

  “Every victim has a story to tell,” Tim commented, putting his glasses up to his mouth to breathe on them and then polishing them with the tails of his oxford cloth button-down.

  “So does every assistant, if her boss would take the time to listen,” Fiona teased. “Have dinner with me Timmy. You live next door, for crying out loud, and you never come over.”

  “Not true. I pick you up for work every morning and take you home every evening,” he pointed out, putting his glasses back on. “And don’t call me Timmy.”

  “Don’t you get lonely over there in that spotless house all alone?” she asked, sobering a bit.

  “I don’t think in those terms,” he eyed her like she was a snake about to strike.

  “Well, maybe you should. Everyone else does.”

  “I am not everyone else, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Of course I noticed. I like the fact that you’re not like everyone else. You’re smart and weird and adorable in your own strange way, that’s why I like you. Come on Timmy, have dinner with me.”

  “That’s a highly inappropriate thing to say to your boss,” he blinked at her.

  “It’s not the first time and it certainly won’t be the last,” she assured him.

  “Will you stop badgering me if I come over for a meal?” he sighed.

  “No promises,” Fiona grinned from ear to ear. “What do you like to eat?”

  “What a strange question. I like food to eat,” Tim frowned.

  “Well fine, if you’re going to be that way about it, I’ll just have to surprise you,” she taunted him, knowing full well his loathing of surprises.