Irish Creme Killer: Book 1 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 4

  “Which means it had to have been a guest, or part of the Pinnacle staff, because spectators weren’t allowed in the staging area,” Kel finished for her.

  “Exactly,” Missy nodded. “So that narrows it down to a few hundred people. How on earth are we going to figure out who did this?”

  “We have to find out who might have a reason to eliminate Judge Gordon,” Kel replied, pursing his lips.

  “And how are we going to do that?” Echo asked.

  “Let me do some digging. There should be plenty of public records available that will allow us to see who might have reason to be homicidally upset with one of his decisions,” the artist stood, heading back to his cottage for his laptop.

  “Good idea. In the meantime, Echo and I are going to keep our eyes open for anything that seems suspicious,” Missy called after him.

  The two women sat in silence, drinking their coffee and nibbling on cupcakes for no more than a few seconds when Kel came back in.

  “Dear lady, you’re going to want to wake up Chas and come see this,” he said, looking pale and gesturing toward the front porch.

  Missy and Echo exchanged a startled glance, then Echo followed Kel to the porch while Missy went to rouse Chas from his slumber.

  **

  “What is this, and why is it here?” Missy asked, peering down at what looked like a strange set of cooking shears.

  Chas exchanged a knowing glance with Kel and replied.

  “They’re bolt cutters,” he explained. “And if I had to guess, I’d bet that they are the very ones that were used on the judge’s car.”

  “What makes you say that?” Echo asked, bending down over the cutters.

  “See that dab of fluid smeared near the cut points?” he pointed with the tip of a pen. “Dollars to donuts, it’s brake fluid.”

  “But how did they get here?” Missy asked, eyes wide, scanning the area around them as though she expected someone to jump out of the bushes at any moment.

  “Someone is trying to frame Chas,” Kel observed, not bothering to mince words.

  “Which means that we have to figure out who the killer is, because the police will be looking at Chas,” Echo commented practically.

  “No,” the detective shook his head. “You all are going to stay safe by staying out of this. I’ve already texted the police chief. He’s on his way over, and will collect this to process it for fingerprints and find out if the residue actually is brake fluid. Wallace Charlton may be a less-than-ideal detective, but the chief is a good guy. He’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  A look passed between Missy and Echo that clearly conveyed their intention to keep digging, no matter what Chas said.

  “Well then,” Kel said, breaking up a silence that felt a bit strained. “I’ll be heading back to the cottage. Let’s regroup for lunch, yes?”

  “You three can. I’m going to be pretty busy,” Chas sighed.

  **

  Spencer Bengal ran hard on the trails that crisscrossed the sometimes thickly forested areas of the resort. Feeling the hair on the back of his neck raise just a bit, he slowed his pace, listening and scanning the wooded areas ahead and to his sides. He didn’t see anyone, but felt someone or something watching him. Senses attuned, on full alert, the Marine stopped jogging and leaned against a tree, pretending to stretch out his muscles and taking the time for a good hard look through the brush. He heard nothing but the breath moving in and out of his lungs and his own heartbeat keeping blood thrumming through his veins, but he felt an undeniable presence, and then he knew.

  “You on vacation too?” he asked, without bothering to turn around. He knew who was behind him now.

  “I don’t even know what vacation is,” Janssen drawled, taking a toothpick out of his mouth and flicking it into the pine needles surrounding the tree under which he sat calmly, as though he belonged.

  “Clearly, you’ve identified some holes in the Pinnacle’s state-of-the-art security systems,” Spencer remarked, turning to face his fellow veteran with a wry smile. Janssen had shown up multiple times in Florida, and had helped Spencer keep his adopted family of Missy and the gang safe on more than one occasion.

  “Yeah, these boys ain’t too bad. Better’n most actually, but,… you know how it is. In like a deer, out like a fox,” Janssen shrugged, a corner of his scarred mouth quirking upward in a half-smile.

  “What are you doing up this far north? Thought you were wintering down in Florida?” Spencer crossed his arms and leaned back on the tree that he’d been using as a stretching post.

  “I could ask you the same question,” the other war-toughened young man replied easily.

  “I go where the family goes.”

  Janssen gave him a long look. “Family,” he nodded. “That kind of thinking can be dangerous, you know. Clouds the issue.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Spencer shrugged.

  “You know you could get recognized up here.”

  Spencer bent over to touch his toes. “That can happen anywhere. I keep my eyes open. I have a feeling that there’s more going on here than any of the jet set realizes,” he said grimly.

  Janssen nodded. “I’ve got your back, but we’re going to get picked up by the sensors that I put offline pretty soon, so we’d best split up for now,” he said, rising to his feet and dusting the pine needles from the back of his jeans.

  “You staying around here?”

  “Define ‘around.’” The scarred man grinned and disappeared into the deepest parts of the forest as Spencer headed back to the cottage.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Spencer had some downtime during the afternoon while Chas met with the chief of police and Missy, Kel, and Echo went down to the main lodge to play trivia, trying to take their mind off of the recent morbid series of events. Dressed in all-white tennis gear, Spencer slung a racquet over his shoulder and planned to revisit the staging area for the Pinnacle Classic, right near the tennis courts.

  Crossing to the cement pad where the cars had waited to enter the track, he quickly located the puddle of brake fluid staining the surface. He scanned the area around the pad looking for any sort of clue that might have been left behind, and realized that he wasn’t alone.

  “Hi!” a slim, leggy redhead about his age, greeted him. “Looking for something?” she asked.

  Spencer flashed his legendary dimples, hoping to distract her. He didn’t really understand why women found him attractive, but he did occasionally use that fact to his advantage.

  “Yeah. I lost a ball over here somewhere. You’d think I’d be able to find a bright yellow ball more easily,” he shook his head.

  “Oh. I just came from the courts, I didn’t see anyone over there,” she looked at him curiously.

  “I hadn’t actually made it over to the courts yet, I was bouncing the ball on my racquet and got a little carried away,” he shrugged sheepishly.

  “Might have gone a bit better for you if you’d taken the cover off of your racquet,” the redhead observed, looking as though she was stifling a laugh.

  “Oh, it was off. I put it back on when I started looking around. You don’t walk around with your cover off, do you?” he pretended to be taken aback by the thought.

  “No. Of course not. My racquet is back at the court,” she explained. “I could use an opponent if you’re up for it,” she smiled prettily, and Spencer had to remind himself to stay focused on his task.

  “I’d love a game, but you have to promise to go easy on me, I’m a little rusty,” the Marine grinned wickedly.

  “No promises,” was the mischievous reply. “I’m Muffy,” she extended a well-manicured hand, which he engulfed in his.

  “Spencer.”

  “Nice to meet you, Spencer. Ready to play?”

  “Definitely,” he nodded, working hard not to show how distracted he was by a figure lurking in the edge of the forest that bordered the tennis courts on one side.

  Judging by the height and build, Spencer guessed it wa
s a man who was trying to hide but wasn’t very adept at it. Spencer wondered absently if Janssen would have a little chat with whoever it was, while he played tennis with the delicate socialite in front of him. He had hoped that he wouldn’t encounter anyone, but since he had, he needed to follow through on looking like just another guest so that he wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

  “Where are the rest of your balls?” she asked innocently.

  “I beg your pardon?” Spencer was momentarily caught off guard, watching the lurking presence in his peripheral vision.

  “You said that you lost the one that you were playing with, but you don’t seem to have any others with you.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I don’t typically lose them, so I only brought the one,” he shrugged, hoping that she bought the lame excuse.

  “Confident, aren’t you?” she grinned. “That’s okay, I have extras, we can use mine.”

  The Marine was more than a bit surprised and impressed at the ferocity with which the woman attacked the game. When they finished, sweaty and tired in a most satisfying way, he had won two out of their three games. Muffy brushed damp tendrils of coppery hair away from her forehead with a monogrammed towel and smiled at him with admiration.

  “Great game,” she nodded at him with obvious pleasure. “Next time I won’t go so easy on you,” she teased.

  “Pretty and merciful too, that’s a nice combination.”

  “Oh, please, I’m anything but pretty at the moment, unless you’re into sweaty, unkempt ladies,” she protested, clearly loving the compliment.

  “There’s a certain charm in that,” he tilted his head as if he were appraising her.

  “I need hydration. Want to cool down with me at the juice bar?” Muffy offered, catching her lower lip between her teeth in a way artfully designed to look shy and fetching.

  Seeing right through the ploy, he agreed nonetheless, and followed her to the small building behind the courts which housed a juice and smoothie bar. The pair sat down with their designer bottled waters and a couple of tropical concoctions that looked like they should have alcohol and a paper umbrella in them.

  “I’ve seen you before, you know,” Muffy remarked, sipping her drink.

  “Oh?” Spencer’s reply was mild, but internally, his system went on full alert.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “It’s not often that we see tattoos around here, so it made me notice you. That and the fact that you look like you just stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine.”

  Some of the tension eased out of the Marine.

  “Stop, you’re making me blush,” he chuckled, not even close to blushing. He’d heard similar lines so many times before that it was somewhat irritating, but at least he hadn’t really been recognized, for which he was thankful.

  “You’re here with the Becketts, right? It’s a shame what happened with them,” she shook her head sadly.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Spencer’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he maintained a pleasant smile.

  “Well, I mean… you know, the judge being killed. The police are chasing after Charles pretty hard from what I’ve heard,” she batted her eyes at him.

  “Do you always believe everything that you hear?” the Marine replied easily, sipping his drink.

  “Of course not, but in this case it makes sense. Charles was pretty rude to the judge when the poor old man asked to buy his father’s car collection, and he’s been estranged from his family for years. I don’t know how well you know him, but he’s not exactly the nicest person in the world.”

  “And you know all of this how?” Spencer assumed a slightly amused air so that she’d keep talking.

  “Can you keep a secret?” she asked, leaning in.

  “To the grave,” he promised with mock-solemnity, making a crisscross motion over his heart, and leaning in as well, in an attempt to disarm her with proximity.

  “I know that Charles Beckett is an awful person because he was engaged to my older sister, Amanda. He broke her heart and then left New York to go to some awful hick town down south,” she confided in a voice just above a whisper, looking around as though she didn’t want to be overheard.

  “I hadn’t heard that,” the Marine feigned surprise, having heard the actual story, which was quite different from the version that Muffy had told.

  “See what I mean? He puts on this humble, responsible façade, and really, he’s just awful. I think that the police are probably on the right track. I hope you two aren’t close,” she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy.

  “Nope, I just work for him,” Spencer shrugged. “I hardly know him at all.”

  “He brought one of his staff with him?” she drew back in shock.

  “I saved him from drowning, so the trip was kind of a reward.”

  Muffy suddenly seemed even more interested in him than she had before.

  “Well, how very brave of you,” she drawled, tracing a finger down his bicep.

  Spencer saw a human-sized shadow flit past a window outside of the juice bar, and wondered if it was merely a coincidence.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Detective Chas Beckett reviewed the videotape that Chalmers had set aside for him, of the attempted breakin at his family’s estate. The footage was dark and grainy, but was clear enough to see that the figure who had been trying to get in was short and slight. The intruder had climbed partially up the wall before sensors detected him and security lights came blazing on, whiting out the picture on the cameras. The culprit had then run back toward the main road, heading south.

  Chas surveyed the area carefully, looking for clues, and found a small footprint near the base of the wall where the intruder had climbed up. The print had most likely been made when the culprit jumped down from the wall and took off running. The detective took photos and measurements of the print and headed toward the main road in a southerly direction. He found a few more prints in the soft earth that told him he was headed in the right direction; when he reached the road, roughly a mile away from the breach point, he found two tire impressions in the ground near the shoulder, which he also photographed.

  According to the police chief, there had been no fingerprints found on the bolt cutters that had been planted at Chas’s cottage, which meant either that they’d been wiped down or—more likely—that whoever had placed them there had worn gloves. Of course, that made Detective Wallace Charlton suspect Chas even more, because he would know enough about crime scene investigation to not leave fingerprints.

  What the detective didn’t seem to want to accept was that if Chas had actually committed the crime and wiped down the murder weapon, he wouldn’t have been careless enough to bring it home with him and leave it on his front porch. Beckett knew a setup when he saw one, and was determined to find the real killer.

  **

  “So, what did you find out?” Missy asked Kel impatiently when she and Echo sat down with the artist for coffee and cupcakes.

  “Apparently, Judge Gordon was more than well-respected when it came to his rulings. He’s from old money, like just about everyone else up here, and went into law simply for the joy of it,” he shrugged.

  “So, there weren’t any rulings where someone might have wanted to take revenge?” Echo demanded. “How is that possible?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just said that they weren’t easy to find. I did find one rather interesting connection though, particularly when one considers that Chas is the one being framed in this case,” he announced.

  “Out with it already!” Missy exclaimed, her stomach in knots.

  “You’re familiar with Amanda Heatherington, I presume,” the artist began.

  “Amanda Heatherington?” the color rose in Missy’s face, but she took a breath, controlling her reaction. “Yes, I’m familiar with her. She wanted to marry Chas, so killed her husband to try to make herself available for Chas, then attempted to kill me,” she recounted, her blood boiling. “Why, what does she have to do with all of thi
s? She’s in prison.”

  “Did Judge Gordon put her there?” Echo chimed in, patting her agitated friend’s hand absently.

  Kel nodded. “Not only did he put her there, but a few months ago, her little sister was arrested for destruction of property, after crashing her little sports car into the side of a bar and grill, and he gave her one of the worst possible sentences for a well-heeled socialite.”

  “What’s that?” Echo was intrigued.

  “Community service,” the artist revealed with an ironic chuckle. “She had to help out by serving meals in a homeless shelter.”

  “So, why are Amanda and her little sister significant?” Missy asked, losing patience.

  “Amanda is significant because of her connection with Chas, and her little sister is significant because she’s here.”

  “Amanda Heatherington’s little sister is here at the resort? Do we know her? Have we seen her?” Echo demanded.

  “I don’t know. Her name is Muffy Fairchild. As you know, Heatherington was Amanda’s married name,” Kel replied.

  The color drained from Missy’s face and Echo clutched her hand as the two women exchanged a glance.

  “What?” Kel asked, alarmed by the expressions on the women’s faces.

  “We met Muffy at the spa,” Missy replied numbly. “We were talking about being on vacation and mentioned Chas’s name. She said that they used to play tennis at the same club.”

  “So, she knew that Chas was here, and after what happened with her sister, it would be easy enough to see why she might try to frame him, but would she have the guts or technical knowledge to cut the judge’s brake lines?” Kel wondered.

  “Because if she did, she’d be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak,” Echo mused. “The judge would be dead, and Chas would go down for the crime. But is she really deluded enough to believe that she’d be smart enough to take down a well-respected detective?”

  “Quite possibly. The court documents indicated that she holds a degree in criminal justice. Apparently she chose her major during her sister’s trial.”

  “But wait, something doesn’t make sense…” Missy frowned. “Didn’t you say that the reason the judge assigned Muffy to community service was because she crashed her car into the side of a bar and grill?”