Marshmallow Creme Killer: Book 7 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  “Oh, well, no…I’m sorry. It’s just…I haven’t seen Carla in quite a while, and I know she has a house-sitter, so I was wondering if you knew when she might be back from her vacation,” Missy’s cheeks turned pink because she felt bad that he’d assumed she wanted to participate on the committee.

  “Oh. Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I had no idea that she was on vacation. She’s missed several meetings over the last few weeks, and didn’t bother to call and let anyone know,” he replied, sounding a bit miffed.

  “Oh goodness, that’s not like her. Carla may have had her struggles, but she always follows through on her professional endeavors. Her work is her life, and she’s very particular about it,” Missy said, worried.

  “That was my thought too, but I guess you just never know. Things happen. If you happen to hear from her, would you let her know that there are several decisions that need to be made, and that we can’t move forward without her input?”

  “I certainly will,” Missy murmured, nodding though he couldn’t see her.

  She hung up the phone with worry gnawing at her like a dog with a bone. This was so out of character for Carla. Since she hadn’t been able to glean any info from the mayor, like it or not, she was going to have to go back to the decorator’s house and talk to her house sitter again.

  While she made the short drive to Carla’s house, Missy tried to figure out what possible explanation there might be for Carla just leaving without saying a word to anyone. She didn’t have much contact with her extended family, so even if there had been an emergency of some sort, she would’ve most likely found an excuse not to be present, and she didn’t like to have clients who lived far enough away that she’d have to stay overnight, so it couldn’t be business related. Missy found it very hard to believe that she’d just pack up and go on vacation without attending to her committee commitments, so she was stumped, and hoping that the house sitter might be able to provide some answers.

  She rang the doorbell, knowing that this time she’d be prepared to face the man who was merely working for Carla, not dating her. Just like last time, there was no response when she rang the bell, so she rang it a second time, waiting for Richard to appear. When there was still no answer, Missy frowned, and peeked into the house through the long, narrow window by the door. She couldn’t tell for certain, but she thought that she saw Carla’s keys on a small accent table in the foyer. Maybe her friend had returned.

  She knocked on the door and called out, “Carla, sugar, are you home?” Still no response.

  Not knowing what to do, she decided to wander around the side of the garage to peer in the window and see if Carla’s car was inside. The garage windows were tinted for privacy, and the interior was dark, making it difficult to see, but Missy thought she saw the outline of something large. She moved to the other side of the window to get a different perspective and saw what looked like a jet ski on a trailer.

  Carla had a jet ski? The stylish decorator was definitely not what one would think of as the “outdoorsy” type. Maybe Richard actually was her boyfriend, and the two of them were just keeping their relationship a secret for now. Though the thought was strange, Missy wasn’t one to judge. She decided that obviously she wasn’t going to find out anything more by peeking in her friend’s garage, so she went back to her car and headed for home.

  Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on was nagging at her, and Missy bit her lip, wondering what she should do. It felt a bit like she was being paranoid and over-protective, so she certainly wasn’t going to call the police, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. For the moment, she chalked it up to being exhausted from lack of sleep since Chas had been gone, and tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere, but her mind always seemed to circle back to the fact that it had been quite some time since she’d heard from Carla.

  **

  “Go back and talk to the house sitter later tonight,” Echo encouraged her friend, after having heard the tale.

  Missy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why, I just feel really weird about doing that – like I’m intruding or something,” she shrugged.

  “Probably because you are, but I think Carla should be used to that by now,” Echo teased, though it was true. Missy had been the one to go over and clean the decorator up and make her eat when she went on alcoholic binges after her husband was murdered by her former lover.

  “There’s that,” Missy nodded, still looking uncertain.

  “Oh don’t be such a big chicken,” her friend prodded. “Seriously, just do it. What’s the harm? You care about your friend and you’re checking up on her, no big deal.”

  “I suppose,” was the faint reply.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, do I have to come with you?” Echo said finally, exasperated at her friend’s reluctance.

  “Would you?” Missy’s eyes brightened with hope.

  “You totally just set me up for that, didn’t you?” her friend accused, laughing.

  “Who me? Would I do such a thing?” Missy laid it on thick, exaggerating her southern accent and batting her eyes.

  Echo rolled her eyes.

  “Fine, I’ll go, but this is going to cost you at least a dozen gourmet cupcakes,” she warned.

  Missy nodded happily. “You got it. I’ve been baking up a storm with Chas gone, so that won’t be a problem. You can even stay at my place again and we can bake into the wee hours of the night.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, my dear,” Echo agreed, shaking on it. “When do we go?”

  “Let’s make it after dinner. Maybe Richard will be back from wherever he was by then. Besides, I’m starving and I’m betting that your lasagna is just as good on the second day,” Missy grinned.

  “Nope. It’s better,” her friend winked.

  CHAPTER 9

  Reginald Beckett was on fire. His luck at the tables had been steady since he’d first sat down with a ridiculously strong gin and tonic in hand. The cards fell his way, and the more he won, the more he bet. He may not have access to all of the money that his father had willed to him, but he still had plenty to throw around, and it had been slipping through his fingers like water ever since he’d arrived at the playground of the rich and shameless.

  “Lady Luck is your lover tonight, now isn’t she?” Wendell Shropshire grinned in admiration as he folded another hand, crushed by Reggie once more.

  The Earl of Halsbury had set out to find a sucker who might be easy to swindle out of a few million or so, and he’d had the good fortune to cross paths with Reginald Beckett, a man known for his devil-may-care approach to money, business and life. The Earl’s father had run into Reggie’s father more than once, and had respected him as a titan of commerce, but the younger generation had never chanced to meet…until now.

  From opposite ends of the room, a large man who had accompanied Wendell exchanged an innocent nod with a man of equal size who seemed to hover near Mr. Beckett, who was entirely oblivious to his presence.

  “Lady Luck is on her knees begging for more,” Reggie smirked, with just a hint of a slur.

  “Will you be celebrating tonight then?” the bored Brit asked, his accent making him sound far more intelligent than he was.

  “What’s it to ya, King George?” Reggie snickered.

  “Actually, it’s Earl. Wendell Shropshire, Earl of Halsbury,” Wendell stuck out his hand. Reggie shook it, thinking how weak and clammy it felt.

  “Well, hey there, Wen,” he drawled. “I’m Reg, and I’m not from a royal family. Think we can still be friends?” he grinned.

  “I don’t know. A pedigree is so important you know,” the young Earl rolled his eyes.

  “Well, if Americans had royalty, I’d probably be one,” Reggie leaned over, the aroma of fine alcohol rolling off of him in waves, thinking he was whispering. He wasn’t.

  “Do tell,” Wendell egged him on.

  “My dad owned…kinda everything,” he slurred, noddi
ng solemnly.

  “Is that so?” it was difficult for the Englishman to keep from grinning ear to ear. Looked like he’d found his mark. “Well, that’s all nice for your dad, but I’ll wager that you didn’t collect on all that king’s gold,” he said casually, taking a small sip of his Pimm’s.

  “So you say,” Reggie scoffed, gulping down the rest of his drink. “Let’s get outta here and go act like the royals that we are, my brother.

  He slung his arm around Wendell’s neck, nearly causing both of them to topple to the floor, but Kosta, the Earl’s manservant, was there to save the day, and guided the two men from the casino. The large man in the opposite corner waited a beat, then followed, tapping a message onto the screen of his wristwatch and hitting Send.

  **

  “They’ve found your brother in a casino in Monaco,” Spencer informed Chas, checking his watch.

  “I’m not surprised,” the detective replied dryly. “My father knew what he was doing when he tasked Chalmers with protecting Reggie’s account, and doling out allowances to him. Are we going straight to the casino to get him?”

  Spencer shook his head. “No, we’re going to the hotel to get checked in, and then I have some reconnaissance work to do.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Marine,” Chas growled.

  “I beg your pardon?” the young man’s eyes widened.

  “You did not drag me all the way to Monaco only to have me sit by myself in a hotel room while my brother apparently engages in behavior that could bring the entire Beckett empire crashing down. No way. If you’re going out to find him, or watch him, or interrogate someone, I’m going too. That’s all there is to it,” the detective decreed.

  Spencer knew that arguing wasn’t going to be effective at all, and thought briefly about subduing his boss, but decided against it – Chalmers would not approve.

  “Fine,” he nodded, not saying another word.

  The two men stepped out of the aircraft and into the blazing warmth of the Monaco sun.

  “This way,” Spencer gestured toward a sleek midnight blue Italian convertible.

  “That doesn’t exactly look bullet proof,” Chas mused.

  “No, it isn’t. We want to blend in here. The big limo makes people wonder who’s inside. We don’t need anyone gawking right now,” the Marine explained. Chas stared at him.

  “I’m driving,” he said, daring the young man to tell him otherwise.

  “I assumed you’d want to, that’s why I ordered a car that would be a pleasure,” Spencer replied, getting in the passenger’s side.

  “What about our luggage?”

  “Taken care of.”

  “I’d like to get a bite to eat,” Chas said, climbing into the sporty bucket seat that fit him like it had been tailored for his body. He took in the gleaming wood dash, leather topped stick shift and state of the art stereo system.

  “There’s a little Turkish place on the way to the hotel that’s quite good,” the Marine suggested casually.

  “You know Monaco?” Chas blinked.

  “A bit,” the young man grinned enigmatically, leaving his boss speechless.

  CHAPTER 10

  Missy and Echo pulled up in front of Carla’s house and noticed that there were lights on inside.

  “Looks like either she’s home or the house-sitter is,” Echo remarked.

  “Let’s go see,” Missy replied.

  This time when Missy rang the bell, the door opened almost immediately.

  “Hi,” Richard grinned at seeing the two attractive women on the porch. “Missy, right?” he asked, raising a glass of what looked and smelled like dark, sweet rum.

  “Uh, yes, that’s right. It’s nice to see you again. This is my friend, Echo.”

  She was thrown a bit, because dark rum had been one of Carla’s favorite go-to drinks when she was self-medicating after the death of her husband, but since she’d quit drinking, she never kept alcohol in the house.

  “What can I do for you, ladies?”

  “We were just wondering if you had heard from Carla, or knew when she might be back,” Missy replied.

  Richard shook his head.

  “Nope, I left a couple of messages for her, but I haven’t heard anything yet,” he shrugged.

  “Did she say where she was going?” Echo asked, frowning.

  “No. She kind of left in a hurry.”

  “Are you two friends?” she persisted, far more bold than her southern friend.

  “More like acquaintances. I’m a contractor from Miami. She brought me in to do some work around the house, and when she wanted to leave, she asked if I could house sit while I worked on the renovations,” he explained easily.

  “So, you’re bonded, licensed, insured and all that good stuff,” she nodded.

  “Yes ma’am, scout’s honor,” he held up two fingers, looking more than a bit interested in the inquisitive redhead.

  “You must be highly recommended if Carla brought you in from Miami. She’s a decorator here in Calgon, and knows all of the local guys,” Missy commented.

  “Yep. According to her, she’d seen enough of the work from the local guys to know that she should look elsewhere for someone to work on her own house,” he nodded.

  “That’s odd, she used local guys when she renovated the inn for Missy and Chas, and the downtown revitalization project that she’s working on is using all locals,” Echo remarked.

  “Well, for a downtown project, wouldn’t they kind of have to use local guys, from a PR standpoint?” Richard pointed out.

  Echo nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Is that Carla’s purse?” she asked, looking past him, to a bag that looked like it had fallen down and was partially hidden behind a table in the foyer.

  “Well, it certainly isn’t mine,” he chuckled.

  “But why would her purse be here if she’s traveling?” Missy was alarmed and working very hard not to show it.

  “Have you seen the woman’s closet?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “She has an entire wall of purses, floor to ceiling.”

  “How is it that you’ve seen her closet?” Echo asked. “I mean, house sitters don’t usually come in and take up closet space, right?”

  “You are correct, house sitters probably don’t do that, and as a house sitter, I wouldn’t venture near the homeowner’s closet, but, as her contractor, I’m knocking out walls in there and expanding it, so I’m well aware of what items she has that need to be stored appropriately,” he smirked.

  Echo had the grace to blush. “Oh, well, yeah…that makes sense.”

  “Oh, you do closets?” Missy rescued her friend by asking. “That’s great! I’ve been thinking about getting my closets re-done, do you have a business card or something?” she smiled sweetly, as Echo wondered what on earth she was talking about.

  “I actually don’t have any with me – I ran out last week and the new shipment hasn’t come in, but hang on just a second,” he turned around and headed for the foyer table, finding a notepad and a pen. He scribbled something on the pad, tore off a sheet and came back to the door to hand it to Missy.

  “Here’s my number,” he said, his hand brushing against Missy’s when he handed it to her. She had to fight the urge to recoil from his touch.

  He looked over at Echo. “You can feel free to call too…you know, if you need any projects done around the house,” he flirted, making the hairs on the back of Echo’s neck stand up.

  “Good to know,” she forced a smile. “Well, we don’t want to take up too much of your time. Let that crazy Carla know that we dropped by if you hear from her.”

  “Will do,” he nodded, taking the time to appraise her from head to toe. “You ladies have a good evening,” he raised his glass and shut the door, leaving Missy and Echo staring at each other on the front porch.

  Neither woman spoke until they were in the car and had pulled out of the driveway.

  “Is it just me, or is that guy totally creepy?” Echo shuddered.

  �
�Honey, I’m worried about Carla,” Missy confided, letting her breath out in a rush. “When that man touched my hand, it made my skin crawl.”

  “No kidding. He couldn’t have been more obvious. So, now what do we do?”

  Missy sighed. “I wish I knew. If Chas were here, he could do some checking around without making a big fuss over it.”

  “Well, maybe you could call him, and…” her friend began.

  “No,” Missy cut her off immediately. “Chas is having family time and I’m not going to do anything to interrupt that,” she shook her head vehemently.

  “Well, do you know anyone else on the force who might be able to stop by and have a little chat with Richard? I mean, what if he has Carla locked up in the basement or something?”

  “That’s not funny,” Missy frowned. “I might be able to talk with Jim Reubens. He’s a detective in a different department. He and Chas don’t work together very often, but Chas thinks highly of him, and I think he’s helping out in homicide while Chas is gone. Not that I think this is homicide related at all,” she added quickly.

  “Well, it can’t hurt to give him a call, right? I mean, he may have an objective perspective that will help us to not worry about what seems to be a weird set of circumstances,” Echo pointed out.

  “Or, he may be able to go talk to Richard and see what he thinks.”

  “That, too.”

  “Okay, I’ll give him a call in the morning. So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the evening?” Missy asked, relieved at the thought that help might be on the way in regard to finding Carla.

  “Chick flicks, cupcakes, and happy canines, of course,” Echo grinned.

  “Sounds like just what I need,” Missy nodded happily.

  CHAPTER 11

  Reginald Beckett had a screaming headache that was the result of a three-day hangover. It seemed that his new best friend, Wendell Shropshire, the Earl of Halsbury, enjoyed debauchery just as much, if not more than the American, and the two of them had embarked upon a week-long escapade in and around Monaco, which had involved fast cars, various women, copious amounts of alcohol, and more than one close brush with the law.