Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  Echo showed Joyce how the bookstore was going to be arranged when the renovations were done, and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the space, mingling with the delicious scents of the cupcake-themed candles on the other side of the building.

  “I think I’m gonna put on some pounds if I end up working here,” Joyce laughed, patting her hip. “How do you stand smelling those candles all day without eating everything in sight?”

  Echo grinned. “You get used to it after a while, but I have to admit, every once in a while, I’ll make an “emergency” stop at my friend’s cupcake shop after a long day.”

  “You have a friend with a cupcake shop? That’s just plain dangerous, honey,” Joyce shook her head.

  “Truer words were never spoken,” the redhead nodded. “Are you ready to sit down and have a little chat?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” was the easy reply, and Joyce followed Echo back to the office.

  “How do you take your coffee?” Echo asked, heading for the break room.

  “Black and strong, just like me, ma’am,” Joyce grinned.

  “Coming right up,” Echo grinned, enjoying the pleasantly plump young woman’s somewhat brash personality.

  Several things were obvious to Echo by the end of Joyce’s interview. There was no need to interview anyone else, with the young woman’s education and experience, she was more than qualified. She was vastly overqualified in fact, and didn’t seem to care in the least. Her energy and intelligence would be a tremendous asset, and her enthusiasm would make her an instant hit with customers. She was bright, beautiful, and more than capable of taking charge and handling whatever challenges were thrown her way.

  “You’re hired. When can you start?” Echo asked, after enjoying chatting and laughing with Joyce for nearly an hour. The well-read young bookworm was a delight to be around.

  “Now works for me,” she joked.

  “It works for me too, but you’ll want to go home and change into something more casual. We’re still finishing up renovations, and I’d hate to see you smudge that lovely suit. If you really would like to start today, I can certainly use the help. By the time you come back, I can have your new employee packet ready to go.”

  “Sounds good to me, ma’am,” Joyce grinned, standing up and shaking Echo’s hand on her way out.

  “Perfect, and please, call me Echo.”

  “Yes ma’am, Miss Echo,” she waved. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Echo was thrilled. She’d now have someone to talk to when there were no customers in the shop, and someone who could fill in for her when she needed to run an errand or two. She had a feeling that hiring Joyce Rutledge, this spunky young gal who’d recently moved to Calgon from Georgia, was going to be the smartest thing she’d done in quite some time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hannah Folsom checked her hair in the mirror before leaving her hotel room, reluctant to emerge into the smothering heat of a Calgon, Florida, summer, but she had a job to do, and truthfully, the weather was just as sticky in NYC. At least the air was cleaner here, in small-town America. She’d have to put on her most wholesome front in order to interact with the locals, but the headline-making story that she’d get out of it, would ultimately make the charade worthwhile.

  Her first stop was at a shop called Cupcakes in Paradise, which she hoped wasn’t as tacky as its name. She fully intended to befriend the owner, one Melissa Gladstone-Beckett, wife of her target, Detective Chas Beckett. She was hoping that the woman, who was originally from Louisiana, and had managed to snag one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, might warm up to her enough to reveal some significant information about her mysterious husband, Charles Beckett, one of the heirs to the Beckett fortune.

  Hannah was on the trail of a juicy story about Chas’s family and some very questionable associates of the Beckett Holdings Corporation, and she’d stop at nothing to get to the ugly truth. She’d visit every cupcake shop and county fair in this sleepy seaside town if that’s what it took. She’d tried to dress down for her tasks, foregoing her usual designer wardrobe and choosing a more modest ensemble of a clingy knit skirt that swirled around her knees, a coordinating sleeveless top, and brightly colored kitten heels. Her nails were perfectly manicured—there was only so far that she’d go to fit in—and her hair was artfully arranged, but she’d kept her makeup light and natural-looking, hoping that she’d seem more genuine and trustworthy.

  Hannah pulled her nondescript rental sedan into the parking lot of Cupcakes in Paradise, relieved to see that the little shop wasn’t sporting palm trees and hot pink flamingos in its décor, at least on the outside. Checking her look in the rearview mirror one last time, she pasted a plastic smile on her face, hoping that her professionally whitened teeth weren’t a dead giveaway, and headed inside.

  “Hi!” she said brightly, when the bell over the door announced her arrival.

  There was a pretty blonde woman behind the counter, and a younger gal seated at one of the tables. The two appeared to be engaged in a funny conversation, judging by the giggles that subsided when Hannah appeared. While she knew that the blonde was Melissa Beckett, she found it hard to believe that this seemingly down-to-earth, unassuming woman was the mate of Chas Beckett.

  “Good morning. How are you today?” Missy greeted her with a charming southern accent.

  “I’m great, thanks. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Hannah’s face was beginning to hurt from the effort of smiling.

  “Oh no, not at all. We were just visiting a little bit. What can I do for you?”

  Hannah gazed with faked longing at the case full of obscene amounts of carbs in front of her, thinking that the young woman seated at the table looked familiar.

  “Hmm… I don’t know… How does anyone ever decide which cupcake will be the perfect one? There are so many wonderful choices.”

  “I just had one of the Boston cream cupcakes, and it was to die for,” Izzy Gilmore, the young woman at the table, suggested, trying to be helpful.

  Izzy, a famous horror novelist, had moved to Calgon a few months back, and was currently dating the handyman who worked for Missy at the bed and breakfast next door. Hannah turned to Izzy, feigning interest while trying to place her.

  “Boston cream cupcakes? Well, that certainly sounds interesting. What are they?”

  This being Melissa’s area of expertise, she described, in nauseating detail, everything that one would ever want to know about Boston cream cupcakes. Knowing that she’d be depositing the fat capsule in the nearest trash can anyway, Hannah ordered one, gushing about how wonderful it sounded.

  “Have we met?” Izzy asked, gazing at Hannah with a confused but pleasant frown. “You look so familiar to me.”

  “Oh, probably not. I’m just in Florida on vacation, I don’t know anyone down here,” she shrugged, wondering who this woman was, and hoping that she wasn’t someone who could blow her cover. “But I get asked that a lot. Maybe I just have one of those faces that seems familiar.”

  “Could be,” Izzy nodded, taking a sip of her coffee and letting the moment pass.

  “Here you go,” Melissa Beckett handed over a small pink box topped with a cream-colored satin bow. “If you’re visiting here, feel free to come over and take a walk on our beach,” she gestured toward the window, which had lovely views of the ocean. “My husband and I own the bed and breakfast next door, and try to make it a point to make guests who visit Calgon feel welcome.

  “Well, isn’t that sweet? Thank you,” Hannah replied, hoping that she was executing a fairly plausible impression of a noncity girl.

  “Oh you’re more than welcome, sugar. I hope you’ll stop by and see us again, whether you want another cupcake, or to just chat, or if you have a question about what to do in our fair city.”

  Good gravy, was this woman really this nice? Was that even possible? Hannah’s job was to question people and their motives, and she didn’t usually encounter folks like Melissa Beckett. She didn
’t quite know how to respond.

  “Oh, I’ll definitely be back, and I do have a question,” she said, thinking on her feet.

  “Sure, honey, what is it?”

  Hannah had a strange feeling that Izzy was watching her closely, too closely for comfort.

  “Well, when I visit a new town, I like to eat at the local places. You know, where everybody knows everybody, and it’s comfortable and cozy, with good home cooking. Is there any place like that in Calgon?”

  “Betty’s,” Missy and Izzy said in unison.

  “Well, that was unanimous,” Hannah emitted a soft sound that she hoped passed for a laugh. “How do I get to Betty’s?”

  Missy gave her directions, and she and Izzy exchanged a look when Hannah left.

  “Does she seem like someone who would eat at Betty’s?” Missy asked.

  “She was wearing Ferragamo shoes,” Izzy observed, looking speculative.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Phillip “Kel” Kellerman was creatively on fire. Inspired by the thought of his upcoming marriage to the soulfully lovely Echo Willis, he had been working long hours on a sculpture that would embody the essence of his feeling for his spectacular fiancée, and had been a bit of a recluse as a result. Knowing that he had to have some sort of human contact, as well as some form of nourishment, he sought out both in the familiar confines of Betty’s diner.

  Kel was reputed to know everything of consequence about everyone in Calgon, and much of his reliable information came while he was cheerfully ensconced on a stool at the counter of Betty’s diner. Betty, the stocky, iron-haired owner, was the eyes and ears of Calgon. Her diner was where the locals came to talk business, mend relationships, and confess their wrongdoings while sobering up. The clientele was diverse, coming from all walks of life to process their thoughts and feelings over heaping platefuls of the best “home cooking” in town, served up hot and fresh with dark, dangerously caffeinated coffee.

  “Hey there, fancypants,” Betty greeted Kel when he came in, looking uncharacteristically rumpled and distracted. “You must have a piece that you’re working on,” she observed, accurately. “You want the usual, so that you don’t have to make any decisions?” the old battle-axe asked, knowing him well.

  “What would I do without you, fair lady?” he replied, running a hand through his already askew hair.

  “Coming right up,” Betty grinned, having had this exact interaction with the renowned artist on several occasions over the years.

  She’d watched Kel blossom and grow in his work, remembering when he was just a young, torn-jeans-wearing hopeful, waiting for his big break. Now, he had a spacious home, drove only exotic cars, and was a member in good standing of the country club.

  Kel sat in his usual spot at the counter, chin resting on his fist, as he stared out into space, visualizing the next steps of his project.

  “This one must be a lulu,” Betty remarked, setting down a giant turkey club sandwich with a heaping side of crunchy, creamy coleslaw, and a steaming mug of high-test coffee. “You’re even quieter than usual.”

  She knew which dishes to bring him, based upon what hour he came in, relieving him of the responsibility of making choices that would interrupt his creative flow. When the artist wasn’t in the middle of a project, he was a chatterbox, engaging everyone around him in witty banter, and extracting loads of information, but when he was in the zone, Betty knew to just let him be.

  “Dear lady, I am working on what may very well be the masterpiece of my entire lifetime,” Kel replied, coming out of his fog for a moment and taking a large bite of his sandwich.

  “Can’t wait to see it,” Betty replied, wiping down the counter beside him. While tough as nails and seemingly unrefined, the diner owner made every effort to support her community and her regulars in their various endeavors.

  An attractive, but a bit hard-edged-looking woman, whom neither Kel nor Betty had ever seen before, came in and took a seat at the counter, a few stools down from Kel. Betty took in the expensive manicure and shoes and deduced that the woman was a tourist who had somehow managed to find her way to the local gathering spot. She handed her a menu and asked if she wanted coffee. When the woman politely declined and asked for water instead, it cemented Betty’s original deduction.

  “This is really nice,” she said, glancing at her surrounding and trying to make conversation. “You have a cool retro vibe going on in here.”

  Betty and Kel exchanged a glance while Kel chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich.

  “Retro?” Betty snorted. “Oh honey, this ain’t retro. This lovely olive and mustard interior is original. The reason them stools are so darn comfy is because they’ve been broken in by generations of Calgon behinds,” she chuckled, enjoying the woman’s reaction a bit too much.

  “Wow, you must know a lot of the town’s history then,” the woman continued, undaunted.

  Betty nodded, her eyes guarded. “I know enough.”

  “Well, I’m sure glad that Melissa recommended this place. It looks like I’m in for a treat,” Hannah said brightly.

  “Melissa?”

  “Yeah, the really nice gal from the cupcake shop… Cupcakes in Paradise. She said that you had the best home cooking in town.”

  Kel’s ears perked up, but he gave no indication of his interest, appearing to be intently focused on his food.

  “Oh, you two know each other?” Betty asked casually refilling Hannah’s water.

  “Well, I met her today when I went in to buy a cupcake, and we got to talking. I had heard of her husband by reputation, but it was great to meet her.”

  Kel’s eyes darted from side to side, as he digested that little tidbit, making it look as though he was critically examining the contents of his plate.

  “Buy a lot of cupcakes, do ya?” Betty asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman’s rail thin gym body.

  “Oh no, only when I’m on vacation,” she explained hastily. “Could I have a slice of lime for this?” Hannah held up her water glass, dripping with condensation.

  “No lime, just lemon,” the diner owner flipped up the top of a plastic box just below the level of the counter, grabbed a lemon slice with a pair of tongs and plopped it into the water.

  Hannah’s smile flickered momentarily, a fact that did not escape Betty’s notice, nor Kel’s. She ordered a plate of food, making all sorts of changes and special requests, and kept her eyes on the diner’s owner.

  “So, do you know Melissa and Charles?” she asked, extracting a stalk of celery from her salad and nibbling the end of it.

  “We’ve met,” Betty replied, drying a glass.

  “Have you heard that Charles may be in trouble?” Hannah lowered her voice.

  “Come again?” Betty kept polishing, while Kel stopped chewing so that he could hear better.

  “Yeah… apparently, Charles comes from a really rich family, and the family business is mixed up with some nasty people from overseas. It’s tarnishing the family’s reputation,” she dropped her bombshell, then sipped her water, waiting for a reaction.

  The diner owner’s response would clue her in as to whether or not the woman knew Charles Beckett well and liked him, or whether she’d be a good channel for vicious gossip.

  “Sounds a bit farfetched to me, but I suppose anything’s possible,” Betty said neutrally, holding her cards close to the vest.

  Hannah’s eyes took on a predatory gleam.

  “The stuff that’s going on is the type of thing that can ruin lives, you know. But honestly, if Charles knows about this and does nothing, simply because it makes him money, he deserves whatever happens to him, no matter how nice his wife is,” she shrugged. “Poor, simple woman probably doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  Kel had heard enough.

  “Now see here, I will not stand by one minute longer and listen to you impugn the reputation of some of Calgon’s finest people. You have no idea what you’re talking about, and you’d be best served to shut your mouth and go back to
wherever it is that you came from,” he said with dignity, raising a disapproving eyebrow.

  “Last time I checked, this was a free country, and I can say whatever I’d like to whomever I’d like. I wasn’t talking to you anyway, but I’m guessing that you’re a friend?” Hannah replied calmly, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth.

  “Indeed I am, and I don’t appreciate you spewing lies about some of the most honest and upstanding folks that I know. I don’t know what your motivation is, but rest assured, you’re not going to gain many friends around here, behaving in that manner,” he chastised her.

  “I’m not terribly worried about that. I won’t be staying long anyway,” she regarded him coolly. “How well do you really know Beckett? Don’t you think it’s just the tiniest bit strange that he has billions of dollars, but chooses to live in an obscure little town like this?” she challenged. “Makes you wonder if he has something to hide.” She crunched a carrot stick between her teeth.

  Gone was the pretense that she was a sweet vacationing admirer of Missy. Her true colors were showing, and she was hoping to make the rich dude a few seats down angry enough to reveal something significant. She loved this part of the job, thoroughly enjoying spinning people into a frenzy and watching them explode while she maintained a disinterested cool. It was a tactic that hadn’t worked well in her relationships, but was magical when she needed to ferret out information for a feature story.

  Betty had been watching the exchange, and decided it was time to step in, before a furiously sputtering Kel caused more of a ruckus. She knew that the artist was fiercely loyal when it came to those of whom he loved, herself included, and she wanted to shut him down so that she could gain the woman’s confidence and she could find out what she was up to.

  “Kel, yours is on the house today. Shouldn’t you be getting back to the studio?” she gave him a pointed look while pouring a to-go cup of coffee and stuffing his sandwich into a styrofoam box.