Marshmallow Creme Killer: Book 7 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 5

  In the midst of all of the frat boy revelry, there had somehow been paperwork signed in which Reggie had promised to pay off the debts of the young Earl, and give him controlling interest in one of the Beckett companies in exchange for a detailed analysis on the secret, ground-breaking research of one of their competitors, who just happened to be a foreign government. How the young Earl came to procure such knowledge and documents was a bit of a mystery, but, with alcohol-fueled confidence and an extreme air of self-importance, Reggie had signed the paperwork, and the celebrating had been kicked up a notch.

  Reg and ‘Wen’ had made their home base for the past week aboard a yacht that Reggie had rented, planning to write it off as a business expense. Currently, the Beckett heir was lying on a lounge chair by the pool, the area around him littered with towels, various bikini parts, and empty bar glasses. The slight sway of the luxurious vessel was making his stomach churn abominably, and his arm was thrown over his eyes to block out the piercing rays of the sun.

  “Reginald,” a familiar voice cut through the fog of his misery.

  “Charles?” he opened his bloodshot eyes to blink blearily at his brother. “Don’t tell me you finally decided to give up your pitiful job in that drab little town and actually enjoy the resources at your disposal,” the degenerate mocked the detective, throwing his arm back over his eyes.

  “Get up, Reginald,” Chas said evenly, tossing a towel onto his brother’s nude form. “And cover yourself. I can only imagine what the tabloids have been publishing about your exploits.”

  “Oh great. Am I in trouble again with my uptight brother?” Reggie drawled, not moving a muscle.

  “Shall I assist him?” Spencer asked Chas.

  Reggie, hearing an unfamiliar voice, removed his arm from his eyes and sat up slowly, glancing around to see who was present, and turning a frightening shade of green. He swallowed hard, and his stomach hitched a couple of times.

  “Don’t you dare…” his brother warned.

  His words went unheeded, and Reggie leaned to the side, emptying the contents of his stomach beside the lounger.

  “No offense, Sir, but I’m not riding with him,” Spencer informed Chas, his disgust evident.

  “Neither am I, Spence. Get a driver here, and tell him to bring a bucket. Do you have intravenous supplies available?” the detective asked.

  “With a phone call,” the Marine nodded.

  “Make it happen,” the detective turned his attention back to the pitiful figure of a man in front of him, who was now dabbing at his mouth with the corner of a towel. “You have ten minutes to get dressed and pull yourself together,” he ordered, surveying the mess that was his brother.

  “Says you.” Reggie was weakly petulant.

  “Chas, really, it’s no trouble, I can just…” Spencer stepped forward.

  The detective put up a hand to stop him.

  “No, I’ve got this. Go make your phone calls and check on the ETA of the driver. I’m going to have a little chat with my brother.”

  By the time the driver, in a very inconspicuous sedan, arrived at the marina, a stone-faced Chas had managed to get his foul-smelling, wild-haired brother into a pair of plaid board shorts, and a crumpled blue button-down, the only clean items of clothing on board.

  “Where’s Wen?” Reginald muttered, trailing behind his brother unsteadily.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chas replied, his words clipped.

  “My buddy, Wendell…where’d he go?”

  “Don’t say another word,” his brother directed, leading him to the car where a plainclothes driver held the back door open, as Spencer scanned the area. “You have a lot of explaining to do, but for now, sit down, hold your bucket and try to conduct yourself with some common decency. I’ll see you at the house,” he directed, slamming the door behind Reggie.

  After having spent the week in a luxury hotel, Spencer and Chas had decided that they’d be much more covert if they rented a house, where they could come and go without being seen by so many people. It would also be easier to detect if they were being watched, and defend their position if necessary, in an area where the population wasn’t quite so dense.

  Spencer and Chas pulled the convertible directly into the garage of their rental home. The door had opened upon their arrival, and Reggie’s driver pulled in behind them. The look on his face when he got out to open the door for his wan passenger, told the tale of what his ride to the house had been like, and he spoke vehemently to Spencer, in French. Spencer answered him easily and peeled several hundred dollar bills from a money clip to placate the irate man.

  “I had no idea that you spoke fluent French, Spence,” Chas commented as he pushed his brother toward the entrance to the house.

  “I speak several languages,” the Marine shrugged. “It comes in handy.”

  Reginald was led to a guest room, where an armed guard, who administered IV fluids to rehydrate him and make him somewhat functional, made sure that he didn’t leave his room. Shortly after the needle was placed in his arm, Reggie fell fast asleep, and stayed that way for several hours.

  CHAPTER 12

  Missy dialed the phone after she and Echo took the dogs out the next morning, and asked for Detective Jim Reubens.

  “Reubens,” he answered, sounding busy.

  Missy cringed, but gave it a shot anyway.

  “Good morning, Detective. I don’t know if you’ll remember me. We met at the New Year’s gala. My husband Chas works in homicide and…” she began.

  “Oh, yes! Melissa, of course I remember you. Is everything okay?” he sounded concerned, much to Missy’s relief.

  “Well, Chas and I are both fine, but there is something that I’m concerned about. I don’t know if I’m just overreacting, but I was hoping that you might be able to help me, since Chas is out of town,” she heard herself babbling.

  “I’ll certainly try. What’s up?”

  Missy explained the situation with Carla, being as brief as she could, in consideration of the busy detective’s time.

  “I see. Well, it sounds like you may have a legitimate concern. Let me do some checking around and see what I can find out for you,” Jim offered.

  “Oh, Detective, that would make me feel so much better, thank you,” Missy breathed.

  “Anytime. I’ll give you a call as soon as I can,” he promised.

  She thanked him again and hung up, hoping that he’d find Carla, safe and sound and on vacation, but thinking that that didn’t seem likely.

  **

  Thankfully, there hadn’t been too many crimes that required a full-scale investigation happening around Calgon, because Detective Jim Reubens was buried in paperwork. He had put off his least favorite part of the job for a while, and was now paying the price for it. He hadn’t seen the outside of his office, other than to head to the diner for a bite to eat, or to drive home for the evening, in the past several days.

  The call from Beckett's wife may not have been enough to initiate a serious investigation, but going out there to poke around and ask some questions might give him a chance to stretch his legs and get some fresh air, so he welcomed the opportunity. Besides, he secretly thought that Chas’s wife was just the sweetest woman he’d ever met, and the truth was, he’d do just about anything she asked, thinking all the while that Beckett was an incredibly lucky man.

  “Good morning, I’m Detective Jim Reubens with the Calgon police department, may I come in?” Jim asked when Richard opened the door to Carla’s house.

  “Sure, Detective, come on in,” the tall man who looked like he worked hard for a living opened the door wider to let Jim in.

  “And you are Miss Carla’s house sitter?” Reubens asked when Richard shut the door.

  “Yep, that would be me,” Richard nodded, indicating that the detective should follow him to the kitchen, where he had apparently been sitting with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? It’s fresh.”

 
“Sure thing,” Jim agreed looking around the home. “Black please.”

  “Just the way I like it, too- straight up, no nonsense,” Richard commented, taking a mug from the cabinet and pouring a cup.

  “Thanks,” the detective said, taking the steaming mug and sitting down at the kitchen table, across from where the house sitter had been reading the paper. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself,” Richard chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t get much company at this hour, your visit threw me a little bit,” he confessed. “I’m Richard, Richard Morgan,” he shook the detective’s hand.

  “A pleasure,” Jim replied. “So, you’re in contracting?”

  “Yes, sir, been doing it for nearly twenty years now.”

  “What kind of work are you doing out here? It seems to me that a decorator would already have everything taken care of,” the detective snickered.

  “Well, she is a bit of a taskmaster, I’ll tell you that,” Richard confided. “But most of the stuff that I’m taking care of is more structural in nature, not decorative. I’ve done some work on shoring up the foundation, I’m taking measurements for rebuilding or possibly replacing the deck, and if I do that, she wants me to add more decking and potentially a pool, depending on the cost, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jim nodded. “Mind if I take a look around?”

  “Not at all. You want me to come with you, or are you just gonna wander?”

  “I’ll just wander, no biggie.”

  “Alrighty, you let me know if you need anything,” Richard replied amiably, raising his cup.

  “Will do.”

  The detective took a few last swallows of the impressively good coffee, and headed toward the back of the house. The living room was spotless, so he headed down the hall. The first door to the right was a guest bathroom. It too, was perfectly clean, and had some toiletries on the shelf in the shower and in the cabinet above the sink that clearly belonged to Richard Morgan. Finding nothing of consequence, he moved further down the hall, to the bedroom that contained Richard’s belongings. Everything was tidy- even the bed was made, and the curtains were pulled back to let in the sunshine. The next guest bedroom looked like it was a designer hotel room that had never been slept in, and Reubens moved on quickly.

  The master suite was fresh and feminine, resplendent in pinks, oranges and reds that made the detective think of sunrises and tropical drinks. He stepped briefly into the master bath and huge walk-in closet. The drawers in the master bath contained plenty of cosmetics, perfumes and toiletries that made him wonder if she bought new items to travel with. The clothing in her closet was arranged by season, item type and color, making the detective wonder how someone with such a busy schedule had time to do that type of organization, but then again, she was a decorator.

  Nothing unusual turned up in the family room, office or basement, and when he went in the utility room to look at the crawl space, he saw evidence of Richard having worked on the foundation, just like he’d said. Glancing out into the back yard, he saw orange flags around the deck, marking the area that was slated for the deck expansion project.

  “Looks like you’ve made some progress in the crawl space,” he observed, coming back into the kitchen, where Richard was still reading the paper.

  “Yep, it’s nice to be able to stay here and work on the project whenever I feel like it,” the house sitter set the paper down. “Can I get you another cup?” he gestured to the detective’s half-empty mug.

  “No, thanks, I’ve gotta get going. I’m buried in paperwork down at the station.”

  Jim reached into the inside pocket of his linen sport coat, grabbing a card with his contact information on it, and a picture of Carla that he’d printed off of the internet.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing Richard a card. “Call me if you hear from Carla, please. I’ve gotta go hunting around town now, to see if anyone has heard from this little gal,” he waved the picture.

  “Really? Who’s that?” Richard asked, curious.

  Detective Jim Reubens stared at him for a moment, confused.

  “Who’s this?” he clarified the house sitter’s question, showing him the picture.

  Richard nodded. “She’s cute,” he commented.

  The detective blinked for a moment.

  “I think I’m going to have to have you come down to the station for a bit,” he said slowly, watching the house sitter.

  “No problem, but why?”

  “The woman in this picture is Carla Mayhew, the woman you’re house sitting for,” he said slowly, gauging Richard’s reaction.

  “Well, that’s mighty strange, because that woman,” he pointed at the photo. “Is definitely not the woman who I met and am house sitting for.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Reginald Beckett woke up from his nap not knowing where he was, but strangely feeling much better. There was a thickly muscled and heavily armed man in a chair in the corner of his room, who tapped out a message on his wristwatch as soon as he saw Reggie stir.

  “Who the heck are you? And where am I?” he demanded, seeing unfamiliar surroundings and noting the IV in his arm with a degree of alarm.

  “Would you care for some lunch, Mr. Beckett?” the young man asked.

  “Would I…yes, now that you mention it, I am rather hungry, but I want some answers first, buddy,” he snapped.

  The door to the room opened and Chas walked in with Spencer.

  “Thank you, Bryson, that’ll be all for now,” the Marine nodded at the guard, who left without a word.

  “Is all of this cloak and dagger stuff really necessary?” Reggie groused, running a hand through his hair. “And what’s with this hospital stuff?” he held up the arm with the IV.

  Spencer went over wordlessly, ripped back the tape holding the IV in place with a practiced touch, and slipped the needle out before Reginald knew what was happening. He grabbed a gauze patch that had been left on the night stand and pressed it against the site.

  “Hold down firmly on this for a few seconds,” he instructed, then stepped away.

  “And what’s with the goons that are following you around, Charles? Did you join the Mafia while I’ve been gone?” he made a face at Spencer.

  “Let’s get one thing straight before you open your mouth again, dear brother,” Chas said evenly. “You’re in no position to be asking questions. I’m the one who’s going to be doing that, and you’re going to tell me everything.”

  “Oh what has your panties in a bunch now? Are you sore because I lost a few bucks at the casino?”

  “You didn’t lose a few bucks, you lost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and had to be escorted out on multiple occasions for either being unruly, or because you were so drunk that you couldn’t see straight, much less walk, but no, I don’t give a flying fig about your sophomoric shenanigans. We have much more important issues to discuss.”

  “Oh relax, Chazzie, you’re always so serious, you really need to lighten up. And just so you know, I’m not talking to anyone about anything until I get some food and a pot of coffee,” Reggie folded his arms over his chest, looking much like a petulant three year old.

  Chas looked at Spencer, who nodded and tapped out a brief message on his watch. Moments later, an older woman appeared carrying a tray laden with food and a pot of strong coffee.

  “Wow, well isn’t that just magical?” sarcasm dripped from Reggie’s lips. “You just tap on your special watch and food appears. Bravo, Charles, I didn’t realize your goon was a genie. Your wish is my command,” he mocked, grabbing a sandwich from the tray that the woman had placed on a rolling table that extended over the bed.

  She looked at him with an eyebrow raised, but said nothing, and left the room as quickly and silently as she had entered it.

  “Were you always this obnoxious, or have you been honing it over the years?” Chas asked, watching his brother wolf down the exquisitely prepared food.


  “Oh, please,” Reggie rolled his eyes. “Just because you choose to be the caped crusader and live among the riff-raff doesn’t mean you’re in any position to judge the rest of us,” he said, through a mouthful of food.

  He swallowed, took a huge swig of coffee and picked up a quiche tart from the tray, consuming half of it in one bite.

  “Manners and decorum aren’t reserved exclusively for the upper echelons,” Chas pointed out mildly, sitting in a wing-back chair by the bed.

  Spencer stood in the corner, observing, arms crossed.

  “So what’s the problem? What is it that brings my uptight brother all the way to Monaco with his…companion?” he waggled his eyebrows in a lewd manner. Spencer’s expression never changed, nor did his brother’s.

  “You signed some sort of contract with someone earlier this week. We need to know who it was and what you signed.”

  Reggie stopped chewing for a moment, and looked pained.

  “I…don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” he shrugged, reaching for a dish of caviar.

  Chas sprang from his chair, grabbed the edge of the table and snatched it out of his brother’s reach.

  “Hey!” Reginald protested, as Chas gripped the front of the man’s shirt and brought them nose to nose.

  “Now you listen to me and you listen good…whatever you pulled nearly got Chalmers killed. He’s still not completely recovered, so you’d better start talking now, or I won’t be responsible for my actions,” the detective ground out, his voice low and threatening, while Spencer continued impassively looking on.

  “Chalmers?” Reggie looked uncertain for the first time.

  “Chalmers,” Chas repeated, releasing his brother’s shirt and shoving him back against the pillows.

  He headed back to his chair and sat down, his eyes shooting daggers in his brother’s direction.

  “Now, start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out,” the detective ordered, running an exasperated hand through his hair and taking a deep breath to try and calm down.