German Chocolate Killer (Cupcakes in Paradise Book 11) Read online

  “That would bring a lot of attention to the agency if we were able to bring her to justice,” Chas mused.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Spencer nodded. “I’m proceeding very carefully with this one though. If she thinks for even a moment that someone is tracking her, she’ll disappear again.”

  “Good call,” Chas approved. “There are a handful of serial killers in the Chicago area, what makes you think that she may be up there?”

  “The victims are missing their tattoos, for one thing.”

  “That’s definitely in keeping with our girl,” Chas commented. “Keep an eye on it and let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  “The Chief is interviewing another candidate,” the detective announced.

  “Great. Have you met him?”

  “I met her this morning,” Chas corrected.

  “Her? Nice,” Spencer nodded, surprised. “How does she seem?”

  “Too early to tell yet,” the detective shrugged. “I try not to get my hopes up after what happened with Solinsky.”

  “Good plan. If you don’t have any objections, I’m going to keep working on the serial killer today, if nothing else comes in,” Spencer proposed.

  “Go for it. I’m going to be combing through cold cases to see if anything interesting pops up.”

  “Same stuff, different day,” Spencer smiled wryly.

  “It’s a living,” Chas agreed, heading down the hall to his own office.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  “Don’t you even think about lifting those trays, Miss Missy,” Beulah ordered, when Spencer opened the back of the Cupcakes in Paradise delivery van.

  “Don’t worry, Beulah,” Missy smiled at her opinionated employee. “I’m just here to organize and supervise,” she promised.

  They had arrived at the debate venue in the park a couple of hours before the candidates were due to appear, and had been instructed to set up the cupcakes in the large, air-conditioned reception tent that was next to a raised stage which had been constructed for the event at the edge of the parking lot.

  Spencer and Beulah carried tray after tray of red, white and blue frosted cupcakes into the tent, and Missy arranged them in the shape of a large American flag, at the candidate’s request. Her client was a young, but well-respected attorney, Brock Treadworth, who was running for Treasurer. His wife, Leigh, was in the tent, working with everyone who had come in to help prepare for the debate. She approached Missy, looking harried.

  “Hi, I’m Leigh. You must be Missy,” she smiled, extending her hand.

  “Yes, I am, it’s nice to meet you. What do you think of the design, so far?” she asked gesturing at the half-complete flag made of cupcakes.

  “It’s perfect,” Leigh assured her. “Thank you so much for doing this. I’ve heard nothing but the best about your adorable little shop.”

  “Thank you, it’s my pleasure,” Missy beamed. “We’ll be done setting them up in just a little while, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “No worries, take your time,” the lovely young woman waved a hand. “Are you going to the debate?”

  “Yes, I’m hoping to find a spot in the shade to stand and watch.”

  “Oh goodness, you shouldn’t be standing all that time,” Leigh’s eyes widened, noting Missy’s baby bump. She reached into a manila envelope attached to the back of her clipboard and pulled out two VIP passes on lanyards. “Here,” she handed them to Missy. “There’s seating up front for folks who have these. This way, you’ll be comfortable for the debate.”

  “That’s so nice of you,” Missy was surprised. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re very welcome. Just let me know if I can be of any other assistance,” Leigh directed, moving off to greet another vendor.

  **

  “How on earth did you score these seats?” Echo asked, nudging Missy with her elbow, once they’d gotten settled in.

  Chas and Kel had come to pick up the kids so that the two friends could focus on the debate.

  “Technically, this little person got us these seats,” Missy grinned, pointing at her tummy. “Treadworth’s wife didn’t want me to have to stand. She was really nice.”

  “I’ve heard good things about them. Can’t wait to see what her hubby has to say about the issues,” Echo remarked.

  “Good morning ladies, how are you today?” a handsome man in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up approached them.

  “Doing well, thanks. How are you?” Echo replied.

  “Just great,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s a beautiful day for a debate, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is,” Missy agreed politely.

  “You two planning on voting in the next election?”

  “Absolutely,” they said in unison, then laughed at themselves.

  “Well, that was unanimous,” the man joked. “Glad to hear it. Enjoy the debate,” he shook their hands and moved on.

  “Did you know that guy?” Echo leaned over and whispered, once he was out of earshot.

  “Nope. No clue who he was. I thought maybe you knew him,” Missy shrugged.

  “It’s a mystery,” Echo chuckled.

  They found out who the man was, roughly twenty minutes later, when he took his place on stage to debate Carter Huffman.

  “That was Brock Treadworth,” Echo turned to Missy, eyebrows raised.

  “Wow. I wonder why he didn’t introduce himself.”

  Echo couldn’t help herself, she giggled. “He probably figured that anyone who managed to sit in the VIP section would probably at least know who the candidates are.”

  “Good point,” Missy stifled a laugh as the debate began and they turned their attention to the speakers.

  **

  “So, what did you think?” Echo asked when they were in Missy’s car, on the way to lunch.

  “About what?” Missy murmured absently, feeling a bit out of it after paying close attention to the debate for over an hour.

  “The debate, silly. Did you prefer one candidate over the other?”

  Missy sighed. “I felt like they both had some good points and they both had some policies that I just couldn’t get on board with. I think I’m more uncertain now than before they started.”

  “Oh good,” Echo was relieved. “I thought that I was just missing something. Glad to know that it’s not just me.”

  “Nope, not at all,” Missy yawned.

  “Are you okay?” Echo frowned. “If the debate wore you out too much, we can do lunch another time.”

  “Are you kidding?” Missy chuckled. “The guys have the kids, this is a golden opportunity for girl time. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Okay, but promise me that if you get tired, you’ll cut things short and go home to rest,” Echo ordered.

  “I promise,” Missy smiled fondly at her overprotective friend.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  “Harley, would you bring another shovelful of potting soil over here, please?” Agnes asked, waving her gloved hand at the landscaper.

  “Yes ma’am,” the young man cheerfully agreed, making a small pile of potting soil next to where Agnes was planting flowers.

  “Thank you dear,” she shifted her weight a bit, kneeling on thick, foam garden pads.

  There were women half her age who weren’t spry enough to do all of the things that she enjoyed doing, but she was determined to live her life to the fullest, and she had to stay in decent shape to do it. She had just finished patting the soil down around a beautiful pink gerbera, when a shadow crossed over the ground in front of her. Sitting back on her heels, Agnes shaded her eyes with her forearm and looked up to see her next door neighbor, Leigh Treadworth.

  “Hi Agnes,” Leigh greeted her brightly. “Your garden is coming along beautifully.”

  “Oh, thank you, dear,” Agnes smiled. “Sometimes it’s just so good to get out in the sun and fresh air and make things pretty.”

  “You’re doing
a great job of that,” Leigh scanned the garden appreciatively. “I brought you some chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven,” she held up the plate.

  “Thank you. I guess I know what I’ll be having with my afternoon tea today,” the elderly woman smiled, then rose slowly to her feet. “Would you care to join me?” she asked, stripping off her floral print gardening gloves.

  “I’d love to, but unfortunately I can’t today. It’s our anniversary, so I have to shop for a special meal and buy flowers and candles and all of that fun stuff.”

  “Sounds lovely, but shouldn’t he be the one buying the flowers?” Agnes chuckled.

  “Oh, I’m sure he will. I just want some rose petals to scatter on the dinner table.”

  “Hi, Leigh,” Harley, the landscaper, startled them both, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

  He and Leigh had gone to the same high school – she’d graduated a year after he had.

  “Hi, Harley, how are you?” she smiled politely.

  “Better than I was ten minutes ago,” he grinned at her.

  “That’s good,” Leigh glanced back at Agnes, handing her the cookies. “I’ve gotta run, lots to do…bye,” she waved quickly and jogged back to her house next door.

  “See ya, Leigh,” Harley called out, watching her closely.

  Leigh raised a hand to wave, without turning around, then disappeared into the house.

  “That girl is pretty special, Mrs. Quisenberry,” he remarked, leaning on a shovel.

  “That girl is a woman, and a married one at that,” Agnes gave him a pointed look. “Come on in and get washed up when you’re done. I’ll give you a cookie.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll be there soon,” he promised, moving back to the side of the garden that he’d been working in.

  **

  Leigh Treadworth was bound and determined to make this the most perfect anniversary ever. Things hadn’t been exactly smooth sailing between her and Brock lately. His spare time was wrapped up in his campaign, and when he was home he was distracted and tired, but she couldn’t blame him completely for the tension. She’d put on a few pounds, and had noticed some grey hairs and wasn’t feeling terribly positive about herself, which sometimes made her depressed.

  To say that Brock couldn’t stand it when Leigh was depressed was the understatement of the year. He’d go golfing, or to the country club for tennis, or out on his boat rather than staying home and watching her suffer. She understood…she wouldn’t want to be around her either when she was like that. Still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. Didn’t make her feel any less alone. They’d been to a therapist to try to work some of their frustrations with each other out. After only a couple of sessions, Brock had declared it to be a waste of time, encouraging Leigh to go if she felt that she needed to, but refusing to go back for another session himself. Of course, since Brock didn’t see the value in therapy, she didn’t want him to think that she was being wasteful, so she never went back.

  All things considered, Leigh had decided that what they needed was a new direction, and what better day to start their new outlook than their fifth wedding anniversary? She was going to prepare a fabulous dinner for her hard-working and ambitious husband, serve it to him at a candlelit and petal strewn table, with a fine wine, and his favorite music playing in the background. She’d bought a slinky red dress for the occasion, Brock loved her in red, and would take extra care with her hair and makeup. She’d been fasting off and on for the past week to make certain that she looked dynamite in her new dress, and hoped that at some point she’d stop feeling faint.

  Baking chocolate chip cookies today had nearly done Leigh in. Her stomach had growled so loudly the entire time she was baking, that she wondered if Agnes Quisenberry could hear it while working in her garden. There was no way that she was going to eat any of the cookies, but they made a nice gift for her neighbor, and the house smelled heavenly. She’d read somewhere that men were positively influenced by certain smells in their environment, and cookies were number one on the list of influential smells.

  **

  “Mr. Treadworth?” Brock’s secretary, Grace, knocked tentatively on his partially opened office door.

  “Yes, Grace. What is it?” he almost succeeded in keeping the frustration at being interrupted out of his voice. Almost.

  “I, uh…was just looking at your calendar, and umm…I wanted to make certain that you were aware that today is your fifth anniversary,” the secretary reminded him.

  Brock blinked at her a few times, his mind still not entirely on what she was saying. “What anniversary?” he sighed, putting his pen down.

  “Your…uh, wedding anniversary, sir,” she replied.

  Brock dropped his head into his hand and made a short sound indicating his exasperation.

  “I took the liberty of sending a floral arrangement on your behalf,” Grace hurriedly reassured him. “Roses, with a nice card and some candy…”

  “Wait, you sent candy?” he interrupted her.

  “Well, just a small box of truffles, why?” his secretary looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

  Brock sighed again. “She has this crazy idea that she’s fat,” he shook his head.

  “Oh my goodness, that’s so silly, Mrs. Treadworth is gorgeous,” Grace exclaimed, horrified that she’d done the wrong thing.

  “Yeah, she’s not really believing that these days,” he grimaced. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll get her something on the way home,” he dismissed her, turning back to his work.

  “If there’s anything else that I can do to help, just let me know,” Grace’s cheeks were flushed as she slipped quietly out the door.

  She didn’t expect him to respond, and he didn’t.

  **

  Leigh sat alone in the dark. The only light in the room came from tiny flames atop the melting nubs which had been tall taper candles a few hours ago. The rack of lamb that she’d prepared so carefully had gone cold a long time ago, its juices congealing in the pan around it, and the wine that she’d opened to breathe had been recorked, minus only the one glass that she’d poured for herself.

  She’d phoned Brock’s office just after five o’clock, and had caught Grace on her way out. The secretary had assured her that, “Mr. Treadworth has left for the day,” and she’d hung up excited that he’d finally be home on time for once. Anticipation turned to disappointment, an emotion with which she was all too familiar, and disappointment turned to agony. Why, on today of all days, had her husband chosen to be somewhere other than at home with her? Was she that bad a wife?

  Leigh refused to let the tears flow. She didn’t want to take a chance on smudging her mascara, in case Brock happened to walk in the door, but when the clock struck seven and he still wasn’t home, and wasn’t answering his phone, she slipped out of the sexy red dress, enveloped herself in the comfort of a shapeless knit nightie and crawled under the covers. The tears came unbidden, and her soul cried out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  At a table by the windows, overlooking the ocean, Missy and Chas enjoyed a rare date, gazing into each other’s eyes, laughing at silly remarks and focusing on each other. Echo and Kel had insisted upon taking Kaylee to their house for an animated movie night so that the busy couple could have some time together before their new arrival appeared a couple of months down the road.

  “My goodness,” Missy patted her full tummy and relished the pinks and golds painted on the water by the setting sun. “Our lives are going to change radically pretty soon,” she commented.

  Chas brought her hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss there. “Yes they are, and it’s going to be wonderful.”

  “Are we cut out for this parenting thing?” she chewed on her lower lip.

  “Kinda late to wonder about that, isn’t it?” Chas teased.

  She gave him a look.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he reassured her. “We’re in this together,” he squeezed her hand. “We can do a
nything together, right?” he flashed her the smile that still made her heart go pitter-patter.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she nodded.

  A loud buzz emitted suddenly from the pocket of Chas’ blazer, and he frowned, pulling out his work phone.

  “Bad news?” Missy asked, sipping her water.

  “Crime scene,” Chas told her apologetically. “I can drop you off on my way over.”

  He waved at the server, who brought the bill. They paid and were on their way in under five minutes.

  “Is it bad?” Missy asked, always feeling a surge of fear and adrenalin whenever Chas had to go to a crime scene.

  “Murder is always bad, sweetie,” he placed a hand on her knee, maneuvering the steering wheel with his other hand.

  “Be careful,” she whispered, when he kissed her goodbye on their front steps.

  “Always,” he assured her.

  She stared after him as he drove away, feeling lonely and vulnerable.

  **

  Chas was surprised when he saw the address of the crime scene. It was in an established neighborhood of nicer homes, which was quite the unusual site for a homicide. Curious neighbors stood in clusters in the street when he arrived and stepped over the yellow police tape, despite the deepening twilight. There were several patrol cars that had arrived ahead of him, and one of the uniformed officers stood in the front yard, interviewing an elderly woman who clutched nervously at the throat of her expensive blouse.

  Chas headed directly inside, and noted that there was a man who looked oddly familiar, sitting on the couch in the living room, being interviewed. An officer in the foyer directed the detective to the scene, which was down the hall and to the left, in the master bedroom.

  “Robeson,” Chas greeted the detective candidate with a nod, surprised that she had gotten there before he did. He’d planned on calling her in once he’d had a chance to assess the situation.