Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  Spencer Bengal looked incredibly handsome and extremely dangerous, sitting across the desk from Chalmers in the elderly man’s study. The Marine was dressed in a close-fitting black tee shirt and black cargo pants tucked into combat boots. He was heavily armed, and the expression on his face was grim.

  “What do we know?” he asked his boss and mentor.

  Chalmers clasped his hands together on top of the desk.

  “We still haven’t been able to establish precisely who made the attempt on my life a few weeks ago,” the elderly man sighed. “Although we’ve been able to narrow it down a bit. There were a couple of transactions recently that seem to have slipped through without my notice. They were traced to an account in the Cayman Islands, and there was an order placed for delivery to the United Arab Emirates.”

  Spencer drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Hackers?” he asked.

  “Most likely,” Chalmers nodded, his expression grave.

  “Were you able to tie any names to the Cayman account?”

  “Not yet, but our source says that it looks like it was established from the UK.”

  Light dawned in Spencer’s eyes. “I bet that this happened when Reginald was in Monaco. He was keeping company with an impoverished earl, from England, and had plenty of opportunity to leak confidential information that may have allowed the earl to have someone hack in to our system.”

  Chas’s brother Reginald was an international playboy, whom Chalmers had to keep on a tight leash. Their father had made arrangements in his will for his manservant to maintain control over a portion of Reggie’s finances, doling out a generous allowance on a regular basis, but denying the footloose and fancy-free younger Beckett any chance to put the family business or its assets at risk. Reggie had been pushing the elderly man to give him more access to Beckett Holdings information, and might have inadvertently created a dangerous alliance.

  “The jet can be fueled up in an hour,” Chalmers said, nodding.

  He’d suspected a few weeks ago that Reggie’s antics in Monaco, and his instant friendship with Wendell Shropshire, Earl of Halsbury, might have created the situation which prompted someone to attempt to kill him, and the suspicion had been percolating ever since. Sending Spencer, his top man, to England for a special chat with the earl might just help clear up quite a few things, including the death of the reporter in Calgon. Chalmers had worked too long and too hard to let the Beckett tradition be tarnished by the tomfoolery of scoundrels.

  “What’s the status on security for Chas and Missy?” the Marine asked.

  “Paddy has been dispatched, as well as a handful of others who will be stationed strategically around the police station and other areas they frequent.”

  Spencer nodded his approval. “Paddy is a good guy, and they already know him, so that’s a good choice. How strongly can we trust the others?”

  Patrick “Paddy” Wellsley was a flame-haired Irishman who had gone through his initial training shortly after Spencer joined the covert security detail at Beckett Holdings, and the Marine had gotten to know him well. When Spencer had been tasked with accompanying Chas in tracking down his brother, Reggie, in Monaco, he’d assigned Paddy to keep watch over Missy in their absence. The young man had handled some sticky situations when Missy’s life was threatened with swift and decisive maturity, exactly as Spencer had predicted he would.

  “I handpicked the others as well. I’m well aware of the potential for danger in Calgon at the moment,” Chalmers replied.

  “Of course, I understand. I just…”

  “I know,” the elderly man smiled kindly. “You’re family now, it’s different.”

  Spencer gave a curt nod, uncomfortable with the way that this strategic meeting was rapidly turning personal. He had a job to do, he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by emotion. Chas and Missy had accepted the young Marine veteran without question, opening their home to him and trusting him to take care of their inn and anything else that needed it. He had worked for them for several months before Chas found out that he was actually planted there by Chalmers to watch over the Beckett heir. Missy still didn’t know, and they wanted to keep it that way. The couple had become family to the battle-scarred and life-hardened young man, and he’d literally give his life to protect them.

  “I’ll check in with Paddy when I can, while I’m out of the country,” he assured Chalmers, rising to go.

  “I expected you would,” he replied with a knowing smile. “Safe travels, my boy,” he rose slowly, bracing himself on the arms of the chair as his blue-veined hand was engulfed by Spencer’s younger, brawnier one in a firm handshake.

  ***

  Spencer leaned his head back against the seat in the Beckett jet. It would be a long flight to London, where he’d pick up a car and get settled into the nondescript cottage in the English countryside that would be his home while he investigated the Earl of Halsbury. He and Chas had had a confrontation with the weak and greedy little man after the earl and Reggie had spent a couple of weeks of pure debauchery, drinking and gambling with glorious abandon in Monaco.

  The earl was spineless, amoral, and willing to do just about anything to replenish the fortune that he’d lost through gambling and loose living. The family castle was dank and cold because he couldn’t afford to heat it, so Wendell Shropshire spent most of his days drinking in front of the fireplace, and he’d been able to retain only one member of the household staff, his manservant Kosta.

  The earl had met Reginald Beckett, a wealthy young lad whose personal habits for recreation were well in keeping with his own, and had seen dollar signs written all over him. He’d convinced Reggie to rent a yacht for a week, where they’d entertained all manner of beautiful young women, and the duo had spent many hours in the casinos of Monaco, Reggie’s money slipping through their fingers like water.

  On one particularly scotch-soaked evening, the crafty earl had convinced his partner in crime to sign a contract on behalf of Beckett Holdings Corp. No one quite knew what was in the contract, certainly not Reggie, who had barely been able to see the wording when he signed it, but after a visit from Chas and Spencer, Wendell had reluctantly agreed not to hold the younger Beckett to it. And now Spencer was back again to determine if Shropshire had been behind the questionable transactions and the murder of Hannah Folsom.

  After securing his luggage in the very spare English cottage, Spencer climbed into an equally nondescript beige sedan and headed for Shropshire Castle. Since the Marine had been there once already, weeks ago, it was much easier to find the entrance road to the property, despite the fact that it had been overgrown with grasses, young trees, and vines which threatened to overcome it. Apparently Kosta, the earl’s manservant, didn’t do yard work, a concept which the Marine found to be offensive. He kept the grounds around the inn and cupcake shop immaculate.

  He parked the car and lifted the heavy iron knocker on the front door, letting it slam loudly back in place several times.

  “I swear to you, Kosta, if I hear that knocker one more time,” Spencer heard the earl bellowing at his servant a moment before the door swung open.

  The swarthy man standing behind it stared coldly at Spencer, recognizing him, but saying nothing for a moment.

  “What you want?” he asked, his accent heavy.

  “I need to talk to your boss again,” Spencer said mildly, staring him down, powerful arms crossed over his chest.

  “He’s not here,” Kosta lied, starting to shut the door.

  “Okay, we do it the hard way, your choice,” Spencer shoved the dense wooden door open, shouldering his way through despite the servant’s efforts to keep him out.

  Once inside, he strode briskly into the damp interior of the castle, which was dark, despite the daylight outside its doors, and made his way to the ratty chair in which Wendell Shropshire, Earl of Halsbury, spent most of his time. Kosta was on his heels, and made the mistake of putting a hand on the Marine’s shoulder, attempting to restrain him. Spencer reac
hed up, lightning-fast and grabbed the servant’s hand. He spun quickly, and in a blur of motion, had the bulky man’s wrist pinned between his shoulder blades, immobilized. Pushing him over to the fireplace, Spencer stared at the earl, who made a face.

  “This again?” he sighed, clearly remembering his last encounter with the Marine. “Let him go, he’ll behave himself,” the pale, thin man with colorless hair waved dismissively.

  “Kosta, go get a glass for our guest,” he ordered, holding up a bottle of scotch.

  The servant glared at Spencer, rubbing his wrist, and left the room.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Wendell droned sarcastically, taking a slug of scotch straight from the bottle.

  “I think you know exactly why I’m here,” the Marine replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to start talking and you’re going to tell me everything that I need to know, because it’ll get very unpleasant for you if you don’t,” he took a pair of black leather gloves out of a pocket in his cargo pants and pulled them on, flexing his fingers.

  “Now, look… there’s no need for…” the earl began, but was cut off by the reappearance of his servant.

  “You need me to take care of this?” the muscular man asked his boss.

  Spencer smirked.

  “No, Kosta, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Wendell looked irritated. “Just give the man his drink, for goodness sake,” he waved toward Spencer.

  “I don’t want…” the Marine began, but cut his sentence off in a gasp of pain when Kosta tossed the contents of the glass directly into his eyes, making them burn and ooze.

  There had been some sort of chemical agent in the liquid, and Spencer found himself hoping that his vision wouldn’t be permanently impaired. His nose and throat were immediately inflamed, and though he wiped at his eyes, making the pain worse, his vision didn’t improve at all. Coughing and choking, he was aware enough of his surroundings to put up his arms to ward off the blow that he could hear coming, but whatever Kosta hit him with was huge, heavy, and hard, knocking him unconscious. His last thought before blinding pain caused him to succumb, was that even if he failed, Missy and Chas would still have Paddy to protect them.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Beckett, you know that I have to search Spencer Bengal’s apartment,” Detective Jim Reubens said quietly.

  “He’s not here to give you permission,” Chas pointed out reasonably.

  Jim sighed.

  “I can go get a warrant if you really want me to do that, but one way or another, I’m going in there.”

  The detective frowned.

  “All right, I’ll take you down there,” he agreed finally.

  “No, I’m sorry, but you won’t,” Reubens shook his head. “You’re specifically required to not participate in this investigation. I’m sorry, Beckett, but this one just hits too close to home,” his response was kind, but firm.

  Chas knew that his colleague was correct. Because he’d known the victim, and evidence existed that made it look like the detective might actually be involved in her death, he’d been relegated to office duty until after the investigation. Never one to sit idly by while others worked, Chas had elected to take a few days off in order to pursue his own investigation. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and slid one of the keys off.

  “Here’s the key to his place. Just leave it with Maggie, the innkeeper, when you’re done,” he handed it over.

  “Good. I need to talk with her before I leave anyway,” Jim nodded. “Where are you going to be? You know, in case I have questions.”

  Chas knew what the detective was doing. He’d obviously been tasked with keeping tabs on his colleague.

  “I don’t know. I have some errands to run, and I might go for a swim,” he shrugged.

  “Uh-huh,” Jim replied skeptically. “Well, keep your phone on you.”

  “Always,” Chas smiled tightly, having no intention of doing so.

  ***

  Jim Reubens unlocked the door to Spencer’s apartment, expecting to find a typical young man’s bachelor pad, with beer cans on the floor, dirty laundry piled up in front of the washer, and dishes in the sink. The sparingly decorated apartment that he entered into was the polar opposite of his expectations. The furnishings were simple, clean-lined and spotless, and nothing was out of place. The faucets in the sink and bathroom had no water spots, and there was not a speck of dust or lint anywhere. The cat box in the utility room was filled with fresh, clean litter, emitting no odor at all, but there was no cat to be found.

  Since there were no charges, as yet, against the young Marine, Jim had to wait to call in a forensics team, but from what he saw, he doubted, even if the young man was guilty, that there’d be anything to find. His windows sparkled, his bed was made so well that it looked like a quarter would bounce off of it, and his kitchen floor was entirely devoid of crumbs. Reubens slipped on a nitrile glove and opened the refrigerator, only to find that it too, was immaculate.

  After looking in closets, under furniture, and even in the back of the toilet tank, the detective found nothing even remotely incriminating, and decided to go have a chat with Maggie. Once there, he discovered where Spencer’s cat, Moose, had disappeared to. The innkeeper said that he’d been left on her doorstep in his carrier, with all of his supplies. It wasn’t unusual for the Marine to leave town suddenly, and when he did, he dropped Moose off to Maggie in this manner because he usually hit the road long before she woke for the day, even though she was an early riser.

  It was another dead end for Jim Reubens, and he was both relieved and frustrated. He really hoped that the killer had nothing to do with Chas Beckett or anyone that he knew, but beyond Chas, Spencer, Kel, and Missy, he had no suspects or persons of interest. Easing into his police sedan, he headed for Betty’s diner. Betty had witnessed Chas and Kel separately getting into verbal altercations with the victim, and he wanted to talk with her again.

  ***

  “Hey, Detective,” Betty motioned Chas over to a spot at the counter where no one was nearby, and poured a cup of coffee before he could even ask. “Jimmy Reubens came by yesterday, asking me about what that out-of-town woman talked with you about. I hated to do it, but I had to tell him that you didn’t exactly part on friendly terms,” she confided, her expression pained.

  “No, that’s okay, Betty. You did what you had to do. I’d never expect you to not tell the truth,” Chas reassured her.

  “I just can’t believe somebody offed her. I mean, she was rude and obnoxious, but geez… murder?” she shook her head in disbelief. “Any idea who did it?”

  “No, that’s why I’m here. Has she been in here and spoken with anyone else? Or has anyone suspicious-looking been lingering around here?” the detective asked.

  Betty thought for a moment. “There was this one guy who kinda slipped out from behind the bushes across the street after you left that day. I thought that was sorta strange,” she mused.

  “What did he look like?” Chas asked, hopeful that he might get a lead at last.

  “Not bad lookin’. Longish dark hair, big muscles, tattoos,” she shrugged. “I didn’t get a real good look. One minute I saw him, the next minute, he had just disappeared.”

  Chas sighed inwardly. Betty had just unwittingly described Spencer, who was already well on his way to becoming a suspect. Had the Marine gone too far to protect Chas and Missy? He certainly hoped not, but the detective really had no idea how Chalmers’s shadowy security forces worked.

  “Okay, Betty. Thanks,” he reached into his pocket to pay for the coffee.

  “Keep your money, Beckett, this one’s on the house,” she waved him away with a look that brooked no nonsense.

  “Thanks,” Chas tried to smile. “Oh, and Betty, if Jim Reubens happens to come by…” he began.

  “I don’t really recall talking to you since the whole thing went down,” she winked conspiratorially.

  “You’re a gem,” the detective grinned.

  “Hec
k yeah I am, a diamond in the rough,” she chuckled. “Now go on home to that pretty wife of yours. Something tells me she could use a hug.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Izzy Gillmore floated lazily in the cool waters of the Caribbean, eyes closed, enjoying the first vacation that she’d had in a very long time. The sky and water were a brilliant blue and crystal clear, and when she was done taking a relaxing soak in the ocean, she’d sunbathe on a brightly colored lounger, with a fruity frozen drink in hand. Eyes closed, basking in the mid-afternoon sun, she felt the shark before she saw it, as it bit down on her left wrist, tugging at it and sending a sharp searing pain all the way up to her shoulder. She was pulled under the water briefly, and came to the surface sputtering and gasping, terrified and entirely disoriented. She tried to scream, but couldn’t make the sound come from her mouth. She panicked, thrashing, and wondered if she was going to die.

  Izzy awoke from the nightmare, her heart pounding, her head aching, and her stomach churning abominably. Her vision was fuzzy, and there was a foul smell in the air, something thick and almost metallic. She blinked several times, all the while trying to calm her breathing. She realized some very disturbing things all at once. She wasn’t in the Caribbean, but she was in water, and her wrist really was throbbing with a searing pain. She felt weak, but as her vision cleared, she raised her head and looked around, finding herself in the tub of her hotel room. She had raised her wrist, which had been viciously slashed, over her head in an attempt to get it away from the shark in her dream, and it had probably saved her life. The metallic smell that assaulted her nostrils was her own blood, a copious amount of which was currently flowing down her arm.

  Weak with blood loss and shock, Izzy knew that she had to get help fast, and shakily braced herself with her other hand, gingerly climbing out of the tub on shaking legs. Her foot slipped slightly on the tile that was slick with pooled water and blood, but she managed to catch herself on the vanity so that she fell slowly and didn’t hit her head. She didn’t have the strength to get back on her feet, and the hopelessness of her situation brought her to tears, but she knew that if she wanted to live, she had to get help. In search of her cell phone, she dragged herself from the bathroom.