Toffee Apple Killer: Book 11 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  “All that drama is behind us now. I’m an adult, I can handle being around Carla… in small doses,” she gave Missy a mischievous grin.

  “Well my goodness… Kel, you must be a good influence on this woman,” Missy observed.

  “I’ll give her all the credit for this one,” he gazed at his wife affectionately. “She made the decision to let bygones be bygones all by herself.”

  “It’s a holiday miracle,” Missy laughed. “Well, that’s awesome, honey. We’re going to have a great time. I can take you shopping even if we have to push you around in a wheelchair.”

  “I’m pregnant, not an invalid,” Echo protested, laughing along with her friend.

  “And I’m going to make sure you get your rest and follow the doctor’s orders.”

  “I wholeheartedly support that plan,” Kel interjected.

  “Good, it’s settled then. I’ll start making some lists, and we can finish up the planning when you’re out of here,” Missy decreed.

  When Kel’s phone rang, interrupting the conversation, he looked at it and frowned.

  “I should take this, it’s from the high school. It may be one of Scott’s teachers or something,” he apologized.

  “Oh absolutely, answer it,” Missy nodded, reaching for the box of cupcakes on the nightstand.

  She took one out and handed it to Echo with a stack of napkins. Kel went out into the hall, had a quick conversation, and returned, looking worried.

  “What’s wrong?” Echo asked, reading her husband’s look.

  “That was the school nurse. I’m going to run and pick up Scott. He was apparently bullied, and won’t tell anyone who did it or why,” Kel replied grimly. “Missy, will you stay with Echo while I’m gone?” he asked.

  “Of course. Don’t worry a bit, we’ll get started on that Thanksgiving planning. You go take care of that sweet boy, and take him these,” she handed him the rest of the cupcakes.

  “Thanks,” he accepted the box gratefully. Kissing Echo on the forehead, he left quickly, leaving the faintest trace of expensive cologne wafting behind him.

  “Poor Scott,” Missy said softly.

  “I know,” Echo nodded, watching her husband go. “I feel so bad. It seemed like he was getting along so well, which is miraculous after what he’d been through.”

  Scott had recently come to live with Kel, the father he hadn’t known he had, just after his mother had been kidnapped and murdered. He’d been seeing a counselor to help him work through his grief, and had accepted his new life in Calgon with a grace and dignity well beyond that of a typical sixteen-year-old. To think that this strong and sweet young man had been bullied was heartbreaking.

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  “Me too.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Timothy Eckels rinsed the dregs of oatmeal out of his bowl and checked his watch. It was seven AM, and he was precisely on time, as usual. To say that the town mortician and county coroner was a creature of habit was an understatement indeed. As much as humanly possible, he lived his life according to very specific guidelines, only deviating when forced to because of the demands of his work schedule.

  Tim ate the same breakfast every day, the only exception being the fruit that he had in a little bowl next to his toast plate—he preferred to eat fruit in season. Oatmeal was his main course, washed down by tea which had brewed for exactly two and a half minutes. When finished with his morning repast, he rinsed out his dishes, loaded them into specific spots in the dishwasher, checked to see that his house was secure, and headed for the mortuary or the morgue, depending upon what form of deceased individual was on deck.

  His assistant, Fiona, kept track of his schedule, facilitated communication with police and other governmental entities when necessary, handled the “people” side of funerals—casket and service selections, billing and other questions—freeing him up to do what he did best, investigate and prepare the deceased. The mortician was an extreme introvert, and Fiona’s brash and often irreverent personality balanced him out nicely. The attractive young woman had a knack for knowing how to deal with even the most difficult of personalities, including her slightly eccentric boss.

  Slipping into the seat of his blue compact car, Tim buckled his seat belt, checked the level of gasoline, and started the car, already going over the details of his day in his mind. It should be a light day, barring any unforeseen deaths. There was a funeral at four o’clock, and he’d be conducting a final check of the deceased prior to that, but aside from those preparations, the only thing he had on deck was preparing the corpse of an elderly woman who had passed peacefully in her sleep. He could practically take care of that with his eyes closed.

  As was his habit, he began to mentally review the tools that he would need for his prep, and methodically began going through the steps of the procedure, as he nearly always did on his way to the mortuary. The process gave him peace and helped him to start his day in a calm, organized manner. Tim drove at the appropriate speed, never deviating more than a mile under or over the legal limit, and always obeyed traffic signals. Unfortunately, on this particular morning, his precise driving habits were no match for the inattention of another driver.

  Timothy Eckels was halfway through the intersection when he glanced up and saw a large white pickup truck come out of nowhere, running the red light and barreling toward his little car. With no time to react, Tim caught a glimpse of the driver, whose head was down, apparently texting. It was the last thing he remembered.

  ***

  Fiona McCammish heard about the accident over the police scanner that she kept in her office. Because of the scanner, she quite often could predict when they’d be getting called out to collect a body. Her interest in mortuary arts bordered on obsession, and Timothy Eckels was her guru of the dead. She’d bullied her way into a job with him—her relentless determination to secure a position eventually wearing him down—but he had insisted that she had to find a more “conservative” look before he’d allow her to interact with the public on his behalf.

  Gone was the stark, black mohawk and multiple piercings that had made her appearance a bit daunting to many of the members of the quiet beach town of Calgon. Tim had enlisted the help of his neighbor Echo, and her best friend Missy, to take Fiona out for a makeover before he’d allowed her to start her job. The ladies had done wonders, and the mortician had hardly recognized his new assistant.

  Fiona turned up the volume on the scanner. She knew her boss well enough to know that he’d be near the intersection where the accident had happened, at right about this time. She glanced at her watch and bit her lip nervously. Others used that road at this time of day too, she rationalized. Perhaps it had been someone else who was currently being transported to the hospital. Tim always drove carefully and compensated for the unpredictability of others. It couldn’t have been him in the terrible accident… could it?

  She knew that she would find out in a matter of minutes. If her boss was late, chances were pretty good that he’d been involved in the accident. All she had to do was wait for fifteen minutes. If he didn’t show up, she’d know. She just had to wait. But she wasn’t good at waiting. Fiona tapped her foot impatiently under her desk as the clock in front of her took years to change from one minute to the next. She chewed on the end of a pen. She drank coffee like her life depended on it. She wandered from viewing room to viewing room and back again, pacing. Finally, when she couldn’t take it any longer, she glanced at her watch. Seven minutes had passed and she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Dialing a number that she knew well from having processed many “suspicious” death scenes, she felt relief flood through her as detective Chas Beckett’s voice came on the line.

  “Beckett.”

  “Hi Detective, it’s Fiona. You know, from the mortuary…?”

  “Of course. How can I help you?” Chas asked politely.

  “Well, I know that this isn’t really your thing, but I’m kind of worr
ied and I was hoping that you might be able to help me check something out.”

  “I can try… what do you need, Fiona?”

  “I… uh… I heard on the scanner a few minutes ago that there was a bad accident at the intersection of Market and Seacliffe, and I…”

  “Wanted to know if your services were needed? That’s awfully… efficient,” Chas didn’t know whether to be amused or concerned.

  “No, that’s not it,” Fiona hurried to explain. “It’s just that Tim… er… Mr. Eckels… takes that route to get to work every day, and I’m really hoping that he wasn’t involved in the accident.”

  “I see. Is he late? Have you tried calling him?”

  “Well, no. He doesn’t usually get in for a few more minutes, and he never answers his phone while he’s driving.”

  “Gotcha. Hang on a second and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Fiona paced back and forth between her office and Tim’s, phone glued to her ear, waiting for Chas to come back on the line, her stomach churning with dread.

  “Fiona?”

  “Yes?” she hadn’t been aware that she’d been holding her breath until she spoke.

  “I’m sorry… Tim was involved in the accident,” Chas broke the news.

  “Oh no! Is he… okay?” tears filled the normally tough young woman’s eyes.

  “I’m not legally able to comment on his condition, but he’s been taken to the hospital,” the detective replied sympathetically.

  “Oh geez… okay. Well, at least they didn’t call me, so it could be worse,” she murmured. “I’m heading down there now. Thanks, Detective,” Fiona hung up without even awaiting his response.

  Grabbing her keys out of her desk, she headed for her car, shaking just a bit.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  Izzy’s stomach flip-flopped when she read the email that had just come in.

  “Maybe we can meet for coffee?”

  He seemed nice enough. He had a good job, a sense of humor, and loved dogs… how bad could he be? But now he wanted to actually meet her, which made him scary. Thomas Blevins. It was a nice name. Maybe she should give him a chance. Feeling silly because her heart was pounding like a jackhammer just from reading an email, Izzy decided to take the plunge.

  “Sure. I can do Saturday morning, just let me know when/where works for you.”

  She hesitated a few seconds, but took a deep breath and hit Send. Blinking and trying to get her heart rate back under control, Izzy nearly jumped out of her seat when a tone sounded, alerting her to a new incoming email.

  “Banana Cabana at 9:00?”

  She panicked. Now what? The situation was getting more real. The idea of online dating had been much more fun when it was just a concept, but now that there was a real live human being asking her to interact, she wanted to run for the hills.

  “Snap out of it, Izzy, you’re being ridiculous,” she scolded herself aloud, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Just do it. If you don’t like him, you leave.”

  Having made her decision to be brave and actually meet Thomas Blevins, she typed back a response and sent it before she could change her mind.

  “Banana Cabana sounds good, but let’s do ten o’clock… I’m not a morning person, lol.”

  There. It was done. She had a date. And she had no idea what to wear, what she’d talk about, why she’d ever thought that this would be a good idea in the first place.… Well, she’d committed and she would follow through, because that’s what desperate adults, who are trying really hard to get over their ex-boyfriends, do. She’d call Missy to tell her about her plans, so that the gracious mother hen could check in on her, and then she’d go shopping, maybe get a haircut. This was happening, and underneath her abject terror, there was a faint glimmer of… what? Hope?

  ***

  Izzy Gilmore wrapped her hands around her steaming mug of caramel latte, and wondered if her skirt was too short. Or if maybe she shouldn’t have worn a skirt. Was she too dressed up? She hated to think that she might look like she was trying too hard, but it was a casual skirt, so that couldn’t be too bad, could it? She had arrived at the coffee shop at nine-thirty, wanting to be early so that she could relax and make herself comfortable before Thomas arrived. And so that she could scope out the exits, just in case. Her stomach was in knots and the sips that she took of her latte were tiny, barely leaving a trace of lip gloss on the rim of her cup. She tried to watch the door without being obvious, and was startled when a man, who matched Thomas’s online picture, walked in, carrying a single red rose.

  “Izzy, how nice to meet you,” he said, coming over and extending his hand.

  She stood up too quickly, her chair legs screeching on the slate floor, her thighs bumping the underside of the table, sloshing her latte alarmingly.

  “You must be Thomas,” she fabricated a smile and shook his hand, hoping that hers wasn’t clammy.

  “I am,” he grinned and handed her the rose. “For you.”

  “Oh! Thank you, that’s so sweet,” Izzy replied, burying her nose in the blossom because she didn’t know what else to do.

  “You’re welcome. Looks like you already have your coffee… can I get you anything else while I’m up there?” Thomas asked politely, gesturing toward the counter.

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” she sat down, her cheeks slightly pink.

  “Okay then, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he promised.

  Izzy set the rose on the table, fighting the urge to bolt. It was too late now, she supposed. He had seen her. Besides, she hated the thought of wasting a perfectly good latte. So she stayed put, and made a concerted effort to refrain from nervously bouncing her knee under the table. If she was going to get through this excruciatingly awkward thing called dating, she was just going to have to calm down and be herself. Easier said than done, but she was going to try.

  “What’s your pleasure?” Thomas asked, sitting down across from her with what looked like a large cup of black coffee.

  “Excuse me?” Izzy blinked.

  “Your coffee?” he chuckled. “What do you like to drink?”

  “Oh! Right,” she blushed in earnest. “It’s… uh, a caramel latte.”

  “Nice. That’s more like dessert than coffee.”

  “Exactly. Usually I just drink coffee at home, so when I get a coffee drink out, it’s a wonderfully decadent treat,” Izzy confessed. “What about you? Is that just black coffee?”

  “No, it’s a vanilla Americano. Basically a few shots of espresso, some hot water, and a vanilla bean.”

  “Ah. Clearly you have much more willpower than I do when it comes to coffee,” she smiled.

  “I have a regimen that I try to stick to,” Thomas nodded, taking a sip. “So, tell me about yourself, Izzy. You said in your profile that you write for a living? Is that technical writing, or advertising, or something else?”

  Izzy knew that this question would be coming, and she’d been wrestling all morning with whether or not to tell Thomas that she was currently one of the top horror authors in the world. He seemed like a very nice person, so she decided to take the plunge and disclose her true identity.

  “Umm… I write novels, actually.”

  “Really? That’s so interesting. What kind of novels? Have you published anything?”

  She’d gotten this reaction so many times before that she nearly laughed. Whenever she told people that she wrote novels for a living, often times their reaction was the polite equivalent of a condescending smile and a figurative pat on the head. The questions that followed were often, “Oh, how nice, what’s your day job?” or, “Oh, so you still live with your parents?”

  “Yeah, actually, I’ve published quite a few. My latest one is The Tyranny of Terror,” Izzy replied, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

  “Tyranny of…” his eyebrows practically launched from his forehead. “Wait… you’re Izzy Gilmore? The horror writer? Whoa! I have to admi
t, I’m blown away,” his smile turned to one of admiration.

  Izzy laughed. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Well, I come to a coffee shop and meet this beautiful woman, who seems really sweet and has a great smile, and she turns out to be one of my favorite authors. That doesn’t happen every day.”

  “You’re too kind,” she blushed. “And I’m not nearly as sweet as I seem, but tell me more about you,” she deftly changed the subject.

  “I’m not nearly as interesting as a famous author,” he shrugged. “I grew up in the Midwest, the middle kid in a family of five. Went to college to study accounting, and decided to move to a place where I could go to the beach every day. I like working out and playing Frisbee with my dog, and sometimes after I get home in the evening, I just sit on my back porch with a beer and listen to the waves.”

  “How long have you been in Calgon?” Izzy was relieved to find that she was relaxing a bit.

  “Not long at all. What about you? What brings a famous writer to a small town like Calgon? I would think you’d be more at home in a major city, in some loft overlooking a park or something.”

  “I moved here from New York because I wanted to get away from my micro-managing publisher and the whole rat race and nonstop social scene,” she replied truthfully. “I like being alone most of the time… socializing is work for me; so I wanted to move to someplace where I could just stay inside my little cocoon, write my books and be content with my own company.”

  “A loner, huh?” Thomas asked playfully. “Do you have family here or something?”

  “No, no family. Just a handful of friends who respect my space and leave me alone unless I want to hang out with them.”

  “Sounds pretty perfect. So, if you like being alone… what made you sign up with the dating site?”

  There was no way in the world that Izzy was ready to talk yet about her breakup with Spencer. It was still too fresh, too raw, too much her own fault, for her to face the reality of it with a kind stranger.

  “I’m impulsive,” she smiled faintly, leaving it at that.