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

  “Your guy is a target.”

  “A physical target?” a vein popped out in the middle of the Marine’s forehead.

  “Not so far, but I’m guessing that if the smear tactics don’t work, anything is possible.”

  “Explain,” Spencer demanded.

  “They’re trying to discredit him,” Janssen shrugged.

  “Why?”

  “Who knows? My guess is that he knows too much about somebody or something,” Janssen drawled, switching his ever-present toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “I wonder if we need to bring Chalmers in on this,” Spencer said, referring to the caretaker of the mansion and other assets that Chas’s family owned. “Knowing him, he’s probably already got somebody on the inside,” the Marine replied. “Find out.”

  “You got it. I’ve been having to be in public more than I like lately. I’ll be glad when this mess is over with,” Janssen grumbled.

  “That makes two of us. I’ll see if I can find out what Chas knows, and in the meantime we need to be his shadows,” Spencer’s jaw flexed.

  “On it,” his buddy downed the rest of his beer and slipped back out into the night, not even disturbing so much as a blade of grass.

  CHAPTER 15

  Detective Chas Beckett felt as though he was running out of time. It appeared that Tom Chase’s minion, Merrill Rackett, would stop at nothing to find a quick and easy resolution to a case that was at least a couple of years old. Answers to crime scenes like the one beneath Ed Jabrowski’s house were rarely quick and easy, however.

  Chas had done a search for Amber Jones, Arnold Shelby’s ex-girlfriend, and hadn’t come up with anything. The girl just seemed to have vanished, without leaving behind friends, family, or former employment records. It was almost as though she’d never existed, which the detective found to be extremely odd. Shelby may have erased his girlfriend’s existence entirely when he killed her, if indeed Amber Jones was the mystery lady in the barrel.

  Arnold Shelby’s ex-wife, however, appeared to be alive and well, and living in Calgon, so that’s where the detective was planning to start his morning. He pulled up in front of a rather ordinary-looking grey ranch house with white trim, thinking that Arnie’s ex-wife had seemed to fare better in life than Arnie had, though not in the upper echelons by any means. A brand new bright yellow German sports car sat in the driveway, in stark contrast to the homemade-looking curtains that hung in the windows of the simple home.

  When he rang the doorbell, the door was flung open immediately, as though whomever was on the other side of it had been waiting for him.

  “Yeah? Whaddya want?” a tall, robust woman with clearly artificial auburn hair asked, popping her gum.

  She wore an expensive perfume that Chas recognized, and so much of it that it nearly made his eyes water. She also wore a pink and white jogging suit that looked like it would have been far more appropriate on someone at least ten years younger, and three huge, glittering rings on each hand, reminding the detective somewhat of a woman who might be the mother of a recently successful rock star.

  “Good morning, I’m Detective Chas Beckett with CPD, I’m looking for Jen Shelby,” he replied with a smile.

  “It ain’t Shelby no more, and hasn’t been for quite a while,” she frowned, leaning against the door frame in a manner that he supposed made her feel like she appeared to be seductive.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. May I come in?”

  “What for?” she narrowed her heavily made-up eyes, still letting them travel up and down the detective from head to toe, leaving him feeling a bit like a side of beef hanging in a butcher’s window.

  He sighed inwardly, not looking forward to having one-on-one time with Jen whatever-her-name-is-now, but knowing that she might have information that would be beneficial. There was only one way that he was going to get in that door, and he used it, exaggerating only slightly. Leaning in, he spoke in a low voice.

  “Look Jen, you look like a smart woman, so, it may get me in trouble, but I want to be totally honest with you.”

  The brassy woman’s eyes widened. She was hooked.

  “I think your life may be in danger, and personally, I don’t want to see an upstanding citizen like you get hurt,” Chas made his eyes dart back and forth, as though seeing danger lurking around every corner.

  Jen looked past him, up the street and down, a tinge of fear in her eyes.

  “Come in,” she whispered, beckoning him urgently and shutting the door behind him, locking the deadbolt. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m still gathering evidence to figure that out,” Chas replied, furrowing his brow as though deeply concerned. “I need you to help me out here.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, taking a seat on the worn couch, and gesturing to the threadbare recliner across from it for the detective. Chas sat, taking care not to sink down into it.

  “When did you last see your ex-husband?” he asked, as though her life depended on it, and perhaps it did.

  Jen made a face. “It’s been years. If I ever see that cheating weasel again, it’ll be too soon,” she sneered.

  Chas made an effort to look astounded.

  “Arnold Shelby cheated…on you???”

  “I know, right? I couldn’t believe it either. Worthless little troll,” she shook her head.

  “Who could he have possibly found to draw his attention away from you?” the detective sounded mildly incredulous and entirely sympathetic.

  “A younger broad, of course, that’s what they all do,” she rolled her eyes in disgust. “He was stupid enough to believe that she was really interested in him. That little brat had dollar signs in her eyes, but the joke was on her. I took Arnie to the cleaners in the divorce,” she grinned nastily.

  “Sounds appropriate,” Chas nodded with understanding. “Did you ever have any interactions with the girlfriend?”

  “Coupla cat fights, nothing big,” Jen shrugged. “She got what she deserved, as far as I’m concerned,” she smiled like the cat who ate the canary.

  “Oh, and what was that?” the detective asked innocently.

  Jen’s eyes suddenly darted about, and her demeanor changed dramatically.

  “Uh…Arnie was broke, so she got no money. Then they fought all the time, and I think he broke up with her,” she said hurriedly. “Listen, it was nice talking to you and all, but I got things to do, you know?”

  Clearly the interview was over. Jen rose from the couch, went to the door and opened it, indicating that Chas should go.

  “Thank you so much for your time,” the detective shook her hand. “Make sure you lock your doors and windows, and call 911 if you see anything suspicious,” he cautioned, continuing his ruse.

  “Oh, one last quick question before I go…that’s a great car you’ve got, when did you buy it?”

  Jen bit her lip and didn’t meet his eyes.

  “I didn’t buy it. It was a…gift. From my uncle.”

  “Wish I had and uncle like that,” Chas chuckled, then grew serious again. “You take care, Jen.”

  “You too, detective,” she nodded quickly and shut the door in his face.

  Chas got in his car, pretending to fiddle with something on the dash, and memorized the license number of the expensive car.

  **

  When the detective headed to the police station to make an appearance and check in to see what notes Rackett had made on the case, he was more than surprised to see a gaggle of press gathered at the entrance to the station, with Merrill Rackett addressing them.

  “…apparently, Mr. Shelby knew that we were close to gathering all of the necessary evidence to charge him with murder, and he chose the coward’s way out,” Rackett announced in response to a reporter’s question.

  Chas had heard enough, and slipped around the side of the building, entering through the back, to avoid the media circus out front.

  “Grace,” he asked one of the secretaries in a low voice. “What�
�s going on out there?”

  Her eyes widened and she spoke in hushed tones.

  “Investigator Rackett went over to arrest that man who put the woman in the barrel, and found that he’d already killed himself, can you imagine?”

  Chas frowned.

  “Did he call the M.E. to pick up the remains?”

  “I don’t think so. I think he had a local doc determine the cause of death, so that he didn’t have to disturb the Medical Examiner.”

  “Makes sense,” Chas nodded, alarms pealing madly in his head. “Thanks, Grace,” he smiled, and headed for the back door.

  **

  “Beckett,” Merrill Rackett called out, having spotted the detective getting into his car. “Hold up a minute.”

  “Great work, Merrill,” Chas complimented the smug SI when he approached the car. “I’m impressed.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” Rackett said magnanimously.

  “Glad that one is closed. What a mess,” the detective sighed with mock relief.

  “You and me both, buddy,” Merrill nodded.

  “Are you going to stick around for a while? We could use a guy like you around here.”

  “Sorry, my man. My work here is done, it’s back to the big city I go. All this small town drama makes me itch,” he curled his lip.

  “I hear ya,” Chas nodded. “Got time for dinner before you head out?” he asked, hoping that the answer was no.

  “Nope, my ride is taking me to the airport in an hour. I’d take a raincheck, but I don’t see myself ever coming back to this burg, so…” Rackett shrugged.

  “Nice working with you,” Chas shook his hand.

  “Likewise.”

  Good. With Rackett out of his hair, he’d be able to figure out what had really happened.

  CHAPTER 16

  Marilyn came back from taking the dogs for an early morning romp in the park while Echo showered, and found Timothy Eckels standing on the front porch, holding a Key Lime pie.

  “My grandmother made the best Key Lime pies,” he said, blinking rapidly.

  “I know, Tim. You’ve told me that several times,” Marilyn said, wondering how her new friends, Missy and Echo, weren’t leery of this strange man.

  “I didn’t mean to…” Tim began haltingly.

  “This guy bothering you?” Loud Steve had wandered over, beer in hand, much to Marilyn’s relief. His kind of strange she could deal with.

  “No,” Tim answered before Marilyn could.

  “Buzz off, freak,” Steve gestured with his head that the mortician should leave.

  “She likes them,” Tim said to Marilyn, handing her the pie, then he headed down the steps. When he came alongside his brash neighbor, the unkempt man belched in his face.

  Tim’s mouth dropped open in horror, and he scurried toward home.

  “Wow, you’re a real Prince Charming,” Marilyn observed sarcastically.

  “You’re welcome,” Steve toasted her with his beer.

  “Breakfast of champions?” she asked snidely, then was struck with a brilliant idea.

  If Tim had given her a laxative loaded pie again, despite his insistence that he hadn’t done that the first time, she’d just pass it on to Steve.

  “You know it,” he grinned, taking another gulp.

  “Why don’t you have some of this to go with your beer?” she offered him the pie. “It’s made from fruit, so it’ll be healthier,” she informed him, biting the side of her cheek to keep from giggling.

  “Well, that’s mighty neighborly of ya. Care to join me?” he leered.

  “More than anything, but I already have plans,” she brushed him off expertly, and he trundled toward home, pie in hand, unaware of the glare that he was receiving from Timothy Eckels, who had witnessed the exchange from his side window.

  “I can’t wait to repay the favor,” Steve yelled from his front porch, a lopsided smile on his face. Marilyn had already gone inside.

  **

  Detective Chas Beckett took a taxi to Timothy Eckels’ residence, not wanting his police sedan to be seen there. He was taking extra precautions knowing full well that something was afoot. He knocked on the door of the simple cottage that was right next door to Echo’s and was soon facing the Medical Examiner.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” he said, without expression. “Come in.”

  Chas entered the simply furnished home, where not one thing was out of place, and not one speck of dust would be found. Timothy Eckels might be strange, but he was apparently one heck of a housekeeper, which made sense, having seen the perfect order of his lab at the morgue.

  “Fiona said you had taken the day off, are you not feeling well?” Chas asked, sitting down on a brand-new-looking tropical print sofa.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” the M.E. assured him. “I knew that we would need to have a private conversation, and when I was instructed by the Investigator to take today off, I decided to come home, rather than going to the mortuary.”

  “I wondered if it was something like that,” the detective nodded grimly. “Did you find out anything more about the girl in the barrel?”

  “Well, the Investigator shut down all of my efforts, saying that the case had been closed and that no further evidence was needed, but he was unaware that I make…extra provisions in the event of occasions like this,” the corner of his mouth almost quirked up into a smile.

  Chas nodded, relieved. This wasn’t the first time that the M.E.’s odd propensity to keep additional specimens for future use had come in handy.

  “What have you found out?”

  The detective spent the next hour and a half going over Tim’s meticulous notes, a copy of which he had secured behind a stone in his crawl space, ironically enough, and left the M.E.’s home determined to figure out what had actually happened to both the woman in the barrel, and Arnold Shelby.

  **

  Chas tracked down the police photographer when he returned to the station.

  “Hey, Wilson,” he called out, catching the photographer in the hall. “Where are the photos of the Shelby suicide? I didn’t see them in the evidence room.”

  “Yeah, the SI took the photos and the digital files with him. Said he wanted to do some further review to wrap up the case,” the photographer shrugged.

  “I see,” Chas nodded, trying not to let his frustration show.

  “I have a copy that I made if you want me to email you the files,” Wilson offered.

  Email was far too public and far too easily monitored.

  “Actually, I have a memory stick – can you just copy the files onto it? My computer at home is much better for viewing that stuff.”

  “The case is closed though, right?” Wilson asked.

  “Yeah, definitely. I’m just curious,” the detective shrugged.

  “No problem, Detective. We can head over to my office and do that now if you have a minute.”

  “Perfect.”

  Chas got the files from Wilson and headed back to his car. His phone rang, and the caller ID simply said Unknown.

  “Beckett,” he said impatiently.

  “Is…is this Detective Beckett in Calgon?” a scared, female voice asked.

  “Yes, how may I help you?” Chas focused on the caller.

  “My name is Amber Jones, and I’m really scared.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Spencer Bengal sat in his usual spot at the cabin in the swamp, with his back against the hand hewn exterior, soaking in the sun and waiting with a cooler of beer for Janssen to appear.

  “This thing is bigger than you and me, man,” Janssen sighed, settling down on the porch.

  Spencer closed his eyes. “I suspected as much. What did Chalmers say?” he asked, knowing that the caretaker of the Beckett estate and fortune would undoubtedly be involved.

  “He didn’t have a man inside, but he made some quick calls that caused things to “work out,” at least, temporarily,” the scarred Marine explained, sticking a fresh toothpick betwee
n his lips. “But I got a feelin’ that we ain’t seen the end of this just yet. I’m thinking somethin’s gonna get blown wide open on this one. Hopefully your guy don’t get caught in the crossfire,” he shook his head.

  “Over my dead body,” Spencer replied grimly.

  “If it comes to that,” Janssen nodded.

  **

  Chas had barely hung after speaking with the very-much-not-dead Amber Jones, when his phone rang again. Timothy Eckels.

  “Talk to me,” he answered.

  “I have a match for the dental records,” the M.E. said, sounding very far away.

  “I thought that Rackett took the dental records with him before he made you cremate the body,” the detective replied.

  “He thought so too,” Tim replied, sounding the tiniest bit smug.

  “Okay, I have some news for you, too. Where can we meet?”

  Surprised when the Medical Examiner gave him coordinates, rather than an address, Chas headed for the marina.

  “Aww…man, don’t tell me someone else died,” Andrew Koslowski, who owned a boat rental service lamented, sunning himself on a lounger. It seemed that every time he encountered the detective, he was being questioned about a body, and the laid-back young man didn’t appreciate that kind of drama in his otherwise serene existence.

  Chas had to smile.

  “No, Andrew, nothing like that this time,” he assured the sun-bleached young man. “But I do have a favor to ask, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure dude, fire away. Anything for Calgon’s finest,” he grinned, still not rising from his chair.

  “I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately, and I really need a break, ya know?”

  “Oh, I hear ya, dude,” Andrew nodded, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered up at Chas. “I couldn’t do a nine-to-five thing, that’s just way too intense.”

  “Exactly. So, I want to rent one of your boats, and I don’t want you to tell anyone that I’ve done so. I just need some time to myself for a few hours.”

  “I got you, man,” Andrew agreed. “In fact, here’s what I’m gonna do…if I rent you a boat, there’s records and stuff, so I’m not gonna rent you one of these beauties, I’m gonna lend one to you, you know friend to friend,” he grinned.