Tropical Punch Killer Page 4

  “Forget it,” Spencer muttered, heading for the door.

  “Thanks for the donuts, dude,” Ringo waved farewell.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  Trevor Lowell bit his nails while his knee bounced up and down under the interrogation table. Chas Beckett stared at him, expressionless, for long enough to make the youth even more nervous.

  “What?” he finally asked, cracking under the scrutiny.

  “Where were you last night, Trevor?” the detective asked.

  “I was at home, sleeping, and I’ve told you guys that, like, seven times now,” the young man folded his arms across his chest.

  “How did you know to show up at Athena’s house so early this morning?”

  “She called me after they shoved her outside while they were working on her dad.”

  “Took you a while to show up,” Chas commented.

  “I was in bed. I had to take a shower and eat something.”

  “How was your relationship with Athena’s dad and stepmom?”

  Trevor shrugged. “They were pretty cool, as parents go. They were in plays and stuff and they were pretty good. They let Athena live her life without hassling her too much.”

  “How did they feel about you?” the detective probed.

  “How should I know?”

  “Did they approve of your relationship with Athena?” Chas persisted.

  “I guess,” another shrug.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s not like I spent a whole lot of time asking them about their feelings. We hung out at their house sometimes and they didn’t seem to mind. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “What about them?”

  “Did they approve of your relationship?”

  “My parents never cared about anything in my life. They probably didn’t even know about Athena,” Trevor stared at the floor.

  “Do you know about anyone who might have had a reason to cause harm to the Holmans?”

  “Nah, I think they pretty much got along with everybody. They did have a crazy cousin that got kicked out of the house or something a couple of weeks ago.”

  “A cousin? Do you know the cousin’s name?” Chas made a note.

  “Nope. They called him Chooch, but I don’t know why.”

  “When you say he was kicked out, was he living in the house with the Holmans?”

  “No, he just came over. Mr. H said that no men are allowed in the house when he ain’t home. Chooch came over, and he was saying goodbye to Mrs. H and he kissed her, right on the mouth. She started yelling and Mr. H came home. When he heard what was going on, he picked up Chooch and threw him out the door, then he chased him through the yard and Chooch hopped the fence to get away.”

  “Whose cousin is Chooch?”

  “Mr. H’s I think. I’m not sure,” Trevor shrugged

  “Does he live here in town?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Okay,” Chas nodded, pushing a yellow legal pad and a pen toward the young man.

  “What’s that for?” Trevor eyed it suspiciously.

  “You need to write down your parents’ names and contact info.”

  “Why? My dad will kick my butt if the cops call him.”

  “I need to be able to verify that you were home last night.”

  Trevor snickered. “Well, they wouldn’t know. They weren’t there.”

  “You were alone?”

  “My brother was home, and I think some of his buddies stayed overnight too. There were a couple of guys crashed in the living room when I left.”

  “Write down his name and contact info too, then,” Chas stared him down.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Trevor picked up the pen, scribbled out the requested information, and tossed it down again.

  “Can I go home now?” he demanded with a sour expression.

  “Yep. Need a ride?”

  “No thanks,” he got to his feet and turned his back on the detective, waiting for the uniformed cop in the back of the room to open the door for him. Chas nodded his assent and the officer let Trevor out.

  **

  “Tucker Graham?” Chas asked the grizzled, unkempt man who answered the door of the ramshackle camper that was parked in a vacant lot on the outskirts of town.

  “Who wants to know?” the man growled, rubbing a hand over his face. Stale alcohol fumes seemed to emanate from him.

  “Detective Chas Beckett,” Chas flashed his badge in the man’s face. “Calgon PD. Are you Tucker Graham?”

  “Yeah. So?” the man seemed to be reaching for something behind the door.

  “Put your hands on top of your head and step out where I can see you,” the detective ordered, unclasping the holster on his sidearm.

  “What the heck is this all about?” Chooch groused, slowly complying. He put his hands on top of his head and staggered a bit when he came down the steps from the camper. “I ain’t done nothing,” he protested, as Chas patted him down.

  “You can put your hands down. I need to ask you some questions regarding the murder of Chet and Leslie Holman.”

  “I don’t know nothing about it. Ain’t seen either one of ‘em in quite a while,” Chooch protested.

  “How did you know about the murders?”

  “Went to the bar to get me a drink after lunch time and somebody there was talking about it.”

  “Who was talking about it?”

  “I don’t recall. I was drinking and having my lunch.”

  “When was the last time you saw either of them?”

  “I don’t know. Couple of weeks maybe. I’m gonna sit down on the steps. Ain’t feeling so good,” Chooch stumbled toward the crude set of wooden steps which leaned crookedly beneath the door and eased himself down.

  “Was there an altercation between you and Mr. Holman when you saw him a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Altercation? No, there wasn’t nothing like that, we’re kin. We don’t act the fool,” Chooch protested.

  “Were you having an affair with Mrs. Holman?” Chas abruptly changed the subject, catching Chooch off guard.

  “Are you kidding me? You think I’d make a move on my cousin’s woman? That’s just sick. She’s a good-looking gal, but that ain’t right,” he shook his head, regretting it instantly.

  “Ever kiss her?”

  “No, man, come on now. I wouldn’t do nothing like that.”

  “Where were you last night?” Chas switched tactics again, hoping to keep the man off balance.

  “I was at a hotel in Copeland County with my buddy Greg.”

  “What’s Greg’s last name?”

  “McGinty.”

  “Is he from Calgon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What were you two doing over in Copeland County?”

  “We had a framing job in a development out there the next morning, so we stayed overnight to get an early start.”

  “You had a framing job in Copeland County this morning,” Chas clarified.

  “Yep.”

  “And you finished in time to be drinking in a bar here in Calgon after lunch?”

  “We worked fast.”

  The detective stared at Chooch, who dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

  “Look man, I’m just gonna be straight up with you. I’m about to hurl. Now, we can keep talking, and I’ll do it out here, or we can do this later and I’ll just go inside.”

  “Go,” Chas grimaced. “I know where to find you.”

  Either Trevor Lowell was lying about the incident at the Holman’s, or Chooch Graham was. Chas Beckett was determined to find out who was lying…and why.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  “Got a minute?” Spencer appeared in the doorway of Chas’ office at the P.I. agency.

  “Of course, have a seat,” Chas replied absently, tapping at his laptop.

  “Any news on the Holman case?”

  C
has stopped typing and sat back. “More leads to chase down, and conflicting stories,” he sighed. “You know, the usual.”

  “Let me know if you want to bring me in on it,” Spencer offered, shifting in his chair.

  “Will do,” Chas stared at him thoughtfully. “What’s on your mind? You didn’t come in here to talk about the case,” he commented, knowing the young man well.

  Spencer sat forward and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  “Actually, I was kind of wondering, since you have some degree of influence in the community, would you be able to use it to…” he began, a flush rising up his neck. Chas held up a hand to stop him.

  “I think I know where you’re going with this, and Missy already asked. We’re all concerned about Mattie’s condition, but with HIPAA laws, there’s no way for me to get information. Even if she were a suspect in a crime, it’d be difficult. I’m sorry, but we’re just going to have to wait until she contacts us,” Chas told him ruefully.

  “It’s not like we’re trying to use the information for nefarious purposes,” Spencer gritted his teeth in frustration.

  “Yes, but you know as well as I do that the rules exist for a reason,” Chas reminded him gently.

  “Yeah, I got a lecture on ethics from Ringo earlier,” Spencer admitted with a wry look.

  “Good. Sometimes when our emotions are stronger than our reasoning, we need people in our lives who will point out a bit of wisdom.”

  “Wisdom from Ringo,” Spencer shook his head and smiled. “The world is a strange place sometimes.”

  “Indeed. I have a couple of interviews that I could use an extra man on if you want to come along,” Chas offered, knowing that his associate could probably use the distraction.

  “Sounds good,” Spencer nodded, rising to go. “Just let me know when we’re heading out.”

  “Will do. And Spence…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’ll be okay.”

  “Is that assurance based on facts?” Spencer shot back.

  “She’s young, she’s in good health, and she’s too darn stubborn to let a little fall keep her down,” his boss insisted.

  “I sure hope so,” Spencer said quietly, shutting the door behind him.

  **

  Three-year-old Kaylee sat playing with colorful modeling clay, while Echo held Jasmine on her lap at a table in Cupcakes in Paradise. Missy was wrapping up the morning rush and Beulah emerged from the kitchen just as the last customer of the rush headed out the door, cupcakes in hand.

  “Now this is how it should be,” the elderly woman grinned, hands on ample hips. “These children playing and happy being with their mamas,” she nodded with approval.

  “We’ll see how you feel about that when it becomes apparent that they need to go down for their naps,” Echo commented. “And when they need lunch.”

  “Fussing is just a part of life,” Beulah crouched down beside Kaylee’s chair to show her appreciation of the little girl’s clay creations.

  “When is Kumar going to be able to come get the girls?” Missy asked, wiping down the front counter before the next wave of customers hit.

  “He’s helping Joyce open up the shops, then he’ll be here,” Echo assured her.

  Kumar, an impressive young man who was in grad school, working toward a doctorate in Child Psychology, had recently been hired to help Echo’s general manager, Joyce, in her shops. He had applied for the position of nanny at the same time that Mattie had, and it had been difficult to choose between the two. The soft-spoken, intelligent young man had bonded instantly with the girls, as had Mattie, so it was great that he was still in their lives, particularly now that Missy and Echo needed backup.

  “That’s good,” Missy breathed a sigh of relief.

  As much as she loved her cupcake shop, whenever her daughter was around, all else ceased to exist. She and Chas had adopted the beautiful toddler after her parents were brutally murdered. The poor, traumatized thing had barely spoken for months, and after working with Kumar, as part of his research project, she’d come so far. Kaylee was the apple of Missy and Chas’ eyes, and both were fiercely protective of the sweet little tot.

  “Buwa, see?” Kaylee showed her sculpture to Beulah, who fawned over it appropriately.

  The two had a special relationship. Beulah had been the one who found her after the murders, wandering around in her back yard, covered in blood.

  “That’s beautiful, baby girl,” she cooed, turning the creature this way and that.

  “Iss a doggie,” Kaylee explained.

  “Oh yes, it’s a lovely doggie,” Beulah agreed, with Missy beaming at the exchange.

  “Good morning,” Kumar breezed in just then, his smile lighting up the room, as always.

  “Koomah!!” Kaylee left Beulah with her doggie and scrambled out of her chair, launching herself at his knees.

  “Hello Miss Kaylee,” he swung her up into his arms. “And how are you today?”

  “Fine. How you?” was the shy, sweet reply.

  “I’m very well, thank you,” Kumar smiled down at his young pupil.

  “Welcome,” Kaylee giggled.

  “I’ll need car seats for these beautiful ladies, so that I can take them to your house, Mrs. Beckett,” Kumar informed Missy.

  “Oh, we know,” Echo stood with Jasmine, who also reached for Kumar. “They’re out in Missy’s car. I’ll help you get them switched to your SUV.”

  “Perfect,” Kumar nodded, carrying Kaylee to the door after bringing her over to her mother for a kiss goodbye. “We’ll enjoy our day together, won’t we, Miss Kaylee?” he grinned.

  “Yes,” Kaylee nodded, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “A man taking care of children,” Beulah pursed her lips and shook her head after Echo and Kumar left.

  “Kumar is amazing, Beulah,” Missy raised an eyebrow.

  “Mmhmm…” was the skeptical response as Beulah returned to the kitchen.

  Missy was prevented from replying by the arrival of a couple whom she thought might be customers, but who seated themselves at a bistro table, rather than coming inside.

  “Hello,” she chirped, coming out the front door, but stopping dead in her tracks when she saw who was sitting out front. It was the teen couple who had been in the paper.

  Missy didn’t quite know how to react when she saw the couple, and her face must have registered her shock.

  “You don’t have to stare at us, we’ll leave,” Athena Holman muttered angrily.

  “No, wait…I…I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like some cupcakes?” she offered, her heart going out to the girl.

  “Keep your sympathy. You don’t know me,” the teenager sprang to her feet, her silent boyfriend trailing after her.

  “You’re welcome to sit here as long as you like,” Missy called after them.

  “Oh, now I can sit here?” Athena spun around, eyes flashing. “No thanks. I wouldn’t sit here if you paid me. Keep your pity,” she seethed, flouncing away.

  Her boyfriend didn’t even make eye contact.

  The door opened behind her, and Beulah came out, staring at the teens walking away.

  “Miss Missy, you need to come take this call,” she informed her boss.

  “Uh, okay, sure,” Missy shook her head, recovering from the odd encounter. “Who is it?”

  “It’s your nanny, Matisse.”

  **

  “You really don’t need to fuss over me like this, you know. I’m perfectly fine,” Mattie protested as Spencer piloted her wheelchair down to his waiting car.

  “Hospital rules,” was the cheerful reply. “If you come in on a gurney, you go out in a wheelchair.”

  “It’s so crazy, it’s not like anything happened to my legs, other than some big bruises,” she grumbled.

  “Just enjoy the royal treatment,” Spencer advised with a chuckle. “Besides, you’re going to rest for a few days, doctor’s orders, so I’ll be checking in on you. You might as
well get used to it.”

  “I had a concussion and some stitches, I’ll be fine,” Mattie insisted. “I need to get back to work.”

  “And you think Missy and Echo are going to allow that without letting you rest for a few days at least?” he challenged.

  “I rested in the hospital,” the nanny sighed.

  “Trust me, this is not a battle that you’re going to win,” Spencer chuckled. “I’d just relax and go with it if I were you.”

  He settled her into his car and pulled out of the parking lot, driving far more carefully than normal.

  “Where are you going?” Mattie frowned. “My apartment is the other direction.”

  “I’m aware. You’re staying at the Becketts’ for a few days, Missy’s orders.”

  “I don’t have any of my things,” Mattie leaned her head back against the head rest, tired already.

  “Their guest room is well-supplied,” he assured her.

  “Was this your idea?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer grinned slyly. “Missy is a nurturer from the word go, and it’s dangerous to shun her southern hospitality.”

  Matisse cracked a smile. “I know how that goes. Fine, keep me prisoner at their estate, but I’m not going to make it easy on you,” she warned.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  Timothy Eckels had been more cranky and withdrawn than usual. Fiona’s most brazen attempts to bait him into responding had fallen flat, and even the prospect of a double homicide autopsy, and the subsequent reconstruction that would be needed for an open casket funeral, hadn’t cheered him up. Drastic situations called for drastic measures.

  “Timmy, if you don’t start talking to me, I’m going to kiss you,” Fiona threatened, unable to take his indifference another minute.

  “Don’t call me that,” was the automatic reply, his focus remaining entirely on the corpse of Leslie Holman.

  “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” she demanded, tapping her foot impatiently.