Vanilla Bean Killer Page 7

  “Fine, go out to the deck and I’ll bring it out to you.”

  “No! I want to wait here,” the boy demanded, his face beginning to redden.

  “Oh fine. Just breathe. I’ll be right back,” Britannia was clearly annoyed now, and she rushed from the room, slamming her drink on the bar as she went.

  “You wouldn’t think it would be so hard,” the boy commented with disgust.

  “I like ice cream,” Spencer offered, not having the slightest clue as to how to relate to a precocious but spoiled child.

  “My uncle usually brings me some, but I haven’t seen him in a long time. It’s okay, you didn’t know that you should bring it.”

  “What’s your uncle’s name?” Spencer asked in a low voice.

  “Reuben.”

  “Reuben? That’s nice. What’s he like?”

  “He’s tanned and wears bright clothes and likes the ponies. He takes me to see the ponies sometimes.”

  “That’s exciting. Where are the ponies?”

  “On the island, silly,” the boy giggled.

  “Is it a big island?”

  “Yup, and nobody can go on it except for me and him and Britty sometimes.”

  “Okay, here’s your ice cream,” Britannia came back in, holding the stick of a luscious-looking chocolate-covered treat between two manicured fingertips. “I put one in a cooler on the outside table if you want another. Don’t forget to wash your hands before you come back in the house,” she shooed Jaxon out the patio door.

  “Your son?” Spencer asked casually.

  Britannia narrowed her eyes. “No.”

  “You know, I can’t help but recognize a certain resemblance between Jaxon and Roger,” he observed.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said evenly, the corners of her eyes tightening with self-control.

  “You’re probably right, I have no experience with kids,” Spencer said truthfully.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help you,” Britannia lied, leading the way back toward the front door.

  “Thanks for the drink.”

  “Anytime,” she replied automatically, then grazed his forearm with her nails. “Really, Adam… anytime.”

  “Noted,” the Marine managed to flash a convincing set of dimples and went on his way.

  ***

  Kaplan Bartlett swam into consciousness finally knowing what it felt like to be hit by a truck. He was well medicated, so he couldn’t actually feel the extent of his injuries. He’d lost his spleen, had major internal damage repaired, and had metal pins holding his arms and legs together. He was bolted into a cervical collar, and had so many tubes and wires running into his body that he looked as though he was sleeping in a sea of life-giving medical snakes.

  His throat felt like it was on fire, and the sides of it stuck together when he attempted to swallow, temporarily preventing him from breathing. Alarms sounded and a nurse came rushing in to quiet the monitors and dab at his mouth with a wetted sponge. Kaplan tried to speak and couldn’t, tried to communicate with his eyes, and was overlooked. Terror struck inexplicably and he had no idea why. The nurse left the room, but he couldn’t rest, his eyes darting about the room, taking in but not comprehending his surroundings.

  In his drug-induced fog, Kap didn’t grasp the importance of the face that swam suddenly into his view—a face that he hadn’t seen in a very long time, a face that morphed, with its fierce grin, into the face of death.

  ***

  “Kaplan Bartlett is dead,” Spencer announced, seating himself across the desk from Chas.

  “From his injuries?”

  “No. Heart attack, with an undetermined cause,” the Marine made a wry face.

  “They got him,” Chas sighed. “I knew Solinsky was a jerk, but I didn’t think he was incompetent. Kaplan should’ve been under twenty-four hour watch,” he tossed down his Montblanc pen in disgust. “What’s the status on Demmers?”

  “The Feds have a guy on the inside making sure that nothing happens to him before he can be interrogated. Dawson said that they’re looking for someone bigger than Demmers, and they’re hoping that he can lead them to him.”

  “What about the girlfriend?”

  “Dead end, but I met a kid who looks suspiciously like Demmers, and we had a very enlightening conversation.”

  “Learn anything important?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve got Ringo chasing down some info. If it pans out, it may lead us where we want to go. If it doesn’t, it’ll just point us to someone who may have had the misfortune to be involved with Demmers’s girlfriend.”

  “Good work. Keep me posted,” Chas instructed, grabbing his suit coat.

  “Heading out?” Spencer glanced at his watch, surprised that the PI was leaving so early, as it was barely four o’clock.

  “Yeah, it’s strange, I’ve tried to call and text Missy a few times and she’s not answering. Kel has run into the same thing with Echo.”

  “Sounds like a girl’s day,” Spencer grinned.

  “Hope so,” Chas replied, distracted. “Hey, can you stop by the new house when you leave here? Just take a look around?”

  “Sure, no problem,” the Marine nodded.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  Missy and Echo stood in the suddenly way-too-small room, trying to get their racing heartbeats under control and figure a way out of their current mess. After listening to the silence above them for what seemed like an eternity, Echo finally got very close to Missy’s ear and whispered, “What should we do?”

  “Let’s look around,” Missy whispered back. “There’s gotta be another way out of here.”

  Despite the enormous size of the room, both women were feeling claustrophobic, and split up to check the room over thoroughly, looking for a hidden exit.

  “I thought there were no basements in Florida,” Echo muttered, running her fingers along seams in the concrete walls.

  “There aren’t many. This one had to have cost a fortune to build,” Missy murmured, approaching the row of lockers again.

  She pushed inward on one of the doors and it hit a spring latch and popped open, revealing a space filled with thin slots. Each slot contained a work of art.

  “Whoa!” Echo breathed, coming over to take a look.

  “Yeah, they’re amazing,” Missy’s eyes were round.

  “Oh honey, they’re more than just amazing… these are Chentals.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “That means that they’re worth more than the Beckett empire,” Echo reached out to touch one of the pieces, but stopped herself. “They’re priceless works of art, and I’m guessing that they’re stolen.”

  Missy stared at her for a moment. “There’s a vault of stolen priceless art under my cabana? Well that’s just perfect,” she giggled. The giggle turned into a belly laugh, which turned into an uncontrollable cackle that had her crossing her legs with tears streaming down her face. Echo took her by both shoulders and gave her a little shake.

  “Stop it,” she hissed. “Don’t you see, this is major. We’ve been left down here for dead. I’m sure in a few weeks, whoever put this stuff here will come sweep up what’s left of our bodies and recover their stash. Pull yourself together,” she frowned.

  Missy wiped at her eyes and continued to snicker, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m hysterical,” she admitted, which spurred another brief giggling fit. “Oh, it hurts,” she clutched at her stomach, trying to take deep breaths and succeeding in giving herself the hiccups.

  “Get it together, girl. We have to find a way out of here or it’s going to get ugly. I have no idea how long the oxygen will hold out,” Echo’s comment finally stilled Missy’s hysterics and they systematically opened every door and drawer in the facility.

  “Hey, look at this… isn’t this the guy that got killed and buried in the wall?” Echo asked, pointing to the files which bore the letterhead of the deceased’s la
w firm.

  “Yes, it is,” Missy nodded, flipping through the papers in the file drawer. “Oh my, I guess we know who killed him now,” she murmured.

  “How very unfortunate for you,” a heavily accented male voice commented, sending adrenaline coursing through the women as they shrunk back in horror.

  ***

  Spencer Bengal drove far above the posted speed limit, hoping that he wouldn’t be too late. After a conference with Ringo, which had revealed the identity of the international art thief for whom Roger Demmers, the former owner of Missy and Chas’s new house, had worked, the Marine was racing against the clock in what he hoped wouldn’t be a tragic pair of murders. His love for Missy and Echo drove him hard and he dialed Chas’s number again, frustrated by the busy signal on the other end.

  His nondescript sedan screamed into the private lane which led to the new house, and Spencer barely pulled the key from the ignition before sprinting from the vehicle. He darted around the side yard, headed for the caretaker’s cottage where he assumed Missy and Echo would be held in the space below ground, and was intercepted by Agent Dawson, who now went by Agent Segritz.

  “Bengal, it’s okay. Your friends are safe. They’re being debriefed in the pool cabana. They’re a little shaken up, but they helped us bust this thing wide open,” there was admiration in the agent’s smile.

  “I’m not surprised,” the Marine’s relief was evident. “So you got him? The guy who killed the attorney and tried to kill Demmers and Bartlett?”

  Dawson chuckled. “Your little hacker may be good, but he only gave you part of the story. ‘Uncle’ Reuben Melchior was funding the stolen art enterprise from his private island, where he raises racehorses, but he didn’t kill anybody… directly.”

  “He hired a hit?” Spencer frowned. From what he’d learned of the eccentric collector’s past, he couldn’t fathom that the man hadn’t done the job himself.

  “Not exactly. There was a common thread that connected the dead attorney, the owner of this house, and the landscape architect together with Reuben Melchior. Wanna take a guess at what that thread might be?”

  “Britannia,” Spencer nodded.

  “Yes, the lovely lady was playing all of them like fiddles. Reuben paid her expenses, unbeknownst to Demmers, who had a son with her, and she carried on with Bartlett simply because both of the other men knew and hated him.”

  “So, where is she now?”

  “Your buddy, Beckett, caught up with her at the airport. She’d chartered a plane and had planned on taking the kid out of the country, now that Reuben was in town.”

  “Melchior came here? Why didn’t he just let her handle things?”

  “Because she was his last loose end. She’d gotten sloppy. We were on her tail, as were you and Beckett. He wanted to eliminate her before she could sell him out.”

  “No wonder Chas didn’t answer his phone,” Spencer commented.

  “Yeah, from what I understand, Beckett called the Calgon chief of police and told him to send the new detective because he had the suspect in custody. Apparently the new guy didn’t take it well and caused quite a scene at the airport,” Dawson snickered.

  “Better late than never,” the corner of Spencer’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Mind if I go check on the ladies?”

  “Be my guest. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see a familiar face. That little blonde is sure feisty though, she was reading Reuben Melchior the riot act when we arrived on the scene.”

  “Yep, she’s tougher than she looks,” Spencer agreed with a grin.

  He loped off toward the cabana, where an agent was questioning Missy and Echo. The moment that Missy saw him, she collapsed in tears. He gave them both a huge hug.

  “I heard you two were really brave,” he murmured, trying to reassure the traumatized women.

  “Yeah, we’re considering hiring them on,” the agent who sat with a notepad in his lap joked.

  “Can we go home now?” Echo asked plaintively.

  Spencer looked at the agent, who nodded. “We can get more info later if need be, we have your contact numbers.”

  “Thanks,” the Marine shook his hand.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Spencer went back to his office after dropping off Missy and Echo into Kel’s capable hands. Chas was still dealing with Britannia and Solinsky, so the young veteran wanted to let Ringo and Holly know that they could call it a day.

  “Hey dude,” Ringo greeted him through a mouthful of pizza. “Didja get your art gangster?”

  “It was actually the girlfriend who committed the murder and attempted murders.”

  “Yeah, I kinda thought he’d hire it out. Righteously rich dudes like that don’t get their own hands dirty,” the hacker commented, turning back to his computer screen.

  “What are you working on now?”

  “Nuclear codes,” Ringo deadpanned.

  “Please tell me you’re kidding,” Spencer blinked at him.

  “Yeah, I haven’t gotten that far yet, but I hear there’s good money to be made that way,” the hacker slurped noisily from a soda the size of an oxygen tank.

  “Traitors don’t make it too long around here,” the Marine said mildly.

  “Don’t be like that,” Ringo held up his hands in surrender. “Just be glad that I use my talents for good and not evil,” he grinned.

  “I thank my lucky stars every day,” Spencer’s voice dripped with good-natured sarcasm. “Go ahead and take off for today, we’re done for now.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice, Boss Man,” he tossed his pizza crust in the box, shut the lid and put his laptop on top of it, carrying out the two most important items he owned.

  Once Ringo had departed, Spencer sprayed down the security center with air freshener, set the alarms and locked the door behind him.

  “Quitting time already?” Holly said brightly when he came to the front desk.

  “Yes, thankfully no overtime today,” the weary Marine grinned.

  “Rough one?”

  “Yeah, mildly, but all’s well that ends well. I’m starving. If I don’t get some food in me I’m going to be hangry very soon.”

  “I feel you on that one. I was just about to go try that new little sushi place down the street if you want some company while you plow through some food,” Holly’s smile was open and genuine.

  “I haven’t had sushi in forever. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Give me a few minutes to shut down the computers and arm the systems?”

  “Of course. I’ll log out and be ready whenever you are,” the attractive brunette assured him.

  ***

  Izzy Gilmore felt like a stalker, waiting across the street from Chas’s offices for Spencer to emerge. She’d seen him go in, but hadn’t found a parking space quickly enough to catch him before he went inside. So now, unwilling to encounter Chas’s gorgeous new receptionist again, she sat in her car and waited.

  A smile lit up her face when she saw Spencer exit through the highly polished revolving door, but it disappeared quickly when she saw him wait for the receptionist. Thinking that he was probably just being polite and making sure that the young lady got to her car okay, Izzy waited, her heart plunging to her knees when the Marine held the door to the sushi restaurant open and followed Holly inside.

  “Wow, really?” she breathed, feeling as though she’d been punched in the gut. “I thought we were okay. I thought we were better than okay. Suddenly, I’m very much not okay,” she whispered, staring at the closed door of the sushi place. “I’m not okay at all.”

  Having driven home faster than she should have, and never even remembering the trip, the author spontaneously threw some clothing into an overnight bag, packed up supplies for her gentle giant, Hercules, and loaded the dog and her bag into the car, not knowing where she was going or why. The urge to run and hide and lick her wounds was overwhelming. Why was it that things never seemed to work out for her and Spencer? What was wrong with her? Or
him, for that matter.

  Tears blinded her as she instinctively headed north, back toward the only other home that she’d ever known.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  Weighing organs, making notes on decomposition rates, and draining bodily fluids from the deceased was a pretty routine part of Fiona McCammish’s existence. She’d browbeaten her mild-mannered boss, Timothy Eckels, into giving her a job at his mortuary, initially because the whole process of death fascinated her. Tim was a talented, if taciturn, mentor, and the more she learned about the science behind death and the preparation of the dead, the more intrigued she became.

  Not that Timothy Eckels was an easy, supportive person to be around. She hadn’t quite figured him out yet, but he intrigued her too. He’d laid down the law before hiring her, making her undergo a complete makeover in the expert hands of Missy and Echo, so that she wouldn’t “scare the customers.” Gone were the multiple piercings, mohawk haircut, and death metal clothing. Dressed professionally, with a stylish haircut and color and subtle accessories, Fiona was one of the hottest tickets in town, but had no interest in anyone, aside from an infatuation with her much older and infinitely unreachable boss.

  Needless to say, she felt more than ridiculous, looking over her shoulder everywhere she went, living constantly in the grip of paranoia. Someone was watching her. She’d had an inkling of it weeks before she’d mentioned it to Tim, knowing how crazy she sounded, but after calling his attention to some strange happenings, he’d seen evidence of a stalker as well.

  Fiona was accustomed to taking care of herself, and didn’t scare easily, but she’d asked around about anyone that she could think of, who might do such a thing, and had come up empty. Which meant that whoever was doing this was likely a stranger, making them unknown and unpredictable. One thing that she’d always loathed was unknowns. It was much easier to face things head-on than to be left to wonder.

  If the goal of the person who’d been watching her was to get into her head, they’d succeeded profoundly. She’d made a couple of mistakes at work that had actually made Tim pause and stare at her as though he didn’t recognize the inefficient creature in front of him. The two typically worked like a finely tuned machine, so for him to have to remind her of which instrument he needed and how many photos to take from which angles had been disconcerting to say the least and had left Fiona feeling incompetent.