Caramel Creme Killer: Book 3 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  “It’s about time. I can’t believe that that sweet, capable, amazing human being hasn’t found someone to keep him warm at night.”

  “Echo! I don’t know that there’s any ‘night warming’ going on,” she chided her friend gently, “but they do smile at each other a lot, and I’ve seen them walking on the beach, laughing and talking.”

  Spencer Bengal was the handsome, young Marine veteran who served as handyman, bartender, and all-around go-to-guy at the inn; relieved Missy at the cupcake shop whenever necessary; and spent at least a couple of evenings a week helping Echo make candles for her shop. He was kind and capable and considered Missy, Chas, Echo, Kel, and Maggie to be his family.

  “He writes poetry, you know,” Echo mused, thinking about what her favorite Marine might have in common with a famous author.

  “I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise me,” Missy shrugged. “I think that young man is capable of being successful at anything he puts his mind to.”

  Echo looked thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder why someone who is so intelligent, good-looking, and talented chooses to live life as a handyman in a Florida bed and breakfast?”

  Her friend stared at her for a moment. “Yes, I have wondered about that, but Spencer is a grown man who makes his own decisions; if this is what he’s decided that he wants for his life right now, I’m glad that I get to have someone like him around. Besides, I think there are some things about Spencer that we’re just better off not knowing,” Missy stared into the depths of her coffee cup.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dayne Baker loved her weekly card group. The group, composed mainly of high school chums who had either stayed in Calgon or retired there, met once a week on Thursday evenings to visit and play card games. Their enthusiastic rounds of bridge, pinochle, and hand and foot were punctuated by bursts of laughter and served as a time to catch up on what was going on with families, businesses and friends.

  Dayne nearly always partnered with her best friend, Clara Schenkman, and quite often the daring duo won. Carla’s husband Walter had been a lively member of the group until his progressive dementia necessitated him being placed at Havenwood, where he received top-notch care. During her volunteer rounds at the nursing home, Dayne made a point of stopping by to see Walter and visit with him. Some days her old friend was alert and conversational, other days it pained her to see him struggle for words or not recognize her.

  Clara and Dayne faced off regularly against friendly foes and flower shop owners Bob and Irma Baumgartner; the foursome often went out to dinner before the games commenced. Other members came and went, depending upon their schedules and travels, but this quartet made it a point to reserve their Thursdays for getting together. Group members took turns hosting game nights, and tonight it was just the four of them gathered at Clara’s lovely oceanfront home.

  A lively game was in progress when their hostess’s phone rang. Snatching it up off the table, she frowned at it and excused herself, hurrying from the room.

  “What do you suppose that’s all about?” Bob asked, his bushy walrus mustache twitching.

  “Robert, you just mind your p’s and q’s and don’t worry about other folk’s business,” Irma admonished her husband, who simply shrugged and reached for the bowl of chipotle-roasted almonds.

  “I hope she’s okay,” Dayne worried, hearing the sound of her friend’s voice rising from behind the heavy mahogany doors of what used to be Walter’s study.

  She missed seeing him here. So many of his things had been taken to the nursing home that it seemed at times as though he had just disappeared from his former life. With the exception of a few framed photos, there was very little trace of the loving husband and father who had once inhabited the lovely home.

  The door to the study swung open, and Clara came back to the table, apologizing.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she sighed, patting her hair and looking harried. “Walter’s meddling business partner just can’t seem to leave well enough alone.”

  “Everything okay?” Concerned, Dayne placed a hand on her friend’s arm.

  Clara squeezed her hand with a grateful look.

  “It will be. Walter left me in charge of the business when he went into Havenwood, and his partner is having a hard time accepting the fact that a woman has controlling interest and decision-making power,” she shook her head, clearly frustrated.

  “Warren Metzler?” Bob asked, stroking his mustache. “Frankly, I’m surprised. Warren is a stand-up guy… he’s good people. That just doesn’t sound like him.”

  “Well, unfortunately, money and power, or lack thereof, do strange things to even the most well-intentioned folks,” Clara replied bitterly.

  Irma placed a hand on her husband’s knee under the table, giving it a firm squeeze, just as he was about to open his mouth to speak.

  “I’m sure it’ll work out, dear,” she said, silencing her husband with a look.

  “I certainly hope so. I’m considering voting him off of the board if he doesn’t stop questioning my decisions.”

  “I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Clara,” Dayne clucked, cutting in before Bob had a chance to speak. “Do you feel like playing still, or should we just call it a night?”

  “I’m sorry to put a damper on things,” Clara sighed, staring at the table. “If you all don’t mind, I think I’d better just take a bath and try to relax. I’d be too distracted to be a decent player tonight anyway,” she muttered.

  “Of course, dear,” Irma replied, getting up from the table. “You just concentrate on relaxing and let us know if there’s anything that we can do.” She gave her friend a hug.

  “Can I help you clean up?” Dayne asked, as Bob and Irma headed for the door.

  “No, thanks love, I’m just going to head upstairs. I’ll deal with it in the morning,” Clara waved her hand at the table laden with cards, snacks, and drinks.

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” her friend gazed at her, concerned.

  “I’m sure. You be careful driving home,” she replied, turning to go.

  “Are you coming by Havenwood tomorrow?” Dayne asked hopefully.

  On the first step, Clara sighed. “I just don’t know. I have a manicure in the morning and a board meeting after lunch, and goodness knows, I’ll probably be exhausted after that. Warren Metzler isn’t the only old fool who’s balking me lately. So, the short answer is, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it over to Havenwood. Give Walter a hug for me, just in case,” she said breezily, climbing the stairs.

  Dayne’s face fell a bit. “Okay,” she said softly to the empty space where her friend had just been.

  CHAPTER 5

  Spencer Bengal was frustrated. He’d been working on shoring up the loose joints of a teak picnic table, but so far, the normally capable and conscientious Marine had hit his thumb with a hammer, dropped a tin of screws, and put one of the legs on backwards, having to take it off and redo it. His boss, Detective Chas Beckett, had stopped by the inn on his lunch hour and watched Spencer’s struggles with a bemused expression.

  “Does it usually take an hour for a project like this?” he teased, with a smirk, leaning against the door jamb of the garage workshop, arms crossed.

  The Marine jumped, not having realized that Chas was standing there, and carefully laid his cordless drill on the workbench before replying.

  “Man, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  “I’m guessing what’s wrong with your concentration is a certain auburn-haired writer who’s been staying here for a bit,” the detective responded with a knowing smile.

  Spencer stared at him for a moment, apparently never having considered the possibility. “She’s… amazing,” he shook his head in wonder. “Not like it makes a difference, though.”

  “What do you mean?” Chas asked.

  “This woman is known by so many people all over the world that she has to come here to escap
e. She’s intelligent, she’s talented, she’s beautiful… there’s absolutely nothing that a regular guy like me could offer her,” he shrugged.

  “Ever think that she may want ‘just a regular guy’ like you in her life?”

  “I don’t think she wants much of anyone in her life,” Spencer chuckled ruefully. “She’s kind of a recluse. I like that about her… I get it. She’s perfectly comfortable in her own company. Not many people can say that.”

  “Seems to me that she’s pretty comfortable in your company too,” Chas replied mildly, giving the Marine a pointed look.

  “Does it?” Spencer seemed clueless, which was not a term that could typically be used to describe him.

  “Well, doesn’t it?” the detective challenged. “Cut yourself a break, man. If she likes hanging out with you, and you like hanging out with her, don’t second-guess it, don’t worry about it, just enjoy it.”

  Spencer nodded, thinking. “She’s going to leave at some point anyway, so it’s not like there could be anything long-term happening,” he sounded almost wistful.

  “So, enjoy her company while she’s here,” Chas suggested. “Oh, and by the way, that cross-brace is on upside down,” he grinned, pointing at the picnic table before he left.

  Spencer sighed and reversed the direction on his drill. A shadow passed over him moments later, as he bent once again toward his work, and he looked up into the critical gaze of a fellow veteran who had slipped into the shop as silent and invisible as a ghost.

  Janssen had served in Afghanistan with Spencer, and appeared every now and again out of the blue. He’d been unable to re-acclimate to civilian life, so the scarred Marine lived off the grid, finding his measure of peace in the solitude of the wilderness, and interacting with outsiders as seldom as possible.

  “You didn’t see your boss when he was standing there watching you work, and you didn’t see me come in until I was close enough to kill you, if I’d had the inclination,” Janssen accused. “You getting soft, Marine?” he narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized Spencer.

  “Whatever, man,” was the reply, as Spencer avoided eye contact under the guise of working on his project.

  “You can’t afford attachments and distractions. You know that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer muttered.

  “You call these people your family, and now you’re falling for some chick. And not just any chick, but a famous chick. Do you know what kind of visibility that could bring? You’re not using your head, Bengal.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you? Because it seems to me that you’re doing the very things that will eventually bring you down and let the wrong people figure out who you are and where you are.”

  Spencer put down his drill and turned to face the scarred Marine, eyes blazing. “I’ve got this,” he ground out, jaw clenched.

  Janssen gazed at him, disappointed, and shook his head.

  “If you won’t wake up and do the right thing for your own safety… think for just a moment, about theirs,” he challenged. “You’ve got company,” he warned, glancing at the front door, and disappearing out the back.

  “Hey, sorry to bug you,” Izzy Gillmore, author and woman of Spencer’s dreams, called out, knocking softly on the doorjamb.

  “Not at all,” he gave her a genuine smile. “What’s up?”

  “I’m stuck in a scene, and I think I just need a fresh perspective to get through it. Mind if I ask you a strange question?” she bit her lower lip in that fetching matter that he admired, and approached the workbench.

  “Ask away.”

  “Okay, so if you were tied up and blindfolded, and needed to trick your captor, who is a bit deranged, into untying you… what would you say?”

  A hundred different, real-life scenarios, based upon personal experience, flashed through Spencer’s mind, reminding him of Janssen’s words just before he left, and he considered her soberly for a moment before answering.

  “I wouldn’t,” he shrugged, shaking off his darker thoughts.

  “Wouldn’t what?” Izzy was confused.

  “Wouldn’t say anything. If the guy was deranged, anything that you could say might trigger him to do something… awful.”

  “Well, it’s not a guy, it’s a woman, but, if you wouldn’t say anything… what would you do?” the author was intrigued.

  “Gender is irrelevant, unstable is unstable,” he remarked as though he’d had experience with such things. “I would wait. If there’s only one captor, at some point, she’s going to have to leave the room. I’d evaluate my surroundings by sound and touch, looking for a way to free myself when she left.”

  “What if she wasn’t gone very long?”

  “Patience pays off. The restraints can be worn through little by little, and even if it takes a few days, dehydration and hunger will loosen things up,” the Marine replied softly, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Izzy asked, placing a tentative hand on his thick, tattooed bicep.

  “Yeah, of course,” Spencer’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  She stared at him for a moment.

  “Good. Think you might be up for a walk on the beach tonight? I’ll definitely need to clear my head by then—this serial killer in my book is getting me tangled in knots,” the author confessed with a faint laugh.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely up for a walk,” he nodded, his eyes locked on hers, drinking in the sight of her.

  She looked down shyly, blushing just a bit, then turned to go.

  “Great, I’ll see you on the beach then,” she waved, leaving the faintest whiff of sweet perfume behind.

  CHAPTER 6

  Shortly after Cupcakes in Paradise opened, Dayne Baker pulled up in front, and hurried inside.

  “Good morning, Dayne. Where are the boys today?” Missy asked, delighted to see her new friend.

  “I would bet money that they’re snoozing in a patch of sunlight on top of my couch right now,” she chuckled. “I’m on my way to volunteer at Havenwood, and I wanted to take some of your amazing cupcakes to the nurses and a couple of special residents.”

  “How sweet,” Missy beamed. “Which ones would you like?”

  “Can I just get a baker’s dozen assorted?”

  “Of course, let me get a good collection started for you,” she pushed out the sides of a folded pink-and-white-striped bakery box and began filling it with delectable treats.

  After chatting for a few more minutes and paying for her cupcakes, Dayne waved goodbye and headed for Havenwood. She dispensed Missy’s delights to the nurses, then put an especially yummy-looking one on a plate and made her way to Walter Schenkman’s room, looking forward to chatting with her old friend and hoping that today would be one of his good days. If not, he’d still enjoy the cupcake, thinking she was just another kind stranger, and she was okay with that.

  Walter’s door was ajar when she approached it, which was odd, but she knocked on it anyway.

  “Walter?” she called, hearing no sound from within the small, nicely appointed suite.

  She pushed the door open and walked in, placing the plate with the cupcake on the entry table, astonished to see that the suite had been cleared out. That usually only happened when.… Her hands flew to her throat as the horror of the situation dawned on her. If something had happened to Walter, why hadn’t Clara called her? He wasn’t that old, how could something have happened so quickly?

  A myriad of thoughts flew through Dayne’s head and tears rolled down her cheeks as she leaned against the navy damask wallpaper in what had been Walter’s living room.

  “Dayne? Are you okay?” a gentle, concerned voice asked from the doorway.

  Lynette Kempthorn, Walter’s nurse, came in and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “This is all so sudden. I had no idea….” she cried, curious as to why the nurse wasn’t more upset. Walter had been one of her favorite residents.

 
“I know, sweetie. I’m going to miss him too, but you’ll still be able to visit him, he’ll just be a little further away,” Lynette soothed.

  Dayne stared at her, utterly baffled, then looked from the nurse to the empty room and back again. “What?” She was so confounded that she stopped crying for a moment, wondering if Lynette had gone off the deep end.

  “Mr. Schenkman,” Lynette clearly thought her statement explained everything, until it dawned on her that Dayne thought that he had passed.

  “Oh, Dayne, I’m so sorry! I thought you knew… Walter is fine. He didn’t pass away, he just got moved,” the nurse took her by the shoulders for a moment, which was fortunate, because the other woman had nearly swooned with relief.

  “What? Moved? Why?”

  A dark look passed over Lynette’s features.

  “Because apparently, Mrs. Schenkman felt that she couldn’t afford Havenwood any longer,” the nurse snapped bitterly.

  “But… she still has the business, and they have a beautiful home and….” Dayne trailed off, not understanding. “Where did he get moved to?” she asked.

  “Farmstead,” Lynette said softly, her eyes downcast.

  Dayne gasped in horror. “Farmstead? But that’s… awful,” she shook her head and clasped her hands to her bosom.

  “It’s worse than you think. Mrs. Schenkman got a temporary court order declaring Walter incompetent because of his dementia, so he wasn’t even consulted about being moved.”

  “Really?” Dayne was astonished. “That doesn’t sound like Clara at all. You don’t suppose her daughter is behind all of this, do you?” she worried.

  Lynette frowned, clearly upset. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen her since they brought Walter in the first time, so I doubt it, but you never know.”

  “I’m just beside myself. I need to go talk to Clara and find out what’s going on.”

  “Keep me posted?” Lynette asked.

  “Of course,” Dayne nodded, picking up the plate with the cupcake on it and handing it to the nurse. “Here, you enjoy this. Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.”