Peaches and Creme Killer: Book 6 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  Marilyn snapped the leash onto Benz’s collar, and received a thankful slurp on the cheek for her trouble, much to her delight. She opened the front door and let the dachshund take the lead, his shiny coat gleaming in the sun. Taking him on a short walk, where he obligingly did what he had intended to do, they were on the trip back, when suddenly Marilyn stopped short, her heart pounding in her chest. She saw Echo’s next door neighbor, not Steve, a man on the other side of the cottage, getting into his car, and she turned white as a sheet. Thinking that she had seen a ghost, she stared hard at the man’s car as he drove past, but the angle of the sun prevented her from seeing into it. Convincing herself that she’d just been seeing things, she shook off the extreme case of the willies and continued back to Echo’s, letting Benz take the lead, tail wagging.

  CHAPTER 10

  Timothy Eckels frowned at the remains on the table in front of him. He’d had a strange encounter this morning that had rattled him to his core – he could have sworn that he had seen someone from his past, and that was almost never a good thing – but right now he was entirely focused on the soupy deceased who rested on his table.

  “Were they trying to make a mummy or something?” Fiona asked, peering at the strange way that the body had been wrapped.

  “So it would seem. Preliminary tests of a bit of the cloth indicated the presence of baking soda and salt,” he murmured, using tweezers to gently peel up the edges of one of the strips. “And it looks as though the cloth is linen.”

  “What does all that mean?” she asked, holding an evidence bag open for him.

  “It means, apparently, that a rank amateur decided to try to use the poor man’s version of Egyptian mummification,” Tim dropped a strip of cloth into the bag.

  “How can you tell?” Fiona was mystified. Her boss was a veritable font of creepy trivia, and it never ceased to astound her.

  “Because the Egyptians used natron salts to dry out the remains, and the closest combination of materials to natron that is readily available is normal salt and baking soda,” he explained, never looking up from his work. “I would guess that, once we get her opened up, there’ll be “natron” packets inside the body cavity.”

  “Is that why the internal organs were taken out too? Because the Egyptians did that?” she asked.

  “Yes, although the killer deviated significantly from the Egyptian procedure by suspending the organs in fluid, rather than drying them out.”

  “Why would they do that?” Fiona inquired, sealing one bag shut and marking on it with permanent marker, before setting it aside and opening another.

  “Time, most likely,” Tim was distracted as he peeled away the cloth from the woman’s throat.

  “What do you mean, time?”

  “The Egyptians went through a months-long process during mummification. The body was dried out, the organs were dried out, and some of them were put in jars, while others were placed back inside the body. Each step had a meaning, and each had a prescribed time period for desiccation to set in. Chances are, if this killer was looking to dispose of a body, they just wrapped it up and threw it in a barrel, thinking that if they sealed it, the mummy would be preserved. Clearly, they knew more about Egyptology than biology,” he made a face.

  Fiona was about to make a rather morbidly funny comment, when the two of them were startled by the door of the lab bursting open and admitting a well-dressed man with a determined look on his face.

  “Excuse me, sir, this is a restricted access area,” Fiona came out from her side of the table, holding a baggie with a brown, soggy strip of linen in it. “You’ll have to exit right over there,” she gestured to the door with her free hand.

  “I have authorization,” he reached into his sport coat and produced a badge, which Fiona moved closer to peer at.

  “That’s not Calgon PD,” she looked at him skeptically. “Let me get Detective Beckett on the line, while you wait in the office,” she ordered, pointing toward a different door.

  “Not necessary,” the investigator gave her a tight, somehow supercilious smile. “Chas sent me over here to see what preliminary findings you’ve come up with.”

  Tim and Fiona exchanged a glance, clearly thinking that something was amiss.

  Frustrated at having his work interrupted, Tim put down his instruments, and peered at the investigator through his thick lenses.

  “We haven’t had a chance to get to the lab yet,” he blatantly lied, something Fiona had never seen her boss do…ever. “We’ve been focused on gathering samples and taking inventory of the items that were found with the body. I have a couple of other cases that I’m working on as well, and haven’t devoted a tremendous amount of attention to this case, as yet.”

  “Are you Eckels?” the man asked, staring hard at the M.E.

  “I am.”

  “I’m Special Investigator Merrill Rackett, and I want those preliminary results just as soon as you get your hands on them, savvy?” He managed to appear intimidating, despite keeping his distance from the M.E., whose gloves were covered with a vile-smelling sticky substance.

  “Rather unfortunate name for an investigator,” Tim blinked at the man. Fiona snickered.

  “Yeah, funny man, I never heard that one before,” Rackett drawled sarcastically. “Just send me the reports. I’ll leave my card on your desk on my way out,” he demanded, apparently having tired of masquerading as a polite human being.

  “You have a great day, too,” Fiona called after him, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Rackett didn’t bother to turn around, so he missed seeing the Medical Examiner staring thoughtfully after him until he left the building.

  “Wow, that guy was pleasant,” Fiona remarked dryly.

  “The living can be difficult,” Tim mused, picking up his instruments once more.

  CHAPTER 11

  Chas Beckett had had a long night, and it was shaping up to be an even longer day. He’d met with the Mayor, who had encouraged him to “embrace the resources,” that the gubernatorial candidate was providing. No matter what argument he presented, it was clear that he was going to be stuck working with Merrill Rackett, who had a reputation of being a take-charge guy who knew how to make things happen, at least according to Tom Chase and the Mayor.

  Every bit of information that Chas had gathered so far in the case had been copied and was now in the possession of the out-of-towner. He’d kept the originals and left Chas with the copies of his own reports. The whole thing set the detective’s teeth on edge, but he’d experienced enough in the political realm to know that once the bulldozer of politics started rolling, it was easier to stand back and watch it roll by, rather than trying to block it and being flattened.

  The truth of the matter was that, with just a phone call or two, Chas Beckett could have the entire matter taken care of by far more prominent folks in positions of power, but he chose not to pull rank, despite the fact that he had connections. The detective had been raised in a profoundly wealthy family in upstate New York, and was proud to be the outlier who had chosen to have a career in law enforcement rather than running his father’s business. He now had more money than he would ever need, having received his inheritance when his father passed, but preferred to spend his time and money helping others.

  The detective had been surprised when the address for the former owner of Ed Jabrowski’s house came up. It was in a part of town that represented a definite step down on the socio-economic scale. He pulled his nondescript beige police sedan to a stop in front of a small ranch home with weeds in the yard, and a mail box stuffed with mail.

  He rang the doorbell once, with no response from within. When he rang it again, a voice that sounded scared called out, “Who is it? What do you want?”

  Chas pulled out his badge and held it up in front of the peephole.

  “Detective Chas Beckett. I’d just like to speak briefly with Arnold Shelby, if I may,” he said pleasantly, knowing that one could catch more bees with honey.


  The door opened a crack, the chain still pulled across.

  “I’m Arnold. What do you want? I already told the other guy everything I know, which is nothing,” the man answered.

  Chas sighed. Rackett had already begun to interfere in his investigation.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Shelby, but I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind. If you don’t feel comfortable chatting here, I’d be happy to buy you a cup of coffee at the diner down the road,” the detective offered, wondering what Rackett had said to make this guy so nervous.

  “I’m busy, I can’t,” Arnold Shelby said, moving to shut the door.

  Chas propped it open with the toe of his shoe.

  “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you, here,” Chas moved closer to the opening so that he could look Shelby in the eye. “That investigator is trying to get me fired because he wants my job,” the detective lied smoothly. “If I don’t get some sort of a statement from you, I could be out of a job. I don’t think I’m going to learn anything important from you at all, honestly, but I have to get something down on paper before I go back to the office. Can you cut me a little slack here?” he asked, pleased to see Arnold’s expression waver.

  “I’m going to leave my car here and walk down to the diner. If you haven’t joined me in ten minutes, I’m going to go back to the office and start boxing up my stuff. Be a good neighbor, and have a cup of coffee with me,” Chas said, moving his foot and heading down the steps. The door slowly clicked shut.

  After tasting what passed for coffee at Jocko’s Diner, Chas now knew why Kel always went to Betty’s where the coffee was hot and tasty, just like the food, and Betty was a reliable source of information on Calgon and its citizens. He glanced at his watch. Eight minutes had passed and there was no sign of Arnold Shelby. Sighing, he was about to signal for his check, when the front door bonged, and Shelby walked in, looking more than a bit nervous. Chas indicated the red laminated seat on the other side of the booth from him, and Arnold sat.

  The man was pitifully thin, and seemed as though he couldn’t sit still, but he was clean, and looked like he had a fresh haircut. His clothing was worn, but of good quality.

  “Hungry?” Chas asked.

  “A little,” Arnold replied, glancing nervously about.

  “Get some breakfast then, my treat. I hate eating alone.” Chas had no desire to eat anything from this particular establishment, but if it helped this hungry and nervous man to relax and start talking, he’d try to force something down.

  Slowly, over the course of plates full of eggs, ham, hash browns and pancakes, washed down with acrid ashtray coffee, Arnold Shelby began to talk.

  “So, you heard about what was found in the house that you used to own?” Chas asked, and Shelby nodded, scooping in mouthfuls of egg like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  “Did you know it was there?”

  “I knew there was a barrel under the house. The inspector pointed it out when I bought the place, but when I tried to move it, it didn’t budge, so I figured I’d just leave it alone,” he shrugged, pouring half a pitcher of hot, buttered maple syrup onto his pancakes.

  “So, it was there before you moved in?”

  Arnold nodded. “Yup, just like I told the other guy.”

  Chas took that as a warning not to pursue that particular line of conversation, and switched tactics.

  “It must’ve been really disturbing when you saw on the news that there was a body in there,” he commented, putting salt, pepper and catsup on his fried potatoes in an attempt to make them more palatable, or at least moist enough to swallow.

  “Gave me nightmares,” the man shuddered. “To think that I slept in a house and ate dinner and had friends over, all while a body was in the crawl space – it makes me just sick,” he replied, still going to town on his breakfast.

  “You must be glad that you decided to move,” Chas remarked, washing down the dry and tasteless carbs with some of the sour and burnt coffee.

  Arnold actually stopped the constant motion of his fork for a moment and stared at the detective.

  “You can’t be serious,” Shelby looked at him, incredulous.

  “What?” the detective asked innocently, focusing on his dry white toast, which was covered with a sticky mass that was pretending to be strawberry preserves.

  “You’ve seen the dump that I live in now. Do you think I would have willingly relocated to that neighborhood and that house?” he sighed in disgust and took a huge bite of ham.

  “What happened?” Chas asked casually.

  “You’re a cop, I’m sure you’ve seen my record, so I’m not about to sit here and recite it for you.”

  “So, it was the gambling,” the detective stated.

  “And the drugs. There, I said it. Are you happy?”

  “To see the downfall of a good man? Hardly,” Chas finally looked up from his plate.

  Emotional, Arnold put down his fork and stared into his half-empty coffee cup.

  “I lost it all, man, my business, my house, my girl. Gone. All of it,” his voice broke a bit at the end of his sentence.

  “Your wife left you?”

  “Fiancee,” Shelby replied bitterly. “She said she could handle having to work for her whole life, but not if it was to support my habits.”

  “Whatever happened to her?” Chas asked, biting into a piece of stretchy bacon.

  “No idea, I didn’t care what happened to her after she left.”

  “What’d she look like?” the detective asked casually, hoping that Arnold wouldn’t see the pattern in his line of questioning.

  “See, if the other cop had been like this, you know, just a couple of guys talking, I would’ve been more cooperative, but he came on all accusatory, and I’m not going to stand for that. I may have had my issues in the past, but I’m an upstanding citizen now.”

  “So, since we’re just a couple of guys talking…was she pretty?”

  “Oh man, it hurts she was so pretty. Beautiful brown hair and eyes, these great legs…it’s just not fair,” Arnold shook his head with a rueful smile.

  “I hear you,” Chas nodded. “So, what are you up to these days, now that you’ve turned your life around?”

  “The only job I could get as a felon is bagging groceries at the store. I do my community service by volunteering for the Fire Department. I’d been doing that for years, so the judge let me keep going with it.”

  A flag went up in the back of Chas’s brain.

  “Firefighter, huh?” he nodded, actually impressed. “That’s pretty cool. How many years have you been doing that?”

  “Seven years or so,” Arnold finally stacked his empty plates and pushed them to the edge of the table for the server to pick up. “Look, man, I appreciate that you had to talk to me to get things square at work, but are we done yet? I actually do have things to get done today.”

  “Sure thing,” Chas nodded, eyeing his own, barely touched, breakfast. “Hey, sometimes the boss requires follow-ups, so I may have to bug you again,” the detective said, making a face.

  “No sweat, man. Lunch next time?” he grinned, standing up.

  “Maybe so,” Chas nodded, shaking hands with Arnold before he left.

  The detective would be keeping his notes at home, and filing an official report sometime later, not wanting to tip his hand to Rackett, who might blaze in with rockets firing and ruin the entire investigation. He fully realized that this man who may have committed a heinous crime years ago, and was just starting to make something of his life in the only way he knew how, would be tossed into jail for the rest of his life, but that was what the law would demand. The beleaguered man would be treated with much more dignity if Chas took him in, than if Rackett got his hands on him.

  The detective had been willing to believe in Shelby’s innocence all along, right up until he’d said that he volunteered at the Fire Department. Chas had enough experience with fire stations to know that the flame retardant foam that was used, happ
ened to ship to the stations in plastic barrels, much like the one that had been found in Arnold’s former crawl space. The detective’s quest now, was to find out the name of Shelby’s ex-girlfriend and look into which records were available that might be able to be compared with the samples that Timothy Eckels was gathering.

  Since Tom Chase had magnanimously suggested that Chas take a vacation day, he’d use the time today to do some digging into Arnold Shelby’s life and circumstances, hoping to find a clue as to whom he had murdered and why. He holed up in his study, after checking to make certain that Tom Chase hadn’t planted any listening devices while they visited (one can’t be too careful when dealing with political types), and started checking various sources and databases, on a determined hunt to discover who the mysterious girlfriend might be.

  When several attempts turned into dead ends, the detective picked up the phone and dialed Timothy Eckels’ number.

  “Yes, Detective,” Tim answered, as Fiona held the phone to his ear. His hands were rather messy at the moment.

  “Any news on our barrel case?” Chas asked.

  Fiona came on the line, apparently taking advantage of her boss’s current inability to snatch the phone from her.

  “Hiya, Detective Beckett. Hey – who was that self-important schlub who showed up here trying to bully the boss man?” she demanded, enjoying the opportunity to flirt with “Detective Tall-Dark-and-Handsome.”

  Chas sighed. “I see you’ve met Rackett. Let me talk to Tim, please.”

  “Sure thing.” There was some clunking as she positioned the phone next to her boss’s ear again.

  “Tim?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell Rackett anything?”

  “Absolutely not,” the M.E. replied mildly, sounding distracted.

  Chas breathed a sigh of relief. “I appreciate that. What do we know so far?”

  “Female, age is somewhere between late twenties to mid-thirties, I’d say, brunette,” Tim paused and the detective guessed, accurately, that the M.E. was still working as they spoke.