Toffee Apple Killer: Book 11 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  “Doubtful, I was class of 2006, and I didn’t pay much attention to underclassmen,” he shrugged, polishing off his cocktail and signaling for another by holding up his glass with an eyebrow raised at the server.

  “What hobbies do you have?” Izzy asked, working really hard to appear fascinated with the egomaniac across from her.

  “Is this an interrogation or something?” Thomas challenged suddenly.

  Izzy laughed aloud, out of sheer irony. “I’m sorry if it seems like it. I just find you really interesting.” She blushed, not because her statement was true, but because it felt so wrong for that bald-faced lie to leave her lips.

  “You didn’t last time,” he smirked.

  “I don’t know why I was so contentious. I guess I was just intimidated by someone who obviously had so much going for him.”

  “I practice martial arts. Aside from that I don’t really have hobbies,” he said, answering her original question.

  She was relieved for the change of subject. It was almost physically painful to keep flattering this man.

  “Aren’t you going to eat… that?” Thomas looked at her still full plate of calamari with disdain.

  “Umm… no. You’re right, it’s something that I shouldn’t be doing to my body. I don’t know why I even ordered it.”

  “That’s wasteful,” he commented.

  “I’m planning on boxing it up. There’s a homeless woman who hangs out a few blocks from here. I’ll give it to her so that it doesn’t go to waste,” Izzy smiled.

  “You really shouldn’t enable those people. What incentive do they have to work for a living if they get fed by all the bleeding hearts?”

  At this point, Izzy had enough information. He’d answered all of the questions that Chas had listed, and she’d had more than enough of his pompous, judgmental presence. She was done.

  “I just can’t win with you, can I? If I eat it, I’m irresponsibly unhealthy, if I don’t, I’m wasteful, and if I give it away, I’m contributing to the degradation of modern society. You are a piece of work,” she shook her head.

  “There’s the woman that I remember from last time,” a slight smile played about his lips.

  “You like this. You live to antagonize, don’t you?” Izzy stared at him in disbelief. “Well, it’s been real. I’ve gotta run.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said, sounding menacing.

  “You will not tell me what I can and cannot…” Izzy was interrupted by the server, who looked at her with concern.

  “Can I get you two anything else?”

  “A box for the lady, please. She has a dog to feed,” Thomas replied smoothly.

  When the server had gone, he turned his dark, predatory eyes back to Izzy. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a billfold, peeled a twenty off of the thick stack of bills and tossed it on the table. “The rest is your responsibility,” he said, his voice dripping contempt. “And there’s no need for another meeting. The third time will definitely not be the charm,” he said, standing to go.

  ***

  Missy saw Izzy’s date stand up and start walking toward her little booth in the corner, and she pulled out her phone, pretending to be absorbed in texting. Thomas walked right up to the edge of the table, put both hands on it, and leaned toward her.

  “I’ve noticed you staring at me all night,” he remarked, oozing confidence. “And, while I’m flattered, you’re barking up the wrong tree, honey. I don’t give cougars like you the time of day,” his smile was patronizing to the extreme, and Missy, stunned, merely sat with her mouth hanging open.

  “Yeah, I understand, it’s a blow, but in time you’ll get over it,” he chuckled, stood up straight again, and left the restaurant.

  Izzy had boxed up her calamari and was gone by the time he left, and Missy sat and watched him go, hoping that he didn’t catch up with her friend outside.

  I’m in the ladies room, is he gone? Izzy texted.

  Give it a few minutes and then come on out.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  It had been a nerve-wracking couple of days for Izzy Gilmore. The encounter with Spencer on the beach had been both painfully awkward and seriously depressing. She still missed him, no matter how much she’d tried to forget him. She’d never met anyone quite like the quiet, sensitive Marine, and she’d been kicking herself repeatedly for pushing him away so often that he finally gave up on her.

  Then there was the ordeal of sitting across the table from a man who might be a murderous psychopath, prying information out of him while he relished treating her like a second-class citizen who should be grateful that he deigned to speak with her. At the very least, Thomas Blevins was an extreme narcissist, whether he was a murderer or not, and she was glad that she’d never have to speak to him again. Chas was going through the tape that was recorded by her hidden microphone, and had instructed her to remain vigilant.

  It was a bit of a relief that, after a very productive morning of writing, she was headed out to do a wonderfully ordinary thing. Becky Wray, the English and literature teacher at the junior high, had invited her to come speak to a couple of her classes today, and she was really looking forward to it. Writing had always been Izzy’s passion, and she loved to see that same excitement in the eyes of the next generation.

  The author checked in at the front office, and was waiting for her visitor badge to finish laminating, when she heard a familiar voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck raise just a bit. She patted them down absently, pretending that she hadn’t noticed that Stanley Bartles had just walked into the office.

  “Izzy? Izzy the Carnivore?” he grinned, touching her on the shoulder to get her attention, then shaking her hand. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked, as though there’d never been any unpleasantness between them.

  “Oh… I, uh… I’m speaking to a couple of Becky Wray’s classes about writing today,” she gave a hesitant smile, glancing over at the secretary to see if her badge was ready yet.

  The laminating machine groaned and wheezed, still laboring over her badge, and she could’ve stomped her foot in frustration. Why must her life be filled with awkward encounters?

  “What a great idea,” Stanley nodded, standing uncomfortably close.

  Izzy could’ve fainted with relief when Becky came into the office, looking for her.

  “There you are,” she exclaimed, beaming. “Do you two know each other?” she asked, looking from Izzy to Stanley and back again.

  “Uh…” Izzy definitely didn’t want to answer that question truthfully. She was surprised and grateful when Stanley came to her rescue. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Between him and Thomas, she’d pick Thomas as the potential murderer for sure.

  “We’ve run into each other a couple of times around town,” Stanley told his colleague.

  “Well, Calgon is a pretty small place, I suppose that’s bound to happen when you live here long enough. Stan and I go way back, we went through the same teaching program in college,” Becky informed Izzy cheerfully.

  “Here we go,” the secretary announced, handing Izzy the still-warm badge to clip onto her blazer lapel.

  “Oh, thank you,” Izzy replied, meaning it on so many levels. She was more than glad for the interruption, and hoped that once she was preoccupied with putting on her badge, Stanley would get whatever it was that he needed from the office and leave.

  “Hey, Beck, do you mind if I sit in and listen to Izzy’s presentation? I have a free hour next period and would love to hear what a famous author has to say.”

  Becky blinked in surprise, but nodded. “Sure, Stan, come on down. The more the merrier,” she smiled, taking Izzy by the arm and leading her out gently of the office. “This is my free period,” she told her. “I’ll show you the room and let you get settled. Is there anything that you need from me? Do you have a PowerPoint presentation or anything?”

  “No, I don’t. I hope that’s okay. I just thought I’d come in and
tell the kids a bit about myself and then let them ask questions,” Izzy replied, hoping that she didn’t seem unprepared. There was something about being around teachers that still made her feel uncertain and a tad irresponsible.

  “Of course it’s okay,” Becky patted her arm. “We’re just thrilled to have you come and visit with us. The kids may be a little exuberant—it’s close to the holidays and you’re a famous person—so if they get too rambunctious, I’ll step in and referee, but I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. I told them that we had a surprise guest coming today, but they don’t yet know that it’s you.”

  “Are you sure that they know who I am?” Izzy worried.

  “Izzy Gilmore, everyone over the age of nine knows who you are. Don’t worry, you’re going to do just fine.”

  “I sure hope so, I don’t want to disappoint them.”

  By the time Becky was done showing Izzy the room, students had started to trickle in, and she’d received more than her share of double-takes from students whispering to each other, while casting glances at the famous author who sat in the front of the room. Shortly after Becky introduced her, and she began giving the students some background on what type of student she’d been, how she’d gotten into writing, and what her life was like now, Stanley Bartles slipped into the back of the room and stood staring at her, arms crossed, a small smile playing about his thin lips. Izzy’s mouth suddenly went dry, and she had a bit of a coughing fit. A shy girl in the front row took a bottle of water out of her backpack, broke the seal, and handed it to Izzy, who thanked her profusely, making her blush.

  A young man from the back yelled out, “We love you, Izzy!” which cracked her up, and made it much easier for her to get back on track, answering the multitude of questions that her young and appreciative audience called out. The class went by quickly, with a second one following it, and at some point, much to her relief, Izzy looked up and saw that Stanley had departed, and was no longer lurking in the back of the room, making her uncomfortable. Her relief was short-lived, however. When she had said her goodbyes, after receiving effusive thanks from Becky, she went back to the office to turn in her badge, and when she came out, smiling at the memory of the students’ exuberance, she nearly ran right into Stanley, who was just outside the office door.

  “You never answered my text,” he said simply, his eyes boring into hers.

  “I… I didn’t know what to say,” she shrugged, telling the truth.

  “The famous author couldn’t find the words to reply?” he smiled. “And I thought you were just avoiding me.”

  She was dumbfounded at his forthrightness, and stood staring at him.

  “So, what do you say, Izzy? Should we get together again? I have some pretty bad behavior to make up for.”

  Izzy bit her lip, not knowing how to respond. She didn’t want to refuse him, because Chas had said that he might need her to “interview” him in the same way that she had Thomas, depending upon what came of the information she’d already gathered.

  “Let me think about it, okay?” she smiled, even though she didn’t feel remotely like smiling. “I’m right in the middle of a book and I’ve got a deadline coming up. Maybe we can try again after I submit my manuscript.”

  “Letting me down easy?” he looked skeptical.

  “No. I just—”

  “It’s okay,” he held up a hand to interrupt her. “I’ll take a maybe. Good to see you again, Izzy.” He leaned in so close that she could feel his breath fanning her cheek and she began to panic, frantically hoping that he wouldn’t dream of trying to kiss her in the middle of a school hallway.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he whispered, sending shivers of apprehension down her spine.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  “I hate to have to ask…” Chas began, as he sat next to Izzy at Betty’s Diner.

  The young author was digging into a mile high stack of pancakes that were swimming in a marvelous goop of maple syrup and whipped butter.

  “Lemme guess,” she said, relishing a huge bite and chasing it with a swig of black coffee. “You want me to interrogate Stanley Bartles, right?”

  “Not interrogate exactly…”

  “But talk to him while wearing a wire. What happened with Thomas?” she forked another bite in.

  “We’re still looking into him. One of the questions that you didn’t ask him was which florist he prefers in town,” he reminded her.

  Izzy nodded. “Oh yeah, I did forget that. Probably because it seemed so random. Does it matter? Should I text him?” she teased.

  “No, don’t contact him,” Chas smiled and shook his head. “You seem to be taking this all in stride,” he remarked, looking surprised.

  “Thomas Blevins was a total jerk.”

  “So I heard.”

  “If I can sit there and smile at him while he says vile things, I can certainly deal with a rather… wimpy school teacher,” she waved her fork. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he freaks me out, but he seems… I don’t know, fragile somehow.”

  “Fragile? Like he could snap at any moment and kill someone,” Chas gave her a pointed look.

  “Okay, point taken, but yeah, I’ll see what I can find out. Same questions?”

  “Yes, same questions. Do you remember them? I brought you another sheet.”

  “Nah, I’m good. They’re all up here,” she tapped her temple. “Same as before, and don’t forget the florist.”

  “I really appreciate your help in all of this, Izzy.”

  “I’ve been through worse,” she shrugged.

  “And Missy was there to keep an eye on you anyway,” he gave her a sidelong glance.

  Izzy nearly choked on her pancakes. “You knew?” she exclaimed, taking a long drink from her glass of ice water.

  “I am a detective, you know,” he grinned. “And I happen to know my wife, and her overprotective instincts, very well.”

  “So, one of your officers called you when they saw her walk in?” Izzy smirked.

  “Something like that,” Chas chuckled.

  ***

  “Izzy, I’m so glad that you decided to give me another chance. I’m embarrassed about the way that I acted last time. Can we just start over and pretend it never happened?”

  “Of course. You were nervous, I was nervous, no big deal,” she smiled at him, finding it easier to do than smiling at Thomas had been. There was still something odd about him that put her on edge though.

  “I’m so glad that you decided to try this place with me. I think you’ll really like the food here.”

  “I’ve never been to a vegan restaurant, but it smells really good,” Izzy replied quite truthfully. The place smelled amazing.

  She nearly blew her cover when she followed Stanley to their table, passing by Missy, who was wearing a long, auburn wig, and what looked like one of Echo’s signature flowy outfits, with hemp sandals. Izzy clenched her teeth hard in an effort not to burst into nervous laughter at the sight of the dignified southern belle dressed as a hippie.

  “What a lovely smile,” Stanley remarked, pulling out her chair for her.

  “Thanks. Funny thoughts run around in my head every once in a while,” she explained.

  After ordering, Izzy handed the handprinted menu back to the dreadlocked server, and found Bartles staring at her. Averting her eyes, she reached for her ice water and found it to be pleasantly flavored with lemon and something that she couldn’t quite place.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” she began, wanting to get away from Stanley and his searching eyes as quickly as possible. She didn’t know if he was mentally undressing her or decapitating her like a villain in one of her own books.

  “There’s not much to tell, really. You know I teach at the junior high,” he shrugged. “I’m far more interested in hearing about you.”

  “Well, you heard practically my whole life story when I was talking to Becky’s class,” Izzy hedged, wondering how to turn the conversation back to him
. With Thomas, it hadn’t been a problem, he was his own favorite subject.

  “Yeah, you were great with those kids. Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?”

  “Definitely not. Way too much human interaction. I’m pretty much a recluse. I get out every now and again, but I tend to prefer the quiet confines of my cottage. What about you? Do you have hobbies like most normal people do?” she joked, albeit badly.

  “I do, actually. I enjoy antique firearms, and I like to cook.”

  “Nice,” Izzy nodded, wondering if perhaps Leslie Mikels had been shot with an antique firearm. “So, you mentioned that you went to school with Becky, was that around here?”

  “Oh no, we went to a state school in Georgia. Both of us went to high school here in Calgon, and a rep from the college near Atlanta came in to talk to our senior class. They had a fantastic teaching program, and they were offering tuition discounts for early signers, so we committed right then.”

  “So you were friends back then?”

  “No, definitely not. We ran in different social circles. I hung out with the role-playing gamers, and she was more of a loner, I think. Her parents had problems and I think she was self-conscious about it. I could be wrong, though. Like I said, I didn’t know her well.”

  “Well, she seems very nice now,” Izzy commented.

  “She can be… stubborn,” he said, pronouncing the word delicately.

  “You two dated?”

  “Briefly. We’re very different people.”

  Izzy wondered if he’d broken it off because Becky was taller and more muscular than he was, so he couldn’t kill her.

  “Oh, hey… this is off-topic,” she began, glad to change the subject. “But, do you know of a good florist in town? I want to surprise a friend and since I’m new, I really don’t know where to go.”