S'more Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 19 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Read online

  Ruth sat primly in a plastic-covered chair to his left, smoothing her calf-length skirt over her knees and pulling her dull green cardigan sweater closer around her. “My husband James is missing,” she said, staring at Chas.

  “How long has he been gone?” the detective asked, glad to be engaged in doing his job. He couldn’t imagine trying to make small talk with this woman.

  “Since dinner time yesterday,” she replied, without expression, not seeming worried or sad. Inconvenienced perhaps.

  “Okay,” Chas nodded, feeling as though he were pulling metaphorical teeth. “Did he say that he was going anywhere in particular?”

  “No.”

  The detective sighed inwardly. “Did he go anywhere that you know of?”

  “No. He had nowhere to go. He goes to work, and he comes home, that’s it.”

  “So he never goes to the grocery store or…” Chas began.

  “No,” Ruth cut him off. “Home and work and that’s it.”

  The detective studied her for a moment. “Did he come home from work yesterday?”

  “No.”

  “And he didn’t call to tell you that he was going to be late, or that something had come up?” Chas persisted, already tiring of the interview.

  “We don’t have a phone, and he’s never late. He does not stay at the office longer than his work day,” the strange woman snipped.

  Chas was taken aback, not having met anyone who lived in a residential neighborhood without a phone for at least a couple of decades.

  “How did you call the police station if you don’t have a phone?”

  “I went to the drug store two blocks away. What are you going to do about finding my husband?” she blinked at him.

  “I’ll do everything I can, Mrs. Jones, but frankly, you haven’t given me much to go on,” Chas challenged, staring her down. “Is there anything at all that you can tell me that might help me in my search?”

  Ruth’s eyes narrowed, and she scowled at the detective. “James is a wretched man, a filthy, wretched animal, so if I were you, Detective,” she sneered. “I’d start by looking in places where filthy wretched animals might want to go.” She folded her arms in front of her and glared at him.

  Chas paused for a moment, sizing her up. “And where might that be, Mrs. Jones?” he asked, finally.

  “Well, I’m sure you’d know that better than I,” she pursed her lips judgmentally and looked away.

  Chapter 5

  “Oh my goodness!” Maggie, the innkeeper at the Beach House B&B, exclaimed, when she saw the wet, shivering and bedraggled creature that Spencer brought in. “What happened to you, poor child?” she asked, going to the still-dripping young woman and taking her by the shoulders. Tears formed in the formerly icy eyes of the girl, and Maggie’s heart melted.

  “You’re shaking like a leaf,” she observed with a frown. “Come with me, we’ve got to get you out of these wet clothes,” she ordered gently, placing an arm around the young woman’s shoulders and leading her away. “Spencer, put on some good, strong coffee and warm up the stew from last night’s dinner,” she called over her shoulder on her way out.

  Glad to have some sense of purpose after the strange sequence of events that he’d just witnessed, the Marine went to the kitchen to do as he was told, his thoughts tumbling round and round as he wondered what was behind the pale girl’s strange behavior. He had coffee brewing and a pot of stew warming on the stove in no time, and had also thought to toss some of Maggie’s fluffy biscuits into the bread warmer.

  Missy came over to the inn to see if Maggie needed help setting up for afternoon tea, and found Spencer busy in the kitchen. He related the morning’s events to her, and she was horrified to hear of the near drowning. Her tender heart pierced to the core, she decided to wait for Maggie to bring the girl back to the kitchen so that she could try to talk with her.

  “Good luck with that,” was the typically optimistic young man’s strange comment, and Missy gave him an inquiring look as he left.

  Maggie came down to the kitchen a few minutes later, trailed by a painfully thin young woman who looked more apathetic than anything else. She was wearing navy blue sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt which both hung loosely on her bony frame. She had slippers monogrammed with the inn’s name on her feet, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her chin tucked as though she were trying to disappear.

  “Hey darlin,” Missy cooed. “I’m Missy,” she offered her hand and the girl shook it tentatively. “I hear you’ve had a rough mornin,” she said, her southern accent thick with concern. “Let’s sit you down and get some hot food in you,” she said, leading the way to the cozy eating nook in the kitchen. “Just have a seat right here, and I’ll bring you some food.”

  Missy ladled the hearty stew into a bowl, put some piping hot biscuits on a small plate, and brought them to the table, while Maggie poured a cup of coffee for each of them.

  “Here you go, sweetie,” Missy said, placing the bowl and plate in front of the young woman, who simply sat and stared at it.

  “Don’t be shy, honey, go ahead and pick up the spoon and eat,” she encouraged, smiling despite her concern.

  The girl sat, staring at the food, looking like she wanted it, but was afraid to eat. Maggie had cleaned the black makeup from her face gently with a wash cloth after she had changed into dry clothes, and the lack of makeup left her looked quite young and vulnerable.

  “Just a little bite, honey, please,” Missy pleaded. “You’ll feel better, I promise.”

  The young woman picked up one of the biscuits, tore off a tiny piece, dunked it in the thick beef broth and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly.

  “That’s it, that’s great,” Maggie encouraged, and the girl continued to slowly pull off one small piece at a time, dunking it and chewing it slowly.

  “What’s your name, sweetie?” Missy asked, after she’d eaten about six bites and put the remaining chunk of biscuit back on the plate.

  “Sarah,” she answered, staring down at her bowl.

  “Well, what a pretty name,” Missy smiled, encouraged that she’d finally spoken and had at least attempted to eat. “Do you want to try some of the coffee?” she asked, pushing the steaming mug toward Sarah.

  She looked up wide-eyed and shook her head. “No, it’s bad for you,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

  Missy and Maggie exchanged a look.

  “No, darlin, it’s just coffee. It won’t hurt you,” Missy assured her. She merely shook her head again.

  “Okay, well, then…would you like some tea?” Maggie asked. Again she shook her head no.

  Missy brightened as an idea struck her. “How about some apple juice?”

  “Too much sugar,” Sarah whispered, looking pained.

  “Okay, sweetie, don’t worry about it. I’ll just get you some water, okay?” Missy patted her tiny hand. She nodded slowly, looking down.

  Wrapping both hands around the glass of water that Missy provided, Sarah drank until it was gone, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “My pleasure, darlin,” her tender-hearted hostess replied. “Are you from Calgon?” Sarah nodded, not looking up. “Do you live with your folks, or are you out on your own?” she persisted.

  “I’m alone. I’m always alone,” Sarah replied, her lips barely moving.

  “Do you want to tell me about what happened at the beach today, sweetie,” Missy asked, reaching across the table and patting the young woman’s hand soothingly. Sarah didn’t object to the touch, but shook her head no at the question.

  “Okay. That’s okay if you’re not ready to talk about it just yet. Are you feeling sad?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, sweetie. Let me help you – I’m a really good listener,” Missy said tenderly. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing,” was the whispered reply.

  “Are you scar
ed about something?”

  “Everything.”

  “Sarah…how can I help?”

  “You can’t. No one can.”

  Chapter 6

  “Jimmy took some time off,” Marv Samson, James Jones’s boss told Chas. “He said he just needed some time away,” the rotund, florid-faced man shrugged.

  “Did he mention if he was going on vacation, or what his plans were?” the detective asked. He had the distinct feeling that something very strange was going on in the Jones family.

  “Nahh…Jimmy doesn’t really talk to anybody around here,” Marv said, shaking his head. “He’s kind of a strange dude. Very private. Never socializes, doesn’t come to any of the company parties – it’s weird.”

  “How long have you known him?” Chas asked.

  “He’s worked here for about fourteen years.”

  “Ever met his wife?”

  “No, I think she’s really sick or something. He doesn’t have any pictures on his desk and never mentions his family.”

  Chas had thoughts of his own in that regard, but let it go. “Does he have kids?”

  “A daughter, I think. Never met her either.”

  “When is Mr. Jones’s return date?”

  “He’s supposed to be back here in ten days,” Marv replied.

  “Do you mind if I take a quick look in his desk?” Chas asked casually.

  “Not a problem – just stay away from the file cabinets, we have to protect client confidentiality.”

  “Sure, of course,” the detective nodded, handing Marv a business card. “If he comes back early, or if you hear from him, please let me know.”

  “Will do,” the portly man nodded, sticking out his hand. Chas shook it and asked which desk was James’s. Marv showed the way, then disappeared, leaving the detective to work.

  After looking carefully through the meticulously maintained desk and coming up with absolutely nothing, Detective Chas Beckett sat back in the soft leather office chair, frustrated. The man was like a ghost. His wife had no photos of him, so the only image he had was a copy of his company badge. Calls had been placed to all local ports of transportation, and curiously, no one had seen him at the bus station, airport, or marina. Officers were checking with hotels, but so far, no one matching his description or name had checked in. Chas sighed, not looking forward to having to go back and visit Ruth Jones, but if he couldn’t find clues elsewhere, perhaps he could find some in the home.

  **

  “Did you find him?” Ruth Jones demanded when she opened the door and saw Chas standing there, notebook in hand.

  “Not yet. I was hoping to maybe have a look around here and see if he might’ve left some clue behind,” the detective replied.

  “Certainly not,” Ruth shook her head. “There is never anything out of place here. If he had left a clue, whether accidental or intentional, I would’ve seen it. I know every inch of this house like the back of my hand,” she crossed her arms.

  “You’re not going to let me come in and take a look?” Chas asked, gazing at her speculatively.

  “There’s no need. I told you, I would’ve seen anything out of place.”

  The detective paused for a moment. “No problem, but I’d like to ask you a few more questions if you don’t mind.”

  The plain woman seemed to measure him with a glance. “Fine, but make it snappy, I have things to do,” she grumbled, leading him into the museum-like dank interior of her home.

  “Do you work outside of the home?” Chas asked, when he was once again seated on the plastic covered sofa.

  “No,” Ruth answered, looking offended.

  “Do you have a computer?”

  “Absolutely not,” she looked disgusted.

  “Cell phone?”

  “No.”

  Chas thought for a moment. “What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?”

  “There’s no such thing as spare time, Detective. Just what is the point of these frivolous questions?” Ruth asked suspiciously.

  “Sorry, just trying to get some background,” he answered smoothly, moving right into his next question.

  “Does your husband have any hobbies?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a car?”

  “No. He walks to work. Are we done yet?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Jones…I believe we are,” the detective nodded, standing. “Thank you for your time, I’ll let you know when there are any developments in the case.”

  “Do you people always work this slowly?” she snapped.

  “Careful police work takes time, Mrs. Jones. We’re doing the best that we can,” Chas replied, heading for the door.

  Chapter 7

  “Can I drive you home?” Missy asked, not wanting to let the frail, hopeless young woman out of her sight. Sarah shook her head, her raven-black hair hanging limply down her back.

  “You’ve been very kind,” she said softly. “But I really have to go.” Her hand-made clothing had been washed and dried, and once she changed back into it, she’d been anxious to leave.

  “You can stay longer if you’d like,” her hostess offered. “I have some nice warm cupcakes that you might like.” Her suggestion looked like it terrified the strange young woman, who demurred and stood to leave.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m not going to…you know…go into the ocean again, so please don’t worry,” Sarah said, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you’re no trouble at all,” Missy put an arm around her and hugged her lightly, not wanting to bruise the fragile-seeming girl. “Please come back and see us anytime,” she said, her heart going out to the troubled young woman.

  “Thanks,” Sarah attempted a smile that never came close to reaching her eyes. Missy and Maggie stood watching her go, thinking that they’d probably never see her again, and wishing that there was more that they could do.

  From the silent shadows he moved, slipping into step behind the wisp of a girl like a spectre, his presence concealed, his intentions unclear. Her path led her to the dismal place that she called home, and he melted into the surrounding flora, one with nature and the universe…watching, waiting.

  Chapter 8

  Echo decided to grab lunch from a Thai place she’d discovered, where the chef was a kindly older gentleman who knew how to make some of the most tasty vegan dishes in town. She’d been there several times by herself and had even taken a very skeptical Kel with her once, delighted when he’d loved it as much as she did. She’d called in her order so that she could take it to the gallery with her, since Kel had said he’d be gone for a bit. That way she could eat her lunch and still unlock the doors for potential collectors.

  When she entered the tiny restaurant, she saw two things that she immediately found more than a bit disturbing. First, she looked up and saw Carla Mayhew, Missy’s decorator and friend, who was not exactly on her favorite person list; and secondly, she was dismayed to discover that sitting directly across from Carla, having lunch with her, was none other than Phillip “Kel” Kellerman.

  This was the appointment he had that wasn’t on the schedule? Echo was astounded, and would’ve loved to have turned at that moment and fled from the restaurant, but fate was frowning upon her and Carla waved her over.

  “Well, what a lovely surprise seeing you here,” the decorator cooed, her eyes sparkling with smug satisfaction.

  “Hello Carla,” Echo smiled past the bile in her throat and the pounding of her heart. Her stomach was churning abominably and it didn’t help when she looked down at the vicious woman’s plate and saw the head and tail of the fish that she was in the process of consuming.

  “Greetings, lovely lady,” Kel smiled, looking surprised.

  “Kel,” Echo nodded, unable to smile, but trying desperately to look nonchalant. “Hey, I’d love to stay and chat, but my order will get cold and the gallery can’t open itself,” she babbled, edging away. “Great to see you, gotta run,” she fled to
the cashier’s counter, hands shaking, but head held high. The transaction to get her food was a blur, and she had no idea how much it cost, or what kind of tip she left, but she could always call the restaurant later and ask.

  Riding the bus to the gallery, Echo wondered why she had even bothered picking up her food. There was no way on earth that she’d be able to force down even the tiniest bite.

  “Why in the world am I acting this way?” she said aloud in the empty gallery, after dropping off her Tofu Pad Thai in the fridge.

  She tried to think her way out of being hurt and upset by rationalizing that Kel was her friend, and that if he’d decided to start seeing someone, she should be happy for him. But Carla? Ugh, it was difficult to stomach the thought of a friend in the cold, calculating clutches of the self-serving decorator. And why couldn’t he have just come out and told her? Not that it was any of her business, but that’s what friends do – they tell their friends when they start seeing someone, even if that someone is repulsive and evil. That train of thought quite obviously didn’t make Echo any happier, so she started returning client calls to distract herself.

  After answering dozens of questions, from potential buyers all over the world, making a few quite lucrative sales and putting several appointments into Kel’s calendar, she was beginning to feel a bit better, when the man himself came in. She quickly dialed a client’s number when she heard the front door open, and initiated an animated conversation with the gentleman on the other end of the line, so that she was entirely unavailable for conversation when her boss walked in looking more than a bit nervous. She hung up, put a notation into the computer as to the gist of the conversation, and picked up the phone to dial another number, when Kel appeared.